She doesn’t stay still, of course. How could she? Not when I take my time exploring her wet cunt.
Mine. All mine.
I focus on her clit, circling it with maddening slowness before teasing it with light, feathery strokes. Her body arches, her breath coming in sharp gasps as I work her over, deliberately avoiding giving her exactly what she wants just yet.
“Damon, please…” she whispers, her voice breaking on the plea.
I glance up, catching her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes are dark with need. The sight alone almost undoes me, but I want her teetering on the edge. I want her to come undone completely.
Leaning back in, I wrap my lips around her clit and suck gently, adding just enough pressure to make her cry out. My fingers join the effort, sliding inside her slowly, curling to find the spot that makes her legs tremble.
“Damon!” Her voice rises, her thighs clenching around my head as her release crashes over her.
I don’t stop, drawing out every last tremor until she collapses back against the couch, utterly spent.
I pull Mia’s shirt gently over her head, smoothing the fabric down her arms. Her lips are kiss-bruised.
“There,” I murmur, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger on her jaw for a moment longer than I should. “All set.”
She exhales shakily.
I want to say something—anything—to keep this moment between us from dissolving completely. “Mia, I—” I begin.
Zane strides in, his expression hard, his eyes flicking between me and Mia. His frown deepens slightly as he takes us in, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s piecing something together or if he’s just his usual grumpy self. Either way, it sets me on edge. For a second, I consider telling him about my history with Mia—about the night that’s haunted me for six years—but I bite it back. Not now. Not like this.
Zane tosses a file onto the desk. “We’ve got a problem.”
Mia’s face pales as she sits on the edge of the desk. I open the file, my gut clenching the moment I see Jason’s smug face captured mid-conversation with two men I hoped never to see again. Martin Stroud and Kyle Travis—names I haven’t said out loud in years. Men I’ve only ever associated with trouble.
“Stroud and Travis?” I grit out, flipping through the photos. “They’re still active?”
“Private security,” Zane says, crossing his arms. “Jason’s calling in favors. He’s not working alone anymore.”
Mia leans closer, her fingers trembling as she picks up one of the photos. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “The man on the left... he was at the hospital yesterday. I thought he was just another visitor.”
I glance at Zane, my grip tightening on the folder. “This changes things.”
Zane nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. It does.”
CHAPTER 9
MIA
The safehouse is…not what I expected. A two-story Victorian tucked away on a back road, paint peeling, windows tall and narrow like the house is watching us. Zane and Asher pull in behind Damon’s vehicle.
“Home sweet home,” Zane mutters, stepping out and glancing around like he’s already calculating sightlines.
“Cozy,” Asher deadpans, his lips twitching like it’s a private joke.
Damon pops the trunk, already moving to grab the duffel bags. “It’s defensible. Multiple exits. Sightlines on all sides. You’ll be safe here.”
I snort. “Safe doesn’t usually come with cobwebs.”
That earns a laugh from Asher. “Ah, don’t knock it, Mia. You should’ve seen the last place Damon picked. I’m still scratching bug bites.”
Damon doesn’t rise to the bait. “It did the job.”
Zane smirks. “Pretty sure the rats filed a noise complaint.”
