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I wrapped my legs tighter around him, pressing him deep inside me as he cradled me against his body and walked to where the faint crackle of an open fire waited. His heavy steps turned soft on the plush carpet. He kicked off his shoes, striding to where a thick, white rug lay in front of the fire.
He lowered me, laying me back down. Warmth danced across my skin with the heat of the fire as Lazarus pushed his pants and boxers off, then pulled his shirt over his head, kneeling naked in front of me. I lifted my hips. His cock slid out of me, and I ached with the loss. Careful hands helped me slide my dress the rest of the way down my thighs, then free before I unhooked my bustier and slid it free, leaving me bare.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He gripped his cock, guiding it against me, and with a slow thrust, he entered me again, growling, “So fucking beautiful.”
I arched my back and let out a low moan.
He fucked me until I cried out. Fucked me until my body trembled with exhaustion. Fucked me until the fire began to die. Then he rose, stoked the fire, and left me curled up and sated, then carried back plates of cold food to feed me from his hand.
Roast duck with orange. Decadent chocolate and strawberries. Champagne filled with bubbles. We ate, smiled, and laughed, sucking remnants from each other’s fingers, and finally we curled against each other, turning silent and calm, then finally I slept.
This time, there were no dreams waiting for me.
This time, there was just him.
55
Lazarus
Five months later…
I slidmy hand into Kat’s as we stepped into the elevator that’d take us all the way to the top floor of the VanHalen Building. She was shaking and terrified as she turned to meet my gaze, seeking comfort. It had taken her three days to work up to this. Three days of careful discussions. Three days of getting her to put her trust in me. Trust that I’d protect her. And I would. I’d make it my life’s fucking mission to make sure she was safe every second of every day.
And after today, she’d know that for sure.
We’d spent the last five months since tying the knot traveling, healing…fucking. Most of that time, we’d been on our own, secluded in cabins deep in the forests of Costa Rica and on luxury cruisers in the middle of the Caribbean, where I helped her heal day by day, then held her close night after night when the nightmares came.
And one day, three months ago while we lay in bed, naked and spent, she'd told me the truth of what her life had been like. A truth I’d been preparing myself for. But no one could be prepared for what she'd told me. No one could ever ready themselves for the kind of horror this woman had endured at the hands of her father and men like Haelstrom Hale.
But the past hadn’t come in a rush. As though it wanted to inflict as much damage as possible, it had clawed and scratched, tearing out of her in jagged, bleeding fragments. Still, she'd gripped my hand and bore down, tearing that tumor free piece by piece. She'd expelled it from her body, spitting it bloody and writhing into her hands to give to me.
She’d been a baby when her mother died. A car accident she said, but I had my doubts. Men like Sebastian VanHalen were always looking to the future, and when a perfect bundle of feminine joy came to him, I bet the piece of fucking filth was practically foaming with excitement.
I stood there, day after day, and held her hand as she told me about the beginning, about how her father’s friends had been careful with her…until Hale decided he wanted her. Then, she told me, he took her relentlessly, even when she fought and kicked and screamed. When she told me he'd drugged her and made her fuck other men, I'd shaken with rage. Memories of Damon Zakharov only trigged the kind of savagery that stuck with me, staining my world with a blood-red hue.
And when she finally told me about the baby, I knew what I needed to do.
My life had purpose then, beyond my love for her.
Purpose darker and different than being the first son of a Rossi. I glanced at her and smiled. The path lay in front of me, paved with blood, stained with brutality. I’d become more than the Stidda Prince everyone was frightened of. I’d become the kind of monster men like VanHalen never expected—one who didn’t give a fuck about his money. And who didn’t wait for protection. I’d plunge into the bowels of Hell and drag that sick fuck with me, kicking and screaming.
“I love you,” she whispered, as though the words were a shield.
I gave her a smile, but it was a careful smile, not one filled with warmth and sunshine.
But honed with a sharpened edge and deep-seated fury.
My love was her shield.
My body hers to take what she needed.
My soul waiting to be used to piece hers together.
Movement shifted at my back. Logan, Freddy, and Neon stared straight ahead. They weren’t happy about this. Walking into the lion’s den was never a good thing, but this…this was important.
Still, my brothers refused to let me do this alone, and when neither could outthreaten, or outplay each other to stand at my side, they all came, cramming their bodies into the elevator behind us.
“Freddy, did you just touch my ass?” Neon whispered.
