Chapter 20 Goldlight Blood
GOLDLIGHT BLOOD
DOMINIC
Iwoke with Cal pinned beneath me, my cock buried deep inside him and his nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood.
Then his hand had found my hip. A touch that wasn't quite forgiveness but wasn't rejection either. And I'd responded the only way I knew how when words felt too difficult and too inadequate.
I'd rolled on top of him. Kissed him hard enough to bruise. Worked him open with fingers and spit and desperation that had nothing to do with technique and everything to do with needing him to understand what I couldn't say out loud.
All of it compressed into the way I stretched him. The way I entered him. The way I fucked him like I could somehow reach the parts of him that kept trying to retreat behind walls.
“Harder,” Cal gasped against my mouth. “Stop holding back.”
I wasn't holding back. But I gave him what he wanted anyway. Drove into him with force that made the headboard slam against the wall. Made his breath punch out in gasps. Made his cock leak between us untouched.
His legs wrapped around my waist. Heels digging into my arse. Pulling me deeper. Demanding everything I had.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “Cal—you feel—”
“Shut up,” he interrupted. “Just—don't stop.”
So I didn't. Just fucked him with rhythm that was brutal and desperate.
Chasing something that felt like absolution or maybe just oblivion.
Trying to burn away the memory of Harrow's mouth on him.
Of my mouth on Harrow. Of everything that had happened at Eden that neither of us knew how to process properly.
Cal's hand found my throat. Squeezed. Not enough to restrict air completely but enough to make my vision blur at the edges. His eyes were open. Fixed on mine. Those mismatched colours intense and demanding.
“You're mine,” he said. Voice rough. “Say it.”
“Yours.” The word came out strangled. “Always yours.”
“Even after last night?”
“Especially after last night.” I thrust harder. Deeper. “Nothing changes that. Nothing.”
His grip on my throat tightened. Then released. His hand moved to my face instead. Cupped my jaw. Gentle despite everything else.
Cal's hand slid between us. Wrapped around his own cock. Started stroking in time with my thrusts.
“Come with me,” he demanded. “Want to feel you—need you to—”
“Yes.” I changed angle. Found the spot that made his back arch. Drove into it repeatedly. “Come for me, Cal. Let me feel it.”
His orgasm hit first. Body going rigid. Hole clenching around my cock with force that dragged my own climax out of me. I came buried deep. Filling him. Marking him in ways that were primitive and probably unhealthy but felt necessary anyway.
We collapsed together. Breathing hard. Bodies still connected. Sweat cooling on skin.
The quiet that followed was heavier than the sex.
I pulled out carefully. Cal made a sound—not quite pain but not comfort either. I grabbed tissues from the bedside. Cleaned us both with hands that were steadier than they should be.
Cal lay there watching me. Expression unreadable behind the mask he was already rebuilding.
“That didn't fix anything,” he said finally.
“No.” I settled beside him. Pulled him against my chest despite his initial resistance. “But it proved we still want each other. That counts for something.”
“Does it? Or did we just use sex to avoid having an actual conversation?”
“Both.” I pressed my face into his hair. Breathed him in. “We're very good at avoidance.”
“Speak for yourself. I'm excellent at avoidance.” His voice carried sarcasm that didn't quite land.
“Cal—”
“Don't.” He shifted. Not pulling away but creating distance anyway. “We should get up. Debrief properly. Start working through the data from last night.”
“Or we could stay here. Talk about what's actually bothering you.”
“What's bothering me is that we have work to do and we're lying in bed like we have all the time in the world when Harrow's probably already planning his next move.”
I caught his wrist. Kept him from escaping. “Five minutes. Give me five minutes of actual honesty before you disappear behind investigator mode.”
Cal was quiet for a long moment. “I hated last night. Hated watching you with him. Hated that it worked. Hated myself for being jealous when I have no right to be.”
“You have every right.”
“No, I don't. Not when I've done worse in the name of investigation.
Not when I've used my body as currency and told myself it didn't matter because the case was more important.” His voice went quieter.
“But watching you do it made me realise how much it does matter.
How much I need you to be different. To be the one person who doesn't have to become something ugly to survive this world.”
“I'm not different, Cal. I'm just as damaged as you are. Just as willing to cross lines.”
“I know. But I need to believe—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I need to believe that what we have is separate from all of it. That when you touch me, it's real. Not performance. Not strategy. Just us.”
“It is real.” I turned his face toward mine. Made him meet my eyes. “Everything else is performance. This—us—this is the only thing that's actually mine.”
Cal studied my face. Looking for lies. For cracks. For evidence that I was just better at performing than he'd given me credit for.
Whatever he saw must have satisfied him because he nodded. Slight. Reluctant. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I believe you. For now. Until my paranoia convinces me otherwise.”
“I'll take it.” I kissed his forehead. “Now can we get up? Or do you need more time to catalogue all the ways this is a terrible idea?”
“Oh, I could spend hours on that list.” But he was moving. Extracting himself from my grip. “But you're right. We have work to do.”
We dressed in silence. Cal stole one of my shirts because his was somewhere in the pile near Eden and he hadn't brought spare clothes. It was too big on him. Hung loose in ways that made him look younger. More vulnerable.
I didn't mention it. Just handed him coffee when he emerged from the bathroom. Black. No sugar.
We'd almost achieved something resembling equilibrium when Adrian's message came through.
Adrian
My office. Now. Both of you.
Adrian looked up when we entered.
“Sit,” he said.
We sat.
“Last night was successful from an intelligence gathering perspective,” Adrian began. “Dmitri extracted significant data from the devices you acquired. Audio from the bugs is already providing useful information. And the VIP logs confirm patterns we suspected but couldn't prove.”
“But?” I prompted. Because there was definitely a but coming.
“But you also brought war to my door.” Adrian's gaze moved between us. “Harrow now knows you were at Eden. Knows you're connected to my organisation. Knows that I'm either complicit in your investigation or too incompetent to notice what's happening under my own roof.”
“We were careful—” Cal started.
“You were adequate.” Adrian cut him off. “Which isn't the same as careful.”
“What are you saying?” I asked. Though I already knew.
“I'm saying this stops being theoretical now.” Adrian leaned back. “Which means I need to know as to how committed are you to finishing this? Because if you're not absolutely certain, this is where you walk away.”
Cal's jaw tightened. “We're certain.”
“Are you? Because from where I'm sitting, you've spent the last twelve hours fighting with each other instead of preparing for the escalation that's coming.”
“We're fine,” I said.
“You're not fine. You're compromised by personal complications and running on rage instead of strategy.” Adrian's expression didn't change. “Which normally I'd overlook because rage can be useful. But not when it makes you sloppy. Not when it puts my operation at risk.”
“Then what do you want from us?” Cal's voice had gone cold. “We got you the intel. We proved Harrow's corruption. What more do you need?”
“I need you to be honest about whether you can actually finish this without getting yourselves killed. Because we've had time to dig deeper into Marcus Webb. And what Dmitri found is worse than we thought.”
“How much worse?” Cal asked. Voice clinical already.
Adrian pulled up a file on his tablet. “The phone data gave us his financials. Complete transaction history for six years.” He scrolled through.
“Webb doesn't just handle evidence suppression for Lily's case.
He's the keystone. Every sealed file, every disappeared witness statement, every altered autopsy report in Harrow's network goes through him.”
“Where is he right now?” My voice came out flat. Empty.
“That's what we're going to find out.” Cal had his phone out already. Typing rapidly. “Marcus Webb. Crown Court administrator. Give me five minutes for his current pattern.” His fingers flew across the screen. Pulling databases. Accessing systems I probably didn't want to know about. “Got him.”
“Show me.”
He turned his phone. I saw Webb's life laid out in digital clarity.
Crown Court offices during business hours.
A private members' bar three nights a week.
A flat in Kensington that was too expensive for his official salary.
A predictable commute route that suddenly looked less like convenience and more like vulnerability.
“He's creature of habit,” Cal said. Voice clinical.
I looked at Adrian. “We need to talk to him.”
“Talk.” Adrian's mouth curved slightly. “Is that what we're calling it?”
“We need information. Webb has access to everything Harrow's network does. If we can get him to cooperate—”
“He won't cooperate.” Cal interrupted. “Men like Webb don't flip. They're too invested in the system protecting them. Too scared of what happens if they talk.”
“Then we make him more scared of what happens if he doesn't.” I stood. “Where is he now?”
Cal checked his phone. “In his office. But he's scheduled to attend a legal professionals gala tonight. Black tie event. Lots of witnesses. Poor security. He'll be exposed during entry and exit.”