Page 48 of Charming Savage

"Never thought I'd say this, but your cooking might just be better than your right hook," I teased him, watching those blue eyes of his light up with that challenge I loved so much.

"Only thing I do better is love you," he shot back, rough around the edges but soft where it mattered.

"Ah, you two are giving me diabetes with all this sweetness," Belle quipped from beside Adam, but her laughter said she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Sit down, babe, let the men work." Chris winked at me, a glint of the bad boy I'd fallen for, now playing house.

We gathered around the table, an ensemble of survivors feasting not just on grilled delights, but on the second chance we'd snatched from fate's clutches.

"Here's to freedom," I whispered into Chris's ear as we ate, his arm a fortress around my shoulders.

"Here's to us," he murmured back, the promise in his voice as binding as any blood oath he once swore.

Night descended as we said our goodnights. The air was still warm, balmy breezes whispering secrets of the night to come. In our beachside haven, I stole into the bedroom we shared, a room scented with sea salt and filled with love. Pictures of us filled every wall. I smiled, tracing the outline of the first photo Chris agreed to let me take of us. It was the day after we burned the mansion to the ground.

I stood in front of the mirror, my fingers trailing over the silk and lace of the negligee that clung to my skin. It was black and it made my eyes smolder with promises. Twisting a lock of blonde hair around my finger, I felt the pulse of anticipation. My breath hitched, imagining the look on Chris’s face when he'd see me, all dolled up for him, all his.

"Damn, Ella," I whispered to my reflection, "you're playing with fire."

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing like some god of war turned lover. Ever the hardened Prince of Darkness, but the moment he saw me, he became like putty. His gaze roamed over me, darkening with desire. He didn't need to say a word; his eyes did all the talking.

"Fuck, babe," he rasped. "You’re hell-bent on killing me, aren't you?"

I stepped toward him, the silk whispering against my thighs. "Only if you die happy," I shot back, my heart thumping wild rhythms against my ribs.

He closed the distance in two strides, his hands finding the curves of my hips, pulling me flush against him. The heat of his body seared through the thin fabric.

"Happy?" His chuckle was low, dangerous. "You have no idea, little ember."

His lips crashed onto mine, a storm of passion that swept me into the depths of his love. I moaned into his mouth, a sound swallowed by his own fervor. His fingers traced the outline of the lace that barely contained me, his touch leaving trails of fire. I arched into him, craving more, craving everything.

"Chris," I breathed, lost in the feel of him, the taste of him.

"Say it again." His command was rough, threaded with an edge of desperation.

"Chris!" I gasped, giving him what he wanted, what we both needed.

He spun me around, pressing my back to his chest, his breath hot against my neck. His hand slipped beneath the delicate fabric, his touch a brand that marked me to my very soul.

"Mine," he rasped, a possessive growl that resonated deep within my bones.

"Yours," I agreed, because in this moment, in this embrace, there was no doubt. We were two halves of a whole, forged in shadow and flame.

And as the night claimed us, our bodies entwined in a dance of love and lust, we had carved out our own slice of heaven.