Page 25 of The Mob Boss's Bride
Smart girl. My smart, brave girl.
"It's over now," I assure her, though I know it isn't—not really. Rodriguez will pay for this, slowly and painfully. But that's for later. Right now, all that matters is Fern, safe in my arms.
I lift her easily, cradling her against my chest. She doesn't protest, just wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face against my shoulder. I carry her through the house, past my men securing the scene, past the bodies being removed, toward our bedroom.
"What happened?" she asks quietly as I set her down in our suite. "Who were those men?"
"A rival. Someone who thought they could use you to get to me." I stroke her hair back from her face, needing the contact, the reassurance that she's whole. "They were wrong."
She shivers, her eyes darting to the blood on my shirt—not mine, but she doesn't need to know that. "Did you... are they...?"
"Dead? Yes." I don't soften it. Won't lie to her about who I am, what I'm capable of. "Anyone who threatens you dies, Fern. That's non-negotiable."
Instead of fear or disgust, I see relief in her eyes. Understanding. She reaches for me, pulling me into a kiss that starts gentle but quickly blazes into something more desperate, more primal.
"I need you," she whispers against my mouth. "Need to feel you. Need to know we're both alive."
The words ignite something in me—the fear and rage and relief all transmuting into a desperate hunger. I lift her again, carrying her to the bathroom, setting her on her feet only long enough to strip us both. Water cascades over us as I turn on the shower, washing away blood and fear and the lingering scent of gunpowder.
"Atlas," she gasps as I press her against the tile wall, my mouth on her neck, her breasts, anywhere I can reach. "Please?—"
I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I enter her in one hard thrust. She cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders, her body arching to take me deeper. This isn't gentle—it's claiming, reassuring, life-affirming. Each thrust says what words can't:You're alive. I'm alive. We survived.
"Mine," I growl against her throat, marking her with my teeth. "No one takes you from me. No one hurts you. Ever."
"Yours," she agrees, meeting each thrust with equal desperation. "Always yours."
Water sluices over us as I drive into her, my grip on her thighs tight enough to leave bruises. But she doesn't complain—instead, she urges me on, her heels digging into my lower back, her words a litany of "please" and "more" and "Atlas" that drives me to the edge of control.
"I thought—" The words choke in my throat. "When I couldn't find you?—"
"I'm here." She frames my face with her hands, making me look at her. "I'm right here. Safe. With you."
The tenderness in her voice nearly undoes me. I slow my pace, wanting to savor her, to memorize every inch of the woman who has somehow become the center of my world.
"I can't lose you," I admit, the words torn from somewhere deep and vulnerable. "Not you, Fern."
Something shifts in her expression—understanding, awe, a reflection of what I'm feeling. "You won't," she promises. "I'm not going anywhere."
I take her mouth in a kiss that's all possession and promise, then resume my rhythm, driving us both toward release. When she comes, it's with my name on her lips, her body clenching around mine in waves that trigger my own climax. I bury myself deep inside her, marking her in the most primitive way, my release a physical claim: mine, mine, mine.
Afterward, we stay locked together under the spray, my forehead pressed to hers, our breathing slowly returning to normal. I lower her gently to her feet, but keep her close, unable to break contact.
"Are you okay?" I ask, my thumbs brushing over the bruises already forming on her arms. "I was rough."
"I needed rough." She leans into me, all soft curves and trust. "I needed to feel you. To know it's over."
I wash her gently, tending to the small cut on her cheek, my touch reverent now where it was desperate before. She does the same for me, her fingers gentle on the graze at my temple.
"What happens now?" she asks as I wrap her in a towel.
"Now you rest." I lead her to our bed, tucking her under the covers. "I need to handle some things, make sure the house is secure. Then I'll be back."
Fear flashes in her eyes. "Don't leave. Please."
I sit beside her, brushing damp hair from her face. "Just for an hour. No more. I need to make sure this never happens again." My voice hardens. "Need to send a message."
She studies my face for a long moment, then nods slowly. "An hour. Then you come back to me."
