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Disquiet slithers under my skin. “It’s here.” I hold it out for her and she throws it over her shoulder, ready to go.
“What about the DNA test?” the nurse asks. “I can take a sample now.”
“Do it,” Ava tells her.
Tense silence holds us as the nurse takes the swabs from my sister and then Ava. It feels like things are progressing at warp speed, but in the opposite direction to the one I’m heading in, and I can’t keep up with the developments.
“Can we go?” she asks quietly.
“I’d like to go too,” my sister says wearily. “I’ve had enough of Antwerp to last a lifetime.”
Ava and Sabine share a mutual, understanding look. I suspect these two will forge a bond I might never be able to understand. But I’ll be glad for it. Right now, fearing the worst, watching red flag after red flag raised, it might be the only way Ava remains in my life.
“Good idea,” Ben agrees. “Let’s worry about statements later and get back to Amsterdam. It’s fuckingChristmas. Let’s celebrate because we’ve got an awful lot to celebrate,” he says, tenderly holding Sabine’s gaze and kissing her softly on the cheek.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
AVA
On Christmas morning,I wake up in Max’s childhood bed. Behind me, his steady, slow breaths waft over my exposed shoulder. Curled around me, his skin is warm and comforting. Opening my eyes more fully, I stare at the far wall as the night’s events hit me all over again.
A shuddering sob escapes. I slap my hand over my mouth but it wakes Max all the same.
“Hey,” he murmurs, an arm siding across my waist. “You’re safe. You never have to think about him again.”
Forgetting Luca will be impossible; he has a hold on me I can’t shake loose, emerging from the depths of my brain like a relentless, hungry beast to feed on my light. I want a different life, one where I can immerse myself in everything bright and good, a place where I can control these rising, suffocating thoughts.
So when Max rolls me towards him and leans in to kiss me, I let him. I beg him to comfort me as only he knows how. “Please, Max. I need you.”
“You sure?” he checks, his eyes hunting for answers. Given our short conversations I can’t fault his uncertainty.
“Make me yours. Only yours.”
When he goes down on me, repeatedly, I urge him on, begging for more and more which he’s only too willing to give. I surrender to his fierce, extreme love—it drives out all the bad. As I’ve come to understand, with Max, it’s everything, all at once, his brand of love felt everywhere. It’s the only way I can forget, and he’s exactly what I need, even if a small worry flares at my dependency.
When I’m incoherent, he rolls me onto my stomach. Moving my arms behind my back, Max accepts my offer without question and gathers them in his hands. Holding them like reins, he plunges inside and fucks me like an animal, driven by the basest of instincts.
And it’s good. So good to not think about anything.
And it’s all the proof I need that Max has consumed me, this final test highlighting I’m in his thrall.
Luca didn’t enter my head once.
My orgasm hits me hard, and I feel Max’s answering release resonate through my body. Breathing hard, he releases me and I slump to the mattress, watching him over my shoulder as my heart races, my mind too.
Luca hurt him. He pointed a knife at this man and cut his jaw. It’s not deep, a scab already forming, but it angered me. It stole some of my anger away from Max and directed it back at Luca, where it belongs.
Max told me how he found me—a tracker in my ring. When he explained that Luca needed surgery due to major trauma, I might have smiled.
“Do you like tying women up in that red rope?”
Still on his knees behind me, Max’s gaze sears mine. With each inhale his chest expands, his hair floppy and messy, his cheeks glowing from exertion. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“With Shibari, we both benefit from it,” he assures as he lies beside me. “Tying the rope is methodical. It’s repetitive and calming, requiring precision. It’s got nothing to do with BDSM,” he clarifies. “I’m not into administering pain at all, or restricting your movements in any serious way just to get off.” He shoves an arm behind his head, keeping me in his eye line. “It’s extremely creative; I make patterns on your body with the rope. And for you, giving up control can be freeing, especially in a safe environment.”
It sounds much better than I expected it to, but I park that knowledge to one side and ask my next question. “Do you normally date vulnerable women?”
