Hush (Black Lotus #3)(48)

When we’re sweaty, sated, and completely out of breath, I roll us onto our sides and unbuckle the belt, and like all the times before, she clings her arms around my neck. My cock twitches as I keep it buried in her and band my arms around her body as she holds on to me.

I’m sure she’s unaware that I need her embrace more than she needs mine in this moment. She soothes me in a way no one has been able to, taking the toxins out of my bones and replacing them with her love. She fills me entirely, handing herself over so willingly for me to take whatever it is that I need, and she does it so perfectly.

I pull my head back to look at her, and she nuzzles her forehead against mine, keeping her eyes closed. When I lean in and kiss her, open and deep, I gather her completely in my arms. She becomes desperate, and I meet her urgency to be closer. I bruise her, crashing my lips with hers, and we bleed. Like cannibals, we feed off each other, sharing the blood from our hearts, uniting us even more.





DECLAN SITS IN quiet despair as we fly back to Chicago. I knew better than to push him to talk when he returned to the hotel last night. I could see the torment in his eyes, so I kept my mouth shut and handed myself over to him so he could use me for comfort. We spent the whole night on the floor together, naked and wrapped in each other’s arms.

He’s been quiet all morning, and I’ve followed suit, returning the silence. I don’t know what was said between him and Cal or how it ended, but I doubt it ended well. When I look over to him as he sits next to me, I find him staring at me intently. I want to ask him if he’s okay, but I don’t. Instead, I simply give him a subtle smile and squeeze his hand that’s holding mine. He kisses the top of my head, and I close my eyes, using his shoulder for a pillow for the remainder of the flight.




Declan has been down in his office on the ground floor of Lotus since we returned from New York while I’ve stayed up in the penthouse. He’s yet to speak to me, and I’ve been busying myself with the passenger manifest.

Michael Ross

William Baxter

Clint Noor

Ben Wexler

I’ve spent a couple hours on those names and have come up empty. Deciding to give myself a break, I call down to the kitchen and order some food and then mindlessly flip through a few magazines. Minutes dissolve into hours, and when the sun begins its descent, I sit on the edge of the bed and watch.

When the sun kisses the horizon, the bed dips beside me. We sit together in silence until the day shifts into night.

“She’s my grandmother.”

His slack voice cuts through the darkness, and when I turn my head to look at him, his eyes are focused on the sky.

“Who?” I gently ask.

“Isla,” he reveals. “She’s my mum’s mother.”

“He told you that?”

Declan nods. “I’ve had a piece of my mum here all along and he never told me.”

There’s longing in his voice, a feeling I’m no stranger to.

“I’ll never speak to that man again,” he tells me when he finally looks my way.

His eyes are flooded in pain, and it kills me to see him like this when he’s always so pulled together. And in a rare moment, he stands in front of me before lowering to his knees, and then grips my hips and lays his head on my lap.

My undeniably strong Declan, slayed to the core.

Leaning over, I shield his body with mine.




I can’t sleep. Declan went to bed hours ago, but all I can do is toss and turn. My mind keeps drifting back to the past, and memories of my dad play in my head. Looking over at Declan, he looks so peaceful. I watch him as he sleeps, but it’s impossible to ignore my stomach when it growls at me. Slipping out of bed, I pad across the room and shut the door quietly behind me. I head over to the kitchen and pull out a slice of cheesecake that room service delivered earlier. Grabbing my notepad and the list of passengers, I take a seat on the couch in the living room and begin working on the next name.

Asher Corre

Looking at the name, I pick up a strawberry garnish from the plate and eat it, and another memory of my dad finds me again.

“Happy birthday, princess.”

“Daddy,” I groan as I roll over in bed, rubbing the sleep dust out of my eyes with my hands.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

I open my eyes to see my daddy sitting on the edge of my bed with a great big bundle of pink balloons and a smile on his face.

“Am I five today?”

“You are. You’re getting so big, baby.”

“Then you can’t call me ‘baby’ if I’m so big.”

“I’ll call you ‘baby’ even when you’re my age,” he says. “Come on, get out of bed.”

I groan again, still sleepy, and he sets the weight that’s tied to the bottom of the balloons on the floor and then reaches his hands out in an over-sized gesture. I immediately squeal and throw the covers over my head.

“The tickle monster is gonna get you,” he teases in a playful monster voice, and I start laughing before he even gets me.

When his fingers get ahold of me I squeal and squirm with loud giggles.

“Daddy, stop!”

“Say the magic word,” he says in a sing-song voice as he continues to tickle me.

“Abracadabra . . . Please . . . Hocus pocus . . .” I ramble off, saying everything I can think of, and then he stops. My belly hurts from all the laughing, and I have to catch my breath.