Finally, when I'm begging in broken whispers, he surges forward in one deep, claiming thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and I cry out, the fullness overwhelming, perfect.
"Fuuuuuck, you feel so good." He stills for a moment, letting me adjust, our breaths mingling hot and fast, then he starts moving—slow at first, deliberate rolls of his hips that grind against that spot inside me, building the pressure again, higher this time, torturously close without tipping over.
His mouth finds my breast, tongue flicking over my nipple, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks racing down my spine, and I arch into him, nails raking his back as he picks up speed, thrusts turning harder, deeper, the couch groaning under the force.
The world blurs to this rhythm—his body slamming into mine, sweat-slick skin sliding, the wet sounds of us mingling with our ragged moans. I'm right there again, hovering on the brink, every muscle taut, and he senses it, shifts his angle, driving in relentlessly until I shatter—climax crashing over me in waves, my walls clenching around him, pulling him under with me as he groans my name, low and broken, spilling hot inside me with a final, shuddering thrust.
We collapse together, his weight a welcome anchor as aftershocks ripple through me. He rolls us slightly, tucking me against his chest, and I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, inhaling the salt of his skin, the dog tags cool against my cheek.
His arms wrap around me, one hand stroking lazy circles on my back, and for a stolen moment, we just breathe—snuggled close on the worn couch, hearts slowing in tandem, the storm outside a distant rumble.
But he's not done.
Before I can fully catch my breath, he shifts, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then my lips, then lower—trailing hot and open-mouthed down my body. Surprise flares through me as he hooks my thigh over his shoulder, settling between my legs with a hunger in his eyes that makes my pulse kick up again.
"Colt—"
"Shh," he says, voice husky, and then his mouth is on me—tongue delving in without preamble, vigorous and unrelenting, lapping at my oversensitive folds like he's starved for it.
I gasp, fingers fisting in his hair as he sucks my clit between his lips, flicking with precise, teasing pressure that reignites the fire low in my belly, faster this time, reckless and intense.
His hands grip my hips, holding me down as I buck against his face, the stubble on his jaw scraping deliciously against my thighs, his groans vibrating through me as he devours me, tonguethrusting inside before circling back, building me up swiftly and mercilessly. I'm moaning openly now, lost in the wet heat of his mouth, chasing that peak again when?—
The perimeter alarm SCREAMS through the moment, harsh and immediate.
We both freeze, hearts pounding for entirely different reasons now.
"Shit, that was faster than I thought." Colt is off me in an instant, reaching for his weapon first and then his clothes, his training overriding everything else.
I'm right behind him, grabbing my clothes and the AR-15, my body shifting from want to combat mode so fast it makes me dizzy.
He's at the window, night vision down. "Multiple vehicles. Headlights off."
"How many?"
"Can't tell yet. At least two. Maybe more."
I move to my position, weapon up, hands steady despite the adrenaline still singing through my veins from what we were doing. My shirt is back on but inside out, my jeans barely buttoned, and I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin.
But that doesn't matter now.
More enforcers are coming, and we have to be ready.
"You good?" Colt asks without looking away from the window.
"Yeah." My voice is steadier than it should be. "I'm good."
"No regrets?"
"About which part?"
"Any of it."
I think about his hands on me. His mouth on mine. The way he said my full name like it was something precious instead of something I should be ashamed of.
"No regrets," I tell him. "You?"
"No regrets." He shifts position, counts. "Two vehicles. They're staging again. Shit, three vehicles."
