"She isn't lonely, she's busy." My hand finds Stratton's arm and tightens. The heat radiating off her skin, the vibration of her frantic energy under my palm. I want to fuck her again. The urge is a physical imperative. "Back to your blocks. Now."
Lily huffs, turning on her heel and stomping back toward the sofa, where Forest watches the exchange with a narrowed, measuring gaze. He doesn't say anything, but his posture readsthe room, mapping the jagged, electric tension between me and Stratton.
We gather around the table. Skye spreads out her equipment list, her face shifting into a mask of professional focus.
"We are starting from zero," she begins. "I don't know the chemistry of ML-273, and I don't know the delivery mechanism. I need a fresh sample from a patient who has completed the cycle. Lily is the only case we have."
She looks at me, her eyes softening with the weight of what she has to ask. "I know she's had enough of needles, Thorne. But I have to draw her blood. I need several vials. I've already put together a specialized team of researchers, but we need to know what this drug does."
"How much blood?"
"Several vials."
"She's just getting her strength back. You're asking for a lot."
"I know it's a tough ask." Skye's gaze is gentle, but unyielding. "But we're blind. If we don't know what's in her system, we can't protect her. Or the other kids on those lists Stratton is rebuilding. We need to see what Phoenix did to her."
Stratton sits perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the table, shrinking under the weight of the conversation. Her throat moves as she swallows, and her breath comes in shallow hitches.
The air in the room is thick with a tension that has nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the woman sitting at the end of the table.
"Fine."
The word is a blunt instrument, cutting through Skye's logistics and Ghost's lingering questions. I'm not agreeing to the schedule; I'm agreeing to the exit.
My skin feels three sizes too small, humming with a frantic, jagged energy that only settles when I look at her.
Stratton.
I don't look at Ghost to confirm the plan. I don't acknowledge the team. The only thing that exists in this suffocating space is the distance between my hand and her arm. I reach out, my fingers locking around her with a possessiveness that borders on a bruise, and begin dragging her back toward the safe room.
The walk is a blur of heavy boots on concrete. I can feel the weight of their stares—Ghost's narrowed eyes, Pop's trembling silence—but they are ghosts, fading into the background of a world that is shrinking down to the size of a ten-by-ten cell. My pulse isn't beating; it's demanding.
I shove the door open; the metal groaning on its hinges.
"Get inside."
The moment the door slams and the lock clicks, the last thread of my control frays and snaps. There is no lead-in, no transition. We collide in the center of the room, a desperate, grabbing wreck of hands and mouths.
I slam her back against the cinder block wall, but I don't turn her around this time. I want to see her. I want to see the destruction in her eyes.
I hike her legs up, pinning her against the stone, our eyes locked together in a dark, silent war.
"Again," I growl against her mouth, my tongue forcing its way past her teeth.
She doesn't pull away. She claws at my tactical vest, her fingers digging into the nylon, her breath a frantic, jagged hitch. I enter her slowly, a deep, punishing slide that makes her head snap back against the wall. I don't rush. I want her to feel every inch of the debt.
I reach between us, my thumb finding her, working her with brutal precision while I watch the waves start to break across her face. My other hand finds her breast through the charcoal shirt, my fingers pinching the nipple hard, a sharp spark of pain thatmakes her arch into me. I take the peak into my mouth, laving it before biting down hard. Hard enough that she screams.
The sound of skin on skin, the rhythmic, wet slap of our bodies colliding, echoes in the small space. She's crying out now, the sounds jagged and raw, her eyes never leaving mine even as the pleasure shatters her.
"Look at me," I command, my voice a dark vibration. "Tell me who owns this debt."
"You," she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair.
I drive into her one last time, deep and absolute, as the first wave breaks her. She shatters against me, her body vibrating with a final, lethal intensity, her cries muffled by my mouth as I finish inside her.
I pull away slowly, my breath a harsh, rhythmic rasp. I stay close, our foreheads touching, the heat between us a physical weight.
