Reaper (Boston Underworld, #2)

by A. Zavarelli

He nudges my legs apart and pushes his palm between my thighs like he owns that part of me. Who am I to argue? He does fucking own me. He’s polluted my mind, so I can only ever think of him. Only ever want him.

“Nobody else gets to see you like that,” he declares. “Ye’re claimed.” His words douse me in gasoline. His eyes light the match. And when he grinds himself against me, all that’s left to do is burn for him.

My life, my love, my breath. May we always have each other in this life and the next.