Page 56 of King of Ashes
I arch a brow. “You forgot something.”
“Come here, please,” he says in a no-nonsense voice dripping with authority.
Is it better? No.
Do I follow his request? Yes.
I am a walking contradiction.
This man has the uncanny ability to mess me up.
I know what he wants before he says it, but continuing to question why would only drive me insane. So I drop into his lap, the fight instantly leaving me when he snakes an arm aroundme, disarming me with blue eyes that shine so brightly they thrust a bolt of light into my chest.
“This is demeaning,” I whisper.
“Sitting in your husband’s lap?” he asks, sounding contrite.
That’s new, giving me hope that maybe, with time, we can cohabitate in peace. But do I even want that when I love the chaos, the fiery passion that brands every moment? Maybe we could compromise, tapping into a world where they are not mutually exclusive.
“You expecting me to follow your orders.”
“Is that how you see it?”
I nod, and he sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s been so long, mi sol. Life has made me harder. I desperately want you, need you close to function. I’m sorry for failing to show you that.”
His message conveys something more. I can’t figure it out, but the raw sincerity behind his words is unmistakable.
I don’t remember the woman who fell in love for the first time, leaving me uncertain whether my caution is inherited or learned.
“The please helps,” I say to bring back some levity.
He chuckles and buries his face in my neck, inhaling me until my breathing turns labored.
“Then I’ll beg, baby, for the rest of my life if you desire. I live to take care of you. You’re not alone anymore. You have me and always will.” He looks at me, expecting me to respond in kind.
I wish I were that open, that honest, but I am too scared to analyze my feelings for him. I am not ready yet, and I don’t know when—or if—I ever will be.
He nods more to himself and then lifts the fork to my lips, feeding me. Like in a trance, I open my mouth, remaining plastered in his lap, surrounded by his woodsy scent and this overwhelming feeling of belonging. Of home.Like I’ve experienced this exact moment before, even if I have no recollection of it. It’s strangely intimate and undoubtedly familiar. I savor every moment, but there’s this deep-rooted fear chipping away at the bliss, revealing it as nothing but a mirage.
After breakfast, he lifts me up, and as I glide down his torso, I feel his arousal, a current electrifying me. I bite down a moan, knowing how exquisite he feels against me. I should get a medal for restraint for not jumping him right then and there.
“Let’s go to torture. Nothing new with you,” he says, but the easygoing expression seems forced, from his tight smile to the way he waves his own reply away.
I grip his cheeks and pout. “I’ll take care of your booboos afterward.”
That brings a genuine smile to his face, and he gestures for me to lead the way.
Inside the training building, I take my place behind the cameras in the monitoring room, recognizing him even beneath the heavy gear.
It’s him against ten of my best men.
He will lose, but the proud asshole would never admit that, taking them in with obvious boredom.
Something we have in common.
To make matters worse, my team wears the newest bulletproof attire. The extra layer of protection ensures no pain, no bruises. Vian wears an older model, and when he realizes it, he stares right into the first camera and mouths, “Your ass is mine.”
I shake my head at him, stifling my smile even though he can’t see me. It’s like every interaction between us has become more about uncovering our hearts than our lives. I would like to know his. Maybe I can live vicariously through his past, make it mine somehow so I have an anchor.
