Page 128 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

Cade’s fingers stroke lazily up and down my back, his breathing uneven against my hair. “I can’t wait to get you to Harmony.”

My throat clogs with emotion, making it impossible to respond. For a man who doesn’t let himself live in a home or get closeto family, Harmony feels like a gift I don’t deserve. But it’s one I’ll take anyway.

“Turn around, Caden,” I whisper, sitting up.

“Why?”

“I want to look at your back tattoo.”

He tenses, and for a moment, I think he’s going to shut me out. But then, with a slow, deliberate breath, he rolls onto his front. The movement feels monumental—like he’s handing me a key to a locked door no one else has been allowed to open.

I rise onto my knees, and my heart stutters as my eyes fall on the ink spread across his back.

It’s mesmerizing. The skull stares back at me, its flaming eyes matching the emerald gem sitting within the intricate Celtic knot. The ink is black and gray, but the detail—every shadow, every stroke—makes it come alive.

My fingers tremble as I reach out, skimming lightly over the ridges of ink and scars. Cade sucks in a sharp breath at my touch, reminding me of the first time I ever laid my hands on him.

“You’re sensitive,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

“Don’t get used to it,” he bites out.

I smile widely, already knowing I will absolutely get used to this particular quirk of his.

My fingers trace every curve of the design. “What’s the name of the motorcycle club?”

Cade doesn’t answer right away. His face is turned to me, his eyes shut tight, and his arms crossed under the pillow. “Reaper Druids,” he says finally.

I blink, my fingers pausing on the emerald gem. “Druids, as in . . . wizards and mystical beings?”

“Yep. We trace our origin from the Irish Celtic druids. Or so the myth goes.”

I glance back at the tattoo, my fingertips brushing over the emerald again. Something pulses beneath my touch—a subtle vibration that makes my skin tingle. I shake off the feeling and murmur, “I believe it.”

He stiffens. “You do?”

I lean down and press my lips to the gem. Then I kiss another spot. And another. “Yeah. I do. There’s something about you, Caden. Something almost . . . otherworldly.”

I can’t resist flicking my tongue along the edge of his shoulder blades, savoring the way his muscles—those perfectly defined lats and rhomboids—bunch in response.

His muscle definition is something else. I straddle him, letting my hair cascade over his back, my hard nipples grazing his skin as my tongue follows the swells and dips of his body.

Cade’s fists clench in the sheets, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest.

I smile against his skin. “My God, Caden, I don’t think anyone’s ever taken their time with you.”

Dragging the flat of my tongue along his back, I’m no longer tracing the tattoo. I’m tasting him. Worshipping him.

His response is raw, primal—a continuous purring sound that catches me completely off guard. It’s like the low, resonant growl of a big cat. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. A rush of wetness pools between my thighs as my arousal spikes.

I kiss my way lower, savoring every ridge and hollow until I reach the twin swell of his buttocks. Still, I don’t stop. I can’t. I want every dark, hidden part of him he’s never shared with anyone.

“Luciana,” he shudders.

“God . . . the sounds you make,” I whisper, my voice thick with need. “I’m so wet for you.”

He flipsonto his back so fast it makes my head spin. His hands fist in my hair, pulling me up to meet his blazing gaze. “You’re killing me,” he rasps, his voice taut with restraint.

I smile and trail my fingers down his chest as I start to slide lower. His grip tightens in my hair, but he doesn’t stop me.

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