Crimson Warrior (Onyx Assassins 3)

My forehead fell to her shoulder. “Are. You. Okay?” I asked, breathing through the most intense pleasure I’d ever felt.

“Better than okay,” she promised, looking over her shoulder.

I kissed her deep and slow as I slid out of her body and then thrust home once more. “How the fuck is it even better?” I marveled.

“Again,” she pleaded, arching back against me, meeting my thrust. “Ransom!” She cried out, the sound snapping my restraint like nothing else could have.

I thrust hard and deep, setting a rhythm that had us both panting as we strained to get closer, our breaths mingling between kisses. She reached behind me and threaded her fingers through my hair, holding me close as I took her over and over, each time better than the last. I used the showerhead as another hand, the jets of water caressing her breasts, her belly, her thighs.

My body drew up tight, and I felt the warning of my approaching orgasm. Not yet.

I moved the water between her thighs, and she moaned as the jets pulsed against her clit.

“Ransom,” she gasped as her muscles went tight.

“Just like that,” I whispered, my fangs grazing her neck, the side of her throat.

She cried out as she came, her pussy rippling around me, squeezing me tight, but I didn’t let up, keeping the water right where she needed it as she reached that peak again and again. Only when she went limp did I drop the showerhead and coax her to another orgasm with my fingers as I pounded into her, losing every sense of self as I gave everything I had to her.

Every stroke was deeper. Harder. Longer. Faster, and she rocked back for every single thrust, taking everything I gave and giving more back.

White-hot pleasure raced down my spine and coiled tight.

“One more time, Liv,” I whispered against her ear, sliding my mouth down her neck and biting with only my front teeth.

“Ransom!”

I came at the sound of my name on her lips as she rippled around me once more, my release pouring into her with my last few, hard thrusts.

Somehow, I kept us both upright as we caught our breaths, then sat her on the bench and gently washed her clean. I had just soaped up her inner thigh when I went completely still.

“What is it?” she asked, her fingers toying in my hair.

“I didn’t use a condom.” My eyes found hers. “Hundreds of years, and I’ve never forgotten. Not once.” How the fuck had I let that happen?

A slow smile spread across her face. “I’m not fertile. Don’t stress yourself out.”

My forehead puckered slightly. Would the thought of Olivia bearing my young even stress me out? She’d be a phenomenal mother. Fierce. Protective. Everything.

“Hey,” she whispered, cupping my cheeks. “It’s fine. In fact, I’d like it to be fine again a few more times if you feel like moving to the bed.”

My cock rose to life, and I lifted her into my arms. “That, my Olivia, is an excellent idea.”

It was more than a few times. I’d lost count by morning.

10

Olivia

The scent of snow and spice clung to my skin, which was warm as I lingered in the place between sleeping and waking. Flashes of the night before flickered behind my closed lids.

Ransom wielding the showerhead like the most delicious weapon of all time.

His cock sliding home inside me again and again and again.

His tongue and lips and teeth—teasing, fucking, devouring.

A soreness between my thighs, and a sweet ache to be sated, beckoned me to fully wake. There was an honor in that soreness, a sense of satisfaction and craving I’d never felt before.

Ransom.

I wanted more.

I peeled my lids back, my lips already shaping into a smile…

That instantly dropped.

I sat upright in bed, holding the sheet around my naked body as my heart plummeted to my stomach in a matter of minutes. I scanned the empty bed, the empty room, sniffing the air with the hopes of Ransom’s scent placing him in the bathing chamber.

Nothing.

He…left?

A sinking feeling settled heavy inside me. Is that how this worked? He fucked me and left? Isn’t that how he always organized his lovers before me? Let them know up front it was a one-time thing with no strings? Is that what I was to him?

No. We’d talked about it in the shower. He assured me I wasn’t a game. That he’d wanted me for decades.

I raked my fingers through my hair, the memories of last night whirling through my mind. We hadn’t exactly spelled out any definite rules, and to be honest, I hadn’t wanted to. In that moment, all I could think about or want or need was him.

Even now—my mind spiraling with rejection and doubt and fear—I wanted that prick.

That cocky, funny, considerate prick who’d left me alone in our bed.

Was he trying to tell me something? Did he regret what we’d done? Had I not matched up to what he was used to?