The way he kisses me … I know his answer.
He’s demanding a baby; he’d settle without one if he had to.
My hands slide up to his firm shoulders, kneading the tense flesh and making him growl at me again.
And then I finally—fucking finally, I could sob—feel what it’s actually like when Crown allows himself to have me.
I think … I mean, I know that I’m the only woman in the world that’s ever felt this way with him. He could’ve fucked a thousand groupies for all I care, but not a one of them would ever know what it’s like to be in my position.
Instead of surrendering to Crown, he’s surrendering to me.
As dominant as he is, with as many control issues as he has, this is …
It’s magical.
A dark magic. Black magic. A curse, maybe. But magic, nonetheless.
He ends up pushing me down onto the bed and kissing me like he can’t breathe if our mouths aren’t pressed tight, if his tongue isn’t working against mine. Crown grinds the hardness of his erection into me, and I make a low, desperate sort of sound.
Wow.
The way Sin and I kissed at the hospital, that was new.
So is this.
He’s giving into me; Crown is letting me have him.
“I could have you,” I once whispered.
“Could have me, huh?” he’d replied, ever the cocky, arrogant alpha prick.
Then he made love to me. Then he treated me like a terrible secret, a mistake.
I wrap my legs around him, drawing him as close as I can without violating Beast’s wishes. If this is going to work, there have to be some rules. And they have to be followed.
Crown breaks away from me with a gasp, turning his head to one side. When I fist my fingers in his hair, he clenches his teeth.
“Get up,” he breathes out, pulling away from me suddenly and shaking himself out. With a contorted facial expression, he undoes his belt and jeans, reaching in to adjust his junk with a curse. “You might want to change clothes.” He slides his phone from his pocket to check the time. “Cat should be on his way over here by now.”
My blood goes cold, and I sit up, shivering as all of that vibrant heat dissipates in a rush.
“What does he want?” I ask, my voice darkening as the reality of our situation hits me in the chest like a punch.
Did … did Crown really just tell me that I’m pregnant?
Did Cat really shoot Gaz?
Shit.
Reality sucks.
“I don’t know, but be prepared,” Crown tells me, fixing his pants and then sliding open the center drawer of his dresser. He removes a revolver, checks the cylinder, slips it into the waistband of his jeans and tucks it beneath his cut. “If we have to go, we’ll be leaving quick. If there are any material items that you absolutely need, I’d prepare a bug-out bag.” He looks at his phone again and gives a quick shake of his head. “Later though. We don’t have time right now.”
I slide off the edge of the bed, digging through my duffel bag until I find something that makes me feel more like myself: tight leather pants, a loose tank with a coffin on the front, and some huge silver hoop earrings that I have about a million memories of seeing on Posey’s ears.
“What will we do with Grey?” I ask, but Crown just passes me a look, and I nod. “Right. The chimney.”
I slip my feet into boots just as we hear the sound of an approaching motorcycle.
A very familiar motorcycle, the one that’s both lullaby as well as nightmare.
Yep, Daddy’s here—and I just hope he hasn’t brought an army along with him.
With Grey safely tucked away in the attic and Reba upstairs in a guest room, it’s just me and Crown in the living room when Cat walks in. The former stays standing in the arch between the entryway and the living room itself, his back to the wall. He has his eyes on Cat as soon as the door opens.
My father doesn’t knock, and Crown very purposefully left the door unlocked for him. This whole interaction smacks of a dominance display.
Cat strides confidently into the house—alone.
I stand up from the sofa, suddenly desperate to maintain a defensive position. The man radiates violence as he moves over to stand on the other side of the coffee table, turning to face me.
We look at each other, matching gaze to matching gaze.
In an instant, there’s a gun in my face.
“Remind me again why I shouldn’t blow your fucking brains out?” he asks, but then there’s Crown stepping forward. The barrel of his own weapon presses into the side of his president’s skull, and he pulls the hammer back.
“No,” he says calmly, just like that. “I won’t allow you to hurt her.”
