Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel, Zavarelli, A. [easy books to read in english txt] 📗

"Convenient," I mutter. "But not even remotely believable."

"God, you are such an—"

I cut her off with a violent kiss, arching her head back to devour her mouth. Ivy freezes momentarily but then surprises me when she starts to devour me too. We are two rabid creatures, clawing at each other with staged hatred but desperate for more of this toxic attraction between us.

I nip at her lip and draw blood, and she digs her nails into my arms, moaning softly as I savor the copper crimson on my tongue. I'm hoisting her into my arms, and she's wrapping her legs around me as I carry her to the bed. I can't get her naked fast enough. Buttons are scattering, cloth ripping as I work to free her of the barrier to the sweetness of her flesh.

Her tongue is in my mouth, tasting me as I spread her over the mattress and mount her. She's struggling with the zipper on my trousers, and I pause briefly just to watch as she grunts in frustration, desperate for my cock. I've never been so hard in my life as I am when she finally gets it free and strokes me in her palm.

"Take me because you like it," she pleads, her eyes meeting mine. "Not because you need a baby. Not for any other reason. Just because you like it."

I indulge her, the notion of babies a distant thought in my mind as I resume control and settle my body against hers, thrusting between her legs. She arches into me, fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt to press against the skin on my back. I let her have it. Just this once. The same thing every addict tells themself.

Tongues and teeth and hips collide as we come together. I fuck her into the mattress, and she hangs on as if her life depends on it, groaning out my name when she shatters around me. A muttered curse leaves my lips, and it's my undoing. I'm coming inside her. Spilling all of my frustrations in the pulsing throb of my cock, emptying within her for the sole purpose of exactly what she said.

Because I like it.

My head dips against hers as I collapse onto my forearms, catching my breath. I'm trying to think of a way to destroy this sickness between us when a knock sounds at the door.

Ivy blinks up at me, eyes heavy and face glowing. So fucking beautiful. Why does she have to look this way? Such a beautiful little liar.

The knock comes again, and I growl.

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir," Marco answers. "But there are guests waiting for you downstairs. Jackson and Colette Van der Smit. He asked to speak with both of you."

A gust of air leaves Ivy's lips as she looks up at me pleadingly. "Can we talk to them? Please?"

I pull out of her, watching my come leak down her thighs with satisfaction. For now, I suppose the interrogation will have to wait.

"Get dressed."

20 Ivy

Santiago has one hand wrapped around my arm as we descend the stairs.

I glance at him. The way he’s holding me is almost his brand of affection, I think. The only way he knows to be. This is as close as he’ll come to actually holding my hand. I almost have to smile, but he looks too wretched, so I stop and turn to him. Before he can ask what I’m doing, I pull free and link my hand with his.

He appears almost startled, but he’s quick to school his features, and I wonder what is going on inside his head as he looks at the knots of our fingers. When he shifts his gaze to me, I want to ask him what happened. Because I’m sure he’s been to see my brother. Did he hurt Abel? Or did Abel spin some story, make up some lie to cover his ass? Is that the cause of this strange look on his face? This uncertainty. Because Santiago is always certain even when he’s wrong.

A cough comes from the foot of the stairs, and Santiago blinks, banishing any emotion. We both turn to find Antonia standing there.

“They’re in the sitting room, sir.”

“Why not the formal living room?” he asks as we get to the bottom of the stairs, and he unwinds his fingers from mine.

I clasp my own hands, disappointed.

“Mr. Van Der Smit wanted to be assured you’d have complete privacy.”

Santiago sighs. “Fine.” He takes my arm again and leads me toward the sitting room. When he opens the door, we find Jackson standing at the window that overlooks the eastern side of the garden. Colette is sitting on the couch with a shopping bag at her feet. She looks anxious.

“Ivy!” She jumps to her feet, her rounded belly looking even bigger than before. I do the math. She’s due any day now.

“Colette.” I slip from Santiago’s grasp and go to hug my new friend. This woman I’ve only known for minutes but who has a warmth I’m not sure I’ve felt from anyone except my own sisters. “I’m so happy to see you,” I tell her.

One of the men clears his throat, and we draw apart. Santiago and Jackson are both watching us, and I realize Jackson must be around Santiago’s age, the difference in years between him and Colette about what it is between us. With blond hair and stark blue eyes, his expression is stern or at least appears so, and I remember the high heels he’d made Colette wear, knowing they were uncomfortable especially considering the pregnancy.

“Ivy,” Santiago says, and I realize my face reveals exactly what I’m thinking. He turns to Jackson. “Jackson,” he says by way of greeting. “What brings you here?”

Jackson nods to Santiago. “Your wife, actually.”

“My wife?” His eyebrows rise. “Well, sit down,” he says as the door opens, and Antonia enters with a tray of refreshments that she sets on the coffee table before