His mouth found mine, hard and unyielding, like he’d been holding back for far too long. Heat surged through me, burning away the desert chill, the gunfire, the ghosts Hydra had left in my blood. I grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric, dragging him closer because distance was unbearable.
He kissed like he fought—fierce, relentless, with every ounce of himself. But underneath the steel, there was something else. A promise. A plea.
When he pulled back, just enough for air, his forehead pressed to mine. His voice was ragged, almost broken.
“I shouldn’t touch you.”
“Then stop,” I breathed.
He didn’t. His mouth found mine again, slower this time, reverent where it had been raw. My chest ached with the force of it, with the way every kiss stripped away the armor I’d clung to.
Hydra had taught me to weaponize touch, to use it, to survive it. Beckett was teaching me something far more dangerous—how towantit.
When we finally broke apart, I was shaking. Not from fear. Not from exhaustion. From him.
“You’re breaking every rule,” I said softly.
His hand cupped the back of my neck, holding me steady in the shadows. “Then let them break.”
And for the first time in years, I let myself believe in something Hydra could never touch—choice.
32
Beckett
Her mouth still pressed against mine as the last of my discipline shattered. Rules, orders, reasons—they all dissolved in the dark until only she remained. Elara. Heat, defiance, and a tremor I could feel deep in my bones.
I pulled her onto my lap, the rifle clattering forgotten onto the stone floor. She straddled me without hesitation, her hands threading into my hair, her mouth urgent and demanding. The knife she’d gripped for survival slipped loose, forgotten, as if she trusted me enough to lay down her last weapon.
The taste of her was fire and more fire, her kiss fierce one second, breaking the next like she was drowning in it. My hands roamed over the sharp lines of her body—waist, hips, the edge of bandages beneath her torn shirt. She gasped against my lips when I touched a bruised rib, pain and pleasure tangled together.
“Tell me to stop,” I rasped, words breaking against her throat.
Her answer was a shiver, her nails scraping down my back. “Don’t you dare.”
The desert night pressed close, muffling the world above. Every breath, every heartbeat belonged to us. My mouth trailed from her lips to her jaw, down to the pulse hammering in her throat. She tilted her head back, eyes shut, armor slipping piece by piece until I could feel the raw truth of her—strong, scarred, needing.
I laid her back on the ground, the sand beneath softened by nothing but desperation. My body hovered over hers, every muscle wound tight. She pulled me down anyway, legs wrapping around my waist, binding me to her.
“Elara,” I groaned, her name torn from somewhere deeper than want.
“Show me,” she whispered, breath catching. “Show me I’m more than what they made me.”
And then there were no more walls. No more rules. Just the ragged sound of our breathing, the slide of skin against skin, and the way she clung to me like I was the only thing anchoring her to this world.
The ravine around us might as well have vanished. Hydra, orders, the war waiting beyond the shadows—it all disappeared in the fire of her body against mine, in the reckless, unstoppable truth neither of us could deny anymore.
33
Elara
The world had narrowed to heat and breath and the weight of Beckett above me, his body anchoring me in ways I didn’t think possible. For the first time in years, I feltaliveinstead of merely surviving.
And then the desert reminded me where I was.
The low rumble of engines rolled across the ravine, growing louder. A spotlight swept overhead, cutting through the darkness, slicing over the rock wall just feet above us.
Beckett went rigid, his body still pressed to mine, heart pounding hard against my chest. His hand shot out, silencing me before I could speak.
