Wells #2
I pick the phone back up and swipe to the burner traffic I pulled after that night.
Ridge's call came at eleven forty-seven, unknown number, voice modulated, the same robotic voice that called Dane's crew off the door.
I read all of it as Duvall's a year ago and stopped there.
This time I'm not chasing the voice. You can't pull a man out of a modulator, I'd know. I'm chasing where the calls went.
The driver turns onto the highway. I lean back against the seat and close my eyes.
My head won't stop building the next layer.
The suite is quiet when I step inside. Cera's laptop bag sits on the couch where she left it last night, her shoes lined up neatly by the door.
I set my keys on the counter and glance toward her room. The door's open, bed made, but there's no sign of her.
Then I see her through the glass.
She's out on the balcony, legs propped up on the railing, a laptop balanced on her thighs. She's wearing light cotton shorts and a fitted white T-shirt, hair loose, no makeup. The morning sun catches in it, pulling out the gold highlights.
I stop walking.
She looks soft, not guarded or in business mode, exactly how she should look on her Saturday morning.
The wire in my chest from this morning pulls tighter. I've been braced since the driver pulled into that lot just before six this morning, since I put Dane in the back of that car and made him talk.
And she's just sitting there.
I want to put my hands on her, to let her softness smooth down my rough edges. I want to stop thinking about Juno and my father and Vin and Ridge.
I step onto the balcony.
She startles, laptop shifting on her legs, hand flying to her chest.
"Jesus."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
Cera closes the laptop and swings her legs down, bare feet hitting the concrete. Her dewy, tan skin makes my mouth water. She stands, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, looking at me with something I can't name.
"You were up and at 'em early."
"Had a thing at the terminal."
"Is everything okay?"
"It's handled."
She nods and then turns to sit back down. Her shorts ride up when she does, revealing the perfect curve where her upper thigh meets her ass.
I should walk back inside, go to my room, open my laptop, and start pulling the data I need. That's what I came back to do.
"You eat yet?"
"No. I was waiting for you."
The words hit me harder than they should.
"I'll order something. What do you like for breakfast?"
"Surprise me. I'm easy."
She smiles and steps past me toward the door. I watch her go, the wire still humming under the surface. I follow her inside.
The kitchen smells like coffee. Cera puts her mug under the coffee maker and puts in a pod, pushing the button to brew. She's self-sufficient, and how is watching someone make coffee this fucking hot?
"How's the work going?"
She glances over her shoulder, that same errant hair falling across her cheek.
"Almost there. I'll be done with the list of things I need from you this morning, and once I get that and plug it in, we can go over it. Can I make you a cup of coffee?"
I nod once and she tuns to prepare another cup.
"Good. I'm waiting to hear if I need to go back to the terminal this morning. I think I have the breach contained, but I want to make sure before we head back to New Orleans. In the meantime, send the list and I'll turn it around."
I never told her I didn't have to come here for that. I did everything I needed to from my laptop before we left and finished it on the plane. I do want to make sure before heading back, but neither she nor Ridge needed to know the real reason I came to Florida.
"Perfect."
She hands me a mug. Our fingers brush. The wire in my chest tightens again. I sit on the sofa with my coffee, pulling my bag over to pull out my laptop.
Cera walks over a few minutes later, laptop in hand. She settles beside me, close enough that I can smell the clean soap scent on her. I want to bury my nose in her neck and breathe it in all day.
After calling room service and ordering an array of breakfast items, I try to read the screen in front of me instead of mapping out every inch of her skin. The breach report pulls up, rows of data I need to parse and track. My hands move over the keys.
But my attention keeps sliding.
The line of her body in the fitted white T-shirt, the bare curve of her shoulder where the fabric slips, how she crosses her bare legs at the ankle.
"Hey, can you look at this?" I set my laptop on the coffee table and turn to face her.
Cera shifts closer, turning her laptop toward me. Her thigh presses against mine. She points at the screen, explaining something about the data flow and the risk map, and I catch maybe half of it because all I can think about is the heat coming off her leg and bleeding through my pants onto mine.
I reach over and cup her face, and she stops talking. Her eyes go wide, startled, but she does not pull away.
I kiss her.
It's not careful. I am too wound up for careful. The morning sits in my chest, Dane's voice still echoing in my head. I need something soft to push against. I need her.
Cera leans into me instead of pulling back. Her laptop tumbles off her lap and hits the floor with a muted thud. She doesn't reach for it.
Her mouth opens under mine. I taste the coffee on her tongue. My hand slides into her hair, gripping, and she makes a low sound in her throat that goes straight through me.
I pull her onto my lap. She straddles me, knees on either side of my hips, and grinds down. I groan into her mouth. My hands find the hem of her shirt and pull it up and over her head.
She isn't wearing a bra, causing my dick to go from hard to rock-hard.
I put my mouth to her breast, tongue circling her nipple, and she gasps, arching into me. Her hands tangle in my hair. I suck harder, and she moans, hips rocking against me.
"Wells."
Her voice breaks on my name. I pull back just enough to look at her. Flushed, breathing hard, big, brown eyes dark with want.
"I don't have a condom."
"I'm on the pill."
I freeze. My hands tighten on her hips.
"Cera."
"Don't stop."
That is all I need.
I stand, lifting her with me. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I carry her to the bedroom. The bed is unmade from this morning, sheets twisted, sun cutting through the glass.
I lay her down and strip off her shorts. She isn't wearing underwear, splayed on the bed, bare and waiting. The sight of her makes my chest go tight.
I pull my shirt over my head and undo my belt. Her gaze tracks down my body, lingering, and I feel it in my gut.
Then I see it. The ring, small, silver, sitting just above her navel. The sight of it hits a dark, hungry place in me and snaps the last of my control, if there was any left.
I strip out of my pants and move over her. She spreads her legs, and I settle between them, the head of my cock pressing against her. I rub the tip through her folds, from front to back. She grips my arms, pulling me into her, a moan escaping from her throat.
"You're so wet, so perfect."
"I've been wet for you for a week. I haven't stopped thinking about you."
"I've been thinking about you bent over that desk, open for me."
"Yes. For you. I want you inside of me, Wells. Fill me."
I push into her, slowly, watching her face as I do. Her mouth falls open, and her breath catches.
That hunger inside me goes quiet. It isn't calm, and it sure as hell isn't safe.
It's worse, but I couldn't give a fuck.