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I pull her off the hood of the Hummer and spin her around. My hand presses firmly between her shoulder blades, and she arches her hips back toward me at the same time her breasts mash against the metal.
I sear the image of her like this to memory—the way her fingers curl against the hood as I kick her legs open wider…the way her lips part in a gasp when I push deep inside her…the way she throws her head back and screams my name as I grab her and fuck her without an ounce of control left in me.
Until the only flash of lightning left is the spine-tingling flood of release that shoots through my body as I pour into her.
We haven’t waited out the storm.
We’ve ridden it home.
67
TAYLOR
Ilarion carries me into the cabin because I can barely walk. My legs are limp from spasming so hard for so long. Not to mention the utter fullness keeping me warm and sated from the inside.
We leave a trail of rainwater in our wake, but he doesn’t seem to give a damn about the wooden floors as we go through the foyer, down the hall, and into the master bedroom.
Not “his” bedroom.
Ours.
The ceiling is vaulted high, with wooden beams as thick as my waist flowing from wall to wall and meeting in a skylight at the apex. An entire wall is nothing but glass, framing the world beyond like a painting. I feel like we’re suspended in the treetops. Floating in the clouds. High above the world splayed out at our feet.
We pass through into the bathroom. Beneath another wall of glass is a claw-footed bathtub the size of a ship.
I’m naked already, so he sets me gently into the tub and opens the faucet. Hot water gushes forth instantly, smoothing away my goosebumps. Steam spirals up off of my bare skin, and I moan with relief.
Ilarion waits until the tub is half-full and then he clambers in himself. He slides in behind me and pulls me into the fork of his legs, my back nestled against his front. We fit so perfectly together.
Only in this cabin. Only for now.
But perfect.
“I don’t know why you don’t just live here,” I say, glancing out at the view. “It’s so peaceful.”
“It can get boring.”
I splash some water on his knee. “Maybe boring is what you need. The Bratva can do without you for a while.”
He snorts. “They’d crumble before I even left the house.”
“Fine. You could run it from here.”
Ilarion nibbles my earlobe playfully. “If you’re trying to get me to move up here, then the answer is no. But we could make it our summer home. Winter home, too, if you’re feeling daring. We can fuck on bearskin rugs in front of huge fires in the heart. I’ll lick cold snow from the inside of your thighs. I’m kinda talking myself into it, actually.”
I twist around so I can see his face. The image he’s painting is almost enough to make me come again from the words alone. But I’m hung up on one word in particular.
“‘We’?”
He shrugs. “Our child will love it here.”
It’s a backtrack, I get that. Or maybe he’s just too self-conscious to admit to seeing a future for the two of us. Either way, I’m not willing to press. Not when this moment feels this good, and the future sounds that tangible.
For right now, being here with him is enough.
He starts shampooing my hair, and I close my eyes as he massages my head and works the knots in my shoulders at the same time. When’s the last time a man has taken care of me this way?
Never.
