Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Stryker
“The…” Her lashes flutter, confusion flickering across her face as she blinks up at me, brows drawing together in a way that says she’s trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. “What debt that I owe you?”
“You broke position earlier.” I trace my finger across her lips, and she trembles at my touch, the softest quiver that shoots straight to my cock. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?”
I study her then, really study her. The way the light catches her eyes, the way her pupils are still wide from the scene we just played out.
This woman…
So perfect, so beautiful…and hiding something so damn deep it’s carved into the set of her shoulders.
I see the guarded flicker in her gaze every time I push too close to the truth.
I notice it in the way she angles her body when she thinks I’m not looking, the way her fingers protect the locket she never takes off, even in the shower.
Allie is a fortress wrapped in soft skin, and every instinct I have screams that the key to her secrets is buried under layers of practiced lies.
At the beginning, my actions were motivated by chivalry and the urge to protect her.
Mostly.
I’d be a damn liar if I didn’t admit to being attracted to her the first moment I saw her in the coffee shop, holding her chai like it was the only real thing in her world.
Even then she’d been on full alert, which was another thing that made me pay attention to her. Others were browsing their phones, chatting with friends. But Allie constantly scanned the café without seeming to.
Every time the bell jingled, her fingers tightened on her cup.
But when danger found her, I was done for.
When I had her in my condo, inhaled the sweetness of her scent mixed with fear, there was no way I could let her go. Not when she looked at me like I was both salvation and threat.
And now?
After tasting her sweet lips, seeing her on her knees, mouth open in trust to receive my cock?
Fuck me.
My dick stirs against my sweatpants, and there’s no way I could hide my reaction, even if I wanted to.
I want her over my lap, her cute, pert ass turning pink then red as I spank it hard, each slap a reminder that she’s safe with me, that she can let go.
I want to watch her squirm, hear her gasp my name, feel her slick heat coat my fingers when the pain flips into pleasure.
Still, she’s new to submission, and more eager than I could have imagined. More than I dared hope.
Earlier, when she tested me—reached for my thighs when I told her to keep position—I was surprised. And more than a little pleased.
Generally the subs I’ve played with have taken time to push boundaries, unless they were full-on brats, which I clock within minutes.
Allie—if that’s her name—isn’t a natural brat. She’s curious, hungry for the edge, and the fact that I’m the one introducing her to the intricacies of submission satisfies something primal in me. Something I’ve never felt before.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine. For the rest of our lives.
No doubt she’d fight me if I told her, try to flee even sooner than she’s planning.
And I have no doubt she’ll seize the first opportunity, despite everything we’ve shared. She might look back, might feel a twinge of regret, but she’ll run hard and fast.
I’ve seen the pattern before—overseas, with clients I’ve protected. Allie has spent her life in the shadows; sunlight scares the hell out of her. Whatever she’s running from isn’t worse than facing the past. I’ll see to that. Once she trusts me enough.
I’ve broken past some of her physical barriers, some mental ones. The emotional ones will be the hardest. Fortunately for me—maybe unfortunately for her—I’m a patient man.
“So what will it be?” I prompt, letting my thumb drift to the corner of her mouth, feeling the plush give of her lower lip.
Her blue eyes focus on me. Slight bruises are shadowed beneath them, evidence of the toll the last days have taken. Exhaustion tugs at her features, but she still has her spark, defiance wrapped in vulnerability.
“No pressure tonight if you want to go to bed.” I fold my arms. “I can collect tomorrow.”
Her gaze drops below my waistband, lingering on the obvious ridge of my erection.
I grin, slow and deliberate.
Because of her, this hardness is constant. Jerking off between sessions of fucking her isn’t taking the edge off. “A movie?” I offer again. “Talking?”
She hesitates, teeth worrying her lower lip, fingers twisting into her shirt. I watch the war play out—curiosity, exhaustion, the need to retreat into something safe. Finally, she exhales, a small sound that’s almost a laugh.
“How about a movie?” Her voice is soft but decisive. “Something light. A comedy, maybe?”
I nod, brushing my knuckles along her jaw. “Movie it is.”
We return to the living area, and the cabin’s chill hits us immediately. I stoke the fire, crouching to add logs, the crackle and pop filling the silence as flames lick higher.
The heat blooms across my skin, chasing away the last of the shower’s dampness.
Behind me, she moves into the kitchen.
“Cocoa?” she suggests.
“Sounds good.”
“And how about some popcorn?”
“I’m in.” How many years since I’ve had this kind of night?
Within a couple of minutes, kernels begin to pop in the microwave. The scent of butter and salt drifts over, mingling with the woodsmoke.
I glance back and see her standing on tiptoe to reach a tin of cocoa, her shirt riding up to reveal the curve of her ass. My cock twitches again, and I force myself to find something useful to do.
This feels natural. Too natural. Her moving around my kitchen, barefoot, hair drying in loose waves down her back.
Damn it. I want this for my future—her here, us here, building something real. The thought settles deep, unshakable. I’ve never wanted permanence with anyone, but with her, I can’t imagine anything else.
I carry the fresh logs to the hearth, stack them nearby, then join her in the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help?”
She points to a bowl and asks me to fill it with the popcorn while she grabs napkins, then fills the mugs.
A couple of minutes later, we’re settled on the couch with snacks and drinks.
“Any preference in titles?”
She sits cross-legged with the blanket draped over her lap. “Suggestions?”
Grabbing the remote control, I turn on the TV and find the screen where we can watch some previews.
“How about that Christmas one?”
“Are you serious?” It’s a caper that had been on endless repeat when I’d been trapped at a safehouse with a family who had kids. Since they were missing out on their holiday celebrations, they wanted to watch the newest kid-oriented feature.
“It’s early for Christmas.” She shrugs. “But with the storm, it feels right.”
Why not? If its laughter and frivolity the lady wants, who am I to object?
She offers me the popcorn bowl, and I take a handful.
The movie opens with a bumbling thief in a Santa suit trying to rob a toy factory, all slapstick and heart.
She laughs at the first pratfall, a bright sound that cuts through the cabin’s quiet, and I watch her more than the screen. She’s fully into it, legs tucked under her, popping kernels into her mouth one by one. When the thief attempts to crack a safe using a candy cane, she snorts.
“That would never work.” She tosses a piece of popcorn at the screen.
“You don’t think?”
“You’d snap the cane before you even felt the pins.”
But her words… The first insight into what she’s hiding.
And she’s exactly right. A candy cane wouldn’t have the torque or durability to manipulate lock pins. Hollywood bullshit. But she shouldn’t know that unless she’s picked a lock herself. Or watched someone who has.
Oh my sweet Allie. You can run all you want, but you can’t hide. Not from me. Not ever.
I keep my expression neutral, tossing another kernel into my mouth as the movie rolls on.
During a chase scene, she leans into me, her shoulder against my arm, and I drape mine across the back of the couch, fingers brushing her hair.
The storm continues to pile snow against the windows, but in here, it’s warm, easy.
Eventually the credits roll, and she stretches, yawning.
“I think I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll be there in a bit. Needs to check the cameras, talk to headquarters.”
For a moment, she freezes. Then seeming to realize it, she forces a small smile as she nods. “Hurry?”
How tempting it is to sweep her off her feet and carry her down the hallway and fuck her till she drifts off.
She stands, gathering the empty bowl and mugs.
“You can leave those. I’ll wash them.”
Allie glances over her shoulder at me. “Are you serious?”
“Totally. We share the chores.”
“But you handle all the wood and keeping the fire stoked.”
“That’s different.” I lift a shoulder. “I like to watch shit burn.”
At that, she laughs.
“Okay. I’ll take you up on it.”
On her way to the bedroom, she stops in front of me.
Patiently I give her all the space and time she needs to say what she’s thinking.
“Thank you. Even the…” Her blush is faint and totally adorable. “I mean, everything.”
I stand and tuck a strand of her silky hair behind her ear. “Believe me when I say, it’s my pleasure, Allie.”
After a slight hesitation, she turns to walk down the hallway.
I watch the soft sway of her hips until she vanishes from view, and then I clean up the kitchen before heading to my office.
Once the door is locked behind me, I boot up a secure line.
Inamorata’s face fills the screen, her well-defined features accentuated by a severe bun, eyes like laser sights.
“Talk to me.” I lean back in the chair.
“Plate came back. Black sedan, registered to a shell corporation out of Texas. Ties to Bratva out there.”
I nod, jaw tight. Explains a lot: the persistence, the search-and-destroy vibe in Allie’s apartment.
But why the hell is Bratva interested in my lover?
Earlier, she’d gone pale when I mentioned the partial plate. There’d been hesitation in her eyes, as if she didn’t want me digging. She won’t like this news, and I decide to hold it back for now. Doesn’t sit right, keeping her in the dark, but I’ll pay any cost to keep her safe.
“You learn anything?”
I hesitate. Why, I’m not sure. I never have before. “Allie knows something about safe cracking.”
Inamorata’s silent, revealing nothing.
Like always. No one really knows where she came from, how she got to be Hawkeye’s right-hand person. Hell, even her first name’s a mystery.
Last I heard, the office pool with guesses was at five figures. Last name she crossed off the list was Ingrid.
She signs off, and I sit in the dim light a moment longer, staring at the Hawkeye logo on the screen.
The mob doesn’t send goons for fun. Whatever Allie’s tangled in, it’s big. Beyond her capabilities to handle.
When I leave my office, the cabin is quiet except for the fire’s low crackle.
Shocking me, she’s waiting in the bedroom doorway, her flannel shirt unbuttoned, hanging open to reveal the curve of one breast.
As I watch her, she slides a hand inside to cup its fullness, and she eases her thumb back and forth.
Christ. Does she have any idea what she does to me? “Allie…”
“I believe you said I owe you a debt, Stryker.”