Cordray found Trace in the restroom down the hall from Bain’s office. He was crouched against the wall, facing away from the door. The waist of his jeans was wrapped around his knees, and his hand was between his legs, pumping relentlessly as the lights flickered again.
As the door quietly clicked shut behind her, his head tilted back abruptly, and he sniffed the air. A groan broke from his throat a split second before his head swung around.
Glowing yellow eyes locked onto hers, and a growl rumbled in his chest.
“Trace . . .” she whispered, taking a step toward him.
She’d never seen a more toxic male, nor a more virile one. She had resisted for so long before finally surrendering herself to him. And now that she had, she saw how perfect they were for each other. Both of them were broken, yet together they were healed. He made her feel again, and she calmed his beast. And when he touched her—when he fucked her—it was like twin infernos battling in the dark, each trying to shine a greater light, only to flame bright together as they climaxed.
He was wind, and she was water, and together, they created a cyclone. One fueled by extremes. Love and hate, the rose and the thorn, desert and ocean, fire and water, light and dark.
Life and death.
And that’s what their mating was. A matter of life and death. One could no longer survive without the other. Not now. Not when they’d already lit the never-ending fuse that tethered them together and led to regular detonations between them.
Especially at times like this, when Trace’s yellow eyes raked her so thoroughly she felt stripped and devoured whole.
This was when she both feared and loved him the most.
Always the extremes with them.
In a blink, he was on his feet, rushing her like a linebacker.
She backed away, then turned at the last second, her torso flattening face-first against the cool marble counter beside the sink as Trace practically tackled her, pinning her arms between her and the hard, cold surface.
Her heart hitched and arousal flooded her between the legs as she widened her stance, preparing herself for him.
“The dress,” she gasped as his hand came around her throat and drew her head back. Her vision strained up at the lights recessed into the ceiling over the sink. “Don’t rip my dress.”
She had enough sense to know that if she ruined her dress, Sam would kill her, but Trace didn’t seem to give a shit about her dress. He had one thing on his mind, and he would do whatever it took to get it.
Freeing her arms, she struggled to get hold of her skirt as Trace fought to get it out of his way.
Somehow she managed to pull it up in two tugs, only for Trace to rip off her thong and impale her in one harsh motion.
To keep from crashing headfirst into the mirror, she had to let go of her skirt and plant her hands on the reflective glass, fingers splayed.
“Trace! Omigod!” She saw stars as he drove into her with the relentless hunger only a male in his calling could possess.
His hands shot up her ass, shoving the skirt high on her torso as he gripped the sides of her waist and yanked her body toward him as he plunged inside her.
Cordray’s eyes flew open wide as he hit her deeper than he ever had.
“TRACE!”
In an effort to brace herself against his crushing onslaught, she threw one leg up onto the counter, bent at the knee. Her hand wrapped around the sink’s faucet, holding on tight as he pounded into her.
She stared in awe at his reflection. The tendons in his neck stuck out, as tense as rubber bands stretched to their limits, one flick away from snapping. His head was drawn forward, chin to chest, as if he were watching his cock slide in and out of her.
Then his gaze lifted, finding hers in the mirror. God, he looked like a demon, his eyes glowing yellow, his fangs distended, lips drawn back in a snarl, jaw clenched.
He lunged forward, bending over her back, planting his palms on the counter on either side of her.
“You. Are. Mine. You. Are. Mine.” He punctuated each thrust with his words.
She nodded blindly, feeling her sanity recede the way it always did right before she came. “Yes . . . yes . . .” She would be anything he wanted her to be when he fucked her like this. “I’m yours.” Her body shuddered. “My body, my heart, my blood . . .” The quickening tightened in her core. “Take it all.”
The bathroom fixtures rattled, the walls shook, and the counter trembled beneath her. He was close. So was she.
She refused to look away from his reflection, even as her pleasure rose like a whirlwind. She loved watching him when he came. Seeing his body tighten with coiled power was enough to heighten her own pleasure tenfold.
He was her own personal volcano, erupting as violently as Mount Vesuvius every time he came, and she would never tire of watching the microcosmic natural disaster claim him.
Right on cue, his whole body seemed to swell as his cock thickened inside her, and a rush of adrenaline spiked the bliss carrying her into utopia.
Just as her body gave and broke into orgasm, he sank his fangs into the back of her neck.
Euphoria flooded her senses, prolonging her climax, sending her into full-body convulsions as he emptied into her, spilling his life-giving seed in a cataclysmic flood that seemed to go on forever, drowning her insides.
She wanted to hold the deluge inside her. She didn’t want even one drop to escape as he continued pumping his hips, grunting between swallows of her blood as pulse after pulse of semen filled her. Maybe Trace didn’t want kids, but she did. And if any of his precious fluid leaked out, it could contain the one tiny super sperm that would have made it to home base if only given a chance.
Of course, she assumed none had made that miraculous journey yet. Maybe one had. Maybe she was pregnant right now. She didn’t know, because Trace wouldn’t check. He refused to acknowledge that he might already be a father.
His body finally stilled, and despite wanting to keep all of what he’d given inside her, it leaked down the insides of her thighs like tears.
He released her neck and licked the wound. He didn’t need to. It would seal from the venom he’d injected when taking her blood. But he always licked where he bit her. He said her skin tasted good, and she loved the way his tongue felt on her.
She had gone without the pleasure of touch for centuries, but with Trace, she could feel everything. He had brought the sense of touch back to her, and she was making up for lost time with every caress, suck, and lick he gave her.
They lay on the counter together, his body still blanketing hers, his warm breath heating her shoulder as he panted.
“I want a baby, Trace,” she said quietly. Her cheek was mashed against the counter, so her words came out distorted, but there was no mistaking what she’d said.
Trace stiffened and pulled back a fraction of an inch.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to cry. “I know you don’t, but I do.”
Nothing. Only silence and the quiet rustle of denim answered her as he slowly drew his body off hers.
She remained bent forward, body resting on the counter. “I’ve seen it in your thoughts. You’re afraid you won’t make a good father. But you’re wrong.”
When he still didn’t answer her, she pushed against the smooth marble, propping herself on her arms, and glanced over her shoulder at him.
He stood a few feet away. He’d pulled up his jeans, but the fly remained undone.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked, pushing all the way off the counter so that her skirt fell back down her legs. Her arms dropped to her sides.
He searched her face then slowly stepped behind her, easing one arm around her waist as he dipped his nose into her hair.
“Trace . . .” She didn’t want his pity or false reassurances. That shit was for pussies, and she wasn’t a pussy. If he didn’t want children, she would accept that and do the best she could on her own. It would hurt to go through pregnancy knowing his reservations, but having him half there was better than not having him there at all.
“Ssshhh . . .” He held her close.
“Stop.” She tried to pull away, but he only held her tighter. “Trace, stop it. I need to finish getting ready.”
For that matter, so did he. He still hadn’t changed into his tux.
She struggled against him a few seconds more, then froze when she felt his other hand slide around to her stomach.
“Trace, what are you doing?” She was both scared and excited.
“Would you be quiet, female?” He pressed his hand to her stomach. “I’m trying to concentrate. I’ve never done this before.”
She trembled and held her breath, staring at his hand in their reflection as he shifted it on her belly. Then he held still. Very still. He didn’t seem to be breathing either. Her gaze shot to his face, searching for a hint of what he was feeling. Was that a smile? A frown? His eyes were closed, so she couldn’t read him. And, for some reason, the last thing she wanted was to slip inside his thoughts.
Then his eyes opened and landed on hers in their reflection.
She still couldn’t breathe.
“Well?”
A slow smile pulled at his mouth, making her heart drop. If he was smiling, it meant good news for him and bad news for her.
Her gaze fell away from his. All she wanted was to escape. To get away from him so he didn’t see her cry.
“Let go of me.” She pushed against his arms, but he refused to let her go. “Come on, Trace, I don’t have time for this.”
He took his hand away from her stomach and secured both arms around her waist, hugging her against him so tightly, she almost couldn’t breathe.
“Trace, I mean it. I have to go.”
Ignoring her, he brought his mouth around to her ear.
“You’re pregnant,” he whispered.
She stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Blinked once as she raised her gaze to their reflections to find him smiling at her.
“What?” Her voice was barely audible, but he heard her.
“You’re pregnant.”
“But . . . I thought . . . you didn’t—”
“I do.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “I just didn’t think I did.”
“You really want children?”
He tilted his head, then pulled her hair aside and leaned into her ear. “Yes, Cordray,” he whispered, “I really want children.” He kissed the tender place below her ear. “With you.” Another kiss. “I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect, tough-as-nails female to be the mother of my young.” He squeezed her, kissing her again. “Oh, and one more thing. I want to adopt Aiden and Null. They’re mine. Ours. I already think of them as our kids.”
She reared to the side and stared in awe at him. Who was this male who shocked and amazed her with every word that came out of his mouth? “You do?”
“Yes. They’re our children, and I won’t let anyone else raise them.”
This was more than she could have hoped for. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“But . . . why have your thoughts been filled with—”
“I’ve been stupid. Crazy stupid. I let my old fears and insecurities take hold of me, but now I’m done with that shit.” He spun her around and squared her up in his sights, hands on her hips. “I was afraid I’d be an awful father when I’ve already proven that I’m a good father. A damn good father.” He scowled and set his jaw as if he were pissed that he’d let himself be suckered into thinking he wasn’t. “I’m a great dad, Cordray. To Null and Aiden. And I’ll make a great father to our own kids too.”
All she could do was stare at him. She had begun to think she was on the baby train by herself, but now Trace was telling her she wasn’t. He was with her. All in. And she was pregnant.
Shit just got real.
“I’m really pregnant?” she asked.
His pale-green eyes warmed. “Yes, you’re really pregnant.”
A baby. It wasn’t much more than a bundle of congealed cells, but it was still a baby.
She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “I love you.”
His mouth found hers, and within seconds, he had her skirt up around her waist again. He hoisted her up and plopped her bottom on the counter, tugged her forward so the back of her head bonked against the mirror and her ass hung off the edge. And then he was inside her again, giving his calling a bonus fuck.
He didn’t need to give himself to her anymore. The job was done. He’d accomplished what the calling demanded of him. All this extra sex was just icing on the cake.
But Cordray liked icing.
She liked it a lot.