21. Chapter 21

As I barge my way into the house, I kick off my boots, sending each one flying in a different direction.

The woman was fucking infuriating.

Incapable of compromise, stubborn to a fault, and, God help me, the most stunning creature I've ever had the misfortune of fucking.

Running my fingers through the sweaty hair that's come loose from the hair tie that I know was there a minute ago, I grip the ends in frustration, hoping the sharp sting of pain will distract from the raging hard-on that woman seems to command like a lapdog.

It doesn't work.

Now my head just hurts while my dick is practically begging me to go back out there, corner her against the side of my house, and fuck her until she doesn't have the energy to run her mouth anymore.

At the sound of the door banging behind me, I groan inwardly.

Looks like I won't have to go back out after all.

Turning around to face Siren, I allow my eyes to do a quick sweep up and down her body.

The strip of skin showing between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of the oversized sweats, along with the flesh of her upper chest and neck, are flushed the prettiest shade of pink.

I have the errant thought that I wonder what other parts of her are that color.

Unfortunately, I'm unable to see since she's otherwise covered from head to toe.

I had a duffle bag full of her clothes and toiletries delivered the other night while she was asleep, but she's still chosen to wear the borrowed clothes that are too big for her.

I know why she's wearing long sleeves and pants, and I hate it for two reasons.

One, the motherfucker that hurt her is possibly still out there breathing, and two, that she feels some kind of shame over having all the marks he put on her.

It makes me wanna break something—mostly his face.

Despite the outwardly projected confidence that I've come to realize she's adopted like a second skin, I've spent enough time with Siren to know a mask when I see one.

Nobody knew about masks more than me.

I guess like recognizes like.

Huffing like a bull ready to charge, she says, "Hey! I wasn't finished talking to you."

Giving her a shrug that's full of a nonchalance I definitely don't feel, I say, "Doesn't matter.

I'm done talking to you ."

Eyes nearly bugging out of her head, she says, "Well, that's just too fucking bad because you don't get to dictate how this conversation goes."

Before I can think about the repercussions of such an action, I take a menacing step towards her and say, "You are such a goddamn brat, you know that?"

I regret the move immediately.

Not my words, because she is a goddamn brat, but the way I approached her.

After what she's been through, the last thing I want is for her to feel intimidated or scared.

Her reaction isn't at all what I expected, but, at the same time, I can't say I'm surprised .

Taking a forward step of her own, she replies, "And you're a pig-headed jerk."

Fuck.

I can't help myself.

I take another step.

"Irrational woman!"

Another step from her.

"Brainless man!"

Each insult brings us closer and closer to each other until we're nearly nose to nose.

I can smell the faint hint of coffee and chocolate on her breath and suddenly, I'm craving something sweet.

I don't know if Siren has a sweet bone in her entire body, though.

Her very curvy and delectable body.

Jesus.

The tether I've used to keep my desire for this woman in check is fraying, and I send a quick prayer up to God, begging him to save me from myself.

As she stands on her tiptoes to bring her face level with mine, the fraying of that rope that began the first night I watched her on camera—hell, maybe even before then—snaps before the almighty has a chance to intervene.

Lunging for her, my mouth bridges the centimeter's worth of space between her lips and mine.

One hand gripping the back of her neck to hold her motionless for the onslaught, the other snakes down to cup her generous ass, hoisting her up off her feet.

She makes a halfhearted sound of protest in the back of her throat, and for a split second, I think I've gone too far.

But the notion is dispelled when her mouth opens for me, her legs wrapping around my waist.

I know she's insecure about her weight, but I'm so caught up in this fire blazing between us that she weighs less than nothing.

I may or may not have invaded her privacy by listening in on some of her phone calls with Amelia.

I've also seen how she looks at her body in the bathroom mirror when she doesn't know I'm spying on her.

However, she might as well be a feather for all the manpower it exerts to get her legs up and around my waist.

Hanging onto my shoulders for dear life, I feel her short little nails dig into my flesh through the fabric of my t-shirt as her mouth gives as good as it's getting.

The sharp sting has tiny little cartoon hearts floating in my vision.

Gripping her under her perfect backside, I carry her to the dining room table that I barely use, sitting her down before I break the kiss to yank my t-shirt over my head.

I toss it to the floor, but as I grab the hem of her shirt, intent on giving it the same treatment, her hand stills mine just as I've exposed a few more tantalizing inches of her stomach.

Looking back up and into her eyes, I wait with a patience I didn't know I possessed.

I can see the war within those dark depths.

She must realize that her eyes convey all the words she's not speaking because she doesn't keep the eye contact for long before she begins to drop her head.

She knows I'm not stupid.

I see way more than she wants me to see, and that's not even taking into account the things she doesn't know I've seen.

The days and nights I've spent locked in my office watching her when I should've been tracking down the two people in the world that I hate the most and figuring out how they're connected.

Gripping her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I raise her face back up until it's inches from mine again and wait until her eyes find mine once more.

It hasn't been very long since I got her out of that house, and I don't wanna push her beyond what she's comfortable with.

Not until she's ready.

"Even though you're batshit crazy, that doesn't make me want you any less.

It's not just the smooth flesh I want.

I want the inches raised with scars, the ones marred by burns, those covered in ink, the inches with stretch marks, and every inch in between.

I know I'll have to prove that to you, so for now, I won't push you to give more than you're willing.

But when the time comes, if you trust me with them, you'll never look at them the same way again, I promise you."

I say.

For a moment, I fear I've said too much and given myself away, giving away both my intense attraction to her and the fact that I've inspected every inch of her body with a fine-tooth comb, or in this case, a zoom function.

But she doesn't question how I know about the marks on her body.

Maybe she just thinks I'm assuming what she looks like under those baggy clothes.

So I wait because it has to be her choice.

I will never allow her free will to be taken from her ever again, not when it comes to this.

I know this must be hard for her.

To give over control to a man, especially after all she's been through.

To allow someone to see all of her, not just the parts that society would deem pretty.

Her eyes bounce back and forth between my own, and I can feel her swallow hard against the hand holding onto her chin.

For a second, I have the terrifying thought that she's gonna cry.

I honestly don't think I'll be able to handle that.

I've never been good with crying females.

However, with Siren, I should know better.

Jerking her chin from my grasp, she reaches down and grabs the hem of her shirt, taking charge, and lifts it over her head herself.

Now I'm the one swallowing hard.

She's not wearing a bra.

Sitting on my dining room table in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, she stares back at me in defiance before saying, "This means nothing."

My mood has improved exponentially, so I smirk before replying, "Keep telling yourself that, brat."

Then I'm all over her.

Gripping her beneath the arms, I lift her off the counter slightly so that I can capture one nipple in my mouth; the mixture of pink and tan becoming my new favorite color.

The move catches her off guard, and she lets out the sexiest gasp I've ever heard in my life.

Letting her head fall back, she moans out my name as I circle the stiff peak with my tongue over and over.

Sitting her back down to the wooden surface, I release her breast to lower myself until I'm on my knees in front of her.

The position brings my face directly in line with what will be the center of my world for the foreseeable future.

I grip the waistband of the ratty old sweats, simply saying, "Up."

After a brief hesitation, she does what she's told, probably for the first time in her life.

Bracing her hands on the table on either side of her hips, she uses them as leverage to lift her ass off the wood just long enough for me to drag the pants down her legs.

Jesus Christ on a cracker, she's not wearing any underwear either.

I swear, this woman is gonna be the death of me, in one way or another.

I grip her hips and jerk her forward until she's teetering on the edge of the table.

Spreading her legs apart with my hands on her knees, I let my gaze roam from her flushed face down over her beautifully tattooed upper body—which is still braced back on her hands—to her splayed thighs before me.

Aside from the initial bolt of anger, I don't dwell on the number of healing burn marks or the raised lines of flesh that have recently scarred over because they've become a part of the fabric of who she is; she wouldn't be the same person without them.

But I know that if I tell her that, she'll balk.

So, for now, I pretend like they're not there.

It doesn't take much effort when I've got this need for her clawing at my insides.

Letting my eyes fall to the juncture between her legs, I feel my mouth fill with saliva at the sight.

Which is probably good because I'm gonna want all the lubrication I can get for what I plan on doing to her next.

I hook my hands under her knees, and I bring her legs up until they're draping over my shoulders.

Leaning in, I give her inner thigh a nip, eliciting a little yelp from her.

Smiling to myself, I kiss the spot, softly running my tongue over the small red mark my teeth just made.

I slowly make my way up her thigh, peppering kisses as I go until I'm mere inches away from the hottest part of her.

Funny, she's pink here too.

Chuckling under my breath, I slide my hands up her thighs until I reach her waist, gripping hard onto the flesh just above her hips.

Now that I've got her where I want her, I can't have her getting away.

Sure that she expects me to dive straight in with my tongue, I can tell by her small intake of breath that I've surprised her when I instead hover just above her, deliberately prolonging the inevitable.

Despite the low rumbling sound climbing its way up my throat in warning, she makes a move as though she means to close her legs to keep me out.

I'm not having any of it, and I use the grip on her waist to pull her even closer.

Not enough to hurt her but enough to show her who's in charge here.

Now that I'm this close, there's no chance in Hell that I'll let her take this away from me.

As I finally fully take in the smell that's unique to her and her alone, I release a groan, and my cock twitches in my pants with each inhale.

Jesus, the woman makes me feral.

I wanna play, but I also need to bury myself so deeply inside her that she'll feel me for days.

Taking several deep breaths, which don't really help because all I can smell is her, I try to calm my racing heart and libido.

I've wanted this since that first night.

Even after our single night together, my cravings for her never abated.

Now that she's giving me a second chance, I'm not giving it up.

Darting my tongue out, I give her clit a quick flick.

"Fuck!"

she cries, her entire body jerking in my hold.

As she glares daggers at me, I meet her eyes, and slowly flick out my tongue to do it again.

Even though she's more prepared this time, she can't seem to stop herself from releasing a shuddering breath.

A breath that's quickly followed by, "I'm gonna murder you in your sleep."

Grinning hugely, I push my way through her wet heat and drag the pad of my tongue slowly over the little bundle of nerves.

Then I do it again … and again.

Letting out a moan that sounds almost pained, she drops her upper body flat onto the tabletop.

Got her.

Using the leverage of my hands on her waist, I pull her into my waiting mouth as I eat her alive, alternating between circling her clit and spearing her opening with my tongue.

She's soaking wet, practically dripping.

Thank God, because when I'm done eating her pussy, I'm going to fuck her until she can't remember her own name.

She better remember mine, though, because I wanna hear the reverberating echo of it in her voice as I come inside her.

Lapping at her wetness, I feel her knees tighten around my ears as the rest of her body goes stiff as a board.

Hands flying up to cup both breasts, she squeezes her nipples, and the sight nearly has me shooting off in my pants like a rocket.

Has there ever been anything so beautiful? As I realize she's close to coming, I tighten my hands to her hips, keeping her body flush with my mouth.

I latch onto her clit, and watch her play with her breasts and moan incoherently to the ceiling.

At the last minute, I take one hand from her middle and bring it down to push two fingers inside her without warning.

Just that quick, her body bows off the wood, hands moving from her breasts to her hair, tangling in the long dark locks as she lets out a scream that I'm glad no one else gets to hear but me.

I quickly stand, shedding my pants and boxer briefs, not giving her a moment's reprieve.

Squeezing my hard cock, I rub one thumb over the head, spreading the precum that's already leaking from me.

As I keep one hand wrapped around my length, I lean over her body, using the other to grip the back of her neck, jerking her up until she's back to a sitting position at the edge of the table.

Hair falling like a wild tangle of vines down her back and over her breasts, I hold her face close to mine.

I open my mouth to say … I'm not sure what, because I think I may have devolved back to having the brainpower of a caveman.

Before I even have a chance to get anything out, however, her hand clamps over my mouth.

"Don't. Talk,"

she says on a shuddering breath.

Lips curling into a smile that I know she can feel beneath her palm, I slam my cock into her still-quivering pussy.

Mouth gaping open, she trembles out a breath as she removes her hand, leans in, and bites my lower lip … hard.

That's it.

I'm only a man, after all—a weak one at that, at least where she's concerned.

Losing all semblance of control, I hold her steady as I withdraw to the tip before slamming back in, grinding myself against her.

Her cries are like music to my ears, a song that I swear she'll play only for me from now on.

Holding her hips tightly, the muscles of my biceps flexing, I fuck her fast and hard until we're both sweating and panting for breath.

She's biting and sucking on my neck, and though she's the one feasting, I have this hunger for her that I can't seem to satiate.

I have the errant thought that I don't think I'll ever truly be full again.

Feeling her body begin to tighten around me, I release her hips to wrap both arms around her middle, holding us chest to chest.

Pulling back my lower body one last time, I push myself into her hard.

At the exact same second, I bring my mouth close to her ear and say, "Sing for me, brat."

In a last act of defiance, as if it'll somehow muffle the sound, she buries her face against my neck, unable to stop the scream that's only made better by the sound of my name, seemingly being dragged from her at the end.

Tightening my arms around her middle, I feel my cock jerk as I release wave after wave of come deep inside her.

I clutch her to me so she can't move even an inch, careful to keep my arms well below the healing wounds on her back.

We stay like that for several long moments.

Her panting against my neck and me feeling more at home inside her than I ever have in this house.

A house that's been my only sanctuary for years.

I'm not entirely sure how to process what just happened or how I feel about it; the best I can manage to do at the moment is ease my grip around her middle to check and make sure I haven't crushed her to death.

"Are you okay?"

I ask in a soft voice.

All traces of the animosity from earlier is gone, wrung from me along with my orgasm.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm worried that I've hurt her.

She hasn't said much, so I've been left with only the meager amount of info she's told me and what I've seen on the cameras around the house.

More importantly, it's the wounds that I can't see that bother me.

The internal trauma that she's trying so hard to bury.

But I should've known better than to think Siren wouldn't speak her mind if I did something she didn't like.

That theory is proven correct when her response finally comes.

"Of course I'm okay,"

she says, stretching her arms above her head.

The move causes her back to arch and her hips to angle in such a way that sends my still semi-hard cock deeper inside her.

I hear a tiny moan escape her at the same time that I grit my teeth to hold back the instinct roaring inside my head, telling me to grip her hips and grind her against me even harder.

From the look of the red marks on said hips, I have a terrible feeling she's gonna sport bruises matching my fingertips within the next few days.

The thought makes me slightly nauseous.

With her chin tipped up, she stares at the ceiling as her upper body relaxes against the table, continuing the conversation as though she isn't subjecting me to physical and emotional torture.

"I feel … high."

Lowering her gaze back to mine, she says, "Like I could touch the stars."

She wriggles her fingers towards the ceiling.

Her voice is languid and dreamy, and in this moment, she's free of all inhibitions and completely at ease with herself.

This is what she would look like if the confidence she projected to the world were actually real.

She's breathtaking.

I'm so wrapped up in the sight of her that it takes me a second for her words to register.

My heart quickly picks up pace until it's galloping at breakneck speed.

A memory tugs at my mind.

Stars .

Shaking my head to clear it, I mentally wave the similarity away.

It's just a coincidence.

I tell myself this, even as another part of my brain reminds me that coincidence is just another word for fate, and I don't believe in fate, only the choices that lead you to where you are.

And if I'm completely honest with myself, I'm pretty content right where I am, still buried deep inside her.

Her walls continue to clutch my length sporadically, and with the way my chest presses against hers, I can feel the fast but steady thump, thump, thump of her heart.

Against instinct, I ease out of her.

Grabbing a handful of napkins from the table, I give myself a cursory wipe down, reluctant to remove the remnants of her arousal, before pulling my boxers and pants back up.

As I glance back down to where she's now laying flat across my table like a whole ass meal, her thighs still spread enough for me to watch my come leak out of her, and the urge to swipe it up and make her lick it from my fingers is so strong.

Next time, I promise myself.

And, yes, there will be a next time.

Since the day we met, there's been something here.

Being trapped in this house with her, I sense that something has evolved and grown.

I still can't label it, but I'm certain I don't want it to stop.

The longer I stare at her, the more I can see the doubts start to creep back into her eyes.

Her legs close, and the loss of that view is almost painful.

I watch her sit up and cross her arms protectively over her middle.

She still doesn't trust me or my intentions.

Probably because I haven't given her much reason to, she doesn't know me, and even though I may have helped save her life, I haven't given her anything else besides the illusion of safety.

I realize that if I want whatever this is between us to actually be something, I'm going to have to open up to her.

Maybe not everything, because I don't know if she'll condone the plans I have for my father, but I can compromise on the rest.

I make a split-second decision that will probably come back to bite me in the ass—time to put up or shut up.

As she fidgets under my gaze, I avert my eyes and blindly hand her a fist full of napkins.

Taking them, she quickly uses them before lowering herself onto her feet.

She redresses at lightning speed, and within minutes, she's completely covered again.

What a pity.

But it's probably for the best.

If she stayed naked, I'd just end up fucking her again, and we'd never make any progress.

As soon as she's finished dressing and smoothing down the hair that was mused by her own clutching hands, I say, "Come with me.

I want to show you something."

She eyes me warily but, thankfully, doesn't ask any questions when she sees me heading toward the laundry room.

She follows behind, and when we reach the door on the other side, I can feel her peeking over my shoulder, curious to see how the door opens.

I don't bother trying to hide the screen or my movements on the security box.

Without my personal biometrics, she'd never get in anyway.

As the door opens, I lead the way inside.

She follows behind at a distance, slowly taking in the details of the room.

The servers along the far wall and the many screens that are currently running line after line of code.

When I turn my head to look at the monitors on my desk, my heart flips over when I see that I left one filled with images from the camera feeds throughout the house.

Fuck! I never planned on her seeing any of this, so I didn't even think to turn the monitor off.

I quickly glance back to see her facing in the opposite direction as she wanders the room, looking everything over, much like she did the first day she came here.

Reaching down, I hit a button on my keyboard, and the screen in question goes black.

I let out a barely audible sigh just as she turns around at the sound of the noise.

I'm fully prepared to fake ignorance if she asks me but I still air on the side of caution and say nothing.

A lie of omission is still better than a lie.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

Thankfully, she doesn't ask, so I don't have to cross that line … yet.

Facing me once more, she says, "So this is where you go all day.

What is it?"

She waves her hand around to indicate the room at large.

"My office.

This is where I do all my … research."

I try to read her face for any sign of disgust or disapproval as I say, "You know what Merrick and I do for a living.

They aren't exactly the safest professions, even under the best circumstances.

To ensure neither of us gets killed, I do as much research on prospective buyers, sellers, marks, etc., as possible."

She continues to stare at me, those hazel eyes unblinking, and I scratch the back of my neck nervously under her scrutiny.

Why am I nervous? My poker face is usually much better.

As if compelled by those eyes to continue, I add, "I'm pretty good with computers."

She nods slowly.

"I think I knew that, but I didn't know about … all this."

She waves her hand again, indicating the abundance of technology.

"So, who are you researching now?"

she asks.

A momentary look of confusion crosses my features because it's hard to believe she's actually interested in wanting to know more about what I do here.

Maybe it's just curiosity.

Maybe it's boredom from being stuck in this house with nothing to do.

I have a moment where I seriously debate the merits of telling her everything.

The words climb up my throat of their own volition, even as I swallow hard, trying to push them back down.

I don't know why I want to open up to her.

To tell her about my plans for my father, for that piece of shit Gaspari, or for the many other wealthy scumbags that I've stolen from over the years and will continue to steal from until I'm either put in prison or the ground.

Or maybe … until something or someone comes along that alters the course of my future.

I've never wanted that before.

I've always operated under a single-minded purpose: revenge and restitution.

But, just as often as I feel like strangling the woman standing in front of me, I also feel a short supply of air every time she walks into a room, and that's never happened before either.

She knows, to some extent, that I'm not a straight and narrow kinda guy, but would she run for the hills when presented with the reality of my nature, or would she stand at my back? I can't be sure and because of that hesitation, I decide that I can't tell her everything. Not yet.

What I can tell her is what directly pertains to her.

That, at least, I can be honest about.

Sitting down at my desk, I motion her forward.

Without hesitation, she walks over to stand next to me.

"Sit down, and I'll show you," I say.

She glances around the room again saying, "There aren't any other chairs in here."

I scoot back from the desk until there's enough room for her to slip through.

"I'm aware of that,"

I reply before taking hold of her forearm and pulling her onto my lap.

Her posture is stiff at first but after a moment or two, she relaxes into me, her back to my front.

I place my hands on the tops of her knees as I lean in to say directly next to her ear, "I need to get closer to reach the keyboard."

With that, I use my hands to apply enough pressure on her knees, forcing her thighs wide so they drape over my own.

Afterward, I scoot the chair closer to the table, reaching my arms around her warm body so that I can put one hand on the keyboard and one on the mouse.

This close to her, that lack of air that I thought about before becomes even more apparent, to the point that I can only smell her.

My nose is inches from her neck, and every movement of her head as she looks from one monitor to the other causes her hair to shift, and a fresh wave of her scent invades my senses.

I have to restrain the creeper in me who wants to lean in and sniff her like a dog.

I've noticed her scent before and even thought to myself that whatever soap she uses makes her smell absolutely edible like coffee and warm chocolate.

Now, however, there's an overlay that I know comes from my body wash.

The knowledge of that, along with the image now being conjured in my brain of her rubbing my soap all over her naked body, has saliva pooling in my mouth.

I'm seconds away from biting into the back of the shoulder in front of me, when I realize she's talking to me and I haven't heard a word she said .

"Sorry, what?"

I ask sheepishly, willing away the hard-on that I know is forming directly under her lush ass.

If she notices that or the husky tone of my voice, she doesn't comment on it.

"I said, why's that one dark?"

She gestures to the monitor I turned off when we entered.

Thinking as quickly as my overstimulated brain will allow, I say, "It's broken."

"Oh,"

she says, tilting her head to the side to glance at me over her shoulder.

With a rueful smile, she adds, "I would have thought someone this technologically savvy would be able to fix a broken computer monitor."

With an exaggerated sigh, I say, "Yes, well, there just aren't enough hours in the day to look this good, manage all this technology, and put up with all your mouth."

With a laugh, she elbows me in the ribs and makes as if to stand up.

Locking my left arm around her middle, I keep her firmly in place, lifting my hips a little and rubbing myself against her for good measure.

The laughter dies in her throat, ending in a small gasp.

Grinning to myself, I reach my right hand for the mouse again.

"Let me show you what I've been working on,"

I say, pulling up several documents onto the screen directly in front of us.

"These are the financial records for Gaspari, and several of the men that work for him.

The ones I've been able to identify, at least.

Aside from my wire transfer for the diamond on the night of the auction, there isn't much money to speak of, coming in or out."

Her eyes are intent on the screen, her head making small movements as she tries to make heads or tales of what she's seeing.

At my last sentence, however, her face turns sharply, and her gaze meets mine, with her brows pinched together in confusion.

"Wait, what do you mean? No money to speak of? Dante's always had money.

A lot of money."

I shake my head.

"Not anymore.

When he disappeared three years ago, a lot of the deals he was involved in fell apart.

Buyers went elsewhere; sellers did the same.

Whatever happened to him, it cost him nearly everything.

I'm still not sure where he got the diamond from, but without my money from that sale, he wouldn't even be able to pay his own men right now."

I watch her face as I speak, gauging her reactions.

My suspicions are confirmed when she averts her gaze from mine at the mention of whatever happened three years ago.

She knows.

I could try to force the information out of her, but if there's one thing I've learned about Siren, it's that when pushed, she doesn't break.

She pushes back twice as hard.

So, I leave it alone for now.

Maybe, at some point, she'll trust me enough to give me the information on her own.

At least, I hope so.

Changing the subject, she asks, "Have you found out if he's still alive?"

I expect there to be fear in her voice.

Terror at the prospect that Gaspari is still out there searching for her.

But there isn't.

Her words are made of steel, and her face has gone to granite.

She wants him dead if he isn't already.

She wants this finished.

I recognize the sentiment because it mirrors one I've carried around with me since I was 14.

I want to end this for her as quickly as possible.

I, better than anyone, would know that carrying that amount of weight around for any period of time will destroy you.

Answering her question, I say, "Not definitively.

But my connections have alluded to rumors that a doctor, specifically a surgeon, visited the house shortly after we left.

The outcome of that visit is still unclear.

I'm gonna ask Theo to look into it."

If another back alley doctor saved Gaspari's life, Theo would know about it.

I haven't yet decided how much information I'll trust the rough-and-tumble doctor with, but right now, the end justifies the means.

Just to be sure, I ask her, "Is it okay if I share some of this with him?"

She thinks about it for a second then nods solemnly.

"Yeah.

Do what you have to do."

I know this isn't easy for her, and I'm again floored by the seemingly endless flow of strength inside this woman.

A sense of pride fills my chest, and I can't help but stare at her side profile in awe.

Despite having gone through Hell twice , I've never met another person with so much will and determination to live.

As I sit there, I realize that what was once general irritation at everything this woman said or did has morphed into something akin to admiration.

Admiration and a gripping need that claws at your insides until you either let it out or it consumes you.

Every piece of her I get only makes me want another and another.

As I glance at the darkened monitor to my right, I only hope I'm not biting off more than I can chew.