AllFreeNovel
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Sol tightens, tense as a rubber-band.
So do I, but her snap comes faster than mine.
“Jericho?” The name I hate is music when it’s drenched in her disdain. In long, catty strokes, she claws my chest.
Dragging nails tipped in diamonds.
Hard enough to mark.
Fascinated in a way that stops my heart, she ignores Kairo to watch her own work, painting me in possessive stripes.
Fuuck. I love her claws.
I grunt, letting her play.
When Sol scrapes higher, grazing throat, my dick twitches.
It’s fifty-fifty whether I’m already soaking through to her ass.
Sol stops scratching but doesn’t quit. She hooks a thumb possessively tight beneath my jaw, and tilts my chin to show me off. “Why would I want Jericho when I can have this?”
Fucking rip me open.
I want her to bleed me for the world to witness.
Sol always saw me for me.
Always valued me, when everyone outside our pack had me pegged as Jericho’s store-brand shadow.
The guests on the fucking skydeck can scent how ready I am to stake my claim on this girl.
Kairo’s temple throbs. “You—”
“Don’t speak to my mate.” I whip him ’til he has to brace his knee to stop himself from folding.
“Yours? You have no power to—”
“Ours,” Bishop cuts in. “Nikolaj is dead. We have all the power.”
“Ask around to confirm. We’ll wait.” I lean back, sliding Sol with me as Kairo and his lackeys put their heads together to check the news.
“Bring sparkling water.” Bish waves for a lobby attendant. “My mate needs a champagne flute.”
He’s the master of subtle power plays, and our pajama dress code makes the scene even more satisfying.
By the time the Triad confirms rumors of Nikolaj’s demise, Sol is sipping bubbles, and Bish has her sneakers off, stroking the feet stretched across his lap in tall, neon purple socks.
We look like a lazy morning pack.
We are that fucking pack.
Kairo shoots a sucked-egg scowl. “You don’t have the power to hold on to the cartel.”
“It’s ours regardless. Konstantín slaughtered the other Redfang heirs. Now Nikolaj’s assets pass to his last surviving child. Serafina.” Slowly, giving her time to adjust, I cup her head and pet her golden hair. “My scent-matched mate.”
Sol tenses for a micro-second. Then she runs with the act, rubbing into my palm.
Fake or not, her affection lights me up.
