Chapter 21
Asher
She wants me to fuck her? Then, that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll bring this woman close to passing out by the time I’m through with her. I’ll have her begging me to stop.
I slam my dick deep inside her, loving the way her body accepts me so easily. Well, now it does. At first I have to work my way in there, because she’s so goddamn tight, but now… I’m able to fuck her like she was made for me to fuck her. Hard.
Her nails drag roughly down my back, the catch of each fingertip sending sparks in every direction. She knots her hands at my hips, pulling me closer, urging me on with a breathless “Don’t stop.” The words come out unfiltered, airy and full of need, echoing in the quiet night air.
It hits me just how unself-conscious she is—how she’s as uninhibited as the ocean tide below us. The possibility that someone could stroll past the garden path and catch an accidental glimpse barely even registers for her now. And, God, that freedom is intoxicating.
My security mind never fully powers down.
I keep a steady peripheral scan: one ear tuned to distant footfalls, eyes shooting quick glances to the gate and tree line between slow blinks.
If the smallest threat cropped up, I’d have her whisked safely inside in seconds.
But I know for certain we’re alone out here; every guard rotation is logged, every corridor locked down.
Moonlight slants across her skin in silver ribbons.
I cup the back of her neck, lowering my forehead to hers so we’re breathing the same air—her heartbeat syncs with the pulse hammering in my ears.
For a fragment of time I process the tactical landscape: Wade’s name flickers in the back of my mind—still a wildcard, still on my watch list—but tonight he’s nowhere near this private quadrant.
Part of me almost hopes he could witness just five seconds of the devotion glimmering in Charlotte’s eyes, the trust, the way her entire body melts against me. Maybe then he’d finally understand she isn’t his to claim.
But reality slips back, Wade’s out of sight, and as long as I’m breathing, he’ll stay out of her life.
Right now, the only thing that matters is the woman in my arms, the soft hitch of her breath, the way the stars crown her hair.
In this moment, in this safe slice of the world, nothing exists beyond the two of us intertwined beneath the wide, watchful sky.
I ease the pace, drawing the moment out, savoring every gasp, every whisper of my name. Her hands slide up to cradle my face, and our eyes lock—storm-bright blue meeting night-shadow gray. There’s trust written there.
I trace my thumb along her cheekbone. “I’ve got you,” I promise in a hushed growl—the only words that matter.
Her answering smile is pure starlight. “And I’ve got you.”
I keep pushing inside her, letting her know exactly how much she means to me. How much I’ve already fallen so deeply in love with her. That when this is all said and done, I want her by my side… as my wife.
She grips onto me, her eyes fluttering shut. “I’m coming,” she whispers, her soft voice keeping the intimacy between just the two of us.
“I’m right behind you,” I tell her. And it’s the fucking truth. When she comes on my cock it’s the sweetest feeling. So wet. So tight. I lose all my focus within an instant. And it makes me lose all my control. Every fucking bit of it.
And I’m the type of man who never loses control, but there’s something about Charlotte Lane that has me doing things I never thought I’d do.
Soft morning light filters through the suite’s curtains, scattering pale yellow across the tangled sheets. Charlotte is curled against me, her breath slow and even, the glossy strands of her hair fanned over my chest. Everything about the scene says stand down, Hawke—mission secure.
My phone vibrating against the nightstand disagrees.
I ease out from beneath her, careful not to jostle the arm she’s draped across my ribs.
Pancake service waits under a silver dome on the credenza that I had gotten from room service before crawling back into bed with her.
There’s a feast—blueberries, real maple syrup, extra bacon.
Bribery for a late night with no sleep. I snag the phone, step onto the balcony, and swipe to answer.
“Dean.”
“You upright yet?” His voice is too awake for 0700. “I need status. That pancake order came through guest services at 0658, so I’m guessing you’re not exactly on perimeter patrol.”
My eyes track the courtyard three floors below—no unknowns, no Wade lurking in shrubbery. “Perimeter’s clear. She’s asleep.”
“Great. Any new chatter on Sinclair?”
“Nothing in the last six hours,” I reply, keeping my tone steady.
Dean exhales into the phone. “You still got your head, Hawke? Lines blur fast when emotions enter.”
“I’m good,” I lie, flattening my palm on the balcony rail. The truth—Charlotte’s warmth still imprinted on my chest—stirs an ache I can’t hand over in a report. “Nobody’s better suited to keep her locked up and breathing. You know that.”
He’s silent long enough that gulls squabbling over the seawall fill the line. “Fine. Bravo team wants a full sweep brief, 11:30 sharp. I’ll patch you in secure.”
“Copy,” I say. “Send the agenda.”
“Will do. And Hawke? Check your six. Sinclair’s quiet is never good news.”
“Roger that.” The call disconnects.
I step back inside, pocketing the phone. Charlotte stirs, stretching like a cat, lashes fluttering. She rolls onto her back, eyes still hazy with sleep. “Morning,” she murmurs, voice husky. “You vanish on me?”
“Just a call with Dean.” I pour her a mug of coffee from the carafe room service left. “Conference at eleven-thirty. Pancakes now, tactical talk later.”
She sits up, accepting the mug. “You’re always working.” But her smile is soft, not accusing.
I brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “We both know Wade’s not done. I need to confirm Bravo’s coverage grid.”
“I get it.” She sips, then sets the mug aside. “Melanie’s meeting me at the pool at ten. Girl time.”
My gut twitches. Public space, civilians, wide angles. “I don’t like that,” I say automatically.
She arches an eyebrow. “Poolside, remember? It’ll be fine. Lots of civilians,” she says, mocking me.
I grunt, conceding half a step. “Keep your phone on. Text me every fifteen. If anything looks off—”
“I text the human fortress I call a fiancé. Understood,” she finishes, eyes sparkling.
I hand her a fork. “Lunch after my call. Somewhere I can see every exit.”
She laughs, slicing into a pancake. “Nothing says romance like line-of-sight.”
I lean down, kiss syrup from the corner of her mouth, and hold her gaze. “Romance is keeping you safe enough to tease me about it tomorrow.”
She softens, fingertips brushing my stubble. “Then I’ll be here tomorrow—and the day after that.”
It’s a promise, and a challenge. I straighten, slide back into operational mode, but the taste of syrup and Charlotte’s smile hangs with me long after.
Wade may still be out there, but at 11:30 I’ll have Bravo, satellite feeds, and more resolve than ever.
Because the mission isn’t just protect and serve.