Page 66 of Pretty Savage: Defy

“I’m glad,” I add, “that you’re being careful. I need you to live, Carrson. I can’t—I can’t.” The words stick, caught on the lump in my throat. “Can’t live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.”

I lean forward, and Carrson meets me in the middle, one hand coming up to cup the back of my neck. “Yes, you could,” he says against my lips. “You’re Laurel Turner Bellefleur. You might hate it, but you’d go on.”

He kisses me, his lips soft, his tongue darting into my mouth. He pulls me closer until our knees meet. I kiss him back harder, wishing I could keep him here with me, pull him free of the missions and the danger and the life The Order keeps risking as though it belongs to them.

It does not.

Not anymore.

Not if I have a say in it.

Chapter seventeen

Three Days Until Bonding

Laurel

Carrson’s fingers thread through my hair, gripping close to my scalp as he pulls me to my feet. His free hand trails over my breasts and down my waist, ending between my legs, where he strokes the seam of my tights with firm, deliberate pressure.

“I think we were interrupted earlier,” he whispers, his voice raspy.

“Mmm, yes. So rude.” I giggle softly and cup the hard length of him through his pants. He groans, the sound ragged. I brace my palm against his chest to keep my balance and feel his heart pounding beneath it, each beat a reminder that he came back to me this time.

Worry that we might not always be so lucky gnaws at the corners of my mind, and I want to ignore it. To pretend that we’re safe here in this abandoned house with its shattered glass. I know I should be grateful for whatever time we have together, but I can’t accept that. I’m not okay living a life where I could lose him.

“I don’t want to be Willow from Santa Barbara. I know why you’re giving her to me, and this house. I understand and I appreciate it, really I do, but I don’t want any of that.” I draw in a shuddering breath. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he says.

“Not while The Order owns you too.” I nip at his lower lip. “I’m greedy for you. Don’t want to share.”

“I don’t want to share you either.” Anguish moves over his face, shadowing his eyes and dragging his shoulders down. “I hate the thought of the sealing. I’ll kill every man who sees you like that. I know that doesn’t solve the problem, but it’s the first answer that comes to me whenever I think about it.”

I recognize that violence in him. I have my own as well, quieter and less useful, burning holes through me every time I picture strangers watching Carrson touch me.

“I know we need to talk about the sealing,” I whisper. “But not right now.”

Carrson draws back enough to look at me.

“For now,” I say. “No one’s watching.”

I step back and cross my arms, grabbing the hem of my shirt. Carrson’s eyes follow, locked on me with such obvious hunger that my breathing quickens before I’ve removed a single thing.

I pull the shirt over my head, then let it flutter to the dusty floor. My bra comes off next, my skirt, and then my tights. Carrson’s eyes darken with each piece I take off. By the time I reach my panties, he’s undressing too.

Once we’re both naked, we stand there, looking. Then we’re crashing together, lips and teeth and hands all over bare skin. Heat flares between us.

Carrson grips my ass and lifts me in one smooth motion.

I gasp as he sets me on the piano.

The keys strike under me in a hard, discordant crash that rings through the conservatory, ugly and beautiful in the same breath. Carrson looks down at where I’m sitting, then back up at my face.

The grin that forms is darkly wicked.

He falls to his knees and spreads my legs apart with his palms.

I stare down, filled with awe at the sight of Carrson Ashford kneeling between my legs, his bare shoulders tense, hair falling over his forehead, looking less like a prince than a sinner who found a place to worship.