Page 72 of Filthy Lies

“You give ‘paranoid’ a whole new meaning.”

He follows me and pins me against a wall. I huff in irritation, but he doesn’t budge. “Rowan, listen to me. After what happened—after finding your blood on our floor, after nearly losing you both?—”

My anger deflates. I’ve seen Vince terrifying. I’ve seen him commanding. I’ve seen him tender.

But I’ve rarely seen himafraid.

“Vince.” I cup his cheek. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No.” My thumb traces his jawline. “But I can promise to fight like hell to stay with you. And that’s just as good.”

His eyes hold mine, ocean-deep blue filled with everything he struggles to say.

“I’m scared, too, you know,” I admit softly. “Every day. For you, for our girl, for myself even. But I can’t live in that fear.” I touch my forehead to his. “We can’t. Or what’s the point of any of this?”

His hands slide to my waist, steadying us both. “The point is standing right here.”

“Then let’s focus on that today.” I pull back to meet his eyes. “Not on threats or dangers or what-ifs. Just on our daughter, and this moment, and how far we’ve come.”

Something in him softens, just slightly. “I’ll try.”

I reach up to tap the necklace with a fingertip. “I’ll wear it. Not because I need to be tracked, but because it means something to you.”

With a relieved grin, he bends down to kiss me—a gentle press of lips that carries all his complicated gratitude.

“I know I’m not easy to love,” he murmurs against my mouth.

“No.” I smile. “You’re not. But you’re worth it.”

I kiss him again, deeper this time, letting all the morning’s tension dissolve into something warmer, more urgent. His hands tighten on my waist as mine slide beneath his jacket to feel the solid strength of him beneath.

“Mrs. Akopov,” he growls, “we have a christening to attend.”

“We have time,” I counter, fingers working at his tie.

“Do we?”

“For this? Always.”

His mouth finds the pulse point below my ear, sending fire racing through my veins. I realize we’re both seeking the same reassurance.

We’ve said it with words.

But there are other ways to get a point across.

I drop to my knees without warning, letting my ivory dress pool around me like spilled milk. The plush carpet cushions my descent as I work his belt loose with determined fingers.

His eyes darken, pupils expanding until there’s no blue left at all. “Rowan.” My name is a warning on his lips. “We don’t have time?—”

“Shut up,” I command, shocking us both. “For once, you’re not in charge.”

His cock springs free, already hard and heavy in my palm. I look up at him through my lashes, maintaining eye contact as I take him into my mouth without preamble.

The sharp intake of his breath is all the encouragement I need.

I’ve learned what he likes. How to use my tongue against the sensitive underside. How to hollow my cheeks and apply just the right pressure. How to take him deep until tears spring to my eyes and my throat constricts around him.

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