Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“You’re pregnant,” he repeats. “And you left?”
Uh oh. Now this is the Thayer I know.
Then he’s on his feet and I’m in his arms and he’s stalking to the big bed nestled in the corner of the room. It’s immaculate in here, as if no one’s been here in ages. I smile to myself at the obvious sign of Thayer’s perfectionism. Not a pillow out of place, as tidy as could be.
“They’re lucky they’re dead,” he growls. “They’re fucking lucky they’re gone. If I’d known—my God, I wish I could kill them all over again.”
Only Thayer.
I cup his jaw in my hand and bring his eyes to mine. “No more killing tonight, okay? No more ending dangerous threats or pounding your chest or brandishing weapons,” I plead with him. “Make love to me, Thayer.”
And so he does. In silence, we strip each other’s clothes off and toss them away, the remnants of a battle we fought and won.
We make our way to the bathroom hand in hand and shower together.
We lather each other up and wash every trace of violence from our bodies.
He kneels in front of me and worships my breasts, my thighs, my pussy. He licks and fingers and gropes me until I’m half out of my mind. I convince him to stand under the steaming hot water while I get on my knees and take his cock in my mouth. I relish the feel of his hands in my wet hair, his powerful thighs beneath my palms, the way he moans when I lick and suckle. He pulls out before he comes and yanks me to my feet.
Pressed up against the wall, he spreads my legs apart and lines his cock up at my entrance. I brace myself on the tile and moan at the first feel of his savage thrust. My sex clenches around him. The lump in my throat dissolves, and the tears wash away in the steady stream of water.
“You’re mine, Savannah.” I throw my head back as he thrusts again. “I love you.”
A thrill passes through me. “And I love you,” I whisper.
We make love, in this savage way of ours. He’s a savage but he’s my savage and I wouldn’t have him any other way.
I’m overpowered by him as I surrender, and nothing’s ever felt so right.
“I love you,” he repeats. “And I’m asking that you let me love you the only way I know how.”
Is this Thayer, my badass savage, asking me for permission?
I sniff and nod. “Of course,” I say as he stills within me, his cock and my sex throbbing. “I would love that.”
“Not always.”
“Maybe not always,” I concede with a laugh.
“And if you ever leave me again,” he says with a powerful thrust that feels both punishing and scalding, “you will see all that Le Luxe has to offer in the way of punishment.”
I smile and shiver. I don’t want him to punish me, and I don’t ever plan on leaving, but I am totally here for finding out all that Le Luxe has to offer.
We lapse into silence as we chase our pleasure. I peak when he does, his moans of pleasure mingling with mine. My body’s numb with pleasure and my knees tremble. He holds me against him as the hot water pelts against my heated skin.
“Thayer,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” I turn to face him and bury my face in his neck. His arms come around me and he holds me, our naked skin pressed up against each other, steam rising like hope, engulfing us. “I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve trusted you.”
“I hate that you left, but not for the reasons you think. I hate that you left because I wanted you to trust me, and I didn’t even trust you enough to tell you I tracked you. I did it behind your back, and there’s no excuse for that.”
I let myself feel the warmth of my head against his shoulder. The comfort of his arms around me. The safety of being cocooned against him with the knowledge that our enemies are no longer a threat, we no longer have to hide, and we both know where we stand.
“We could stay here for a long time apologizing and reliving things,” I say finally. “How about you take me back to your bed and show me how you make love to a pregnant woman?”
Fabien and Nicolette sit in the living room of the Gerard family residence in Paris. Lyam sits in front of the fire scowling at a length of rope in his hand, trying to fashion a knot or something similar.
Fabien eyes us warily, Nicolette squeezes my hand, and Avril flits to and fro bringing hot tea, a platter of her kitchen’s pastries, a decadent cheese board, and wine gifted to them from the Rossi family.