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“Look at me, Sophia.”
I do, biting my lip to hold back a sob.
“It wasn’t your burden to carry.” His lips brush against my forehead, soft and gentle and... caring.
“Xander,” I whisper.
He hushes me with a simple kiss. I should hate him for it, but it just leaves me empty and wanting more.
“It took me longer than I wanted to get my shit together. I made up my mind when I was eighteen that I’d end him. When he made me leave you, it was the last nail in his coffin. My only regret is waiting until after I finished college and knew I could handle taking over his companies.
“I thought about you every day, Sophia. And every time I laid my eyes on him, it only made me hate him more. As soon as I could, I forced Brooke to come live with me, and between the two of us we kept mom away from Francis as much as we could.”
His forehead drops to meet mine. “He deserved to die, Sophia.”
“I’m so sorry, Xan. I had no idea he—” I cut myself off, shivering.
“It’s in the past, sweetheart. I need you to focus on the present.” He runs his thumb across my bottom lip, and a small moan escapes me. “I need you to understand that I may not be a good person, but I’m yours. I may hurt other people, but I’ll never hurt you. And when I do take someone down, I always have a damn good reason.”
I dip my head down, staring at his chest. Tristan.
“Keep looking at me.”
I obey, letting out a breath at the emotions swirling in his eyes.
“He blackmailed you, Soph,” he says. I can hear the tension in his voice, and feel it as he presses his body into me. “Scared you. Hurt you. Kissed you.” His face darkens at the last part.
I shake my head, holding his gaze, trying to fight the want building up in my chest. “Xander, I just don’t know if I can trust myself—”
“No.” His tone turns hard, and he grips my waist with one hand while the other wraps around the back of my neck. “I’ll ask you again. What part of I’m not losing you again do you not fucking understand?”
I can’t help it. A small part of me relaxes into him. As my gaze softens, I look at him—really look at him—and see the man who’s stayed committed to me for years. Who always planned to come back to me. Who wants me, desperately—and will do anything to keep me by his side.
“Think of me as a monster if that’s how you have to cope. I don’t care. But Francis deserved to die, and so did Tristan. And if anyone—anyone—dares to hurt what’s mine again, I’d do the same thing again with no regrets.” His voice is hard, but it softens as he says, “That doesn’t make you a bad person, little bird.”
He tilts my head up, a question floating in his eyes. I only hesitate for a moment before pressing my lips to his. It’s everything at once—desperate, possessive, and full of a passion I know I’ll never find anywhere else.
I let myself fall into it—into him. When his hand slips under my shirt, I arch my back into him.
Maybe it’s only been two weeks since he last touched me, but it’s felt like an eternity. A hellish one.
He pinches my nipple through my bra, and it sets something off in him. He yanks my shirt up and undoes my bra, but he can’t get it off since my wrists are still tied.
“Didn’t think that through, did you?” I say in a slightly mocking tone.
With a low growl, he grips it in his hand and yanks. The sound of the fabric tearing echoes through the alley, and I gasp. But I barely have time to react before his tongue swipes over my nipple, sending any rational thought out of my body.
He feasts on me, licking and sucking and pinching and pulling, until I’m ready to scream from the tension. Finally, with a small kiss on my lips, he undoes my pants and shoves a hand into my underwear.
When his finger finds my clit, I cry out. My body has been aching for him for weeks, and now that his hands are finally on me, I’m hyper-sensitive to his touch.
“Remember,” he murmurs darkly in my ear. “If you make too much noise, I’ll rip this tiny excuse of a pair of panties off of you and shove them into your mouth.”
I moan as he rubs my clit, his fingers probably drenched. He watches me, and I don’t dare take my eyes off of him again. So instead, I focus on the golden flecks in his perfectly brown eyes.
He wraps his free hand around my throat. The possessive glimmer in his eyes should probably scare me, but instead it pushes me closer to the edge.
When I let out a choked whimper, he shoves three fingers deep inside of me with a groan. And seeing his face, how much he loves pulling orgasm after orgasm out of me, a crystal-clear thought appears in my head:
