Page 73 of Lucky
His hands slide from my face, trailing down my arms, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His fingers find the curve of my waist, pulling me closer until the distance between us closes. I feel the solid warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart pounding in sync with my own. His lips move against mine with a fervor that leaves no room for doubt, no space for second thoughts.
The kiss deepens, his mouth claiming mine as though he’s afraid to let go. His hands grip my hips, grounding me as the world tilts beneath my feet. He pulls back just enough to search my eyes, his breath ragged. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, laced with a vulnerability that steals my breath. But I don’t. Instead, I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the tension in his muscles, the restrained strength barely held in check.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, the words a plea, a confession.
Something shifts in him then, his resolve breaking like a dam giving way to the flood. He lifts me effortlessly, his hands firm and sure as he carries me to the couch. The room grows smaller, the air heavier, as he lowers me onto the cushions, his body a comforting weight above me.
His kisses trail from my lips to my jaw, down the curve of my neck, each touch igniting a fire that burns brighter, hotter, with every passing second. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him, all of him. His name escapes my lips in a breathless whisper, a prayer and a surrender all at once.
The world outside ceases to exist, the quiet house cocooning us in its stillness. It’s just us now, lost in a moment that feels endless, as if time itself has bent to the intensity of what we’ve found here. His touch, his kisses, his whispered promises weave together, pulling me deeper into the essence of him. And for once, I’m not afraid to be consumed by the unknown.
37
LUCKY
All I could think as the first bullet rang out in the silence was how I was going to protect Jacklyn. I could make my peace with dying, but I couldn’t live in a world without her. She crept up on me slowly but surely, until she became an addictive drug swimming in my veins.
I push inter her, moving slowly at first, my mouth against hers as we find our rhythm. She winds her long naked legs around me as she lifts to meet my thrusts. I growl, low and unsteady, into her neck, then nip her skin, tasting her, swallowing her. I want to consume every inch of her.
We rock back and forth, and I pull back, watching her through half lidded eyes, revelling in the desire behind every moan that escapes her lips.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” I tell her, even as I nuzzle back into her neck, inhaling her scent. The scent that’s become an addiction for me. Orange blossom and patchouli. Sex and sin. Heart and soul. I can’t stop breathing her in.
She reaches out a hand, runs it through the scruff of my hair until it settles at the nape of my neck. She pulls me closer to her, until our lips are dancing against each other again. Until ourbodies are sliding against each other, nothing between us but a fine film of sweat.
Her arm snakes around my waist, her movements deliberate. With a swift push, she shifts us onto our sides. Before I can process the change, she taps me one last time, and I’m on my back, staring up at her. She’s straddling me now, her knees bracketing my hips, and I let it happen. I let her take control, even as the last threads of my restraint unravel, snapping like tensioned wire.
Her body moves with a sensual rhythm, rising and falling in a mesmerizing dance. Each lift sends a wave of heat through me; each grind drives me deeper into her core. Her hands press firmly against my chest, grounding herself as she sets the pace. She leans forward, her breath warm against my skin, and her teeth graze one of my nipples. A sharp nip sends a jolt through me, followed by the soothing stroke of her tongue. She repeats the tease on the other side, drawing out sensations that leave me trembling beneath her.
“So damn beautiful,” I murmur, my voice rough with desire. The words tumble out unbidden, raw and honest. My hands find her waist, my grip firm, almost bruising. I hold her there, staking my claim. Possession thrums in my veins, an undeniable truth: she’s mine. She will always be mine. Nothing—no one—will ever change that.
Her movements quicken, her grinding becoming more frantic, more desperate. She’s chasing her release, her body a symphony of need and determination. “Fuck,” she cries out, the word breaking through the haze as she rocks against me. Her voice is high, almost breathless, and it ignites something feral inside me.
“Ride me, baby,” I grunt, my hips rising to meet hers. Each thrust brings us closer, the intensity building like a dam aboutto break. Our bodies move in perfect sync, a primal rhythm that drowns out everything else.
Her moan is guttural, raw, as she throws her head back and succumbs to her climax. Her hips stutter, then sway, and her cries fill the air, echoing off the walls. The sight of her, lost in her pleasure, pushes me over the edge. Heat coils and snaps inside me, and I spill into her, the release tearing through me with a force that leaves me breathless.
For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us, tangled together in the aftermath. Her body softens against mine, her breaths slowing as she collapses onto my chest. My hand moves to the curve of her back, holding her close as my heart pounds against her cheek.
She will always be mine. And mine alone.
We lay togetherin bed hours later as the sky grows dark and there is only silence all around us. I finger a long strand of her dark hair as she rests on my chest, purring lazily against my skin. I cannot get enough of this woman as she rips into my heart and builds herself a home there.
“What’s going to happen now?” she asks. I know she knows we met earlier about the events today and how to move forward; we’re all still startled at the brazen attack that happened even in the presence of Dante Accardi. Now, he won’t leave until he’s cleaned house and made his mark on the city.
“Today was a blatant declaration of war,” I tell her.
“Daniel Russo?”
“More than that. One of the heads of the five families is backing him; we just have to figure out who.”
She lets out a low whistle, shaking her head slightly. “Damn. Talk about loyalty,” she mutters, her fingers trailing absentmindedly across my chest. The touch is light but grounding, a tether to the present as my mind races through possibilities.
I let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough in the quiet room. “Loyalty?” I repeat. “Sometimes greed consumes people. Taking out Daniel—that’s like stepping on the snake. But if we want this to end, we need to cut off the head. We have to find the source.”
Her movements slow, her fingers now tracing lazy circles, a thoughtful expression settling on her face. The room seems to grow quieter, the weight of my words sinking in. She is processing, as always, piecing things together in that sharp mind of hers.
After a beat, I break the silence. “I may be gone for the next few days,” I tell her, my voice softer now, almost hesitant.