Redeemed (Dirty Air #4)(85)

“Will you take it off then?” She looks down at my prosthetic.

“Take it off?” My voice is nothing but a whisper in the dark. Can I do that? Do I even want to?

“I promise it doesn’t matter to me if you’re missing a leg, or an arm, or anything else. It doesn’t define the person you are.” She places her palm against my heart. “This does. And you happen to have one of the prettiest ones.”

My heart rate picks up speed as I look down at the one thing holding me back. Sex is supposed to be the most intimate two people can be, but this feels like more.

The last time was nothing short of a disaster, and I worry tonight might be similar.

But this is Chloe.

“You’re beautiful to me no matter what. It doesn’t matter,” she whispers in a husky voice as she places her palm against my cheek.

“Beautiful?” My smirk wobbles.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She rolls her eyes while smiling.

Something about her wipes away the fear threatening to take control.

I can do this for her.

I can do this for me.

I roll over and sit, giving her my back. With shaky fingers, I press the pin located at the bottom of my prosthetic. It slides off with ease and lands on the floor. The sock comes off next, and I place it on the nightstand.

This is it. This is the last thing in my way.

Using the strength in my arms and my one good leg, I move back over her body. The smile Chloe shoots up at me has my chest tightening. Not because of nerves, but because she truly is happy to be with me.

Shit. I never thought someone would look at me like that because of my leg.

“Thank you for being yourself with me.” Her eyes shine, the moonlight emphasizing the unshed tears.

I bend down and kiss her with every emotion I feel inside of me. Fear, happiness, desire...excitement. The world fades away as it becomes just us.

I hold her gaze as I line myself up and slide into her, relying heavily on the strength in my arms and good knee to hold me up. My body shudders as I fill her to capacity. I shut my eyes, enjoying the moment of us becoming one.

Chloe feels like heaven, hell, and everything in between. It’s ecstasy and poison. Lust and love. Everything I want while being everything I fear.

Chloe’s back arches as I pull out to slam back into her. Her hands trace the divots of my spine, and my skin burns wherever her touch lingers.

My eyes don’t know where to focus. Her face smiling up at me with every ounce of emotion I feel back. Her tits shaking with every thrust of my hips. Our bodies connecting in every single way. Physically. Emotionally. Like two hearts tethered together by fate’s red string.

She claws at my back as my tempo changes from unhurried to desperate, growing sloppier by the minute. Sweat covers my skin as I expel every ounce of energy. She meets me with vigor, matching my strength with her own.

Our sex is just like her—wild and crazed.

Chloe milks my cock, swiveling her hips with every stroke. I grip onto her hair and tug, forcing her body closer to mine. There’s not one trace of skin I don’t lick and nip. She tastes like summertime, the salty taste of our exertion clinging to her skin.

Heat darts up my spine like flames licking my skin. The moans she makes as I change my position feed the desire growing within me.

Fuck. The experience with Chloe is like speeding down the track after winning a race. It’s a rush I find more satisfying than any checkered flag or podium.

She falls apart as I place pressure on her clit with my thumb. My dick throbs as she tightens around me. I bellow as I pound into her a few more times, coming apart as I find my release.

Chloe Carter destroyed me in every way I needed. She broke me apart before gluing me back together, repairing me from the inside out.

I’m not letting this girl get away.

Not now and not ever.





37





Chloe





The faint sound of a strumming guitar wakes me up from my deep sleep. It’s a haunted melody I can’t place, but I find myself entranced anyway.

I peek with one eye, finding Santiago sitting on a chair by the large window. The glow of the moon highlights the guitar propped up on his thigh. One hand grips the neck, delicately pressing against the strings.

I can’t believe he picked up his guitar again. After everything he said about avoiding music before, he is right here, playing in front of my very eyes.

Am I dreaming? I pinch my arm extra hard just in case. Nope, he’s still there.

The music stops as he looks over at me.

I shut my eyes and feign sleep.

He laughs to himself. “You don’t need to pretend. I can practically feel your eyes on me.”

I pop one eye open and assess his face. A ghost of a smile makes him seem youthful. Happy, even.

“Busted.” I hold the sheet to my chest as I sit up.

He chuckles under his breath. His hands begin moving again, filling the room with music. “Any requests?”

My eyes expand to the point of pain. “What?”

“Do you have a favorite song?”

“Me?” The question comes out as a whisper.

He dramatically looks around the room for someone else.

I throw a pillow at his head. It flops on the ground in front of him with an unsatisfying thump.