Theoverhead bulbs suddenly pop with a sharp crack of electricity.Eliasrips the night vision goggles from his head as the fluorescent tubes buzz violently back to life.Hestares down with absolute, predatory focus.Myblouse is in shreds, the buttons scattered across the concrete floornear his heavyboots.Darkhair sticks up in thick, messy angles above swollen, thoroughly kissed lips.Angryred crescents from my acrylic nails drag deep across his broad shoulders.Theraging storm previously brewing in his gray irises has settled into a calm, predatory satisfaction.
Alarge palm cups my jawline, a calloused thumb dragging over my abused bottom lip. "Stillmine," he states directly.
Scanningthe wreckage reveals scattered client files, a violently overturned office chair, and the shredded lace of my panties discarded by his heavy boots.Thesterile office environment resembles a bomb site.
Thetotal destruction marks a perfect victory.
"Stillyours,"Iagree.
Theheavy steel intercom bolted to the wall violently crackles to life.Logan’sdistorted voice slices through the quiet room. "Vault, status check.Siegeis broken.We’reclear.Anyonebreathing down there?"
Eliasmaintains the intense eye contact while blindly reaching a long arm toward the comms panel, pressing the green button with his thumb.
"Breathing," he grates into the mic, a dark smirk pulling at his rigid expression. "Butoperations require another hour.Keepthe heavy door locked."
Thegreen light clicks off as he hauls me flush against his hard chest for another bruising kiss.
"Now," he murmurs against my wet mouth. "Timeto severely test those efficiency numbers."
6
ELIAS
Thesilence in theVaultpresses down on us, heavier than the reinforced steel door sealing us inside.
Icount the seconds betweenMia’sbreaths.One, two, three, four.Inhale.One, two, three, four.Exhale.Aflawless, grounding rhythm.
Shesleeps on the makeshift cotIset up in the corner, drowned in my spare flannel shirt.Thethick fabric swallows her completely, butIcan still smell her—grapefruit, rain, and the musk of our sex clinging to the wool.She’snaked underneath my colors, her skin still marked by my teeth.
Mychaotic, pink-loving auditor.Mine.
Backbraced against the cold metal of a filing cabinet,Iwatch her from the floor.Theemergency lights remain off.Overhead, the main power emits a low vibration that usually settles my mind.Tonight, the hum grates against my nerves.Theonly sound anchoring me to reality is the soft draw of air through her parted lips.
Destructioncoats the room.Papersscattered across the concrete floor like snow, burying my carefully organized system.Ledgerslay kicked aside.Invoiceslie crumpled near the legs of the steel table where we…
Myjaw locks.Memoryof her crying out, of her short nails digging into my shoulders, incinerates the oxygen in my lungs.Smudgesof heat still smear across the metal surface of that table.
Myhands flex with the urge to clean up.Afamiliar itch crawls under my skin to straighten the papers, to file the invoices by date and vendor.Orderequals safety.Countedvariables equate to absolute control.
Iremain planted on the floor.Erasingthe evidence of what happened holds no appeal.Iwant to leave the destruction exactly where it landed.Thischaos belongs to me.
Miastirs, her fingers twitching against the rough wool of the blanket.
Theglowing dial on my tactical watch reads2100 hours.Thesiege above ended two hours ago.Loganbuzzed down to give the all-clear, butIordered him to wait under the guise of finalizing the audit.Ablatant lie.
Theaudit concluded hours ago.Theghost ledger is in place, feeding theCostaalgorithm a steady diet of garbage data designed to lead them straight into a federal trap.Wewon.I’mstill not unsealing that heavy door.
Miashifts again, her eyelashes fluttering open.Sheblinks against the dim lighting before her gaze lands squarely on me.Nowidened eyes or shrinking posture.Asleepy, soft smile curves her lips, and the force of it caves in my chest.
"You'rewatching me again," she whispers, her tone raspy from screaming my name.
"I'mcounting,"Igrit out, the words dragging like gravel over my vocal cords asItrack the steady thrum of her life.
"Eightthousand, four hundred and twelve."
Sherubs sleep from her eyes, looking soft and wrecked in my shirt. "Breaths?"
"Yourpulse.I’mtracking every beat of your heart against mine, mapping the rhythm of the pussy that just took every drop of my seed."
