The Resurrection (Unlawful Men)

I lock the door and fall to the couch, lifting my arse to push my trousers down, settling back down on a gulp. I offer my hand and her lips press together as she takes it, lifting the bottom of her dress and climbing up onto my lap, settling. I blow out my cheeks and grit my teeth as she rises to give me room. I circle my cock, move her knickers aside, and nod for her to lower, which she does with exquisite precision, my erection sinking into the mind-blowing heat of her pussy. I groan, my shakes instant. “Jesus, Rose,” I mumble, taking her hips, my gaze hooded and low. The contrast of fire and ice is intoxicating. Invigorating. I push my face into her chest and take a few deep breaths, bracing myself, the veins in my dick throbbing. And then I lift her and pull her down hard on a gruff bawl, and the pace is set. Lift, drop, over and over, the sensations sending me into orbit.

She cries out, her fingers hooking into my shoulders, bunching the material.

“Hold on, baby,” I order roughly, lifting and banging her down constantly and consistently, every pound spiking a yell from me and a whimper from Rose. I look up at her through my drowsy eyes, hypnotized, her expression of raw ecstasy the best gift of all. Her eyes are wide, revealing endless sparks of light. Of love. I feel like my heart could explode.

And my dick.

I start grinding on each thrust, knowing I’m close, and she grabs the hair at my temples, her jaw tight. She nods, air bursts out of me, and as soon as she stiffens, I let it happen, jerking as I reach the pinnacle of pleasure, my head exploding along with my cock. “Ohhhh, fuck,” I wheeze, blinking back the stars in my vision, desperate to see her face as she tips the edge. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her arms braced against my shoulders, her fists clenched, holding on for dear life. “Rose,” I garble.

“Yes!”

Fucking hell, she’s still riding high. I grit my teeth, starting to spasm, fighting through the unthinkable pleasure and sensitivity. “Rose,” I bark.

She starts to yank and tug at my jacket, her chest pumping, and she peels her eyes open, finding my eyes. “Oh God,” she says on an exhale falling forward into me.

“Yes,” I confirm, resting my head back, getting my breathing under control. She circles her nose with mine. “I love you,” she whispers, and then she licks the length of my scar.

It’s tingling madly. And not because my wife’s tongue is there.

26

ROSE

* * *

He carries me draped across his arms into the tent, and everyone cheers our return, getting up from their seats.

“Time for our first dance,” he says, setting me on my feet and pulling me into his chest. He looks at me gently as Let Me Touch Your Fire by A R I Z O N A begins, and I smile at him, falling into the gentle sway of his body. And it’s perfect. The track, our closeness, the way he’s looking at me. It’s not the first time I’ve thought how crazy it is that I’m the safest woman alive in the arms of one of the most dangerous men alive. Totally crazy. And yet here I am, safe, and head over heels, madly in love with the man who took me as collateral not so long ago. The man who slapped my face. The man who held a gun to my head and threatened to pull the trigger. It didn’t take me long to figure out that an element of his uncontainable rage and temper was because of his mixed emotions toward me. His prisoner. Or guest, as he so eloquently put it. But he ended up saving my life instead of ending it. I did the same for him.

His icy eyes shine down at me, his face expressionless, a lock of his dark hair falling across his forehead, still damp from sweat. His scar glows. His stubble looks rough.

And he’s perfect.

Overcome with so much fucking love for him, I drape my arms over his shoulders and bring our faces closer. “I love you,” I whisper, kissing his scar. He’s fire. Bright, beautiful, and dangerous. But more than that, he is irrefutably mine.

He shifts his hands to my ass, getting a possessive hold, hunkering down a fraction. “I fucking hate you too.” Moving in, he kisses me like there is no audience, consuming me whole in typical Danny style as we sway, hardly moving at all.

I come out of my stupor when he breaks away, and I sigh, nestling my face into his shoulder. Something catches my eye, and my contented smile falls. “Oh God.” I only mean to think the despairing thought, but by the feeling of Danny’s body stiffening against me, I’ve spoken it. He makes to pull away, but I hold on to him tighter. “Let’s stay like this,” I suggest, way too enthusiastically, trying to get him swaying again.