Page 141 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
My smile tilts, small but real. “Murder?”
“You’d kill for me.” His thumb brushes over my jaw, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’d die for you. We fit, Americana.”
He’s right.
This man pulls things out of me I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling. Fire and fury I can’t always control. Rage, sharp enough to make me storm a sex club with my ride-or-die girls in tow. Jealousy that burns hotter than anything I’ve ever known, all because the idea of losing him makes my chest ache. He makes me crazy, reckless, ready to commit actual felonies—and somehow he does it while being the sweetest, most tender man I’ve ever let near my heart.
I don’t recognize this version of myself, but standing here in his arms, I don’t hate her either. Because the truth is, Iwouldkill for him. Just as easily as I know he’d bleed for me.
We’re fire and gasoline. Dangerous. Addictive. Impossible to put out.
We fit.
Behind me, Tatum groans. “Aww! Howsweet,” she drawls sarcastically. “Now that the lovebirds are back together, Eslin and I will be going back downstairs to change into our hoe attire and let some rich men order us expensive drinks.”
Declan just smirks, not looking away from me. “That’s fine,” he says easily.
“Because I’m taking my wife home.” Then he leans down, lips brushing the shell of my ear, voice a promise meant only for me. “And I plan to feast on her all night long. She’s the only supper club I’ll ever care to be a member of.”
Chapter forty-one
Headlights & Heat
Declan
The second the door shuts, I’ve got Marlow’s face in my hands. I don’t even wait for the driver to pull away—I drag her mouth to mine like I’ve been holding my breath all night.
Her lips part under mine and we’re a mess immediately—tongues colliding, tasting, taking. She’s warm, sweet, intoxicating, and I can’t get close enough.
My wife.
The thought hits me harder than the kiss. The way she stormed into that club tonight proved it—she’s finally stopped fighting what’s been burning between us since the moment we met. From the second I heard men try to win her in those pods, I knew. I claimed her instantly. She’s mine. And since that day, I’ve never wanted anything so completely.
I fist her ponytail, tugging until her head tilts back, her neck bared just for me. The sight makes me salivate. I sink my teeth into her skin, hard enough to make her jolt, and the sound she lets out nearly undoes me. I soothe the sting with my tongue, dragging a slow, wet line from her collarbone all the way to her ear.
She moans and it sparks through me, sharp and electric.
Her hands slide under my jacket, clutching at me like she’s staking her own claim. Every tug, every scratch of her nails through the fabric is proof—she wants me just as fiercely.
I kiss her harder, sucking at her bottom lip, swallowing the little sound she makes. The driver is a ghost, the city nothing but a blur. All I see is her, all I feel is her heat, her fight, her surrender—finally, fully, mine.
She laughs against my mouth, but it turns into a gasp when I fist my hand in her hair again, tilting her head so I can kiss her deeper. My other hand stays locked on her cheek, thumb brushing the soft line of her jaw as if it’ll brand me with the memory later.
She claws at me—my jacket, my shoulders, anything she can anchor herself to—dragging me in until her body is pinned against the window. The glass fogs, the driver shifts uncomfortably, but I couldn’t care less. The world can burn outside this car for all I care. Right now, there’s only her.
Her taste floods my mouth, sweet and sensual. The small, needy sounds she makes when I take her bottom lip between my teeth take me apart in ways I’ll never admit. She writhes beneath me, restless and desperate,and Christ—so am I.
Her mouth is wild, perfect. She’s a fucking storm—and I want to drown in it.
Her hand slips lower, bold, teasing, pressing against the ache that’s been torturing me since the second she stormed into my life. My wife. And I’ve never wanted anyone, anything, more than I want her.
The quiet click of the partition breaks through as the driver gives us some privacy. And then we’re alone. No audience. No restraint.
She knows it too. I see it in the flicker of her eyes before she shifts, sinking down, her gaze locked on mine as she kneels at my feet.
“Marlow,” I breathe, voice tight. “My love, you don’t have to. I can wait until we get home—”
Her hands work my zipper as if I haven’t said a word. “What if I can’t…wait?” She asks, and silences me with a single lick, her tongue tasting me, teasing me, claiming me.
