"Now the assessment component is finished. I continue protecting you because Trask and Reese are still operating and you need actual security. I'm just—" He stops, like he's not sure how to finish that sentence.
"Just what?"
"Just trying to figure out how to be with you without surveillance as the only framework I have for connection." His hands come up to frame my face, his thumbs tracing cheekbones in the gesture that's becoming familiar. "Lana, I want this. Iwant you. But I also don't know how to separate protection from attraction."
"Then stop trying to separate them." I mirror his gesture, my hands framing his face, forcing him to hold my gaze. "We established this last night. Protection and attraction coexist. We figure out what that means instead of endlessly analyzing whether it's healthy."
"You sound certain."
I pull him closer, eliminating the remaining distance between us. "I want you to stop overthinking and kiss me like you did last night before we both decided being responsible was more important than being honest."
He doesn't need an additional invitation. His mouth finds mine with renewed hunger, kissing me like the past two hours apart were torturous rather than just necessary. I kiss him back with equal intensity, my hands already working at the buttons of his shirt, needing skin contact more than conversation about Lucien's unnamed friend or dual-purpose assignments.
We're moving toward the bedroom without discussing it, mouths still connected, hands pulling at clothes that seem like unnecessary barriers. His shirt comes off somewhere in the hallway. My sweater gets discarded near the bedroom door. By the time we reach the bed we're both down to underwear and the clear intention of removing that too.
"Wait—" He pulls back, breathing hard. "We should talk about this. Make sure we're doing this for the right reasons."
"What are the right reasons?" I'm already unhooking my bra, letting it fall between us. "Because if we're waiting for some perfect clarity about whether this is real or just crisis response, we'll be waiting forever."
His eyes track the movement of my hands, attention clearly divided between wanting to continue the conversation and wanting to touch me. "The right reasons would be choosing each other without external pressure. Without Trask threatening you or Lucien assigning me surveillance."
"Those external pressures still exist. Trask is still out there. Your assignment continues even if the assessment component is finished." I step closer, close enough that my bare chest brushes against his. "So if we're waiting for circumstances to be perfect, we'll never move forward with this. I'd rather have you now, complications and all, than keep denying ourselves because we're worried about making mistakes."
"You're very convincing when you're topless."
"Then stop talking and touch me."
He doesn't need further encouragement. His hands are on me immediately, sliding up my ribs to cup my breasts, his thumbs finding nipples that are already hard from anticipation as he claims my lips again.
The sensation makes me gasp against his mouth, arch into his touch, need more contact than what we're currently managing. This time there's no fear that one of us will come to our senses and stop. This is deliberate, chosen, the physical manifestation of deciding to stop overthinking and just want each other without apology.
His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, finding the hollow of my throat, the curve of my collarbone, moving lower with focused attention. When he reaches my breasts, his tongue circles one nipple while his hand cups the other, the dual sensation making my knees go weak enough that I'm grateful when he guides me backward toward the bed.
I sit on the edge and he kneels between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs to the waistband of my underwear. He looks up at me, asking permission without words.
"Yes," I tell him. "Please."
He slides my underwear down and off, tosses it aside, then spreads my legs wider with his hands on my inner thighs. The exposure should make me self-conscious but instead it just makes me want him more, makes me need whatever he's about to do.
His mouth finds me with the same focused attention he brings to everything else. The first touch of his tongue makes me gasp, my hands fisting in the sheets beside me. He explores with deliberate patience, learning what makes me gasp, what makes my hips lift involuntarily, what makes sounds escape my throat that I didn't know I could make.
"Jax—" His name comes out ragged, desperate.
He responds by adding fingers alongside his mouth, sliding two inside me while his tongue works my clit with increasing pressure. The combination is overwhelming, pleasure building faster than I expected, pushing me toward the edge with ruthless efficiency.
"I'm going to—" I can't finish the sentence because I'm already coming, my body arching off the bed, thighs trembling around his head as waves of pleasure wash through me with intensity that makes my vision go white at the edges.
He doesn't stop until I'm pushing at his shoulders, oversensitive and needing a moment to recover. Then he's standing, stripping off his boxers, reaching for his wallet on the nightstand where he must have dropped it when we entered.
I watch him roll on the condom, my body still humming from orgasm but already wanting more. When he turns back tome, I expect him to climb on top, but instead he pulls me to standing, walks me backward until my back hits the wall beside the window.
"Here," he says, lifting me so my legs wrap around his waist, his hands under my thighs supporting my weight. "Hold on to me."
I wrap my arms around his neck as he positions himself, then pushes inside me in one fluid motion that makes us both groan.
The wall provides stability as he starts moving, thrusting up into me with rhythm that's harder and faster than last night's exploratory pace. My back presses against the wall with each thrust, his hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise, and the combination of sensations is overwhelming in the best way.
"God, Lana—" His forehead presses against mine, breathing ragged. "You feel incredible."
