He gripped her hips and pulled her back into him as he surged into her again and again, losing himself in her body. Losing his demons, driving them away for the priceless time he had. He’d lost her, so he knew what it was like without her. He knew he needed her far more than she would ever need him, and he was okay with that. He didn’t have a lot to give her. He didn’t know the first fucking thing about relationships, only that he’d screwed theirs up.
Her breath was coming in little sing-song sobs and he slid his hand up her back to her nape and then around, so his palm cupped her throat. “Not yet, baby. Hold on for me.”
“I can’t.”
“A little longer. Hold on for me.” He knew she would. She always had, although the fire was so much hotter. Her body was tighter than ever, gripping and squeezing until he thought he might go insane. He felt her heart beat against his palm. It was there in the fiery silk of her sheath, beating around his cock. That fire. That beat. That breath. His again. His chance at having it all when in his life, there was no such thing as living.
“I’m going to give you fucking everything, Bree,” he whispered, meaning it. The world. Whatever he could to make her happy. He’d get their son back, and he’d find a way to keep from screwing things up again with her.
“Just get there.”
He loved that little demand in her voice. His woman. Bossing him. She always did that at the end, when she was desperate for release and he was holding her on the edge. He moved in her, his cock so hard, so in need, surrounded by her. That perfect moment, balancing on the edge. He thrust hard again and again, feeling the exquisite tightening of his balls, the fire moving like hot magma through his body. He threw his head back.
“Now, baby. Let go now.”
She obeyed immediately, her body clamping down hard on his, gripping his cock, constricting the blood flow for a moment, her body that tight. Then he was exploding, rocketing into her, the release flinging him to a place where nothing could touch him. Nothing. Not his demons. Not the whispering voices of the dead. Not the ones he’d failed. There was only Breezy and this—paradise and the reprieve that only she gave him.
Her soft little cries tugged at his heart. Gave him satisfaction. He loved when Breezy came, when her body was right there with his, and he knew no one knew her the way he did. No one knew what she liked or needed the way he did.
He held her up, his cock pulsing in her, feeling every ripple. Every powerful aftershock. This was the moment he had to be the most careful of. He could lose her right here. She would try to distance herself from what they had together. He couldn’t blame her, there was too much unsaid between them. There were things he didn’t want her to know. Even now, through her hurt, she looked at him as if he were someone amazing and special. If she really knew him, she wouldn’t. He wanted to keep that look, but there could be no half measures this time. If he demanded her commitment, then he had to do the same.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady when he could feel her shaking, as he withdrew. He hated leaving the haven of her body. For a moment, he rested his head against her back and then pressed kisses down her spine.
“Thank you, baby, for believing me. I know that was difficult for you. I needed you more than I needed to take my next breath.” He had no problem telling her the truth of that. There were things he didn’t want to share, but she needed to know—to be reassured after the vile things he’d said to her—that she was his world.
He kept his arm around her waist as she straightened slowly. Very gently he guided her across the room to the wide, deep bathtub. He turned on the ridiculous golden taps before he settled her on the bench beside the tub. She wasn’t looking at him, and her breathing hadn’t settled. She was definitely gearing herself up to run or at least try to distance herself.
“Steele.”
There it was. The warning in her voice. He let her have her say because, God knew, he deserved whatever she wanted to throw at him.
“Just because we . . .”
She waved her hand at him to include his cock, which was still at half-mast. It had been too fucking long, and his release had been a volcano, but there was so much more. Three long years of more.
“We’re not going to get back together. I’m not going to lie to you and say the attraction isn’t there because obviously it is. But we can’t go back. I’m not the same person, the one that you wanted.”
He was silent, listening to the water pour into the tub. Listening to his heart beat. This was too important to jump in with protests and risk saying the wrong thing. Every word had to be what Breezy needed. He had to choose wisely. He was walking through a minefield, but he excelled at that. He excelled at strategy.
He sat on the edge of the tub, letting her look at his body. The scars she was so familiar with that he’d never explained. The tattoos covering most of them. Her name wound through the lock and key he’d had Ink put on him after she was gone. He saw her eyes widen when she realized it was there and he had to have had it done some time after she left. He wanted her to think about that and the pictures of her he had on his phone.
“I have a lot of explaining to do, Bree,” he said.
She shook her head quickly, one hand going defensively to her throat. His palm had been there, feeling every beat of her heart.
“Don’t, Steele. You don’t need to explain anything to me.”
He kept his face an expressionless mask, but triumph burst through him. She was terrified to listen to him because she knew he could persuade her. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her, and it wasn’t all sexual the way she wanted to make him believe.
“I know. You’ve never asked for that, but you deserve to know. I couldn’t tell you before, when I wanted to. When we were together, and you were all mine. Essentially, I was undercover. I couldn’t even tell you my real name.” He ignored the fact that she all but fell off the bench shaking her head to prevent him from giving that to her. “It’s Lyov Russak. Clearly, I’m Russian. I wanted to drag you to the nearest courthouse and put a ring on your finger, but I couldn’t break cover or tell you I was Torpedo Ink and we were bringing down a human trafficking ring.”
Deliberately he reminded her of what Evan Shackler-Gratsos had been doing with his perverted ways of making money rather than tell her the end game had been his assassination. He wanted her to think about those women and children they’d saved. The little boys, so like his brothers and sisters. So like him.
She made a small sound and pressed her fingers to her lips. That was a habit she’d acquired to remind herself to stay silent when she was afraid. She held herself very still now, becoming the little mouse she thought no one could see. He always saw her. He held out his hand to her, detesting that she relied on being frozen and small like prey. She was his and under his protection, and he had started teaching her how to defend herself. He wanted her confident. He wanted her to be able to stand up to anyone—including him.
She put her hand in his and stood. There was satisfaction in seeing her gleaming thighs, his seed coating them. He loved that. Loved that he was on her skin.
“There are hair ties in the drawer there. Your favorite kind. Those scrunchy things as well. I put them there after I furnished the house, hoping you’d be here someday to use them.” He indicated the acrylic drawers stacked to one side, with their towels and everything he knew she liked in her bath. Breezy loved baths. He had introduced her to bath salts and fizzing bath bombs. She loved citrus scents, and he’d stocked up on the ones he knew she’d like. He bought her small things because she loved the little things more than extravagant gestures like multimillion-dollar homes. He’d supplied the bathroom with everything he knew she would feel was a luxury and more. Things he wanted to introduce to her.
He watched her put her hair in a high ponytail and then a messy knot on top of her head. Immediately, Steele helped her settle into the large t
ub. He stepped in behind her, forcing her body forward so she was sitting between his legs. He pulled her in tight to him. He liked her close. She’d always liked being close, but now she tried to hold herself away from him, and he wasn’t having that.
He tightened his arm until it was a bar locking under the soft weight of her breasts, and he tugged until her body was right up against his. Until his cock was pressed tightly against the tattoo he’d designed for her. His ink on her. That statement proclaiming to any other man who dared touch her that she belonged to him.
“I want to talk about the party and the aftermath you walked in on.”
She stiffened, but he refused to release her. Instead, he put his head on her shoulder. She made a single sound, but it pierced his heart like an arrow. Straight through. Fuck. He’d hurt her so much. So, so much.
“Breezy, baby, I know this is difficult for you. I know that, but I swear to you on everything that matters to me, I’m going to tell you the truth and answer any questions, so we have a chance. That’s what I’m asking, one chance. For our son. For me. Especially for me.”
She remained silent and still, holding herself as if one wrong word would make her shatter.