Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 36

36

LOVE NOTES IN THE FLESH

Ivory

I never understood what all the female leads in my books meant when they said the hero looked boyish in his sleep. It didn’t seem possible for these fine, hard-lined men to look anything other than grown.

Joke’s on me, ’cause I get it now.

I wouldn’t say Rio looks like a boy, but the normally sharp edges of his face seem softer. Relaxed. Peaceful. Even the subtle part of his lips is so out of the ordinary, the wispy strands of his unruly hair brushing his forehead, too.

My stomach does the thing the longer I stare, that tilt-a-whirl, rabid butterflies swarming thing. And if it wasn’t because my bladder is two seconds from bursting, I’d lay here wordlessly for another five minutes and just admire him in this state.

Carefully peeling his large paw of a hand off my ass, I slip out of bed and pad into the bathroom as quietly as possible. It’s a damn spa in here, all tiled in a deep charcoal gray and illuminated perfectly by the skylight and the same wall of windows as in his bedroom and the common areas of the penthouse. A massive (and I do mean massive) walk-in shower sits on one end. A freestanding tub on the other, overlooking the city. Everything else is pretty standard.

After going about my business, I find a toothbrush laid on top of a towel and a small piece of paper right beside one of the sinks.

In case you wanted to shower after you wake up.

- Crow

Yes, there’s a cheesy smile on my face right now. No, I don’t care. This right here… This is the Rio I remember.

My Crow.

Physical touch will always be that man’s primary love language—mine too—but Acts of Service is a close second for him. Always making sure I’m comfortable and taken care of, putting himself second to my needs. It could be the smallest thing, like brushing my hair, pouring me a drink, or filling up my gas tank; he’s attentive as he is possessive.

I’ve missed this.

Tracing the tidy flow of his handwriting, I finally steal a peek at myself in the mirror. That goofy, lovesick smile is there, probably a permanent fixture at this point, but so are rosy, glowing cheeks and a dark mane of mussed up sex hair. I haven’t seen myself look like this—dizzily happy—in forever.

That’s when they come into view.

The hickeys he left all over my tits.

None of them touch the upper swells, just in between, underneath, a stray few on my belly. I gasp when I spot the smattering on my inner thighs, only to smile twice as big before smashing my lips together and shaking my head. A quick spin and I find a couple on my butt, too.

When he said mine, he wasn’t playing, apparently.

The crazy part is, I don’t even remember feeling him leave them. Then again, we tore into each other so many times last night, my memory is rather foggy after the fourth orgasm. I was probably in a daze when he sucked his love notes into my skin. And you know what? I like them. I like bearing his mark.

Maybe a little too much.

Stepping into the shower, I mess with the lever until the water mimics hellfire and stand directly beneath the rain-like stream, mentally reviewing the evening as most of the evidence whirls down the drain. Truthfully, I don’t want to wash him off me. I love the smell of him, but that wouldn’t work out too well with a full day of decorating ahead. I already know those flashbacks are gonna hit hard . I don’t need Rio’s deliciously masculine scent mixed with mouthwatering sex wafting up my nose every time I take a breath, too.

I know he’s behind me long before he even touches me. A blanketing shiver races down to the tips of my toes in anticipation. His hard front against my back is the first thing I feel, then his soft lips, starting at the crook of my neck and dancing along my shoulder…

“It’s a damn good morning when I wake up to find you in my shower,” he rasps, grazing his palms along my stomach as his length nestles between my ass cheeks. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” I admit, leaning my head aside as he starts back the way he came. “You?”

“Better than I have in a long time.”

Humming appreciatively, I spin around in his hold and inch up on the tips of my toes, trapping his neck in my arms. “You left marks, you know.”

A wolfish grin slides his lips apart before he kisses me and grabs two handfuls of my ass. “I caught a peek of them here. Let me see the rest.”

Another quick peck and I release him, allowing his hungry gaze to roam the curves of my figure. Mine do the same because holy shit…Rio’s naked body, wet, in morning light?

Jesus.

Forget the very hard anaconda he calls a dick, the Adonis belt, those abs, his sinewy arms, or really anything else for that matter. It’s the traps for me, how they accentuate his neck and slope out to his shoulders, that damned silver chain cocooned perfectly between the grooves.

With his hair dripping and the way those soul-sucking brown eyes are honed in on me right now, his chest heaving faster by the minute—he’s a whole beast. I’m actually considering a new nickname ‘cause I don’t think Crow is going to cut it these days. That was baby Rio. This Rio is a grown ass, virulent man ready to rip me to shreds.

He’s entirely pleased with himself and every last visible mark, pulling me back into him and effortlessly reclaiming my mouth. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Had to mark my territory, Princess.”

“No need. Already yours, remember?” I’m as serious as I was last night.

There’s no point in fighting it anymore. No point in telling him we can’t do this and blah, blah, blah. It’s an impossible, exhausting feat to stay away from him, for us to stay away from each other, and I’m tired of forcing myself into pretending I don’t want him. Like I don’t want this.

I’ve wanted it since it ended.

Hell, I never wanted it to end.

I love him.

“Don’t play with me, Ivory,” he growls softly, pressing me up against the ice-cold tiles and out of the spray.

“I’m not. All yours, baby.”

Another growl bounces off the walls, a wilder rendition, as he drags his lips to my ear and nips at the lobe. “What is it you always say to me? Be so fucking for real right now.”

“Look at me…” I demand, reaching between us to seal a hand around his length. A few swipes through my pussy lips and he’s in, filling me slowly. “I am. I have been. Always will be.”

Rio groans and flexes his hips, stretching me out to capacity. “ Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Rio. All yours.”

Every last piece of me.

“Fuck… How am I supposed to go to work when all I wanna do is drag you back to bed and spend the day tangled up with you?”

“We have to make a living,” I chuckle, gasping when he slams into me.

“Fuck that shit. Worshipping you is my living.”

That’s definitely what it felt like less than twelve hours ago. My soul left my body a few times. “Fiend,” I jest playfully.

“Like you aren’t?” Burying his face in my neck, he hooks one of my legs over his forearm, lazily plunging in and out of me. “Who just shoved my cock inside herself like it belongs there?”

“Your hard cock, I should remind you,” I whisper. “He wanted in. Seemed rude to ignore him.”

“He always wants in. That’s why I can’t keep my hands off of you.”

“Good thing I want them all over me then, huh?”

Literally all over me. Everywhere at once. Soft, rough, any which way possible.

“God, I’m so obsessed with you, it’s sickening.” The declaration blasts against my neck in a heated breath as he bites the curve. “Got me all fucked in the head.”

My eyes flutter shut, arms cinching tighter around him. I know the feeling all too well. It’s maddening, frustrating, yet equally intoxicating. “Same. Trust me… Same. ”

That sets him off. Not quite as brutal as last night, but his unhurried tempo disappears entirely, replaced with an urgency I’m not sure I’ve felt from him before. At one point or another, I find myself face front to the tiles with the pads of his fingers digging into my hips. My moans, his growls, our skin slapping…every sound is amplified through the steamy space, heightening the moment.

Leaning into me, he brings a deft finger to my clit. “Are we really doing this again, or are you fucking with me? Be real, Ivory,”

“What part of ‘I’m yours’ didn’t you understand?” I moan, clawing at the wall for purchase.

“The part where I’m scared as fuck to lose you again.”

If he wasn’t holding me upright, I might keel over in shock and maybe die from cardiac arrest. Rio Guerra admitting to actually being scared? And of losing me, no less? I’m in my feelings immediately because all this avowal has done is further solidify how trying to run from him was always a hopeless cause.

We might be older now, but our hearts have been frozen in time.

“Not happening.” My head rocks definitively. “We didn’t go through all this shit—chaotic, messy, and ugly—only to be ripped apart again.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts then, digging his cock into the deepest part of me as if he wants me to feel the verity of those two little words.

And I do, God, do I ever, gasping out a confused, “For?”

“Everything. I’m sorry for everything, Petal. Everything I did to you, everything I said to you, everything I put you through. ”

All movement ceases. I think I stop breathing. He swore he’d never apologize and yet here we are. Alexa, play Drake’s “In My Feelings” ’cause clearly I’m not the only one stuck in mine.

Spinning in his hold, I grab his face and pull him down to my level, forcing him to look me in the eye. “I don’t see any of that when I look at you. It all disappears and, in a way, that’s just you and me, how we’ve always worked—torn between love and hate. It might be toxic as fuck, but I don’t give a shit.”

There’s a brief bout of silence as he absorbs that little tidbit before he scoops me up off my feet and presses me into the shower wall. “You saying you still love me, Belucci?”

I nod slowly and seek out his lips. “I never stopped.”