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“What do you want to hear? That I’m a criminal? A fucking killer?”
“Yes!” I scream, suddenly feeling as though my world is shattering. “I want you to stop fucking lying to me. I’m giving you fucking all of me, and you’ve been pretending to be a different fucking person the whole time.”
“I haven’t pretended with you.” He steps toward me. “Not for a fucking minute.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” I huff as he continues to close the distance between us.
“Yes,” he responds. My back hits the wall, but he doesn’t pin me to it or grab ahold of me. He simply stands before me and stares down at me in silence. Unsure what to say, I stare up at him, matching his reticence.
His eyes are filled with guilt as he blows a soft, deep breath over my face. He lifts his hand, and I pull slightly from his touch. But when he drags a knuckle along my jaw, I can’t help but lean into it. He turns his hand, and his fingers slide along my cheek until he is holding my face in his palms.
“There isn’t anything in this world I wouldn’t do for you. I would kill for you. Fuck. I have killed for you,” he vehemently confesses. He lets out a heavy sigh, and his tone softens. “I would give my fucking life to protect you, mo cuishle, because a life without you wouldn’t be worth living.”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare do that.” I hold back tears and chew at my quivering lower lip. “Don’t tell me you love me.”
“I don’t love you.” His slow, soft words break me.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
TRISTAN
“Tá mo chroí istigh ionat,” I whisper as I press my forehead to hers. She fights back more tears, and her sputtered breaths feather over my lips. “I don’t just love you, mo cuishle. My heart is within you.”
Her lips purse, and her eyelids flutter as she tries desperately to hold back the pool of tears welling in her eyes. Her chest quivers with every breath she takes. I press my lips toward hers, pausing when we are a hair apart.
Her chest heaves with each deep, heavy sob, which blow over my lips and across my bare chest. Sucking in a deep breath, she exhales, “You fucking bastard.”
She has barely finished cursing me when her fingers tangle in my hair. She fists hard and pulls, forcing me to close the little distance between us. My lips crash against hers. I pepper soft, wet kisses over them and the corners of her mouth until she begins to kiss me back.
She matches my need, willfully parting her lips. Her tongue duels with mine, and we moan into each other’s mouths. Our exploration is sloppy. Needy. Fueled with passion.
I need to fucking be inside her.
Gripping the back of her thighs, I slide her up the wall and lift her. She wraps her legs around my waist and continues to tug at my hair as I plunder her mouth and carry her to our bedroom.
Palming Layla’s ass as I walk, I don’t stop until we’re in the shower.She hisses when I press her against the cool surround as I fight the urge to take her until I’m free of Bratva blood. I turn on the water, and she squeals when the icy spray hits us, immediately soaking her silk robe and my trousers.
Bloodied droplets of water ricochet off me, rolling down her neck and beneath the silk clinging to her body as muted scarlet water stains the floor and swirls the drain. Her taut nipples press against the wet fabric, and I draw the damp cloth and her tight peak into my mouth, sucking and nibbling at her as the spray of water grows warmer.
I tease and suck her covered tits and bare neck until the water beneath us runs clear. Reaching between us, I fumble with my belt and struggle to work my wet trousers low enough to free my cock.
I grip the base of my shaft and press to her entrance, then torture us both, sliding her inch by inch onto my length. With the entirety of me buried inside her, I softly growl, “Hands.”
She slips her fingers from my wet locks and places them, wrists crossed, against the wall above her head—just as she knows I want them. “Such a good girl for me.”
Gripping both of her wrists with one hand and roughly palming her ass with the other, I hold her in place against the wall as I begin to slide every inch of me in and out of her. She squeezes her legs around my waist, trying desperately to pull me in deeper and faster. “More,” she pleads.
I further slow my thrusts as I kiss along her neck, “No, mo cuishle. You’re going to let me fucking savor you.”
Turning off the water, I tear her sodden robe from her as I carry her to the bed before playfully throwing her on it. My eyes rake over her as I pause for a moment to marvel at her. She coyly parts her thighs, and I hastily fight my way from the wet trousers clinging to my legs so I can join her on the bed.
I climb between her thighs and sink into her again. My hands and mouth explore every bit of her that I can reach, giving her–us–only an occasional long, deep stroke of my cock. I continue to take her at a leisurely pace, enjoying her for what feels like hours.
“Oh, Tristan.” She claws at my back as the breathy words tremble over her lips. Her back arches from the bed and she presses her tits into my chest, whimpering with need.
“Does my good girl need to come again?” I rock my hips and allow her to take the full length of my cock.
“Please.” She needily circles her hips, grinding them into me.
