“I need to call the security team, check the office servers, sweep for bugs—” I’m already scheduling, planning, mentally building the fortress around us taller, stronger.
Cora doesn’t argue or push. Instead, she moves to the kitchen, her movements quiet and deliberate. She fills the electric kettle and sets it to boil, then takes a seat at the counter, just outside my immediate space.
“I’ll be right here,” she says simply, her voice gentle but firm. “If you need anything.”
I glance up from my tablet, momentarily thrown by her response. Not retreating to bed as ordered, not demanding involvement, but refusing to leave me alone with this burden.
She meets my eyes steadily, then looks down at her phone, giving me the privacy to make my calls without an audience, yet close enough that her presence reminds me I’m not alone.
The kettle clicks off. Cora makes tea, sliding a cup of coffee toward me without comment before returning to her seat. No demands, no questions, just quiet solidarity.
Something tight in my chest eases slightly, even as I dial Andrew’s number again.
I make calls for an hour—security protocols, system overrides, asset protection measures. Cora remains silently present, occasionally refilling my coffee, her steady presence a contrast to my controlled fury.
When I finally set down my phone, exhaustion hits me. I rub my eyes, feeling the weight of responsibility crushing down. “We need to update all the security codes. Check for surveillance. Move anything sensitive to the backup server.”
“Tell me what to do,” Cora says simply.
I look up, surprised. “You should be sleeping.”
“So should you.” She meets my gaze. “Let me help, Dom.”
My instinct is to refuse. I’ve always handled threats alone. It’s what I do—what I’ve always done. Build the walls higher. Solve the problem. Protect what’s mine.
But I’m tired. And she’s looking at me with those eyes that see through my defenses.
“The contact list,” I say finally. “We need to alert anyone who might be compromised. Liam’s clients. Ryder’s associates.”
She nods and moves to my side, her shoulder touching mine as she takes the tablet. Her fingers work quickly, organizing the information without question or complaint.
Something breaks loose in my chest. “I should have noticed,” I admit quietly. “Julia’s been with me for years. I trusted her.”
Cora sets down the tablet and turns to face me. “We all missed it,” she says, taking my hands. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Dom.”
“It’s what I do,” I reply automatically. “It’s how I’ve always?—”
“Not anymore.” She cups my face. “I love you. We all do. Your burdens are ours too.”
The words hit something raw inside me. “I love you,” I whisper back, the declaration still new on my tongue.
“I know.” She smiles softly. “I thought you knew what that meant—that you don’t suffer alone anymore.”
When she kisses me, it’s gentle but insistent, as if she’s trying to press the truth through my skin. I pull her closer, suddenly desperate for her warmth against the coldness of betrayal.
“We’ll handle this,” she murmurs against my lips. “Together.”
Even as I work through security protocols with Cora, desire pulses through me. It always does when she’s near—a constant undercurrent of need that never fully subsides. Her small hands typing on the tablet, her scent mixing with coffee in the pre-dawn kitchen, the curve of her neck as she leans forward—all of it calls to something primal in me.
I shift uncomfortably in the kitchen chair. “I have to finish this,” I say, gesturing to the laptop where Andrew has sent me compromised file lists.
Cora’s gaze drops to my lap, understanding immediately. A small smile plays at her lips. “You could work while I warm you,” she suggests, voice dropping lower. “So you’re not distracted.”
My brain short-circuits. “Warm me?”
“Your cock,” she says, clarifying with the directness I’ve come to cherish. “I could just... hold it inside me while you work. No movement necessary.”
“Dios mío,” I mutter, already hardening at the thought. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”
