Page 27 of Diary from an Inked Throne

It was the most vulnerable I’d ever been with a man. I had always had big feelings, hidden behind sharp words and guns and mistrust.

But there was none of that with Lynx. No fucking games. No inevitable rejection. Just him and me, and too much bad shit to want to waste a second where it felt good. I slid down onto his shaft, inch by inch, letting him fill me, needing it all because we both knew we were no longer guaranteed a tomorrow.

He gripped me tighter as he bottomed out and dragged my head down so he could claim my lips. His hips thrust deep from below, and I ground down on him, meeting each movement, my body adjusting to his, and the pleasure welled again. I got hard between us, and the friction of our bodies grinding together was too much for both of us.

“Fuck, Luca,” he groaned in my ear. “I’m in love with you.”

I paused, but he grabbed my hair, holding me tight, not letting me shift away. His thrusts became more insistent, harder, and he said it again. “Don’t give me shit about it. I’m not taking it back. And I don’t expect you to say anything either. But I’ve been waiting weeks to tell you that. For every second that I thought you were dead, I wished I’d told you. So I’m telling you now.”

I pulled back to look at him. “You done?”

He shrugged, then grinned. “If you play with my nipples and keep squirming on my dick like that, I might be.”

“Super fucking romantic, Lynx.”

He cocked his head. “Are you telling me that big, bad, Mafia prince—oh wait, king now—Luca Guerra wants romance?”

“You going to come or what?”

“Now who’s being all romantic?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He grinned, thrusting up into me. “Like this?”

I groaned at the feeling of him moving inside me. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

He did it again, and again, both of us forgetting words, and just moving together, finding a rhythm that felt good, and then repeating it until we were both panting and gasping and grappling to get over the line. It was harder for me this time, because I’d already come, but Lynx held out, kissing me, touching me, and when I leaned back, changing the angle and giving him room to jerk my cock at the same time, all of it came together.

Literally.

Him.

Me.

He shuddered and groaned, dick deep in my ass, while my cum spurted from my tip, covering his fist and lower belly. I pulsed and clenched around him, and shouted at every spasm, every tightening of my body that he’d produced.

It took a long time for us to stop, both of us milking each other, drawing it out as long as we could just because being together felt so good. If I was concentrated on him, I didn’t have to think about Nyah and Dax and that by taking a break, Enzo could be getting farther and farther away.

Something deep inside me realized how right Lynx was.

We had come so close to not having this.

I tilted his head back so he was staring up at me. “If I say I love you back, are you going to be a dickhead about it?”

He grinned. “Why would I? I said it to you first.”

I shook my head and pressed my lips to his. “Fine. I love you.”

He snorted. “Your confessions of love need work.”

I scowled at him. “You told me while you were literally pounding my ass. How is that any better?”

“I wasn’t pounding! I was making love!” He snorted.

I rolled my eyes. “Making love, my ass.”

“To your ass,” he corrected.