Page 40 of Vows of Ruin

“Not if you’re gentle with me,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his.

I kiss him deeply, like I need to pour something sacred into his mouth. When I pull back, I let the shirt I’m wearing, his button-up, fall from my shoulders. I’m bare under it. His eyes darken, admiring.

He lets me tug at his shirt, lifting his arms to help. I push him gently back onto the bed, as he undoes his pants, and lets himself spring free. I follow him down, never breaking contact.

He goes to flip us, to take control, but I stop him with a palm to his chest. “You’re in charge tonight?” he asks teasingly.

“I’m always in charge,” I whisper against his lips. “Even when I submit.”

He groans, and I reach between us, guiding him to my entrance. I sink onto him slowly, letting every inch stretch and claim me. His hands grip my thighs, but I take my time, setting a torturous pace, rolling my hips just enough to make us both burn.

He cups my face, pulling me into another kiss. The tenderness of it makes my throat tighten. I don’t have the words to tell him what he means to me, so I show him instead. Every moment, every moan, every breath, it’s a confession.

“I love you,” he whispers against my collarbone, voice thick with emotion.

“I know,” I whisper back. “I love you too. I think I always have.”

We fall together, his arms wrapped around me as I collapse onto his chest, panting, spent. I rest there, our bodies still joined, skin sticky with heat and need and everything else that makes up the wreckage between us.

The door swings open.

“Fucking hell,” Torque says, immediately jerking his head up to the ceiling. “Why is it always me?”

I bury my face in Liam’s shoulder, half laughing, half mortified. Liam groans under me.

Torque chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. I came to say Margot’s downstairs with a deck of cards. Says if we’re not sleeping, we’re playing poker. Your royal ass is requested.”

I sit up still straddling Liam, and call out. “T, look at me.”

“Nope, not falling for that again.”

“Seriously. Look at me. I’m covered,” I drape the sheet around myself dramatically. “Just because you all think this place is haunted, doesn’t mean you can talk to the ceiling.”

He sighs, then finally looks. Right at my eyes.

“There, that’s not so hard,” I say, grinning. “But seriously, let me know if it starts talking back to you...”

Torque snorts. “Noted. I’ll deal you both in.”

He walks out, still muttering, I turn to Liam, breathless and beaming. We’ve survived hell, for now. Somehow, we’re still laughing. Tonight, that’s enough.

Chapter Seventeen

Reaper

The kitchen’s dimly lit, but alive. Laughter echoes off the high ceilings, soft and frequent, like no one dares let the silence settle. The air smells like coffee and whiskey, like someone couldn’t choose between numbing the nerves or sharpening them. Probably both.

Wrenley tries to slide into her usual chair, right between Margot and Riot, but I reach out and hook her waist with one arm, guiding her back to me.

“Uh-uh,” I murmur, low against her spine. “Lap seat only.”

She doesn’t fight it. Just hums, and settles herself across my thighs like it’s second nature. My hand rests on her hip, her warmth easing me in a way I didn’t know I needed tonight.

The poker game’s already a few hands in. Torque’s hoarding chips like it’s life or death. Margot’s got glittery sunglasses on indoors for no reason other than pure chaos. Riot’s shirtless again. And Wrecker is chewing on a toothpick like it’s a damn cigar.

Hugo’s curled under the table with his head resting on Wrenley’s bare feet, his ears twitching every time someone slaps their cards down. He doesn’t like the sound, but he won’t leave her side, not now, not ever.

I deal another hand. “Where the hell is Elias?” I ask, mostly to no one, as I fling cards across the table with practiced ease.