I can't form words, I just hold on tighter as he picks up the pace, hitting deeper from this angle. The friction is perfect, the pressure exactly what I need, and I can feel another orgasm building impossibly soon after the last one.
"Touch yourself," he says, voice strained. "I want to feel you come around me."
One hand leaves his neck to slide between us, finding my clit, circling it with the same rhythm he's established. The added stimulation pushes me over the edge within seconds, my body clenching around him, his name torn from my throat as pleasure washes through me.
He follows immediately, pulling me down hard onto him as he comes, his face buried in my neck, teeth grazing my skin in ways that send aftershocks through my already oversensitive body.
We stay like that for a long moment, breathing hard, my legs still wrapped around his waist, his hands still gripping my thighs. Eventually he carries me the few steps to the bed, lowers us down carefully, then shifts to deal with the condom.
I collapse back on the bed trying to remember how breathing works. He returns to lie beside me, pulling me against his chest with his arm around my waist.
"That was better than last night," he says after our breathing has returned to something resembling normal.
"Different. Not necessarily better." I trace patterns on his chest, following scars I'm starting to memorize. "Both have their place."
"Are you saying you want variety in our sex life?"
"I'm saying I want a sex life with you. However it comes. Desperate or patient or something in between." I tilt my head to see his face. "Is that too direct?"
"That's perfect. Direct is good." He kisses the top of my head, a gesture that's more tender than erotic. "But we should probably get dressed. I need to check in with Brandon, see if there are any developments with Trask."
"Always bringing us back to logistics."
"Someone has to. Otherwise we'll just stay in this bed and pretend the outside world doesn't exist." His hand traces my spine, the touch casual but intimate. "Though I'm not opposed to that plan."
"Tempting. But Solange wants brunch tomorrow. I need to see her, let her confirm I'm actually okay." I sit up, already looking for where my clothes ended up. "And you need to make sure nothing else has happened while we've been otherwise occupied."
"We could ignore all of it."
"We could. But eventually Trask or Reese or Ezra would find ways to force us back into reality." I locate my underwear near the door, my sweater in the hallway. "Better to face it on our terms."
He stands, pulls on his boxers and jeans, the transformation from lover to professional security expert happening with practiced ease. The shift is jarring but also oddly reassuring—he can separate roles when necessary, can be both protector and partner without the two identities destroying each other.
"I'll be gone for a few hours," he says, buttoning his shirt. "I need to review overnight reports, make sure I haven't missed anything critical." He pauses at the door, looks back. "But I'm coming back. This isn't me disappearing."
"I know." And I do know. This is different from Gabriel's absences that felt like surveillance continuing through other means. "Text me if anything changes?"
"The moment anything changes." He returns to kiss me once more, brief but meaningful. "We're figuring this out, Lana. Together."
Then he's gone, and I'm alone again in the safe house with the burner phone and the memory of his mouth on me and the strange new reality of wanting someone who's supposed to keep me safe.
Solange is going to have so many questions tomorrow.
I just hope I have answers that make sense.
CHAPTER 21: JAX
Brandon Hayes meets me at a coffee shop three blocks from The Dominion, the kind of place that serves overpriced lattes to people who think caffeine is a personality trait. He's already there when I arrive, sitting at a corner table with sight lines to both entrances, a habit ingrained from years of protection work that never quite goes away even during off-duty meetings.
"You look like you didn't sleep," he says as I sit down.
"I slept. Just not much." I signal the barista, order black coffee because anything fancier feels like wasted effort. "What's the status on Lana's apartment?"
"Security upgrades are nearly complete. New locks, reinforced door frames, and an upgraded alarm system with direct feed to our monitoring station. We've also installed motion sensors at all entry points and improved camera coverage in the building's common areas." He pulls out his tablet and shows me the schematics. "But given that Trask already knows the location, has documented her routines there, and likely has mapped every vulnerability in that building, I'm recommending she doesn't return. Fresh location, clean slate, somewhere he has no existing intelligence on."
The assessment matches what Lana and I discussed—or rather, what we implied before getting distracted by more immediate concerns. "Have you started looking at alternative properties?"
"Three buildings in The Crest, all with superior security infrastructure. I can have showings arranged by Monday if she's interested." He swipes through listings—high-rise apartments with twenty-four-hour concierge service, key card access, thekind of places where strangers get noticed immediately. "All three have been vetted for structural security. No accessible service entrances like her current building."
