The Dark City Chronicles ⁓ Book Three
The apocalypse looms ever closer! Steamy romance, heart-stopping action, seductive vampires, magic that defies nature, sprinkles of dark-humor, and, as always, the everlasting bonds of friendship.
Hannah's strug...
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"Love?"
Darkness clung to the bedroom.
"I'm here," Asha replied shakily.
Frowning, Lucas unfastened his jeans and let them drop to the floor. His boxers were damp from the rain, so he took those off, too.
Grabbing a pair of joggers from the dresser, he put them on, eyes adjusting to the shadows.
He could make out Asha's form in the bed, turned away from him, a bent elbow cushioning her head.
Not bothering with a shirt, he climbed onto the mattress and laid a palm on her shoulder. "Asha?" He coaxed her to turn onto her back.
Her brown eyes were teary.
"What's wrong?"
Asha's breath came quicker. "I... I've done something I don't think you'll forgive me for."
Concern clenched his stomach. "You couldn't do anything to make me not forgive you, love. Nothing. Hell, you could kill someone, and I'd help you bury the body without questions."
Asha smiled, teary. "Maybe a few questions."
"Maybe a few," Lucas replied, smiling. His fingertips wiped away her tears, and he leaned in, kissing her gently—a contrast to the roughness he'd just shown Reid's mouth this afternoon.
"Lucas," Asha moaned, fingers gliding through his hair. "I love you."
"I love you more than you know. So, tell me what's wrong." He licked at her lips, and they parted sweetly for his tongue. "Tell me, Asha."
She whimpered—either from the emotional turmoil she was stowing or the sensation of him sliding between her legs.
He needed to feel her against him.
Soft palms found his shoulders, pulling him closer. A sharp pain ached his flank. The stab wound still gave him trouble, but he ignored it; worry and Asha's body against his distracted him from his discomfort.
"Tell me," he coaxed softly. He felt a sting when Asha's touch grazed the bite on the curve of his neck. He had almost forgotten about it. "Nothing you could say would ruin us," he told her. "I promise."
Asha sniffed. "It will."
Had she slept with someone else? An unfamiliar possessiveness roared in his chest. He would probably kill whoever it was, and he'd be a hypocrite for it.
"It won't," he assured, kissing her tenderly.
His mouth grazed her soft cheek, damp with tears, down her jaw and to her neck. His hand settled on her thigh, slipping between her legs. The silky fabric of her sleep shorts slid against his palm, and he relished the choked-off gasps and pretty moans she made against his ear.
Her body was deliciously pliant to his touch. But she wasn't speaking. He needed to know what she was keeping. The knot of worry in his stomach tightened by the second.
