Take It On The Run

Chapter 62

POV: Liam

The sweet, heady taste of Sloan lingered on my lips as Rory reached the outskirts of a familiar suburb.

Instinctively, I looked down at the woman who had become my anchor, my world, and nearly pinched myself. She was relaxed and boneless, her cheeks still flushed from when I had feasted on her glorious, ripe cunt. The sight of her tucked against my side, head restin' on my bicep as she watched the ever changin' landscape through the tinted, bulletproof windows—well, it shattered me in the best possible way.

The world could burn to ash around us now, and I would fail to notice—because I couldn't look away from my fiancée, couldn't stop the quiet joy buildin' in the part of my heart where death and darkness had once thrived.

Sloan was a physical paradox I wanted to unravel at my leisure. Tall for a woman—the perfect fit for my large frame—not to mention incredibly buxom, with full breasts and hips and thighs and a generous backside I could lose myself in for eons. Yet she carried herself as a seasoned warrior, her flesh honed like a weapon—an instrument of retribution.

I had been all too happy to play the enemy. To receive the full might of her disdain and fury. To let her believe the worst of me. Because it ensured her safety.

Maybe I coulda done right by her and left her well alone as I had always planned had she stayed in America like she was supposed to, or if a quick fuck was all I desired. But it wasn't. And she hadn't stayed away.

In four days' time, we would be man and wife, and then, if everythin' went accordin' to plan at the reception, our honeymoon would begin. Sloan would finally see the world—Paris, the Maldives, Santorini, the Amalfi Coast, Thailand, and more—but I would not be by her side experiencin' it through her eyes.

If everythin' went accordin' to plan, Sloan would be far, far away from me and The Collectors by then, startin' a new life with her lovers. And if things did not go accordin' to plan, I would be dead.

But first, I wanted our union to be real. I wanted her to know the truth. About everythin'. And I wanted her to choose me in spite of it.

That was why I had to ignore my throbbin' cock now. Even though it would take mere seconds to yank that gown up and take what I wanted. What we both wanted.

"So...are you gonna tell me where we're going?" Sloan snapped, clearly still cross with me for refusin' to bed her without love. "Or should I consult a goddamn Ouija board?"

My lips curved up at her Ouija board comment, and I kissed the top of that ethereal crown of white-blond hair, inhalin' her floral scent. Normally, I insisted she ride in my lap, but if she did that right now, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off her.

Havin' her so near yet so far away was torture. Worse, I knew I could fuck her right here and now if I wanted to, knew she would open for me like a lush flower in full bloom, knew how tight and wondrous her silky warmth would feel around my huge prick, the desperate keenin' sounds she would make. Knew how the expression she made as she came for me the first time I rode her bare would shatter me into a million little pieces that would never be fused back together. 

I also knew that there was more than just a kernel of truth to her words when she told me I couldn't fuck my way into her heart. And I wanted her heart. Even though I didn't deserve a single piece of it. Even though I should just walk away.

Years of voyeurism had taught me that Sloan either weaponized sex or used it to fulfill a physical need. She didn't get attached or involve her heart in the act. Which meant she was completely capable of makin' love to me and then walkin' away forever the moment it was over.