Chapter 18
DAMIEN
Iwait until the office clears out and the building settles into quiet before I plug in the drive Lyra gave me.
Her code is a damn masterpiece, not that I expected any less.
My fingers move across the keys, layering my encryption to pair her system with ours.
It doesn’t take long. Within minutes, it’s live.
The signal stabilizes, and within the hour we capture the first clear audio.
One of Rurik’s men speaks in Russian, low and fast, passing instructions about a weapons shipment headed for Newark.
A woman asks whether Rurik will be present.
The first man hesitates, then confirms a meeting two weeks from now at a warehouse just outside Atlantic City.
The meet will be run by a small crew at an unmarked location.
“Got you,” I mutter under my breath, marking the coordinates on our internal map.
Alek walks in a few minutes later, eyes scanning the feed. He lets out a low whistle when he hears how clean the audio is.
“Lyra’s code did this?”
I nod, grinning, pride sharp in my chest. “It’s better than I could have hoped for.”
“Damn, there’s no background static or interference at all,” he says, impressed. “Shit, I can even hear the guy light his cigarette.”
“And you doubted me.” I laugh.
“I never doubted you.” He shrugs. “I did worry maybe you were thinking with your dick, but you’ve clearly proven me wrong.”
“I simply judged Lyra’s abilities correctly.”
Alek gives a tight nod and disappears again, already drafting the preliminary strike report.
I stay behind, listening to the feed loop again. I know where Rurik will be in two weeks, but until then, I have a window. Seven days, at least. And that gives me an idea.
I knock on Lyra’s door the next morning, standing in the hallway outside her apartment like some kind of lovesick teenager. She opens it wearing sweatpants and a tank top, her hair piled on her head in a messy knot, glasses perched low on her nose. She looks relaxed, but surprised to see me.
“Damien?”
“Pack a bag,” I say with a smile.
She takes a small step back, clearly confused. “What?”
“I’m stealing you for a while,” I tell her, smiling. “Rewarding you for a job well done. Pack enough for a few days, and don’t forget a bathing suit.”
She crosses her arms, clearly not buying into my grand gesture. “I have work,” she protests.
“I know the boss,” I say, smirking.
She gives me a look, then sighs, stepping back to let me in.
I take a seat on her couch while she disappears into the bedroom.
I hear drawers open, zippers, the quiet rustle of fabric.
Fifteen minutes later, she comes back with a small suitcase, her expression somewhere between amused and skeptical.
“You really aren’t going to tell me where we’re going?”
“It’s a surprise,” I tell her.
I take the suitcase from her and lead her outside. My driver is already waiting, trunk open, engine humming. Lyra slides into the car beside me, still watching me like she’s trying to read between the lines.
“You look happy,” she says.
“I am happy,” I answer honestly. “And you have a lot to do with that.”
She smiles and leans into me, and I’m immediately glad I did this. We’ve needed time to reconnect, and we obviously can’t do it in the office with prying eyes.
We drive straight to the private terminal. When she sees the hangar lights and the sleek jet waiting on the tarmac, she turns to me with wide eyes.
“We’re flying somewhere?” she asks, panic flickering in her eyes.
“Yes,” I reply, amused.
She huffs, but smiles. “I don’t like surprises, Damien.”
“You’ll like this one.”
When we board, the crew greets us with drinks. Lyra settles into the leather seat beside me, pulling a soft blanket over her lap, her eyes darting between me and the sky beyond the windows.
“Is this your move?” she asks. “You sleep with a gal and then whisk her off to a romantic getaway?”
“You’re the first ‘gal’ who’s made it past one night,” I say, looking into her eyes so the words will land.
Her eyes go soft, and I know she feels this thing between us, too.
“Why?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Because you’re different. Because I care about you,” I say, trying to ignore the heat growing in my chest.
She doesn’t say anything to that, too overcome with emotion to speak. Instead, she slides closer, and we hold hands as we ascend into the sky.
A few hours later, we touch down in the Bahamas, and Lyra clutches my hand.
“I smell the ocean,” she says, excitement bright in her voice.
“Wait until you see it,” I tell her. “We haven’t quite gotten to our destination yet.”
She looks at me warily as I guide her across the tarmac to the private helicopter waiting for us.
“This is too much,” she says, stopping. “What have you done?”
“It’s really nothing,” I answer casually. “This is how I would vacation on my own. Just relax and let me spoil you.”
She watches me with a look I can’t decipher, but my words must win out, because I see her shoulders lower and she takes my hand. Less than an hour later, we’re touching down at the villa on my private island.
The sun is bright, casting gold across the water as we step off the helicopter.
I haven’t used the place in a while, but my staff has kept it in pristine condition.
Lyra stares at the beach, the palms, the curve of the private villa nestled into the hill behind us.
The wind tugs strands of her hair loose, salt on the breeze, and she turns to me slowly.
“You went through all this trouble for me?”
“It wasn’t any trouble at all.” I shrug.
This time, she takes my hand without hesitation as I lead her up the path, her fingers fitting into mine like they belong there. Maybe the distance I felt was all in my head. This just feels right.
I show her to her room, then leave her to settle in while I make a call to Alek to confirm everything back home is quiet.
When I return, she’s standing barefoot on the deck, the breeze tugging at the hem of the sundress she’s changed into, her arms folded lightly across her stomach as she watches the waves.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping up beside her.
“I’m just taking it all in,” she says with a warm smile. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Good,” I say, taking a step toward her. “That’s the point.”
She looks up at me, and for the first time in weeks, her smile is real and uncomplicated.
I kiss her soft and slow, my hand slipping around her waist, and she doesn’t resist. She presses every inch of her body against mine, and I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
As things turn heated, I walk her backward toward my bedroom, kissing her the entire way.
She follows without resistance, fingers unfastening the buttons of my shirt, one by one, until it’s hanging open and she pushes it off my shoulders.
I shrug it to the floor and don’t stop moving until her legs hit the edge of the bed.
I lift her up and she gasps, wrapping her arms around my neck.
I lower her onto the mattress slowly and carefully, afraid to shatter this moment.
She looks up at me from the pillows, her chest rising fast, her dress pushed up around her thighs.
I brace myself over her, one hand on the bed beside her head, the other smoothing up her leg.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” I whisper. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me,” she challenges.
So I do. I start with her mouth, kissing her until she melts into me.
Then I move down, tracing the line of her jaw, the column of her throat, the curve of her shoulder.
She arches when I reach her chest, and I work the straps of her dress until I can push the top down.
She lies there, exposed to me, and I take my time lavishing her perfect breasts, letting her feel and experience every ounce of desire I have for her.
I want to make her feel so unbelievably good she cannot even form a coherent sentence.
She sighs and moves under me, her hands in my hair, her legs wrapping around my hips.
I slide her dress higher, then off, baring inch after inch of golden skin.
When she’s naked beneath me, I take my time just looking.
I want to memorize her like this. Her eyes are half-lidded, her lips parted, and her body trembles with need.
I kiss my way down her stomach, slow and steady, feeling her tense, then relax. I want her undone. I want her desperate. I want to strip her down to nothing but sensation.
I use my mouth, my hands, my tongue on her clit, until she’s gasping, writhing, clutching the sheets. I take my time exploring her depths, tasting the sweet slickness of her folds. She is so wet for me, and so warm. I want to bury myself inside her and hide there forever, but this isn’t about me.
I taste and nip and tease as her breath becomes increasingly erratic.
Her voice breaks on my name as I pull every moan from her lips, every tremble from her body.
I don’t stop. I don’t let up. I give her every bit of pleasure I can because nothing else in the world matters more to me than watching her fall apart.
When she comes, her head is thrown back, her fingers tangled in my hair, and her thighs are trembling against my shoulders.
And still, I’m not done. I crawl back up her body, kissing her jaw, her neck, her lips again.
Her eyes are glassy, her breath uneven, and when she looks up at me, something in her seems to crack wide open.
“Damien,” she whispers, voice raw. “Please.”
I don’t ask what she wants. I already know. I strip the rest of my clothes without looking away from her. When I press against her again, skin to skin, I feel her gasp beneath me. My hands frame her face as I sink my cock into her slowly, letting her feel every inch.
Her eyes roll back and her body arches, and fuck if I don’t want to come right there. But I won’t fall over the edge until she does for a second time. This is still all about her.
Her walls clench around me as if she were sculpted specifically for me.
She always takes me so perfectly, it’s maddening.
I move slowly at first, kissing her as we fall into rhythm.
Her hands roam my back, my shoulders, my jaw.
Every time she says my name, it makes me crazier.
Hungrier. But I hold back. I don’t want to rush. I want this to last.
I want her to remember it.
She clings to me tighter, her nails digging in, her breath coming faster. I feel her orgasm building again, feel the way her body draws me deeper, her mouth finding mine as the second wave takes her.
When she comes again, I follow almost immediately. My self-control is good, but it isn’t inhuman. I was barely holding on by a thread as it was. We fall together, tangled and breathless, our hearts pounding in tandem. I pull her against my chest and draw lazy patterns on her back with my fingers.
“That was incredible,” she whispers.
“That was just the start,” I promise.