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I saw her all up in her head, torn between two worlds, and we can’t have that.
Not with what I have to do next.
After I drove home my point with a hostile takeover of her entire body, I unstrapped her ankles, laid her down, and rubbed ice all over her tits and pussy while she shivered and writhed beneath me. My filthy girl can never get enough. It was my chosen method to remove the hardened wax—which was only on her breasts and stomach—but I couldn’t resist taking it a step further and feasting on her chilled cunt until she came on my tongue. My name a whispered prayer on her luscious lips.
Reinforcement.
We warmed up in a quick shower together, got dressed, and now, she’s waiting for me to escort her downstairs.
And she’s flustered as fuck. “Do you think it’s too awkward for us to walk down there together? Your hair is still wet. But if we stagger our entrances, that’s so suspect that it’s almost worse. Right?”
“This is nice.” I chuckle, packing the last of my supplies into the black duffel I brought up here earlier. I’d been waiting to use those candles and that spreader bar for a while now, knowing a prime opportunity would arise. What better place than the Carver mansion?
A dainty scoff puffs out of her. “What is nice about this moment? I mean, those moments”—she gestures to the dresser and the bed—“were fantastic. Seriously, you are a man of endless talents, but right now—”
“Right now,” I cut in, flashing her a crooked grin, “you’re adorable. It’s a rare day when I get to see the Carver princess freak out. You’re usually so cultivated and composed.”
She rolls her big brown eyes and blows out a choppy breath. “And I will be composed as soon as I set foot on the first floor. Game face. But I guess you’ve stripped off my mask as easily as you peeled off my attire. So, congrats. You get to see the mess underneath.”
Exactly as it should be. I want the freest parts of her—the parts so deep and craggy and hidden that no one has ever ventured into them before.
Mine.
I’m Celeste Carver’s asylum. Her goddamn liberation. I hope she understands that.
I zip the bag, rise, curl my arms around her, and press my lips to her forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a breathtaking mess, Ace.”
She sags against me. Relief rippling off every inch of her. It’s what I wanted—to relieve some of her stress, reignite her fire for us and our family, and remind her who she belongs to. That I’ve got her.
But the sight is little consolation because in approximately three minutes, I’m going to gut us both. Cupping her face, I collide my mouth with hers, slow and sweet but devouring all the same. She’s fresh and minty. Cashmere and wildflowers.
A brief taste of home.
Stepping away, I snatch the duffel bag, sling it over my shoulder, take her hand, and tow her toward the stairs.
“Are you putting that back in the car?” she asks, bemused, as we descend the spiral staircase, but I don’t answer.
Gage is waiting at the bottom for us, so when we reach him, I pass off the duffel, drag her into my arms again as he exits, and kiss her hair. “I have to go.”
She rears back like I struck her. “What? Go where?”
“Gotta take care of some things.”
It’s all the information she needs for her own protection, but I know she won’t appreciate that. And I can’t give her anything else. I won’t risk it.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffs. Resurrecting her walls like a pro. “That’s all I’m getting? No details? No explanation? No timeline?”
I bob my head on a coarse exhale that knots inside my throat, my gaze meandering all over her gorgeous, indignant face, memorizing the curves.
“That’s all.” I peck her temple and hate that she won’t look at me, but I’m out of time. “I love you, baby girl. Always. Remember the sunrise.”
With that, I walk away from her, and my stomach wrenches and twists and flips. I’m going to be fucking sick.
“You calling Wells, or am I?” Gage asks, looking somewhat pallid himself when I slide into the passenger seat, ducking out of the downpour.
“I’ll do it.” My voice is steadier than it should be. But that’s all my training kicking in.
Bile burns my throat as I make the call.
