Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
He teased her with his touch, stroking, rubbing, plunging in and out, all while imprisoning her with his eyes. She orgasmed on his hand. Then she orgasmed on his tongue. And he was nowhere near finished with her.
Kneeling between her thighs, he slid the head of his cock up and down her slit, torturing them both in the best way possible. He controlled her pleasure, and he didn’t need chains or belts or any kind of physical restraint to do it.
She surrendered to him as he sank inside her. She yielded to the demands of his body. She relinquished her heart in connection of their lips.
He spent hours inside her, trying to slack a need that would never burn out. When they finally collapsed in a tangle of limbs, she laughed. She rolled to her back and laughed deep belly laughter with her knees pulled up and her arms around her waist.
He laughed with her, because fuck him, her smile. It was a huge, bursting, mystical entity inside him—an energetic, unpredictable live wire of happiness stretching out beneath his skin.
Snuggling up against her side, he tossed a leg over hers and cupped the side of her face. “What is it?”
“Joy.” She met and held his gaze, glowing with life. “This feeling, you, us… It’s laughter and soul-deep joy.”
Her answer was everything. No matter where the future took them, he would make sure she never stopped laughing.
“Tell me about your dreams.” He circled a finger around the luscious curve of her breast. “Your fantasies, your hopes and aspirations.”
Rolling toward him, she gave him a heart-melting smile. “It starts with you, a bottle of wine, and a Netflix subscription…”
CHAPTER 34
One month later…
Lucia reclined on the couch in Tate’s house in Austin, flipping through the movie selections on Netflix. She smiled as the sounds of shuffling footsteps and heavy grunts drifted from the kitchen.
“Fucking hold still,” Tate growled from around the corner.
Maybe she should go in there and help him, but it would only frustrate him more. The man loved to be in control.
When they left Colombia a few weeks ago, they made a stop in California wine country. The threat of Tiago lingered, and they kept their wits about them always, but deep down, she believed he’d moved on from Tate and her. He’d played out his mind games and got his revenge.
Whether she and Tate went after him was still up for discussion.
Tate’s roommates had stayed in Colombia, working with Camila on her war against slavery. Cole was still searching for Kate.
Cole Hartman, as it turned out, was an interesting man. She’d learned a lot about him during their three months on the road together. Hardworking and highly motivated, he lugged around a tragically broken heart. It gave him a perspective that few people could appreciate.
He never collected on the money Tate owed him, and she doubted he intended to bill Van and Matias. Cole had become part of their family, part of the Freedom Fighters.
The scamper of skidding feet tore out of the kitchen, and in the blink of an eye, her lap was filled with the long, awkward legs and huge muscled frame of an eight-year-old rescued greyhound.
Kingo stumbled and staggered like a newborn deer on her thighs, his feet slipping and tripping between the cushions, until he hopped off and collapsed onto his side on the floor.
“He got mud all over the kitchen.” Tate stepped into the room and gave her a once-over. “And you.”
She glanced down at her muddy clothes and shrugged. “He’s still learning how to be a house dog.”
They were fostering Kingo, until they were ready to make some permanent decisions. Stay in Texas, return to Colombia, search for Tiago Badell, explore the Venezuelan rainforest—all of it was on the table.
Tate disappeared in the kitchen and returned a second later with two glasses of wine from their trip. He set them on the coffee table and motioned for her to stand.
She did so with a smile, holding still as he removed her muddy shirt and jeans. Clad in a bra and panties, she sighed as he kissed her. His seeking tongue, his greedy hands on her body, and his clean, heady breath against her lips, he was so familiar and intoxicating and hers.
He was her everything.
He lowered her to the couch and positioned her where he wanted her. Then he stretched out behind her, tucking her backside against his groin and stroking his fingers through her hair.
Heaven.
As she sipped from her wine and cued up an action movie on Netflix, she felt a depth of joy that could only be earned through blood and tears.
There was a tilting, cracking, end-of-the-world transformation that happened inside of people who experienced extreme terror and hardship, abuse and tragedy, shame and forgiveness. Those who suffered the most held the greatest appreciation for movie subscriptions, rescued dogs, and a glass of red from wine country.