Page 227 of Operation: Defiance

Chapter Sixty-Two

Asher

“Let’s go to bed.” Raine’s palm molds to my cheek, fingertips lightly skimming the stubble. Fear still lingers in the depths of her brown eyes, but anticipation layers over heat, and I follow her without hesitation.

In twelve hours, she’ll be alone. And I’ll be walking into a battle with no guarantee of the outcome.

The city glows through the bedroom window. Privacy glass keeps us hidden from view, but exposes how little of the world around us has fallen into sleep.

For a moment, we stand next to the bed, close enough to touch, but still, as if the first person to break will simply disappear.

Until she reaches for me.

Her fingers curl around the soft fabric of my Henley. The kiss is tender. There’s no panic to it. No desperation. Only certainty.

Raine presses closer. She’s all soft curves and hard angles. Still too thin, too depleted, but her mind—and her resolve—are stronger than ever.

Her hands skim down my torso, exploring, mapping terrain she’s worried she’ll lose. “I want you,” she murmurs against my lips. “All of you.”

Want.

The weight of that single word is more than I can bear. She doesn’t use it casually.

Slowly, she traces the shape of my shoulders, down my arms, over my back. I let her lead, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her neck with the lightest pressure.

My lips find hers, and as she parts for me, I almost forget about tomorrow. There’s only her body, the soft silk of her hair brushing my fingers, and the tiny moan vibrating in her throat.

Only us.

Her fingers curl around the hem of my shirt, tugging it up and over my head before letting it fall to the floor. Kisses feather over my jaw, down to my collarbone, across my chest. I don’t trust my voice, so I answer the only way I can. By letting my body respond to each sensation. Every press of her lips. Every place her fingers meet skin. Tender heat. The lightest of touches. The way my heart matches hers in rhythm.

I’ve done nothing in my life to deserve this woman. That she’s here, that she’s choosing this—choosing me—is the closest thing to a miracle I’ve ever experienced.

“Fuuuuck,” I manage as she flicks my nipple with her tongue.

Raine stops, her eyes snapping to mine before she gives me the smallest nod, permission offered without a word.

I unzip her hoodie, sliding the soft fabric down her arms, careful of her shoulder. A single kiss to the curve of her neck—far enough away from the bruises and the fading reddish burn from a hood tied too tight for too long not to spook her.

She shudders, her breath catching once, and her hands move to my ass.

Her shirt is next, landing next to mine. For a long moment, I let my gaze drink her in. The reality of this—of her choosing me—settles deep in my chest. I’ll hold onto that miracle for the rest of my life, whether that’s only one more day or many, many years. And through every moment of what tomorrow brings.

My hands settle at her waist as I dip my head, my lips pressing to her left shoulder. Following the lines of her body, I draw her closer without urgency, memorizing the warmth of her against me.

If this is our last night together, the last quiet moments we ever have, I want the memories burned so deep, no one and nothing can ever erase them. They’ll carry me through fear and isolation and pain. Through every moment I’m not sure I’ll make it back to her.

“Asher…” She tries to undo the button on my jeans, but her fingers tremble and it slips from her grasp.

I catch her hands gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before stepping back and stripping down to my briefs.

She uses the pause in contact to unhook her bra and shimmy out of her black leggings. By the time I close the distance, pulling her against me again, there’s nothing left between us but air and the quiet music drifting in from the other room.

I sink down onto the bed with her in my arms. She adjusts by inches, wrapping her legs around me, trusting me to support her as I kiss a line down the column of her throat to her breasts.

Learning her body should have been an obsession. If I’d known it would come down to this—to one last night—I would have spent every hour memorizing the way she moves. Instead, I’m still discovering her piece by piece.

I shift to lay her down, stretching out next to her so I can wrap my lips around one of her nipples. The tight bud rises in answer, and she arches her back with a tiny whimper.