Be More
Franki
Iwaituntilwe’vemadeour way upstairs, past the McRae bodyguard on duty, and into the quiet shadows of the corridor. “Did you really dangle Noah’s brother off a cliff?”
“Yes.”
I stop walking and turn to face him, studying his expression in the yellow light of the wall sconces. “You don’t think that was a little extreme?”
“There was very little real danger.” With his jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loose, and his sleeves rolled up, he looks like a man who believes he has handled a problem and is ready to think about something else.
Or, in this case, someone else.
“It was a cliff. You could have been hurt.” And what a silly thing to say when he regularly returns from missions exhausted, sometimes bloody and bruised, and always with a heavy heart from what he’s seen.
You’d think I’d become inoculated to the anxiety—so used to the threat of danger that I’d grow numb to it. Instead, it’s grown teeth and claws.
I understand what’s at stake. He’s saving lives. I can’t ask him to stop, but that’s not an excuse for him to be reckless. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. Please.”
He brushes my cheekbone with his thumb. “I was careful. I promise. And you’ll be happy to know, I stayed extremely pleasant with Elliot. I even smiled when I did it.”
I huff and tug on his shirt to pull him closer. “You are such a smart-ass.”
“This is true.” He squeezes my butt with both hands. “Now, let’s get inside our room.”
He unlocks our door and enters before me, performing a scan of the room. The moment he knows we’re alone, he tosses his glasses and jacket to a nearby chair, then secures our door, pinning me against it.
When I release my cane and it clatters to the floor, he lifts my arms over my head and holds both of my wrists in one hand, yanking my dress up to my waist with the other.
“Henry, I can’t touch you like this.”
“If you touch me now, I’m coming all over you before I even get inside you,” he grates.
His mouth lands on mine, his tongue thrusting inside as his fingers delve under black lace, his thumb finding my clit, and one strong finger pressing inside me. This isn’t his usual technique.
He’s usually slow and methodical. At least, until he isn’t. There’s something wildly arousing about seeing a man who is always in control let go of the leash.
He drops his mouth to my neck, and I writhe under his lips and hands. He smells of cedar and bergamot and Henry. His warmth envelops me, and his fingers and thumb move and moveand my body coils tighter and tighter, climbing that peak. “Oh God. Henry.”
He laughs against my neck. “That’s it, love.”
A fierce yowl pierces the hushed quiet of our room. In the dim, moon-washed darkness, Henry lifts his head to peer into my eyes. “Tell me that was you, about to have the best orgasm of your life.”
“I’m—”
YOWL.
He closes his eyes on a slow blink. “I’ll check on the cats when we’re done. They can wait.”
YOWL.
“I—”
YOWL.
“She sounds distraught. Something’s wrong.”
“Goddammit.” He screws his eyes shut tight, releases me, then uses the edge of his fist to make one soft thump against the door.
