Page 59 of Vengeance

“I—I don’t know if I can do that,” she whispered. “I’ve never done that in front of anyone before.”

“Shit,” he growled. “That’s so hot. I’m going to be the first man to watch you touch yourself. I need you to do it now, honey. Please,” he begged. Chloe hated that he was begging her for what he needed. She wanted to give him everything, and if he wanted her to touch herself, she’d do it—for him.

Chloe snaked her arm between their bodies and rubbed her thumb over her clit. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” he whispered. It felt so good; she couldn’t help the breathy little moans that escaped her lips. She rode his cock, strumming her clit, and when she shouted out his name, he continued to pump into her body. He didn’t let up or give her a chance to catch her breath. Instead, he pumped harder into her pussy, and when he came, he shouted out her name.

“That was perfect,” he breathed. She nodded, and he let her slide down her body until her feet hit the floor. Her legs felt a little wobbly, and he seemed to notice, catching her in his arms before she went down.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just a little unsure on my feet,” she admitted. He lifted her into his arms and walked with her over to the sofa, grabbing a blanket off the back of it to cover them both up. She was completely wrapped up in his warm body and his scent, and there wasn’t anywhere else she wanted to be. So many things ran through her mind—things that she wanted to say to him, but they could wait. Telling Vengeance that she was in love with him wasn’t something that she wanted to rush into, but she did love him, and sooner or later, she’d have to come clean with him. But for now, just being with him was enough for her.

That evening, after dinner and hours spent talking beside the fire, they finally stopped pretending the growing feelings between them weren't real. They held each other close, sharing tender kisses and quiet promises, and the distance they'd both tried so hard to maintain disappeared. The night became thebeginning of their relationship—not because of passion alone, but because they had chosen each other despite everything that stood against them.

Chloe lay with her head resting against Vengeance's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I've got bad timing," he murmured.

She smiled sleepily. "You certainly do."

"I had to go and fall in love with you while my father's trying to kill us,” he teased.

She tilted her head to look at him. "You love me?"

His expression turned serious. "I think I've loved you since Huntsville."

She smiled. "It just took me a little longer, but I love you too, Vengeance." He kissed the top of her head, and she snuggled into his side. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, but inside the cabin, for the first time in months, they allowed themselves to believe that maybe—just maybe—they had found something worth fighting for.

Vengeance

Vengeance woke before sunrise, like he always did. Years of sleeping with one eye open had trained his body to recognize the smallest changes around him—the settling of old floorboards, the scrape of branches across a window, the faint shift of air when someone entered a room. This morning, none of those things woke him, but Chloe did.

She was curled against his side, one bare leg tangled with his beneath the blankets and her cheek resting over his heart. Her slow, even breaths warmed his skin, and one of her hands lay loosely against his stomach, dangerously close to the scar from the bullet wound.

He didn’t move. Hell, he barely breathed. Vengeance had imagined waking up like this with her more times than he cared to admit. During the first few weeks at the safe house, when every sound sent his hand reaching for a gun, she had slept on the opposite side of the bed with a pillow placed firmly between them. He’d told himself the distance was smart—necessary even. She was grieving, terrified, and dependent on him for survival. Crossing that line would have made him no better than every man who had ever taken advantage of someone weaker. But Chloe had never been weak.

Last night, she had looked him directly in the eye and told him what she wanted. Then she chose him—not because he had saved her, or because Savage had trusted him, and not because Bowie had ordered him to keep her alive. She had chosen Vengeance Manzo, the son of the man who had destroyed her childhood. She wanted the man who carried enough darkness inside him to know exactly how monsters hunted. She knew all of it, and she had touched him anyway. His chest tightened because that scared him more than Dante ever had.

Chloe stirred against him. Her fingertips moved lightly across his stomach, and Vengeance sucked in a breath when they brushed the edge of his scar. Her eyes slowly opened, and for a moment, confusion filled them. Then she seemed to remember where she was, and what they had done. A sleepy smile spread across her face, and her cheeks turned the cutest shade of pink.

“Morning,” she breathed.

His throat felt too tight to answer. “Morning,” he finally managed.

She studied him. “You’re staring.”

“How would you know that? You were asleep.”

“Me being asleep doesn’t make it less creepy,” she insisted.

His lips twitched. “I was checking that you were breathing.”

“I was snoring, wasn’t I?” she asked.

“You don’t snore,” he lied. She sounded like a rusty old chainsaw when she slept, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“I absolutely do.”

“No.” He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “You make a little humming sound.”

Her eyes widened. “I do not.”