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He slaps my ass once, then positions himself at my entrance and pushes inside me so slowly, it’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him to hurry.

But his face.

It’s lined with worry, and something I can’t quite put my finger on, so I let him do whatever it is that he needs. When he’s seated fully inside me, he leans in and presses his lips to my ear.

“I’m so fucking obsessed with you that thoughts of you interrupt every goddamn moment of every day. Whether I’m eating lunch or cutting off a man’s hand, you’re never far from my mind.”

“That’s so . . .” Fucked up. “Romantic?”

He huffs out a laugh before kissing down my neck, and then he pulls back, starting to fuck me, and my core tightens around him.

“So damn tight,” he says before biting my shoulder in that way that I love so much. “And all fucking mine.”

Now it’s like he can’t hold back while he grips onto my hips and starts to pound me against the glass, as if he’s a man possessed, and I love every second of it. I push back, meeting him thrust for thrust.

He reaches around and presses his fingers over my clit, and that’s all it takes to send me over, rippling around him as I come so hard that my vision blurs.

“Fuck,” he growls as he lets go, rocking into me as he surrenders to his own climax.

Breathing hard, he rests his forehead against my shoulder, and his hands move up and down my sides.

“So fucking perfect.”

“Are you okay?” I ask softly, keeping my eyes on him as he nods and kisses the ball of my shoulder.

“I’m fine, Sunshine. Let’s go shoot some shit up.”

Thirty-One

CARSON

It’s been too fucking quiet.

I killed four of Damien’s men in the past week, and there hasn’t been a fucking word from the asshole. Nothing.

And I don’t trust that.

Since we discovered that Damien and Lincoln are one and the same man, due to facial reconstruction surgery thanks to me pummeling him so severely that he was unrecognizable, he’s gone underground. Again.

And it’s frustrating as fuck because my whole job is to hunt men down and kill them.

No one is better at my job than I am.

Yet, I can’t find the fucker. I’ve also had Julian running facial rec through every goddamn means he has. Spider’s been using his hacking skills, and we’ve all used our contacts with the other heads of families to try to pin him down.

Nothing.

It seems that, as Lincoln, he was everywhere, and now he’s gone up in smoke, and the rage that continues to course through my veins at the thought of that motherfucker still breathing is a living thing inside me.

But I’m home right now with my boy, and I need to keep my head on straight because he’s way too young for any of this to touch him.

“I like oatmeal,” he says, surprise filling his little voice.

“Haven’t you had it before?” I ask him, leaning on the counter across from him.

There are still moments that I can’t believe that Rina’s alive, let alone that we have this perfect boy.

“Mom tried,” he says with a shrug. “But, I’m picky.”