Page 96 of Savage Sacrifice
The ping of an incoming message sounds from both of our cell phones.
Wylder:We haven’t managed to get anything else out of her. Everyone rest. Blaze is watching over her. Maybe if we can grab a couple of hours of sleep, it will give us clear minds to get some answers tomorrow.
“He’s right.”I place my cell phone down on the nightstand, watching as Asher places his on the desk behind him while his gaze remains on mine.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, and I immediately nod even though I’m slightly confused.
“Of course.”
He shakes off his jacket, placing it over the back of the chair beside him, with his back to me as he takes a deep breath. When he turns toward me again, I recognize the glint in his eyes. It’s one I’ve seen before. The one that dominated me that night at The Aurum.
A shiver runs down my spine at the memory, and he must see it because he grins at me. It’s not cheeky or mischievous, though. It’s calculated and knowing.
I rake my eyes over him, noting the way his taut muscles bulge beneath the sleeves of his white t-shirt. The cords running down his arms only make me hotter for him.
“When you were reunited with Lincoln, did he worship you?” he asks, startling me.
My eyebrows gather in confusion, but when I consider the moment, I find myself nodding. By Lincoln’s standards, he was definitely caring.
“Good. And when Blaze fucked you at the farmhouse, did he worship you too?”
Another nod.
“As expected. And Tatum?”
“Do you know all of my antics?” I ask, cocking a brow at him, but he ignores my outburst, mirroring my facial expression as he waits for my response.
“Yes, he did,” I grumble, rolling my eyes at him, and it’s his turn to nod.
“That’s the thing, Silver. You’re our center, our queen. Made to be worshipped by all of your men, but when you’re tangled in a web of chaos, what do you have to focus on, to worship, to take away all of your thoughts except for that one… single… thing?”
His voice is raspy, making my thighs clench. How is it that I've gone from a virginal nobody at Florentine’s to a born-again non-witch who clears her mind with sex? Because that’s exactly where my mind has gone. His too, if his demeanor is anything to go by.
But not just any sex, the kind that takes my soul and melds it with another before gluing me back together again.
I’m a whore.
That’s what Lincoln called me, and I like it.
No.
I love it.
I love being brave enough to let my walls crumble around these men.Mymen.
I’ve never felt safer, happier, or more hopeful.
Hopeful.
A word I once would have never associated with myself, and now here I am, ready to explode with it. So consumed, all I can do is embrace it.
“I want to focus on you,” I breathe, lowering my gaze to the telling bulge behind his black jeans.
He takes four strides and he’s in front of me again, his fingertip tilting my head back to meet his gaze as desire courses through my veins. “Tell me you’re mine. No matter who we are or what we’re doing, you’re mine.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but there’s no embarrassment this time. Just need and acceptance.
“I’m yours,” I rasp, and he nods, taking a step back as he drops his hand from my face, and I miss the contact instantly.
