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“How the fuck long is it gonna take you to figure that out, huh, Princess? There is no one else I want. No one but you.” Anger still colored his words, but something else infused his tone too, something that made goose bumps rise along my skin. His eyes burned like twin flames as he stared down at me, unblinking. “I. Need. You. And I need you to fuckin’ stay alive.”
I stared back at him, rendered speechless by the look on his face. He looked… pained. Desperate.
And terrified.
“Fuck,” I whispered. I blinked, and in that split second, the entire encounter with Flint flashed before my eyes.
Only this time, I saw it from the Lost Boys’ perspective.
I saw the horrifying scene they had come upon in the alley. I saw the unerring way Kace had raised the gun and fired. I saw all three of them lay their lives on the line for me.
Because they cared about me.
Because they needed me.
“Fuck.”
My voice broke on the word, and I pulled against Bishop’s grip, reaching up to cup his face in both hands the moment he released me.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Bishop. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I had known. I had always known, in a way.
But even as I had processed Flint’s death, even as I’d worried obsessively about the boys getting caught for something they had done to protect me, I had never let myself fully absorb the weight of what they’d done. I had never acknowledged what it meant for them.
For us.
Bishop froze, blinking back the emotions I could still see churning in his eyes.
“I can’t lose you, Cora,” he murmured. He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “We can’t lose you.”
Then he palmed the back of my head and dragged me toward him, kissing me so hard my lips banged against my teeth.
I tasted the coppery tang of blood, but I hardly even noticed it. My tongue slid out to clash with his as I pressed up onto my tiptoes, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.
Our kiss was fire—fierce and painful and purifying.
His large hands groped me everywhere as I moved against him, our bodies pushing and pulling, grinding against each other. We kissed until the world seemed to disappear around me, until my lips were bruised and numb, until I thought I might die from lack of oxygen.
When Bishop finally wrenched his mouth away from mine, he spun me quickly to face the counter, his arms coming around me so he could tear open my jeans and shove them down my thighs. Cool air met bare skin, and I sucked in a jerky breath as I heard the rustling of fabric and the metallic hiss of a zipper behind me.
A second later, his cock found my entrance. He let out a low noise as his shaft began to sink into my wet heat, and that was all the preamble I got before he thrust in hard, filling me completely.
I arched my back, bracing my forearms on the counter as his hips met my ass. His upper body draped over mine, one hand massaging my breasts roughly, as he slid into me over and over, plunging deeper with every thrust.
This wasn’t a sweet fuck.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t roma
ntic.
It wasn’t even about pleasure.
But it was the closest the two of us had ever come to making love.
Because whether either of us were ready to admit it or not, that was the emotion driving us as we fucked hard and fast against the kitchen counter in my Mom’s dingy house.
