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Once I’m ready, I find him downstairs, and I lean against the wall there, watching the change come over him. His shoulders stiffen when he slides on his jacket, his hands sure and hard as he checks his gun and puts it away. When he starts to check a duffel bag, I can actually see his face changing, morphing into something sinister.
No more smiles, no more soft eyes.
His eyes are bitter ice chips, cold and deadly, his lips are thin and mean, and his face seems sharper somehow, but I know that’s not possible, and when he looks over at me, he runs his eyes over me critically before nodding.
“Let’s go,” he demands, holding out his hand to me, his voice as cold as the Arctic.
He’s giving me one last out and trying to push me away. He’s in work mode . . . killer mode.
I see the truth in his eyes. He thinks this will break us again, so he’s trying to do it now before I see too much. I won’t let him. I place my hand in his, and for a moment, those sapphire eyes flare with surprise and love before they cool once more.
“You will remain silent and behind me at all times, understood?” he demands as he leads me outside. I nod, wringing my hands as I watch him lock up our home. He takes my hand in his again and leads me to the car, slamming my door once I’m fully seated inside. He slides in behind the steering wheel, putting his bag in the back seat before peeling out of the parking spot.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye, sensing he’s more on edge than he probably usually is in these situations. I should be afraid, and I am, but not of him. No, I’m afraid of what is going to happen because I don’t know if I can handle it, but I need to know.
I can’t give myself to him again without knowing.
Not just for my own aching heart, but for his. It wouldn’t be fair.
Half an hour later, we pull up to an unmarked garage, and I get out. Without a word, he puts his bag in a plateless sedan, and when he sees me hesitating, he narrows his eyes.
“Get in,” he orders.
I scramble to do as I’m told, and when I’m inside, I watch him add plates before sliding behind the wheel and pulling out. He can obviously feel my questioning gaze because he sighs.
“I can’t have anyone tracking a hit back to me. We learn to change plates or steal cars. We learn how not to get caught, and I’m the best at never getting caught,” he informs me.
He’s not bragging; he’s just speaking the truth.
I swallow my nerves and nod, looking out of the window. I feel his gaze tracing my face, but I need a minute to collect myself. I fear him for the same reasons I’m still alive right now. After all, he used those skills many years ago to save me.
To save Zoey.
That logic doesn’t keep my heart from racing though.
We stop down a back street.
“Look at me.”
I close my eyes, but his hand grips my chin and forces me to turn to him. “Look at me, baby girl. This is who I am. I can’t change it. Not even for you. If you can’t do this, we can go back, and I won’t think less of you.”
“No, I need to. I want to,” I murmur.
He looks unconvinced, so I lean in and kiss him, needing the familiar reassurance of his strength and comfort. He’s stiff and unresponsive at first, but just when I’m about to pull away, he groans against my lips. His hand slides into my hair and yanks me closer as he devours my lips.
When I whimper, he sweeps his tongue into my mouth, tangling it with mine until I lean into him, soft, pliant, and needy as hell, despite the fact he made me come more times than I could count last night.
I slide my hand up his thigh and find his stiff cock pressed against his pants. It seems I’m not the only one. I know this is out of fear for both of us.
Fear this will break us.
I can’t seem to care, though, as I scramble over the console, settle on his lap, and grind against his huge member. He snarls and pulls back, tugging my hair until he can run his lips and teeth down my neck to nip my jumping pulse. “So fucking soft. Are you wet for me, wife?”
I groan, unable to form words, and he bites harder.
“I asked if you are wet for me.”
Eyes hazy with lust, I lift my head, tugging at the strands of hair still wrapped in his fist. “Why don’t you find out?” I dare brazenly.
