Page 62 of Ignited

He laughed. “You think I follow commands?”

“I can rip them off you if you’d prefer.”

He did prefer. Half his clothes were practically rags anyway. “Okay,” he said.

She shoved him and he flipped over on his back. Reaching under the pillow, she pulled a throwing knife out of its sheath and slid it inside one of the rips in his pants.

The cold steel on his skin made him shiver, as she slit the cloth all the way to the waist. It parted, and she kissed her way from his hip to his thigh.

Fuuuuck.

Then she started on the other side. Cold steel, hot lips, warm tongue, and maybe he should die right here because it didn’t get any better than this. Except it did, because she tore the front of his pants away and straddled him, sliding his hot, hard dick inside her.

Boomer felt like his whole body was a burning fuse. On fire with anticipation, knowing a beautiful explosion was coming—but in its own time.

She moved on top of him, capturing him and releasing, too slow, too fucking slow, but he made himself lie there and take it because it was heaven and he never wanted it to end.

She loved it too—she watched him intently, smiled when he moaned for fucking mercy, taking him deeper and then pulling away. Her expression got drunk with pleasure, and he moved his hand to tease her clit, stroking it in rhythm with the way she moved.

She went faster, harder, and then he couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed her hips, driving himself into her in a frenzy of hot desire. That sexy growl rose up in her, and his wolf gave a howl.

He was burning, burning, wanting all of her and more, wanting to give her all of him.

And then they exploded together, shattering as one, her pulsing around him while he drove deeply inside her, throbbing with exquisite, mind-blowing release.

He was hers. And the gods help him, he wanted her to be his. No matter what it took.

A long time later, when they were lying in each other’s arms, him stroking his fingers down her back and listening to her purr, Boomer opened his mouth to tell her how he felt.

But instead, what came out was, “What’s your real name?” Because it couldn’t be Karisma—nobody really named their kid that.

For a minute he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she said, “Kari. Kari Romanov.”

Russian. Of course. Because, Siberian tiger.

“It’s pretty.”

“It’s not me anymore.”

Yeah. He got that. It was why he and Bro didn’t use their birth names either. They weren’t those people anymore.

She added, “When I was little, I wanted to be glamorous and exciting, and I pretended I was Karisma, a famous actress.”

“I bet you were cute.”

“I think I was a terror. But anyway, after you set me free and I was human again, I needed to feel… powerful. Amazing. Invincible. So I became Karisma.”

“You are amazing. Do you not want me to call you Kari?” Because he’d done it, a few times.

She was silent, running her fingernails up and down his arm, giving him goosebumps.

“No, you can,” she said finally. “I like it.”

They were silent for a little longer, holding each other, kissing a little only because he couldn’t keep his lips off her.

Then she said, “I know your real name. And your brother’s.”

For a second he froze. No one knew that information—except probably Thanatos, because he knew everything. They’d made sure of it, for years. Obscured the trail from who they’d been to who they were.