Coming Home (The Surrender Trilogy 3)

the strength to trust in another’s ability to know how much they might take, the strength to believe

they’re utterly beautiful without façades and conceit. Raw.

It was a woman bared in naked truth, secure enough to give over to her man, surrender every bit of

struggle to be a queen at the top of the king’s mountain. There was such a high esteem in his mind for

the strength it took to surrender here, yet remain empowered in the outside world. He felt nothing but

utter admiration for any woman capable of collapsing such self-preservation after just one command.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as she folded her hands behind her back. If he asked her to undo

his pants and suck him off she would, but he wanted to pleasure her. This was the one area she truly let go and trusted him. He lamented that he could so freely have her body’s submission and somehow she

still held back part of her heart. He’d work on it.

Lucian walked slowly to the bed and removed his suit jacket. After loosening his tie the rest of the

way, he slid it out from under his collar and draped them over the corner of the low mattress. Easing

down until his back rested on her pillows propped against the wall, he said, “Come here.”

She obligingly stepped in front of him. When he arrived, he wanted to claw off her clothes and mark

her like an animal. Now, however, something in her calmness had tempered his need. He wanted only

to be with her, please her, make her cry out in a way no other man could.

He sat up and drew her to his lap. Her knees straddled his thighs and settled onto him. His fingers

curled over her hips, thumbs teasing at the undersides of her breasts. He loved her.

Quiet moments like this seemed to scream the truth. He loved her and would do anything to protect

her, to witness those limited moments of unburdened happiness that showed so seldom in her knowing

eyes. She had had such an arduous life before him. He hated that his poor choices had somehow added

to her strife.

Apologies rang in his head. He’d been such a careless bastard. How could he have allowed things to

get so out of hand with Parker? Never again, he vowed. Never would he let her slip through his hands

again.

With intrepid gentleness, he sifted his fingers through her hair and drew her into his kiss. Petite

hands squeezed at his shoulders as her knees tightened at his sides. He kissed her slowly, but

intensely, laving at her neck, lips, and shoulders until he slowly eased her to her back and pressed his weight into her.

The world fell away, hidden beneath the sensual fog that swallowed them. The tiny bed squeaked

beneath their weight as he removed his clothing and pressed into her hot core. Her legs held him and

her hands glided over his skin as he slowly filled her, his only intention to love her.

Fingers pressed into flesh. Mouths pulled upon tender parts, and their bodies tangled with

unanimity. Gone were his worries of business and poachers. She was his and she owned him equally,

mind, body, and soul.

After bringing her to climax several times, he allowed himself to let go and bathed her womb in his

release. Her sigh of contentment matched his own. So rarely had he enjoyed plain old missionary

vanilla sex, yet with Evelyn, there was no line of ordinary. It was all potent and all-encompassing.

His body collapsed beside hers as they caught their breath. Her dainty fingers found his and

entwined themselves there.

“I’m staying the night,” he announced and she let out a resigned sigh, clearly sensing there would

be no getting rid of him.

After several moments of simply basking in the aftermath of their lovemaking, she rose and went to

use the bathroom. His eyes returned to that cabinet hiding her paperwork. What would a woman who

can’t read beyond a primary student’s ability need with so much paperwork? He worried she could be

signing something under misconceptions, and his need to protect her rode him hard.

He ignored his urge to investigate, feeling a bite of some unnamable esteem for his exercise in

restraint. Trust. For some reason he knew it would mean so much more if she came to him with her

secrets than if he demanded she share them. It was a difficult exercise in control and trust, but one he could savor the burn of—like a marathon he didn’t want to run, but found the value in walking.

Reaching in his pocket, he found his cell phone for distraction. His thumb swiped over the screen

and found Dugan’s text.

2424 Glacier Place.

Residential area near Susquehanna Ave.

Appears to live alone.

Lucian quickly replied and tucked his phone away.

Run a check on the address and find out who he is. I’ll see you in the morning.

On cue, the reflection of the limo’s headlights danced over the blanket covering the window as