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“God, you’re ridiculous,” I muttered.
“But it’s true. Everything about you is a fucking turn-on, Genevieve. My dick is at your mercy.” So dramatic. “So please, put me out of my misery and let me wake you up in the middle of the night to fuck you.”
“You and Nolan are so dramatic,” I replied. “Finn and Lucas too… must be a Byrne thing.”
“Please, stop thinking about my brothers when I’m trying to convince you to have sex with me all night long.”
“You don’t have to convince me. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Make it up to me by putting your legs over my shoulders, princess,” he ordered as he settled between my thighs once more. Yeah, this man was going to drive me crazy. He dragged me closer when I didn’t move. “Lie back now, baby girl. I’m going to clean you up and then wreck you all over again.”
Before I could say a word, he ran his tongue through my wetness with a satisfied growl, clearly not caring about how his cum mingled with mine. I fell back on the bed and happily gave in.
Chapter 89
Killian
Genevieve was passed out, curled around her pillow and mine. She’d even stolen my blanket and wrapped it around her. I didn’t give a fuck that it left me without both. I liked laying there watching her sleep, taking in all the gorgeous little details on her face as the sun rose outside our windows.
I’d kept her up for hours, reacquainting myself with every inch of her body—familiarizing myself with all the things I could do to make her scream, gasp, and beg for more. I even learned a few new things thanks to her fucking piercings. After all was said and done, she’d be out for hours, which was what I wanted. If she woke up at her normal hour, she’d fret all the way to my doctor’s appointment. We had a big enough day ahead of us without her stressing herself out longer than fucking necessary.
It was odd how comfortable it was to fall right back into my old morning routine. After I showered, I threw her towels in the dryer so they’d be warm when she woke up to do the same. I turned on the portable heater and closed the bathroom door, knowing it’d be nice and hot in there for her. Genevieve hated the cold, especially first thing in the morning. I even set her lotion on the floor near the heater to warm it up too. Downstairs, I made a cup of instant coffee while brewing a pot of her pumpkin spice one. I set out a mug—mildly annoyed by the lack of colored ones, but I had a plan to fix that. Normally, I’d make her breakfast while she showered, but maybe I’d take her out before my appointment.
I didn’t think twice about doing any of these things. It was all shit that took me a matter of minutes to do, but it made her morning. The few extra minutes added to my morning routine were worth that. Taking care of her like this—finding the ins and outs of the little things that made her feel cherished and loved—had been an unexpected result of choosing the lifestyle we lived. Finding ways to embrace taking control of her life for her and taking care of her in ways she’d never been cared for had made her flourish. I liked doing that for her. I liked being the safe place she needed to let go, to breathe, to feel unburdened. Sure, I didn’t have to do our morning routine. She was more than capable of all that shit. But I enjoyed it. The satisfaction I got knowing she was happier and felt cared for because of me ran deep.
I grabbed my coffee and headed outside to enjoy the quiet of my backyard. The chill in the air bit harder than usual, and I could smell the rain in the air. What a fucking day to have a laundry list of shit to do. The weather screamed stay inside and do nothing. Or stay inside and fuck my wife, but I had a feeling she would be sore enough without going another couple of rounds.
I took my time, enjoying my coffee and listening to the wildlife in the woods with my wolf hearing. It was peaceful enough, even if it wasn’t the ocean. The fencing was the best damn thing I’d done with this house. Before it, our neighbors were always finding reasons to interrupt my quiet time.
As I went back in, I began mentally organizing the fucking laundry list of shit to get through but stopped short before I ever made it to my kitchen. Lane leaned against one counter with an apple in hand and his knife in the other.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” I demanded. “How the fuck do you know where I live?”
“You make her coffee.” He nodded to her coffee cup on the counter. “How fucking domestic of you. You never made me coffee.”
“Again, how the fuck did you get in here?” I repeated. I moved around him to rinse out the mug and watched as he sliced off a hunk of apple, eating it directly off the blade.
“I wanted an apple, you have apples,” Lane said. “Therefore, I’m here eating your apples.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Buy your own goddamn apples,” I retorted. Lowering my voice, I asked, “Did you seriously fucking handle it already?”
“Please,” he scoffed. “Recently, I acquired a very detailed notebook collection from a cannibal that I plan to use.”
My stomach dropped. I didn’t want to fucking know, but I couldn’t fucking help myself.
“You’re not… tell me you’re not going to eat him, Lane.”
“Fuck no! I don’t fucking eat people. Well, okay there was that one fucking time, but he was a Nazi, he was a dick, I was hungry, we did what we had to back then. Things were fucking nuts during the war.”
I stared at him as I processed the words coming out of his mouth. Right. Lane was immortal —a fact that I rarely thought about until this fucker brought up shit like being alive during the world wars or medieval times. That shit fucked with my head.
“Apple?” He offered me a hunk off his knife, holding it way too goddamn close to my mouth. Not knowing what the fuck to do, I ate it right off the blade. He grinned like a kid at fucking Christmas. “If you must know, I relocated my little pet project for the next few weeks. A moving crew will be there this afternoon to move everything—they’re cannibals. I’m paying them in frozen body parts. The wife’s been dismantled, wrapped up like a fucking present, and ready to be used as payment. That job was easy. Did that in front of my new pet to fuck with his head. He’s already in a way, and I haven’t even started with him. That set of notebooks has some fascinating cutting techniques… ways to take apart a person layer by layer—”
“No!” I cut him off and took two steps away, breathing deeply to settle my rolling stomach. I could handle a lot of shit, but Lane’s shit… I couldn’t handle it. “Don’t want the details, Lane. You just let me know when it’s fucking over.”
“It’ll be a few weeks. I might stretch it over a fucking month.” He shrugged. The absolute casualness of him as he talked about mutilating and torturing someone was disturbing. There were things we just didn’t talk about. I was one of the only people who knew what Lane was. Sometimes, he got a little too comfortable with that. If it wasn’t for the fact that Lane only did what he did to people who deserved it, we wouldn’t be friends.
