Page 50 of Forged in Rain

“Cyn and Bastion already knew each other when I came along. My dad defended Paddy McCafferty and his people for years, which is how we all got lumped together. I guess it was inevitable from there.”

“That’s how you were put together, but it doesn’t explain why you’re so close?”

Glancing at me with a small smile, he says, “We were little shits who liked to get into trouble.”

Laughing, I swat him on the arm, my good humor fading when Cyn appears around the couch with a frown and Jig stiffens beside me.

Without another word, Jig rises and walks away. Cyn stares down at me moodily, and just when I’m about to squirm, he holds out his hand to me.

Raising a brow, I look from that hand to his face and back, but he’s not giving me anything, and even though I’ll probably regret it, I place my hand in his and allow him to pull me to my feet.

Lifting me in his arms, he carries me down the hall and into the same bedroom as before, closing the door behind him and dropping me to my feet. I hobble further into the room and turn to him while he leans against the door, staring at me.

Stepping back, I watch him watch me for a minute before I pull my jacket from my shoulders and drop it to the floor.

He watches me like a hawk, his green eyes hooded as I proceed to pull my shirt over my head and drop that to the floor as well. He doesn’t comment but tracks my every movement, and with a shaky breath, I undo my pants in the most unsexy manner possible, awkwardly pushing them past the bandage on my foot.

When he doesn’t move or speak, I ignore the pulse of insecurity and raise a brow. With a growl, he steps forward, pulling me carefully into his embrace.

Gasping out a moan, I press against his chest when he grabs my ass and lifts me into his arms, running the ridge of his erection against my panty-clad core. The rough material creates a surge of tingles, and leaning my head back, I moan and writhe against him.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping me gently to the bed and laying over top of me.

With glittering eyes, he licks the seam of my lips and slips inside when I part them with a sigh.

“You taste so good,” he growls, mashing his lips to mine.

I meet his feral intensity, infusing my need into the kiss, but he pulls back with a smirk and gently bites my lower lip.

“Cyn,” I groan, bucking into him. With fiery eyes, he kisses down the column of my neck and draws his tongue between my breasts.

The sweet slide rushes through my veins, and I gasp when he lowers to my nipple and sucks the peak into his mouth through the thin material of my bra.

“Yes,” I whisper, grabbing his hair and clenching the silky strands between my fingers.

“Mm, you have such pretty titties,” he croons before biting down gently.

Sobbing out a moan, I surge against him as he settles between my legs and switches to my other breast, kneading the first between his hands.

With each stroke, lick, and bite, my core tingles with need, aching for him to fill me up.

“Please,” I beg, and he graces me with another wicked smile before sliding down my abdomen and tracing his finger over my skin.

I ripple under his touch until he reaches my core, where he breathes in deeply before pulling my panties down my legs and dropping them on the floor.

“Nice and wet,” he says gutturally, licking between the folds and dipping inside.

“Oh god,” I groan, thrusting into his face.

Chuckling, he pulls back and nips my clit before easing his fingers inside and pumping me gently. With a whimper, I grind against his face unashamedly, rocketing to orgasm when he bites down on my nubbin, and I fall over the sweet edge.

With a low moan, I cream all around him, sighing when he licks me up gently before rising and pulling his shirt over his head. With lidded eyes, I stare at his chest, covered in tattoos from navel to neck that paint a story I’ve never had the chance to read.

On one smooth pec, the words,live free or die, are written in cursive, while on the other it says,bound by fear, and interspersed throughout are skulls, barbwire, and inexplicably among the gore, a single tree blooming along his right abdomen.

They’re beautiful and perfect for this grim, gruff guy who holds his thoughts so close and seemingly has no emotion. Not for the first time, I wonder how he was formed to be this way.

I know his parents are alive but dead to him and that he lives with his grandmother. He has an adorable little sister with a stutter who he apparently plays games with, reminding me that there’s a heart beneath the layers of ice after all.

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