Page 94 of Six
He slips out of me, and I wince at the sudden emptiness, but then he spins me and envelops me in his arms. I feel like my entire body is made of jelly. I’m at peace, almost happy—all things considered.
I rest one hand on his chest, and the hardness of it soothes something deep inside me. My other arm curls back, my hand grabs his wrist to find the burned skin there. The fingertips trail over the raised lines of the number six and I feel him sigh before his fingers lace with mine and he moves our intertwined hands over my scarred chest.
“You’re eyes, kitty, they are the most powerful opponent I’ve ever encountered. They conquered me and became the most essential thing in my life.” His whispered words quickly reach inside my heart and find a permanent, safe place near the other sweet confessions this incredible man gives me daily.
I gaze up, and he’s wearing an expression of absolute adoration. He lowers his head and a low growl leaves him as he kisses my mouth, slow and lazy.
And in this moment, I know without a doubt that I’ll never be alone again. Raguel Carver will never leave my side. He’ll possessively and obsessively protect me from anything. And I’ll fight him, just a little, so that he’ll have to remind me who owns my ass.
I suck on his lower lip and sink my teeth into the flesh, hard enough to make him groan. In his gaze I can detect lust, and a promise of retribution that not even my very sweetI love youis able to assuage.
Give it all to me, beastie. I can take it. All of you.
Epilogue
RAGUE
I can’t help the deep satisfaction within me as I glance at Ollie looking thoroughly fucked and covered in my scent while we walk inside Raph and Michael’s building. A quickie in my car this morning assuaged my lust for now, but I know I’ll need to stuff him full again later.
I grunt at the bellman as we cross the entrance to the elevator. My hand squeezes his as Ollie talks about Sully. A month has passed since the day we found him in that shipping container. Physically, he’s doing much better. But the traumatic event took a toll on his mental health. His panic attacks have worsened. The nightmares are less frequent now but still afflict him at night. His talks with Meg help, though. He’ll go back to school next month, and Linda found him a part-time job at a vet clinic, starting this summer. He’ll be busy. Meg said that having a routine will give him more stability, balance, and comfort.
Ollie has been acting like a mama bear around his brother. All of us have. Sully shoved us out of the house today, wanting to spend some time with Brad, without us looming over him.
The elevator opens, and as we’re entering, Lori’s voice calls from behind us. “Wait for me!”
Ollie frowns and starts randomly pushing the elevator buttons, punching the whole panel when the doors don’t close. “You need the code for the penthouse, kitty,” I tell him, tapping it in.
He huffs and turns his head away from Lori as the elevator starts to ascend.
“What did you do?” I ask suspiciously at Lori. My kitty is upset, and I don’t fucking like it when he’s upset.
“Moi?” Lori pushes his perfectly manicured hand to his skinny chest.
I growl, but he just sniffs at me.
Ollie presses a calming hand on my chest while telling his friend off, “I can’t believe you told Sully but not me!”
“You don’t answer your phone anymore,” Lori counters.
“I do.”
“How about yesterday?” Lori doesn’t miss a beat.
“I was incapacitated.” Ollie’s cheeks turn slightly pink, and I know he’s remembering how I tied him to the bed and fucked the hell out of him.
“Stop that post-fucking dazed expression, you wanker!” Lori yells. “And I thought bros were before hoes.”
“Am I the hoe in this?” My eyebrows kick up.
“Yes!” They both say, exchanging a small conspiratorial smile.
Ah! Need to learn not to get between these two. I am bigger than both of them combined, but they can bury me speechless in their sassiness.
“Rague needs to vent his anger, you know that!” Ollie reminds him.
“On your ass? And don’t act like you don’t enjoy it, Samantha Jones.” Lori derisive tone is loud inside the elevator. “This is your fault, Rachel Carver.” He points his Christmas-red nailed finger at me.
I groan.Rachel?
