I nodded, trying to pull myself together. Embarrassment washed over me as I realized how exposed I was, both physically and emotionally. Quickly, I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “I’m fine. God, I’m just being stupid. It’s nothing. I’m just tired and—”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, taking my face in both hands. “Don’t say you’re being stupid.”

I froze.

“What you’re experiencing is how sexual pleasure should always make you feel. Giving a man that special piece of yourself is the best gift he could ever receive. You deserve to be adored and pleasured in every way, to be praised and feel loved. Your body is your temple, and any man should be lucky enough to worship before it.”

My heart cracked wide open.

~Daria Melnichenko, Mission Shift

I was a man, and she felt like every bad decision I’d ever enjoyed making.

Her innocence and vulnerability made me weak in a way I hated. As I looked at the towel at her feet, felt her bare skin pressed against me, and inhaled the scent of her, the edges of my control started to fray.

I should’ve stepped away the second her arms started to wrap around me.

But I didn’t. Because a dark part of me—the bratva-born part—wanted to mark her. Ruin her.

~Nikolai Volkov, Eyes on You

Kol seemed intent on savoring every moment, stretching time until it became a malleable, pliant thing in his hands. His deliberate and precise way of claiming my body would leave an indelible mark on my memory. It was both exciting and a little terrifying, the thought of this confident, possessive pilot taking command of my pleasure.

~Noelle Nichols, Christmas Cancellation

“From the moment fate brought me into your emergency department, you became the best example of what a man should be. Honest, even when I couldn’t be truthful about my past. Kind, when no one else was. Giving, to a complete stranger without hesitation. Funny, when things were at their worst. You protected my heart, my soul, and my body. You understood me even when I didn’t understand myself.”

~Anastasia Volkov, Day Shift

“It’s strange learning where you came from after you’ve already become who you are.”

Lachlan was quiet for a moment.

“Blood can tell you where you came from, Mouse. Doesn’t mean anyone gets to decide where you go next.”

“Am I joining The Syndicate?”

“No.” His answer came with quiet amusement. “You’re doing something considerably more dangerous.”

“Oh?”

“Loving one of its men.”

Instead of standing, he lowered himself onto one knee between my legs and took my face gently in both hands.

“Look at me, Isabella.”

Something in the roughness of his voice made me obey.

His green eyes held mine, and hearing my name wrapped in that deep Irish accent made everything else recede.

“You’re safe,” he said.

“Cry if you need to, Mouse. No one’s getting through me to get to you.”

Noelle was an open book—most of the time. She didn’t bother hiding who she was, and I respected that. But the topic of her parents? That was a door she kept bolted shut. It stirred up an instinct I didn’t usually have for strangers—to defend her from whatever hurt lay behind that door. It wasn’t the same as looking out for my brother and sisters, or even the guys in my unit. This was different. More visceral. I wanted to shield her from whatever caused her pain and make it right.

~Captain Kol Vinter, Christmas Cancellation