Page 50 of The Sculptor

Suddenly, like a weight being lifted, Duke sucks in a deep breath.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I coax. “Breathe with me.”

And he does, letting his hand drift down from my chest to the few faded stretch marks on my hips. Lingering there, he traces the lines as if memorizing them, but then he lowers to his knees.

At first, I think he’s collapsing, but then his hands grip my hips as he leans forward, kissing the faint marks. My hands go to his hair as he drags his lips over the scars I bear from carrying our child.

He kisses the top one, his hands trembling around me.

“Breathe, baby,” I remind him, trying to step back and out of his grip.

But apparently, he doesn’t need my help.

His hands lock around me, and suddenly, his mouth is at my center—at my core—when he growls, “You remember to fucking breathe.”

It’s the only warning he gives before his mouth closes over me.

Duke

Idon’t give her time to prepare before I steal her breath, shoving my tongue so far into her tight pussy that the only thing she can do is hang on as I stretch her open.

I’m done having pieces of her.

I’m done not being inside her, soaking up all her goodness.

All this time…

All the hope…

All the pain…

She carried it all.

For us—for our family.

Even when I wanted to block that winter from my memory, she remembered.

And now, she’ll pay the price by binding her life to mine—forever.

“Duke,” Ramsey all but moans. “We should talk about this.”

Yeah, no. We’re done talking.

“Go ahead,” I tell her, thrusting two fingers inside, feeling her clench around me. It’s the first time I’ve genuinely smiled since waking up this morning. “But, we both know how well you do with multitasking.”

Scissoring my fingers, I nip at her clit, sucking the sensitive flesh with a vengeance. If she manages to speak through this, I’ll beat my own ass.

“You’re.”

She moans.

“Not.”

I suck harder, rocking my hand against her faster until she whimpers, pulling at my hair in frustration.

Yeah, now she’s done talking.

We’rebothdone talking.