Page 110 of Hard Pass

Both are a yes on my list.

I hook my arms under hers so I can pull down on her shoulders. So I can hold her in place while my hips piston up.

Over and over.

Harder and harder.

I hear the desperate hitch of her breath and feel the contracting of her muscles around me.

And that’s it. I’m fucking done.

I come hard, emptying myself in jagged thrusts, wrung raw and out of control.

There’s nothing left but the shudder of her body against mine, as she buries her face in the side of my neck.

“Christ that was . . . incredible.”

“Mmm.” I can hear her smile in the sound seconds before she presses a kiss to the underside of my jaw. “More than incredible.”

I chuckle and run my fingertips up and down her spine, enjoying the moment and the feel of her completely relaxing against me.

“Trouble.” I nip her shoulder. “You are absolute fucking trouble and I love it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Dublin

I don’t remember how we ended up on the couch.

At some point there was a need for sustenance. That’s where the wine came in. Then when I felt giddy—blamed it on the wine but I’m sure it was Cole being here—I put a board together. Cheese, crackers, and other delicious things that made me feel like I was still in control. Clearly, with this situation, I am certainly not.

Now, he’s stretched out across the couch cushions, his head in my lap, looking up at me, one arm draped over his bare stomach like he owns the place.

Like he belongs here.

I run my fingers through his hair without thinking. It’s thick and soft and this whole thing feels surreal. Like . . . how did this happen? How did we get here?

The same damn questions I’ve been asking myself for a week, now they’re just much louder and way harder to ignore. Before there was just the memory of that first night, and now it’s him physically present and our chemistry undeniable.

Cole exhales slowly, eyes half open, and body completely at ease in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen him. Not in the facility. Not under pressure. Not when the world is watching.

Just here with me. Why does that feel like such a dangerous thought?

In the past few weeks, I’ve gone over this man’s life with a fine-toothed comb so I feel like I know him intensely—and physically, I do—but none of my outside knowledge comes directly from him.

I don’t know if that’s better or worse considering the chaotic emotions rioting through me as I study his face and settle in the comfort his presence provides.

“So,” I say, because in this moment, the silence and my overthinking feel like more of a risk than a reward. “Tell me about all your women.”

Yeah. Definitely not what I intended to ask.

By the way his eyes flutter open, slow and amused, I know he’s questioning it too.

“That’s what you want to go with?” he asks, a lazy grin crawling over his lips. “After what we just did?”

I shrug, trying for nonchalance I don’t entirely feel. “Call it information gathering.”

He snorts. “For the investigation or for you?” he jokes, but his eyes say he’s serious.