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"Never," I growl, my movements becoming more insistent. I am the hunter again, but this time my prey is her pleasure, and I won't relent until I've captured it, until I've devoured every last piece of her resistance.
The tempo of our bodies escalates, a crescendo that promises to shatter the silence of the night. Her breaths come quicker, matching mine, until they're a synchronized panting that fills the room with the evidence of our lust.
"Right there, oh God, right there!" Her plea is a siren call that urges me on, my hips snapping faster, harder. I'm close to the brink myself, but I hold back, determined to watch her unravel first.
And when she does, when her orgasm washes over her in waves that crash against my shores too, it's like I'm witnessing the storm I always knew I could weather—the tempest that could drown me in its depths and yet somehow set me free.
The tremors of Evelyn's climax ripple through her, and I swear it's like I can feel every single one. Her body clamps down on me, and that sensation—it's fucking divine. The way she's gripping me has my eyes rolling back, and I'm fighting to hold onto whatever shred of control I've got left.
"God, you feel so incredible," I rasp out, my voice barely recognizable even to my own ears. It's raw, guttural—the sound of a man teetering on the edge of oblivion.
I keep moving, keep thrusting into her with a primal need that's all-consuming. But as much as I want this to last, to stretch out this perfect, searing connection between us, I knowI'm close to shattering. Each roll of my hips drives me deeper into that sweet, sweet abyss.
"Constantino... Constantino..." She whispers my name like it's some kind of mantra, and maybe it is because right now, in this moment, we're the only two people in the world that matter.
Her blue eyes lock onto mine, and there's a silent plea in them—a call for me to join her in the aftermath of her ecstasy. And damn if I don't answer that call.
"Fuck, Evelyn—I'm—" The words die on my tongue as pleasure explodes through me, obliterating everything else. There's no holding back, no more barriers—just the raw, unfiltered bliss of release.
It tears through me, a hurricane-force wind that leaves nothing untouched. My vision blurs, and for a second, I think I see stars—or maybe it's just the remnants of my control burning up in the atmosphere.
"Christ," I gasp as I collapse next to her, my breaths coming in sharp, ragged pulls. I reach for the blanket with shaky hands, draping it over our spent bodies. The warmth of it doesn't compare to the heat still radiating off her skin, though.
We're quiet, the silence stretching out between us like some kind of sacred thing. But it's not uncomfortable—no, it's like we're saying everything without uttering a single word.
She turns to me, those big, blue eyes of hers searching my face. I don't know what she sees, but whatever it is, it makes her smile softly before she snuggles closer, her head nestled against my chest.
"Thank you," she murmurs, her breath dancing across my skin.
"Anytime," I say, and I mean it. I'd do anything to have her look at me like this again—to feel this torrent of something that's more than lust, more than need.
As her breathing evens out and I feel the weight of her body relax fully against me. I watch her sleep. Her face is peaceful, innocent almost, and it fucks with my head because I'm supposed to be this hard-ass who doesn't give a damn about anyone or anything.
But here I am, lying next to the eldest Moretti daughter, feeling things I've never felt before. Things I shouldn't feel—not for her, not for anyone.
"Shit," I whisper into the darkness, my fingers tracing the soft curve of her shoulder. "I might be in love with you."
And that thought—it terrifies me more than any rival, any gun pointed at my head. Because falling in love? That's the one thing I never saw coming.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The stale scent of cold coffee and gunmetal hangs heavy in the air. I'm hunched over a cluttered desk, maps and surveillance photos scattered like leaves in an autumn storm. It's been thirty-some days since Sebastian took his last breath, each one of those days spent piecing together a puzzle soaked in blood and betrayal.
"Boss, we've got eyes on Declan O'Leary," Mickey murmurs, sliding into the dim room. He's one of my best, able to blend into shadows like smoke. "He's holdin' court at Finnegan's, usual crew suckin' up to him."
"Good work." I don't look up, just keep tracing routes on the map with a finger that's seen too many triggers. "Anyone new snugglin' up to him?"
"Nah, same old cronies. But get this—heard 'em talkin' 'bout a shipment comin' in. Big one."
"Perfect." My lips curl into a half-smile that doesn't reach my eyes. A month of hunting for the right moment, and here it is,served on a platter by the arrogance of men who've grown too comfortable at the top.
I finally glance up, meeting Mickey's gaze. "And spread the word: Sebastian's send-off is this weekend. No slip-ups. We're locking it down tighter than a drum."
"Got it," he nods, understanding the gravity behind my tone. "It'll be smooth sailing, boss."
"Better be." The words are ice, a promise as cold as the grave we're about to fill. I take a last look at the chaotic spread on the desk, then push back from the chair, shoulders feeling the weight of what's to come.
"Tell the boys to keep their heads down until then. We move in silence, like death itself." My hands clench into fists. "Sebastian deserved better than this. His kid... hell, no child should grow up without a father."
