Page 120 of Heroes & Hitmen
I withdraw my canines from her skin, cock throbbing against her belly as ropes of cum spurt from the tip. I swear I physicallyfeelthe bond between us locking into place, sealing and cementing into something unbreakable. Miley stares into my eyes, lashes fluttering as we both ride out the last waves of our orgasms and come back down to earth.
“Fuck,” I pant, resting my forehead against hers. “If it’s always like that, then maybe I should try to get myself killed more often.”
“Too soon,” she groans.
Tightening my grip around her body, I step over to position us underneath the shower spray, the water washing us clean.
And that’s how we stay for a while. Naked and tangled together, until the water starts to run cold and the fog on the glass begins to fade. I’ve never felt so happy, so whole, like I’m exactly where I belong. Because whether it’s in Chicago, or Stillwater, or anywhere else on this damn planet, home isn’t a place. It’sher.
My mate.
CHAPTER 38
Miley
The coffee machinehums as it starts up, the thick scent of a delicious dark roast permeating the air. I’m perched on the kitchen counter right beside it, one leg folded beneath me, the toes of my other foot brushing the cabinet door below in a slow, absent rhythm as I patiently await my morning caffeine fix. I’ve got my hands tucked inside the sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt to combat the chill from the air conditioning, but evidently, I’m the only one that feels it. Ares is practically naked, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.
I swear he’s allergic to clothing.
Not that I mind the view.
Powerful muscles bunch and flex beneath tanned skin as he pulls open the refrigerator door and bends over to rummage inside, my eyes feasting over every inch of his toned physique.
“Caramel or vanilla creamer?” Ares asks over his shoulder.
I tilt my head, considering for a moment before deciding, “Both.”
He turns to glance my way, arching a judgmental brow.
“What?” I ask innocently. “You know I like my coffee sweet.”
“Oh, I know all about your sugar addiction, Miley Beckett,” he teases, lips curving in a grin as he nods toward the pair of mugs resting beside the coffee pot. “I’m just waiting for the day when you skip the coffee altogether and start drinking the creamer straight up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoff, smiling despite myself.
“Seriously, babe, you should consider consuming things with actual nutrition sometimes instead of just sugar,” he says as he pulls both cartons of creamer from the fridge.
I just roll my eyes as he carries them over, waving him off.It’ll be a cold day in hell before I give up sugar.
When he reaches out to set the cartons on the counter beside me, my gaze snags on the spot where Ares’ neck curves to meet his shoulder. The white scar left behind from my bite practically glows in contrast to his tanned skin, and seeing that mark–mymark– makes something swoop low in my belly, warmth spreading through my chest.
My fingers instinctively drift up to trace over the mark on my own skin, Ares’ dark-eyed gaze tracking the movement. A smug smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth as his eyes ping back up to meet mine.
“Told you so,” he chides, voice rumbling with satisfaction.
I bark a laugh, shaking my head. “How many times are you going to say that?”
“Until we’re old and grey, babe,” he replies as he steps in closer, casually bracing a hand on the counter beside my thigh. “Didn’t you know? Sealing the mate bond means you’ve officially signed on for me to annoy you for the rest of our lives.”
“Lucky me,” I snort.
“Damn right,” he quips, leaning in to smack a kiss on my lips. He tosses me a wink as he pulls back and heads for the fridge again, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him go.
The coffee continues to brew beside me while I take a beat to really let the moment sink in. Ares and I have somehow become the picture of domestic bliss, all messy hair and sleepy smiles, playfully bickering over our morning coffee. Looking at us now, you’d never guess how much hell we went through to get here. How much chaos we’ve endured to earn this little slice of peace.
I want to hold onto it, commit it to memory before it slips through my fingers like quicksand.
The machine beside me beeps, signaling the coffee’s done. I turn to the pot, glad for something to do with my hands, and start filling our matching mugs while Ares continues rooting through the contents of our fridge.
