Dark Hearts (Light in the Dark 3)

“Why? It was just a message.” I sniffle, rubbing my face into his shirt.

“I know, but it took a lot of guts for you to do that.”

I burrow closer to him, seeking shelter in his embrace.

“Confession,” I start, clearing my throat. I look up at him with wide eyes. “Sometimes I’m shocked that we got here. That we’re together. We both had every reason in the world to avoid relationships.”

He kisses me. “It surprises me too, sometimes, that I can be this happy and content. I used to think a relationship was a burden, but it’s not. Being with you has made me a better man.”

I straddle his lap and wrap my fingers around his neck. “You’re amazing,” I tell him. It’s true, though. He has no idea how remarkable he is. His dad has spent his whole life tearing him down, and now I want to build him back up—show him that he’s none of the things he always thought he was.

“Am I?” He smiles crookedly, his hands skimming up my back, under my shirt. I nod. He presses his face into the crook of my neck. “You’re amazing too, you know.” His hands move around to my front, gliding up my stomach. He lightly grazes his fingers under the curves of my breasts.

“W-What were we talking about?” I stutter, my eyes falling closed.

He chuckles. “Nothing important.” He nips at my chin and I moan.

“Jace.” I clutch at the back of his head. “I need—”

“I know what you need.”

He lifts my shirt over my head and his eyes rake over my body. I have the urge to cover myself, but I know that will only make him mad, so I let him look.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, before capturing my lips in his. The kiss is bruising and rough, but I expect nothing less from him anymore. His fingers delve into my hair at the nape of my neck, tugging my head back.

My hips roll against his, and I claw at his shirt.

The last few days we’ve barely touched each other, because we’ve been so busy with school, work, and looking for my son.

Jace breaks the kiss and I sit back so he can pull his shirt off. His hair is a mess and his eyes are wild.

I trace my finger down the center of his chest and around his abdominal muscles. His hips jerk, and I grin, biting down on my lip.

“That was mean,” he says, his voice choked.

I skim my finger back up his chest and he captures my hand, pressing the palm flat against his heart. I feel it thumping madly beneath his heated skin.

Before I can blink he grabs me and flips me onto the couch. He hooks his fingers into my pajama pants and underwear and yanks them down forcefully.

“Now who’s the mean one?” I joke.

He doesn’t answer me. He lowers his mouth, swirling his tongue around each of my nipples. My back bows off the couch, my hips seeking his.

I reach blindly for his jeans and manage to find the belt. I make quick work of undoing it.

He chuckles. “Eager, are we?”

“Yes,” I pant, my lips seeking his.

There’s no point in lying. I’m desperate to touch him. It’s been days, and I need him. My body craves him like a drug.

He sucks on the spot where my neck meets my shoulders and then his lips glide down between my breasts, over my stomach, before he sits back on his knees and gazes down at me. I know I’m flushed, and my hair’s probably a mess, but I don’t care, because the way he looks at me always makes me feel beautiful.

He pops the button on his jeans and slides the zipper down.

My pulse jumps in my throat and his eyes trace the movement, his lips tipped in the slightest little smirk.

He stands and steps out his jeans before returning to his previous position, knelt between my legs on the couch.