At the door, she stopped. “Do you think we’ll get them out?” she asked.
I looked at her, really looked, and saw the future mapped in the lines of her face.
“We’ll get them,” I said.
And I meant it.
Tomorrow, we’d fly to Paris.
Tonight, I’d keep watch over her dreams.
Inside, she dropped her bag on the bedroom floor and went straight to the bathroom. The water ran; I heard the clink of glass against porcelain, the faint rattle of pill bottles. She was prepping—safety, ritual, anything to keep from thinking. I put my own bag down and loaded two mags into the bedside Glock, stashed it in the drawer by the lamp. I checked the window locks; then did it again. Some habits never leave.
She came out in a faded tee and nothing else, hair up, face bare. She padded to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, drank half, then just stood there. I could see the current running under her skin: adrenaline, fear, anticipation, all twined tight.
She looked up, and the rawness in her gaze leveled me.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“You’re not alone,” I told her. “You don’t ever have to be alone again.”
I carried her to the bed and set her down and carefully peeled the tee off over her head. Her body was all muscle and soft, healed scars and lines of strength. I undressed, stripped down to skin and nothing else, and crawled onto the bed beside her. She watched me, her eyes glistening with lust-filled anticipation.
I started at her neck, kneading the tight muscles under my thumbs, working them until she groaned and her head lolled back. I moved to her shoulders, slow circles, then down her arms, forearms, hands. She relaxed by increments, eyes half-closed, mouth slack.
When I got to her thighs, she parted them without asking. Her pussy was already wet, slick and hot, and I took my time with her, tracing every inch, every edge, with my mouth andhands. I didn’t rush, not even when she whimpered. I wanted her to feel everything, to remember what it was to be touched with love, not power.
I sucked her clit, slow, gentle, just enough to make her squirm. She came quickly, her heels digging into my back. I kept going, licking her through the aftershocks, then slid up beside her, holding her face in my hands.
She pulled me in for a kiss, tasting herself on my tongue, and for a moment she looked so vulnerable I almost couldn’t stand it.
“Again,” she whispered. “I want more.”
I rolled her over, face-down, her arms stretched above her head. I started at her shoulders, massaged down her spine, stopping to kiss each vertebra, each scar. When I got to her ass, I squeezed, then spread her, buried my tongue inside until she was begging.
When I couldn’t wait anymore, I grabbed her hips and raised her ass up in the air. I lined up and pushed inside her, slow and deep, letting her feel every inch of my rock-hard erection. She arched back against me, taking all of me, gasping out my name in a voice I’d never tire of hearing.
I fucked her like that, slow and steady, her body stretched beneath mine, her cunt squeezing my cock tighter every time I pulled back. The mate mark on her neck glowed red, and I felt the answering throb in my own, our bond a live wire between us.
“Mine,” I growled, biting her shoulder.
“Yours,” she sobbed, “always.”
I felt my knot start to swell, and I gripped her hips, slamming into her harder, her ass bouncing under my hands. She came again, body shuddering, and I went with her, my knot locking us together as my cum filled her up. Her orgasm continued as my body shuddered and rocked inside her. Nothing ever felt as fucking good as being inside my mate, her body clenched around my cock.
I collapsed on top of her my forearms taking my weight so I didn’t crush her beneath me. We lay there, bodies fused, sweat cooling on our skin. I kissed her back, her neck, anywhere I could reach. When my knot finally softened, I pulled out and went into the bathroom to soak a washcloth in steaming hot water. I came back and cleaned her gently and then cradled her to my body.
“I love you, bluebonnet.” I whispered in her ear.
She looked up at me with those same blue eyes and grinned. “I love you, Jess.”
The alarm went off at 2:45 a.m. I rolled out of bed, showered, dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeve tee. Harper showered after, slicked her hair back in a ponytail, and dressed in simple travel clothes: jeans, a tee, running shoes. She wore no makeup, but she didn’t need it.
We ate a quick breakfast of toast and black coffee. She said little, but I could see the steel had returned to her spine.
At 3:30, we were out the door. The pack house van was waiting, Gunner at the wheel, Doc riding shotgun. We tossed our bags in the back, then climbed in. The van was silent except for the hum of tires on the highway.
Gunner pulled into the private hangar with five minutes to spare. The Gulfstream sat on the tarmac, lights on, engines ready. Wrecker and Parker were already there, arms crossed, bags at their feet. Bronc and Juliet were there too for the send-off.
