He paused, lifting his head to look at me. “Yes.” No denial, no reassurance—just brutal honesty as he balanced above me. “Does that change your mind?”
I studied him—this weapon made of flesh, this killer whose identity had been scraped away, leaving only deadly purpose behind. Except now there was something else there, too. Something they hadn’t managed to erase—something I wanted to further explore.
“No,” I answered, and pulled him back to me.
His mouth moved lower, trailing heat across my collarbone before descending to my breast. When his lips closed around my nipple, my back arched involuntarily. His tongue circled the hardened peak before he sucked it between his teeth, applying just enough pressure to dance along the edge between pleasure and pain.
I’d never been touched like this—with such focused intensity, as if memorizing every reaction was a mission-critical objective. My hips shifted restlessly against the hard thigh he’d wedged between my legs, seeking friction, seeking relief from the building pressure.
His fingers skimmed the waistband of my borrowed pants, his intent unmistakable.
Suddenly, Xavier’s face flashed behind my closed eyelids—my brother’s haunted eyes looking out from wherever they were keeping him. The image sliced through my arousal like ice water.
I stiffened, guilt crashing through me. What kind of person was I? Finding pleasure while Xavier might be experiencing the same torture that had broken Reaper? The same conditioning that had turned a man into a weapon?
Reaper sensed the change immediately. His body went still above mine, those predator’s eyes assessing me with unnerving accuracy. Though he remained close to me, he also gave me the space I desperately needed. Tears threatened to well and spill down my cheeks, but I somehow managed to hold them back. I was torn. Torn between wanting to march into whatever place they held my brother in, and staying here with Reaper for just a little longer. Amidst all the chaos and tension I had experienced for the past few months, I wanted just an hour of…peace.
“What is it?” His voice was rough, but his hands remained gentle on my skin.
“My brother,” I admitted, shame coloring my words. “I just—how can I be here with you while he’s out there suffering? While they might be doing to him what they did to you?”
Something like understanding flickered in Reaper’s eyes. “They win if you stop living, Maeve.” His thumb traced the curve of my cheekbone.
The simplicity of his statement struck me like a physical blow, but it was still hard to get my brother out of my head,even with Reaper’s attention so focused on me. He had me wonder, was that what I’d been doing? Punishing myself by refusing to live? Searching leads that went nowhere and hope that dwindled with each passing day?
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t water down the guilt that roamed through me, mixing with arousal.
“We’re going to find him,” Reaper said, the promise in his words all the more powerful for its matter-of-fact delivery. “But right now, this”, he pressed his forehead against mine, “this is ours. Not theirs. Not your brother’s. Just ours. There’s nothing we can do right now.”
His words shattered something inside me—permission to want, to take, to be selfish for these stolen moments. Xavier was strong…and he’d want me to live. Perhaps he wouldn’t be…too happy about the way I chose to do it, but he’d want me to enjoy what my life had to offer. And right now, this was the best I would get. This was all I wanted. And I surrendered to it.
“Yes,” I whispered, lifting my hips in silent invitation.
His hands slid beneath the waistband of my pants and underwear, dragging them down my legs in one smooth, efficient movement. Cool air kissed my most intimate places, and I fought the instinct to close my thighs.
Reaper’s reaction was immediate and visceral—a sharp intake of breath, his eyes darkening to gunmetal as they traveled over me.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.
No flowery compliments, no practiced seduction. These were three words that felt more honest than any elaboratepraise, especially given what he had gone through. He was undoubtedly not used to flirting with women, so there was no question in my mind that he truly meant it.
Then he was moving, settling between my thighs, his hands firm on my skin. His mouth found my center, the first stroke of his tongue drawing a shocked gasp from my throat. Tingles spread through me like wildfire, consuming me whole in an instant.
My back bowed off the mattress, fingers tangling in his short hair as pleasure spiraled outward from his relentless attention. He worked with devastating focus, learning my responses with each passing second, adjusting and adapting to every gasp and shudder. His tongue mercilessly worked against my clit, before dipping lower to my entrance which greeted him with throbbing need. I was already shaking in a frenzy of bliss. God, when was the last time someone touched me like this—never,was the answer. I had never been touched like this before. So certainly, so firmly.
So right.
Through the haze of building pleasure, I became aware of his hips grinding against the mattress, seeking friction. My hands knotted in his hair, drawing him back up. He covered my bare skin with rough kisses, until he reached my mouth, and I could taste my arousal on his lips.
“Please…” I pleaded, my tone reeking of desperation. My hands fumbled downward, finding the waistband of his pants. I tugged impatiently, needing to feel all of him. “I need to feel you.Please.”
He lifted his hips, allowing me to push the fabric down. The pants tangled around his thighs before he kicked them free.
Then suddenly, he froze.
His head lifted, eyes going cold and distant. That killer’s gaze returned—the one I’d first seen in República Square. Something in his programming resurfaced, battling against what we’d started.
“Reaper?” I whispered, fear threading through desire as I watched him struggle.
