CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
I want to rip it off.
Want to mark every inch of skin I can reach.
Want to make her forget everything except this, my hands, my mouth, my body against hers.
My hand slides around to her stomach, fingers splaying wide across her ribs, feeling her breathe, feeling her heart race. Then higher. The lace is soft under my palm, but I can feel her hardened nipple through the fabric.
She makes a sound when I touch her there, needy and raw, and grinds down against my thigh.
I groan against her throat. She's going to kill me.
My thumb brushes over her nipple through the lace, and she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Please." The word is barely audible.
"Please, what?" I bite down on her earlobe. "Tell me what you want."
"I—" She breaks off when my hand squeezes. "William, I can't—"
"Can't what?"
"Think. I can't think when you—"
"Good." I pull the lace down, my hand finding bare skin. "Don't think. Just feel."
She's so fucking responsive. Every touch makes her gasp. Every bite makes her arch. Every rough word makes her grip me tighter.
I could have her right here. Against the SUV in the driveway. Take her fast and hard and brutal until we're both too wrecked to remember why this is wrong.
My hand slides lower, finding the edge of her panties—
"Wait." Her hand catches my wrist. "Wait, stop."
I freeze. My hand stays where it is. Her body still pressed against mine. Both of us are breathing like we've been running.
"Stop," she says again. But her voice shakes.
I don't move. Can't move. Every muscle in my body is screaming to keep going, to ignore her, to take what I want.
But I stop.
Because even when I'm high, even when I'm drowning, even when I'm the worst version of myself, I'm not that.
I step back. Force myself to let go even though it feels like being ripped apart.
She sags against the SUV, one hand pressed to her chest like she's trying to keep her heart from escaping. The dress hangs open, showing skin that I want to mark.
She looks thoroughly fucked even though I barely touched her.
And I want to finish what I started so badly I can taste it.
But she's right.
Fuck, she's right.
I force myself to step back. Put space between us.
I turn away. Adjust myself because I'm hard enough that it's painful, and she doesn't need to see that.
"Inside," I say. My voice comes out rough. Raw.
"Yeah." She's trying to pull the dress back up, but the zipper's stuck halfway.
I shouldn't help. Should keep my distance. Should let her figure it out.
But I step close again. Turn her around. My fingers find the zipper.
"Hold still."
She does. Doesn't say anything. Just stands there while I work the zipper back up, my knuckles brushing against her spine with each inch of skin I cover.
It's more intimate than the kiss, somehow. Quieter. More deliberate.
When I'm done, she doesn't turn around immediately. Just stands there, facing away from me.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"Don't thank me."
"For the zipper—"
"Don't." I step back. "Just...don't."
She turns then. Looks at me with eyes that are too knowing. Too honest.
"We should go inside," she says quietly.
"Yeah."
Neither of us moves.
The air between us is charged. Electric. One word. One touch. And we'd be right back where we were.
I turn away first. Head toward the house. Fish the keys from my pocket.
Behind me, I hear her footsteps on the gravel.
The door opens with a groan. I flip on the lights. The safe house is exactly as I left it. Sparse furniture. A place designed for hiding, not living.
Aoife steps inside. Wraps her arms around herself like she's cold.
"Where's Reilan?" she asks. Her voice is different now. Guarded.
"Different safe house. About twenty miles from here."
"Why aren't we there?"
"Security protocol. Don't put everyone in the same location." I close the door. Lock it. "Aidan coordinated the evacuation. He split everyone up. Different safe houses. Different routes. Makes it harder for Viktor to find us all at once."
She nods. Processing. "When can I see him?"
"Tomorrow. After we're sure it's secure."
"I want to call him."
"No phones. Viktor might have compromised the networks."
Her jaw tightens. "He thinks I'm dead."
"He knows you're with me. Aidan told him."
"But he thinks—"
"He knows you're alive, Aoife." I soften my voice. "I wouldn't do that to him. We got word to everyone that we made it out."
Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. "Okay."
Silence settles between us. Heavy with everything we're not saying.
She looks around the room. Takes in the worn couch, the small kitchen, the closed doors that lead to bedrooms and bathroom.
"You've been here before," she says. Not a question.
"Yes."
"A lot?"
"More than I should."
She looks at me then. Really looks at me. "This is where you come when you use."
It's not a question. She already knows.
"Sometimes."
"Is there cocaine here now?"
Honesty. She deserves honesty. "Yes."
She nods slowly. "Are you going to use tonight?"
"I don't know."
"That's honest, at least."
The admission hangs between us. I could lie. Could tell her I'm fine, that I'm in control, that I don't need it.
But after everything, after letting her think her brother was dead, after kissing her against the SUV, after barely holding myself together through Frank's deal and the evacuation and the explosion, I don't have the energy for lies.
"You didn't trust me," she says quietly. "You thought I might be the mole."
"I couldn't risk assuming you weren't."
"Even after I came to you with information about Viktor. Even after I told you about the mole."
"Especially after that." I run a hand through my hair. "The best way to gain trust is to give good intelligence. Make yourself valuable. Then feed bad information at the critical moment."
"So you tested me."
"Yes."
"By letting me think everyone died."
"Yes."
She looks away. "If I were the mole, what would I have done differently?"
"You would have known everyone was safe. You would have acted differently. Calmer, maybe. Or you would have tried to contact Viktor to confirm the plan worked."
"And because I fell apart, you know I'm not."
"Yes."
"That's..." She laughs bitterly. "That's incredibly fucked up, William."
We stand there in the dim light of the safe house.
"I'm going to take a shower," she says finally.
"Bathroom's down the hall. First door on the left. There should be clean clothes in the closet."
She nods. Starts to walk away. Then stops.
"William?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for saving my life. Even if I hate how you did it."
"You're welcome."
She disappears down the hallway. A moment later, I hear water running.
I sink onto the couch. Let my head fall back. Stare at the ceiling.
The adrenaline is wearing off. Leaving behind exhaustion and the familiar ache that means I need a line. Just one. Just to take the edge off.
The cocaine is in the bedroom. Hidden in a false bottom drawer. Waiting.
But I don't move.
I just sit there, listening to the water run, thinking about Aoife's mouth on mine, and trying to figure out when keeping her alive stopped being about strategy and became something else entirely.
Something personal.
Something dangerous.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out. Two encrypted messages.
The first is from Aidan: “Everyone secure. No casualties. All locations confirmed safe.”
I exhale. Good. The plan worked.
The second message is from an unknown number. But I know who it is before I even read it.
“The paperwork better be ready by morning, William. Don't make me wait.” - F
I stare at Frank's message. The deal I made. The shares I promised him. The intelligence that saved us all but cost me a piece of my soul.
I don't respond. Just set the phone down.
The water shuts off down the hall. I hear the bathroom door open. Footsteps.
Aoife appears in the hallway wearing one of my old t-shirts and nothing else. It falls to mid-thigh. Her hair is towel-dried, but still looks wet; she has that tousled look. Her face is clean of makeup, pale and drawn, but somehow more real than the polished mask she wore earlier.
She looks young. Vulnerable. Beautiful.
And I want her more than I've wanted anything in a long time.
"There's a bedroom at the end of the hall," I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. "You can sleep there."
"Where will you sleep?"
"Couch."
She nods. Doesn't move. Just stands there in my t-shirt, looking at me like she's trying to solve a puzzle.
"What?" I ask.
"I'm trying to figure out if I should trust you."
"You shouldn't."
"I know." She crosses her arms. "But I think I do anyway. At least a little."
"That's a mistake."
"Probably." She moves toward the bedroom. Pauses at the doorway. "William?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't use tonight. Please."
The request hits harder than it should.
She closes the door behind her. Leaves me alone with my phone and my guilt and the cocaine waiting in the other room.
I sit in the darkness.
Think about Frank's demands and Viktor's attack and the mole we still haven't found.
Think about Aoife's mouth on mine and the way she fit against me and how wrong the timing was.
Think about everything except the cocaine.
It doesn't work.
But I don't get up either.
I just sit there. One breath. Then another.
Like Aoife in the SUV.
Like someone trying to survive.
And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for tonight.