Page 57 of Reaper
Wyatt's hands instantly fall away. He watches me, his brow furrowing in deep confusion.
I don't put the barrel in the case. I press it firmly back into his open palms, curling his calloused, scarred fingers around the cold steel.
"Don't put it down." My voice remains fierce and steady.
Wyatt stares at the weapon in his hands, then up at me. "Addy..."
"I didn't fall in love with a civilian." I cup his jaw, my thumb brushing gently over the dark purple bruise blooming across his cheekbone. "I fell in love with a protector. I fell in love with the man who crossed a border with nothing but a knife and forty bullets because he refused to let a monster hunt me."
He leans heavily into my touch, a ragged breath shuddering past his lips.
"This is who you are." I run my hand over his broad shoulder, feeling the hard, coiled muscle beneath his skin. "You're the man who stands in the dark so the rest of the world can live in the light. Frost knows it. CJ knows it. I know it."
I lean down, pressing my forehead against his.
"This is how you keep people alive." I whisper and the words brush against his lips. "You pick this up for them. And you pick it up for me."
Wyatt closes his eyes. A profound, shuddering tremor rips through his massive frame.
The battle he has been fighting against his own nature instantly dies. The shame evaporates.
He doesn't have to choose between the weapon and the woman. I accept both. I demand both.
He lets the heavy rifle barrel slide from his hands. It clatters loudly into the Pelican case on the floor.
He doesn't reach for it again. He reaches for me.
His good arm wraps aggressively around my waist, hauling me forward until my thighs press flush against the edge of the mattress. He buries his face in my stomach, dragging oxygen into his lungs like a drowning man breaking the surface.
I thread my fingers deep into his hair, holding him tight against me.
"You're entirely too smart for me." His voice is a low murmur, his hot breath soaking through the thin cotton of my shirt.
"I'm a forensic accountant." A soft, breathless laugh escapes me. "I'm literally paid to see the things you try to hide."
Wyatt tilts his head back, looking up at me. The shadows in his eyes are gone, replaced by a dark, consuming heat that steals the breath right out of my lungs.
"I don't want to hide anymore." He says it quietly.
He shifts his grip, his large, calloused hands sliding up my sides. He traces the curve of my ribs, his thumbs brushing lightly over the heavy, frantic pulse beating beneath my skin. The touch is reverent, agonizingly slow, and entirely possessive.
I shiver, the heat pooling low and heavy in my stomach.
"Then don't," I whisper.
Wyatt pulls me down.
I straddle his lap, being incredibly careful not to bump his cracked ribs. My knees bracket his hips, sinking into the soft mattress. The heat of his bare skin radiates against me, burning straight through my clothes.
He groans, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through his chest as he wraps his arms fully around me. He pulls my mouth down to his.
The kiss isn't gentle. It isn't hesitant.
It is a violent, desperate claiming. He parts my lips aggressively, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, taking complete ownership of the taste and the heat. I gasp against his mouth, my hands tangling desperately in his hair.
He tastes like mint, exhaustion, and absolute permanence.
I kiss him back with everything I have. I pour every ounce of fear, relief, and love into the slide of my tongue against his.
