Her voice held a tone of light dawning as she whispered, “So he was your Ella.”

Her light dawned clear for her and for Walker because she was right.

“Yeah, he was my Ella.”

“So it was Tuku who brought out my Ty.”

My Ty.

My Ty.

Christ. Fuck.

Christ.

Two words. Just two words. Walker had no clue until that moment that two words could mean so f**king much. He’d never belonged to anyone. He’d never belonged anywhere. Never thought he wanted to.

Until he heard those two words.

He couldn’t keep the thick out of his voice when he confirmed, “Yeah, it was him.”

Her hand slid from his shoulder to curl around his neck when she said gently, “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet him.”

“I’m sorry too. He’d like you.”

She tipped her head to the side. “He would?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know? If he wasn’t social –”

His arm gave her a squeeze and he cut her off, “Because you are who you are, Lex, no bullshit. Tuku was not a fan of bullshit. And he was old as f**k but he was still a man and, the way you look, not a lotta men wouldn’t like that.”

She grinned at him.

Then she asked, “Where’s the pen and ink?”

“In a scroll in a closet in one of the rooms downstairs. Had it framed but when the movers moved me in here, they dropped it, glass shattered, frame cracked. Wanted it reframed but wanted it done right, didn’t get to it before I went down.”

She studied him then suddenly she lifted her torso and moved her legs so she was straddling his lower gut. He felt that gut tighten when she unexpectedly exposed the lush beauty of her body to his eyes and he was concentrating on that so he didn’t resist when she wrapped her fingers around his right wrist and pulled his arm up between them. Then she ran her fingers down the black marks that wound a line up his forearm starting on the inside of his wrist and ending just under the outside of his elbow.

“What does this say?” she whispered.

“Got that inside. Artist in there, tools primitive, work first-rate.”

“Yeah, it’s cool,” she agreed, still whispering, “but what does it say?”

His eyes held hers.

Then he answered, “Vengeance is mine.”

Her fingers convulsed on his wrist but she didn’t move her eyes from him.

Then she dipped her head and he watched as she watched her fingertips trailing back up the marks. Then she bent slightly forward, lifted his arm and pressed his hand flat to her chest. Then her eyes moved back to his as she slowly slid his hand down, between her br**sts, down her midriff, down over her stomach and down.

All the while he felt her skin under the path of his hand; he watched her face change, get hungry. She did shit like that all the time. Hot. Fuck, he’d never had so hot. They’d just finished fifteen minutes ago and she wanted it again. She got hungry a lot and, to get what she wanted, she was a wildcat.

He f**king loved that about her too.

When she used her hand to curve his between her legs, he curled his torso up, his left arm sliced tight around her waist and her mouth instantly moved so her lips were on his. Her breathing was already labored.

He took over and slid a finger inside and watched her eyes drift half-closed.

He felt his c**k start to get hard.

“What you want, baby?” he murmured against her mouth.

“Can I suck you?” she asked, hot, hungry, wanting it but still hesitant.

Like he’d f**king say no.

He answered by sliding his arm up her back and his finger out, pressing in as it glided over her clit, going for and getting that sexy-as-fuck noise she made at the back of her throat, doing all of this while he laid back down, taking her with him.

Once he was settled, he whispered, “Yeah, mama, you can suck me.”

She smiled then she moved, taking her time, drifting down, using her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, her hands, her hair sliding all over him as she did and by the time she reached his c**k it was hard and pulsing.

She licked and played and stroked awhile before she got serious. He let her, her hair all around, he liked it and so did she. Then she took him inside and f**k, he liked that better because she was always eager, hungry, she could take him deep and she could suck hard and she did both really f**king well.

When he was close, he pulled her up, rolled her to her back and gave back as good as he got, taking his time moving down, working her tits until she was squirming and making low noises, tasting her, touching her then he got between her legs and he ate her, hard and hungrier than she did him.

He loved the taste of her pu**y, so much, sometimes he could be working or working out and he’d sense her on his tongue.

He loved that too.

He made her come and moved over her, driving deep inside before she was finished, thrusting fast and hard, watching her face settle then he moved a hand in between them and built it again. She lifted her knees high, pressed them tight to his sides, locking his arm between them, her hands moving on him fevered, he took her there again then he let himself go.

He buried himself inside her, gave her enough weight to keep her warm and worked the skin of her neck with his mouth while her hands drifted light on him.

He didn’t talk during sex and didn’t like his pu**y to do it either. Lexie talked but infrequently and when she did it meant something. She loved his c**k in her mouth and in her cunt and she let him know it. She loved his body. She loved his mouth. She loved his hands. She let him know this too. She liked him giving it to her however he wanted. He’d been creative; she never made a noise of protest, just offered her pu**y however he wanted to take it, as often as he wanted it and she got off, did it hard and didn’t mind him knowing she did that either.

He loved that about her too.

He pulled out and moved down, brushing his mouth across her chest, he rolled off.

She rolled the other way and moved to the bathroom to clean up. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling when she did but turned his head to the side to watch her walk back in the room. She tagged her panties from the floor, tugged them on, turned out the light on her side then put a knee to the bed and moved into him. She settled, pressed to his side, cheek to his pec, leg tangling with his. He reached out, turned out his light then down, pulled the covers over them then curled his arm around her and tucked her closer.

“Thanks for dinner,” she murmured against his chest, her arm draped around his gut giving him a light squeeze.