He pulls almost all the way out before driving back in, setting a rhythm that's urgent and claiming and exactly what I need. I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle so he hits deeper, and the pleasure builds again, sharper this time, more intense.
Marc's mouth finds mine, swallowing my moans as he picks up the pace. His hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit and circling with the same deliberate focus he brings to everything. The dual sensations—him inside me, his hand working me toward the edge—are too much.
"Come for me," he growls against my lips. "I want to feel you."
The command, the raw need in his voice, sends me over. I shatter around him, inner muscles clenching tight as pleasure rips through me. He follows moments later with a choked groan, hips stuttering as he empties himself inside me.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin and heartbeats gradually slowing. Marc pulls me back against him, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder. I rest my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to something almost normal.
"Haywood won't go quietly," he says quietly. "And with The Marshal protecting him?—"
"We go after both of them." I press a kiss to his chest. "Good thing we're not doing this alone."
Sleep finds us eventually. The kind of exhausted sleep that comes after days of running. But it's restless, always half-aware, waiting.
12
MARC
The threat of Haywood still out there echoes in my head.
Sela's asleep against my chest, her breathing steady, but I've been awake for hours mapping Haywood's next moves. He has to know we met with Calder; knows we handed over Emma's evidence. He'll escalate—the question is when and how hard.
Gray light filters through the cabin windows, turning everything colorless. My shoulder's gone numb where Sela's been resting against it, but I haven't moved. Outside, snow drips from the eaves in a steady rhythm. The perimeter sensors have been quiet all night, but that doesn't mean we're safe. Just means Haywood's still deciding how to hit us.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Rhys.
I extract myself carefully, grab the phone, step outside into cold air that bites through my shirt.
"Yeah."
"Suspension's official." Rhys doesn't waste time. "I got a call from FBI Anchorage. You're on administrative leave pending investigation. Badge and service weapon by end of day."
Expected, but it still hits hard. Haywood's moving fast, using official channels to isolate me before DOJ can act.
"When did it come through?"
"Early this morning. I stalled as long as I could." Rhys pauses. "Marc, the legal exposure here is real. Federal obstruction charges carry serious time. You could be looking at prison if this goes wrong."
"Then it better not go wrong."
"I'm serious. This isn't just your badge. It's your freedom."
"I thought it through and made my call."
"Stubborn bastard."
"Learned from the best." I end it before he can argue more.
When I step back through the door, Sela's awake, pulling on clothes with quick efficiency. She doesn't ask who called—my face tells her enough.
"What did Rhys say?"
"Suspended. I need to turn in my credentials today."
Her expression shifts, jaw tightening. "Because of me?—"
"Stop." I cross the room, grip her arms. "Haywood had Emma killed. Haywood's running a trafficking operation. Haywood filed false charges. His choices, not yours."
