I hover above her, suddenly uncertain. "Are you sure?"
Her answer is to pull me down to her, her lips finding mine again. Her fingers trace the scars on my back, mapping the history of violence written on my skin. But there's no judgment in her touch, only desire. Especially when they run off the ridges of my abs.
I pull back to look at her. "You're beautiful.” The word is completely inadequate, but I fill it with as much meaning as I can.
That beautiful blush that I’ve fallen in love with spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, to the swell of her breasts. I follow its path with my lips, worshipping every inch of her. Her breath catches when I take her nipple into my mouth, her back arching off the bed.
Her hands are in my hair, on my shoulders, pulling me closer. I trail kisses down her stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath my lips.
I take my time, kissing my way back up her calves, the inside of her knees, her thighs. Her scent fills my head, making me dizzy with want.
When I taste her, her moan breaks the morning quiet. Her hands fist in my hair, guiding me. I lose myself in her pleasure, in the salty-sweet taste of her, in the trembling of her thighs against my shoulders.
"Walker," she gasps, "I needyou. Please."
I rise, shedding my sweatpants and briefs before settling between her legs. The feeling of her skin against mine, with nothing between us, is almost overwhelming. I pause, my forehead pressed against hers, breathing her in.
"I never thought I'd have this," I confess.
Her eyes, blue as the sea outside our window, meet mine. "You have me," she says simply. "All of me."
When I enter her, it's slow, deliberate. We both gasp at the sensation. She wraps her legs around my waist, drawing me deeper, and I have to close my eyes against the intensity of it.
Her hands trace the muscles of my back, my shoulders, exploring my body as I explore hers. There's no rush, no desperate race toward release. Just the two of us, together accepting that this is right. That this is where each of us should be.
I watch her face as pleasure builds, memorizing every expression, every soft gasp. When she comes, her eyes never leave mine.
My own release follows, crashing through me like a wave. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her name against her skin like a confession.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her back.
Outside, the world continues. The threat we face is still real. But here, in this tiny world we’ve created, we feel safe. Seen. Here in this world, I’m a good person, where I deserve to be with the most beautiful, wonderful woman in any world.
But that outside world comes crashing in like a different kind of wave when I hear a chirp from Static’s emergency cell phone. And then we hear Static’s distorted voice. “Buenos días.”
Twenty-Five
Ireach for my pants, pulling them on quickly as Naomi wraps the sheet around herself more securely and joins me at the table.
I pick up the phone and hold it close to my mouth. "Static? I thought you couldn’t talk through this thing. How are you doing this?”
Even through the distortion, I can hear Static’s smirk. "The simplest answer is I am very, very good at what I do. The more complex answer involves technical information that I have learned over the years makes normies’ eyes glaze over. But suffice it to say, I’ve upgraded the system. You’re no longer in El Centinela.”
I shake my head even though he can’t see. “No. La Pesca Azul.”
“Ah, you used to live there.”
I’m not surprised that Static was keeping tabs on me long before I contacted him.
I spend the next few minutes filling him in on everything we found. And the fact that we stole what we believe to be their communication hub at that location.
“Nice work,” Static says.
“But we weren’t in El Centinela,” Naomi chimes in. “We were in Devil’s Gulch.”
“No, my friends, you were in both.”
Naomi and I share a look. “What do you mean?” I ask.
