She leans forward, pressing her forehead against mine, our breaths mingling. There’s something different in her eyes now—not just lust or need, but something deeper. Something that makes my chest tighten.
“I’m yours,” she whispers, and the possessive thrill that usually follows those words transforms into something more profound.
Her rhythm falters as her orgasm builds. I wrap one arm around her waist, holding her steady as I drive into her with precision, hitting that spot that makes her eyes roll back.
“Look at me when you come,” I command softly.
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then lock onto mine with startling clarity. When she climaxes, she doesn’t scream or thrash—she sighs my name like a prayer, her body pulsing around me in waves that trigger my own release.
I bury myself as deep as possible inside her, holding her against me so tightly we’re practically one being. She cups my face in her hands, her thumbs stroking my cheeks with a tenderness that undoes me.
“You’re incredible,” she whispers, pressing soft kisses along my jaw, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth.
The words rise in my throat before I can stop them. Three simple words I’ve never said to anyone except Cyrus. Words I didn’t think I was capable of feeling for anyone else.
I swallow them back, certain of two things: these words should include Cyrus when they’re finally spoken, and I need to know if my brother feels the same for her.
Keira smiles at me, something knowing in her expression, as if she can read the words I’m holding back. She kisses me softly, unhurriedly, no longer the wild creature who demanded to ride me, but something equally powerful in her gentleness.
37
CYRUS
The screen of my phone lights up with a text from Xavier Blackwood. I’m in the kitchen making breakfast while Keira showers and Ace checks security feeds.
“Fuck,” I mutter, reading the message.
Ace looks up from his laptop. “What?”
“X wants us at the office. ASAP.”
“Both of us?”
I nod. “Yeah. His office, thirty minutes.”
“Keira stays here,” Ace says, not a question.
“Obviously.” I set the spatula down and switch off the stove. The pancakes will have to wait.
Keira emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping. She’s filled out since coming to live with us—healthier, stronger. The haunted look that used to flash across her face is gone, replaced by something steady and self-assured.
“Why so serious?” she asks, looking between us.
“Work,” I tell her, crossing to kiss her forehead. “We’ll be back soon.”
She tenses slightly. “Is it dangerous?”
“Just a meeting,” Ace says, already sliding weapons into various holsters. “Stay in the penthouse until we return.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re seated in Xavier Blackwood’s office. The fucker is leaning back in his chair, studying us like we’re lab specimens. The room smells like expensive cologne and hidden threats.
“Our Russian problem has escalated,” Xavier says without preamble. “Viktor Kozlov lost over eight million when you eliminated Marconi. Apparently, they were finalizing distribution channels for a new synthetic.”
“You told us Marconi was moving on east district territory,” Ace replies, voice neutral. “Nothing about Kozlov.”
Xavier’s mouth tightens. “Intelligence failure. Kozlov arrived in Ravenwood yesterday.”
My blood runs cold. “He’s here personally?”