I fucked her slowly. Deep, deliberate strokes that made her feel everything. Made her feelus. This thing we'd built in the dark that Viktor wanted to destroy.
When she came this time, it was quiet. A soft exhale. Her body clenching around mine in waves. Her hands cupping my face even though she couldn't see it.
I kissed her through it. Swallowed her gasps.
Four.
I flipped her onto her stomach. Pulled her hips up. Drove back into her from behind, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip.
This was the one that broke me.
I fucked her hard. Brutal. All the fear and rage and desperation I'd been holding back since Viktor's ultimatum pouring into every thrust. The bed frame slammed against the wall as she cried out into the pillow.
"Again," I growled. "Come again for me."
"I can't?—"
"You will."
I reached around. Found her clit. Circled it roughly while I drove into her over and over.
She came apart. One last time. Her pussy clamped down so hard I couldn't hold back anymore.
I buried myself deep and let go. My orgasm punched through me, whiting out my vision, every muscle in my body locking as I spilled inside her.
When the world came back, I was collapsed on top of her. Both of us shaking. Gasping for air.
When I could move again, I rolled off of her. She curled into me immediately and pressed her face against my chest. Her breathing was ragged. Her whole body trembling.
Her arms tightened around me.
And I knew—with absolute certainty—that I was going to save her.
Even if it meant destroying everything else.
***
The next few days were a countdown to execution.
After that first night, I didn't go back to my loft. Didn't even pretend to maintain the separation. I moved into her darkness where she was comfortable, and every night we fucked like it might be our last time.
Because it might be.
During the day, I worked the problem. Digging through Viktor's organization, looking for the real leak. Following soldiers on their routes. Watching who made phone calls at odd hours. Who seemed nervous. Who avoided eye contact.
And I found nothing.
Whoever was feeding information to the Feds was good. Professional.
Or maybe Viktor was wrong. Maybe there was no leak at all, just bad luck and paranoia.
But I didn't believe that. And neither did he.
On day three, I came to her apartment to find her at the kitchen table, a notebook open in front of her.
It was filled with Braille.
"What's this?" I asked.
