Page 66 of The Rook’s Obsession

I add more lube taking my time even though everything in me is screaming at me to take her in every way possible. When I have two fingers moving easily, I pull out of her and position myself.

“Last chance,” I say, my voice rough.

“Fuck me,” she says, fierce and desperate. “Now.”

I push the head of my cock in slowly, feeling the resistance at first, then the overwhelming give. She groans, a deep, guttural sound, and I stop, giving her a moment, my whole body fighting to hold back.

“Are you okay?” I manage.

“Don’t stop,” she pants. “God, don’t stop.”

She pushes back harder, demanding more, and I lose the last of my control. I grip her hips and fuck her the way we both need.

She comes again, unexpectedly, her body clamping down on me so tight I see stars. I follow her over the edge, with a sound that’s closer to a roar than anything human.

I keep my arms wrapped around her, with my face buried in her neck.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again, softer this time.

She turns her head, her eyes finding mine. She looks wrecked, undone, more open than I’ve ever seen her. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m okay.”

I kiss her shoulder, her neck. “Good.”

Neither of us moves for a long time. The sheets are tangled around our legs, and the morning light cuts through the window in a warm, pale stripe that falls across the foot of the bed. Her hair is damp at the temples. Mine probably is, too.

I press my mouth to the curve of her shoulder and leave it there, feeling her pulse slow under my lips. She makes a small sound that’s not quite a sigh before wiggling closer. Her spine fits against me in a way that makes me wonder how a body can be used as a weapon one minute and feel like coming home the next.

There’s nothing else for a long time. Just this. Her warmth, her breathing. The smell of her shampoo mixed with sweat and sleep. I close my eyes and let myself have it. I’ve learned the hard way that moments like this are finite. They only exist in the spaces between everything else—and everything else always comes back, usually a lot sooner than we want it to.

Now, it comes back.

Tonight. The club. Vincenzo.

The thought is like a blade between my ribs. Impossible to ignore once it’s there. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling as I feel the day rearrange itself around the fact that in roughly twelve hours, she’ll be back in that room with the table of tools, waiting for one of the most dangerous men in Europe to walk through the door.

I don’t let myself move. I don’t tighten my grip or change my breathing or do any of the things that would give away what’s going on in my head. But my mind is already running. Through the layout again, the exits. The extraction routes, the position of Liam’s team. I go through all of it the way I did last week, only last week it settled me. The same is not true this week.

I’ve been doing this long enough that the morning before an operation is just another morning. You run your checklist; you go through the motions of the rest of your day, and you execute once the time comes. Calm is what separates professionals from amateurs, and I’ve never had a problem finding it.

But I’ve also never sent someone I love into a room alone with a man who would kill her if he knew who she was. The scenarios keep multiplying. Vincenzo recognizes something—a gesture or a posture, the way she tilts her head when she’s thinking. Her mask could slip. He could notice the camera. He could bring someone with him who wasn’t in Gabriel’s intel. There are a hundred ways it could all go wrong, and every single one of them ends with her in danger, and me on the other side of a locked door, unable to reach her in time.

I realize I’m grinding my teeth and force myself to stop.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmurs.

Dammit. “I’m not thinking about anything.”

“Liar.” She turns over to face me, still in my arms. Her green eyes find mine with a directness that still catches me off guard sometimes, even now. She doesn’t look sleepy or satisfied or any of the things she should be after what we just did. She looks like someone who’s been paying attention, gauging the tension in my body, correctly assuming what’s going on in my head.

“You’re worried about tonight,” she concludes with a soft sigh. Almost like she’s disappointed in me.

“I’m always a little wound up before a job.”

“My god, you suck at lying. You know that, right?” Her hair falls across her collarbone when she props herself up on one elbow. “You were focused last week. You were methodical. Right now, you’re grinding your teeth in bed loud enough for me to hear. There’s a big difference.”

I can’t argue with that. She wouldn’t let me even if I tried. “It’s different this time.”

“Because last time was a dry run, and this time is real?”