"Come for me," he commands against my ear, voice rough with need. "Let me feel you."
The order combined with one more perfect thrust shatters me. I come apart around him, pleasure so intense it borders on pain, inner walls clenching rhythmically around his length. My back arches, head thrown back as I cry out his name, wave after wave of sensation crashing through me until I can't tell where I end and he begins.
He follows seconds later with a guttural groan, hips driving deep and holding there as he pulses inside me. I feel him come, hot and claiming, marking me in the most primal way. His face buries against my neck, breath ragged against my skin, and we cling to each other as aftershocks ripple through both our bodies.
We collapse together, sweaty and breathless and completely wrecked. Holden rolls to his side, pulling me with him so we're tangled together, his heartbeat thundering against my palm.
"That was..." I trail off, no words adequate.
"Yeah." He kisses my temple, arm tightening around me. "It was."
The storm still rages outside, rain hammering the roof, wind rattling windows. But wrapped in Holden's arms with his heart beating against my ear, I feel protected in ways I haven't in years. Not because he's a SEAL trained to defend me. Because he's Holden, who gives me choices and checks in and makes sure I know I'm valued.
"I haven't felt this way in years," I confess softly. "Not really. Even before Bruce, I was always on guard. Always protecting myself. But with you... I don't have to be."
"You're safe with me." His voice is low, certain. "Always. However long you'll have me."
I burrow closer, breathing him in. Sweat and salt and Holden. "What if I want to keep you?"
"Then I'm yours." Simple. Direct. No games or conditions. "For as long as you want me."
Sleep pulls at me, exhaustion from days of stress and fear finally catching up. Tomorrow we'll deal with investigations and threats and whatever comes next. Tomorrow we'll face reality again.
Because Holden Lange doesn't take—he gives. And tomorrow, when the storm clears, I'll tell him I'm falling in love with him. But tonight, wrapped in his arms with his heartbeat steady under my ear, I let myself just feel this. Trust this. Believe that when he says I'm safe, he means it.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm not afraid of what comes next.
12
HOLDEN
Ilove her. And she's a target.
Dawn breaks soft and gray through the cottage windows, storm-filtered light painting Fallon's face in shades of silver. She sleeps curled against my chest, auburn hair spilling across my arm, breathing deep and steady. Outside, the hurricane has passed, leaving behind wreckage and calm in equal measure. Waves lap the beach with gentle persistence, nothing like last night's violence.
Last night. When she gave me everything, trusted me with pieces of herself I know she hasn't shared in years. When I realized the feeling building inside me since the first time I saw her on that research boat wasn't just attraction or protectiveness or any other word I could hide behind. Love. Simple and complicated and absolutely certain.
I trace patterns on her bare shoulder, memorizing the scatter of freckles across her skin. She murmurs something unintelligible and burrows closer, one hand splayed over my heart. The trust in that gesture undoes me. After everything Bruce put her through, after all the reasons she has to keep walls firmly in place, she chose to lower them for me.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Once, twice, building into a persistent vibration that means texts are flooding in now that cell service has been restored. Fallon stirs against me, eyelashes fluttering.
"Mmm. What time is it?" Her voice is sleep-rough, sexy in ways that make me want to ignore the phone entirely.
"Early." I press a kiss to her temple, reluctant to move but knowing I have to check. "Phone's going crazy. Service must be back."
She lifts her head, green eyes still hazy with sleep and something softer. "How many?"
I reach for the phone, thumb unlocking the screen. The number of notifications makes my gut clench. Missed calls, voicemails, texts, all time-stamped through the night when we had no way to receive them and no way for anyone to get through the storm. All from Hartwell, Griff, Thatcher. Nothing good comes from this kind of urgency.
"Too many." I sit up, scrolling through messages while Fallon props herself on one elbow beside me. "Something's wrong."
The first voicemail is Hartwell, voice tight with control that tells me she's barely holding it. "Lange, call me the second you get this. Rexford's gone dark. I repeat, Daniel Rexford has disappeared. Call me now."
The next messages build on each other, painting a picture that makes my blood run cold. Evidence found in Rexford's temporary quarters on base. Digital trail showing he accessed Fallon's research files multiple times over the past weeks. Financial records indicating payment from foreign sources, amounts that suggest he sold classified information about Tidewater's coastal vulnerabilities. Bruce was attacked and is at the base hospital being held pending questioning, beaten badly enough to require surgery. And Rexford, armed and dangerous, vanished sometime during the storm.
"Holden?" Fallon's hand touches my arm, concern sharp in her voice. "What's happened?"
I look at her, this woman who's become essential to me in ways I'm still processing and know I have to tell her the truth. "Rexford. He's the one who's been targeting you. Not Bruce. Bruce was just convenient cover."
