Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

34. Odin

34

Odin

‘So It Goes…’ - Taylor Swift

E tta doesn’t have a chance to breathe before I’m tilting her chin upright so our lips can meet. It’s the complete opposite of the kiss we shared not even a few minutes ago. It’s soft and passionate and full of everything we don’t think we can admit.

Etta’s lips mold to mine, opening and moving, tasting like tears and lipstick. Her tongue slides along my bottom lip. A tentative exploration.

Forcing her body backward onto the nearest table, I give her the access she seeks. I dance my tongue inside her mouth until she starts to moan and her hands start to shake. Pinning her in place with my hip bones, I claim her neck with both of my hands and run my thumbs along her jaw as she melts in my arms.

My skin is so sensitive, so receptive that I’m experiencing everything with a new level of hyper focus. I feel the flutter of her eyelashes against my own, the thump, thump of her pulse under her jaw, her quick inhales of air and every aspect of her sweet, sweet mouth.

“I don’t know what to call you,” she breathes, snaking her fingers into my hair, clinging to my body. “Harvey? Odin?”

“Husband will do,” I reply and kiss her mouth with a force I didn’t know I possessed. I want to devour her—that’s what it feels like—to permanently fuse her skin to mine.

Etta grabs my face, pulling me back so she can press our foreheads together. “Odin,” she says confidently. We pant together, breathe in sync. “To Gen, you were Harvey, but to me, you are Odin. You are mine now.”

I smile as I kiss her, consume her, possess her.

I am yours. I am yours. I am yours.

Her floral perfume is so intoxicating, I can’t help sucking her skin, drinking her down, tasting her on the tip of my tongue. I shift so that my hands are stroking her sides, clutching at her hips, bunching up the material of her wedding dress.

This fucking dress.

Gen and I married at the local courthouse. Wearing the clothes we’d woken up in that morning. Etta is my bride in more ways than I’ve ever had. She’s an angel sent from heaven to rescue me. She’s fucking exquisite.

Heart exploding, I kiss her lips, tangling our tongues, infusing her scent with my own. I hold on to her so tightly I’m sure I’ll leave bruises. I fucking I hope I do.

But now, I’m satisfied with the way Etta completes me.

“You make me forget to breathe,” she whispers against my lips.

Encircling her back with my arms, suit pulled tight and too hot, I rest my forehead against hers and reply, “You make me want to breathe. ”

Etta whimpers and kisses me with so much force we both lose our balance. Laughing, I cup her ass and squeeze as I find the sensitive spot on her neck and lick till I’m high. Etta won’t stop moaning and gasping and kissing. Her nails cut through my blazer jacket, hungry for me.

She confirms it when she begs, “I need more.”

I can’t lift her and spread her legs like I want to. The dress is too long, and this place isn’t exactly secure. A few more minutes, and everyone will start to get suspicious. But fuck. How can I stop?

I slow my assault so I can concentrate on pulling the pins from the veil. Etta sighs against my mouth when it falls away. Then she kisses my cheek, my jaw, my neck, and goosebumps break out all over my skin. Fingering the zipper between her shoulder blades, her quick inhales slow. She gives me the sexiest look I’ve ever seen, and my cock hardens to stone.

“Mr. Bolt,” she whispers seductively. “Mrs. Bolt is feeling particularly insatiable.”

Groaning, I kiss her hard, my tongue devouring her mouth. I lean over the top of her, pushing her back onto the table. Her dress makes it difficult for her to relax fully, and when she leans on her elbows, it pushes her breasts up to her chin. In the stark lighting, I can see how stiff her nipples have become. My mouth waters, my lower abdomen pulses.

“I’m going to be fantasizing during dinner about all the ways I’m going to officially make you my wife.”

“Tell me,” she begs. “Tell me, my husband.”

“I’m going to fuck your tits and your sweet pussy.” She whimpers as my mouth finds her nipple, stiff and swelling under her dress. “I’m going to fuck you in the ass.”

“Yeah? And what about my mouth?”

“I was saving the best for last. But yes, I’ll fuck your mouth, too.”

“I’m not much of a blowjob girl. ”

That makes me smile. “I’ll change your mind.”

“Only you could.” She laughs and moans at the same time.

It’s rough and frantic how desperately I’m kissing her, but Etta is an electrified mess beneath me. She has to bite my neck when my hands squeeze and massage her tits.

If I make it quiet, no one will come and find us.

We’re both moaning, touching places on each other’s bodies we can’t get enough of.

“Please,” she whimpers, grabbing my hand and placing it on her lower stomach, her leg hitching upward. My hips buck against her, and I’m a second away from giving into my new wife when someone knocks on a door.

Not the door we entered, but another, to the right, that completely blends in with the wall. Etta freezes, but I draw the gun at my back in a split second and hold it up. I’m fucking kicking myself for not having noticed it.

“It’s me,” Dom calls.

We both deflate, our lips red and raw, our bodies tight with need. We drop our hands to our own bodies, adjusting here and there to make it seem like we weren’t about to fuck right after we said our vows.

“What is it?” I call.

“There’s someone who would like to speak to you.” I groan, but Dom adds, “Privately.” I trust Dom implicitly. If he thinks this is important, then I have to hear him out. My dick doesn’t want to agree.

I turn to Etta and she nods. “It’s fine.”

“Stay behind me.”

She fixes her dress quickly and smirks. “I will.”

“Come in.” I adjust my stance until I’m standing in front of her as Dom enters from what appears to be the servers’ entrance that leads back into the kitchens, followed by a young man. Roberto. I recognize the face, the impressive height, black curly hair and cutesy brown eyes that hide a shit ton of secrets. He’s one of the newest members of the Lombardo circle and quite close with Cerbera. We didn’t classify him as high risk, considering he hasn’t got a violent reputation. But he is smart, and Cerbera trusts his judgment.

I hate to admit I’m intrigued.

As Dom finds his place on my side, I pull the gun from my back pocket, hold it casually by my side, and point it right at his stomach. Etta squeezes my arm. I remain steady. I’m not putting her life at risk.

“Congratulations,” Roberto says, dipping his chin. He notices my gun and raises his hands, but he doesn’t appear worried.

“Thank you,” I reply, my grip tightening.

“Odin,” Dom interrupts. “This is Special Agent Henry Martin.”

I lift my chin. Interesting. “Does Cerbera know this?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Martin answers. “I’ve managed to keep it under wraps.”

Suddenly, the door to the room unlocks and swings open. Gwen, the wedding planner Dom hired, pokes her head in and sighs when she sees us. “Here you are. Dinner will be served—”

“Gwen!” Dom chastises, reaching to shut the door.

A startled inhale comes from the other side of the room. “Gwen?” Martin looks at her like he’s seen a ghost. “Gwen? Is that you?”

Gwen’s eyes widen as her attention lands on him. “Leo?” How on earth do these two know each other?

“Leo?” I question. “Thought it was Henry Martin.”

Special Agent Martin, or Leo, or whoever the fuck he is, stumbles over his words as he tries to clarify. “It is. They are. I am. Fuck . ”

Gwen ignores the special agent in the corner of the room, finally noticing the tense space between us and the gun in my hand. Her face pales. “I’ll give you a moment.”

“Wait—Wait, Gwen.” Leo launches after the woman, with the secret identity even I don’t know, then halts and spins to face us when he hears me pull back the safety.

“Hold your horses. You have some explaining to do,” I say.

His neck flushes with color. “My apologies.”

“So, Henry Martin. Who’s Leo, and why do you want to talk to me on my wedding day?”

“Henry Martin is a cover. But one I’ve used for a decade.” Something we have in common, it seems. Martin straightens, shakes off whatever took hold of him when he saw Gwen. “My real name is Leo King.”

“You’re Jendrick King’s son,” Dom says, his eyes widening in recognition. I, too, am familiar with the King name. To the world, he ran his late wife’s makeup company, building it up to be a million dollar empire, but behind the facade, his dealings with cocaine and heroin made him known as the Flesh King. No one stepped in his way. Everyone who worked for him and was caught didn’t last a month incarcerated.

“I am.” Leo clears his throat. “I was. We aren’t on speaking terms. He holds a bit of a sore spot toward me because I put him in jail.”

A tiny part of me is impressed by the rejection of his father, a similarity we both share, but my patience is running thin. “What do you want, Martin?”

“I want to bring you into the bureau and get you to collaborate with the DEA and the FBI. We want to bring the Lombardos to justice the right way.”

I scoff.

“I’m serious,” Martin says. “You don’t have to do this. ”

“Listen to him,” Etta whispers at my back, sending shivers down my spine.

“We should head back into the room,” Dom urges me.

“I understand your logic, but you’re a little late. Besides, this is the only way to control them. I know that firsthand.”

Martin’s fists clench. “Cerbera will kill you; he told me so himself.”

Etta gasps, her grip on me tightening.

“Not if I kill him first,” I reply. “Trust me. He won’t be alive by the end of the week.” I turn and take Etta’s hand. “We need to get back to our guests.”

Martin nods. “I’ll be in touch. Congratulations again.” Then he’s out the door as quietly as he came.

Dom closes the door behind him, shaking his head. “You two better clean yourselves up. Etta, reapply your lipstick. Odin, think about your grandmother or something. You look like two love-stricken puppies, and we can’t have that.”

He’s right. We have to head back out into the wolf’s den. Separate from one another.

“We can do this,” Etta whispers, as if reading my mind. “The special days are still to come.”

“You’re right,” I reply, kissing her temple, lingering for an extra beat. She smells just as much like me as I smell like her. A sublime combination.

Smirking just enough for her to see, I gesture for her to go through the door. Once my new wife’s back is to me, I fit the familiar ice mask back into place.

But this time, it’s wonky, too solid and causes my skin to itch.

It doesn’t fit like it normally does. It’s not so easy to ignore.

Because now… it doesn’t belong there anymore.