Chapter 9
His clipboard clatters onto the stainless steel. The official relaxation schedule is clipped to the front, my mother's signature at the bottom, his deputy's timestamp on the blackout approval.
"Three defenders signed up," he says. "Plus the keeper. You're not doing this alone."
I fold a towel in half, then quarters, stacking it neatly on the pile. "You can stand in the corner with your keycard, or you can participate. But we both know you won't be able to just watch."
He looms over me, close enough that the heat from his body cuts through the steam. His hands ball the towel I'm holding, knuckles grazing my stomach.
"I'm not sharing you with four men and staying outside. If I'm inside, I'm inside you." His voice breaks on the last word, a crack in the security-chief armor. "I mean it. Inside you, or not at all."
I cup his jaw. The stubble scrapes my palm.
"Then you'll be there. You'll open my door with your key—one last time before the final—and you'll see what I've arranged. And you'll stay. No patrol log that says 'all clear' without you in the room."
His mouth crashes into mine.
He pushes me against the dryer, the metal hot through my thin tank top, the machine rumbling a bass note that vibrates straight through my spine and into my cunt. His tongue shoves past my lips, demanding, and I bite down on it just hard enough to make him groan.
His hips grind into mine—cock already rigid through his cargo pants, pressing against my pubic bone through two layers of fabric.
"You want to hear me say it." He gasps the words against my mouth, still grinding, his hands fisted in my shirt. "You want me to say I need to be in that room."
"I want you to say it." I hook my leg around his hip, pulling him tighter, the friction of his cock against my clit sparking heat through my belly. "Say you need to be there. Say you can't stay outside."
He ruts against me like a teenager, desperate and graceless, the dryer shuddering behind us. The towel pile topples.
His lips move to my throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and I arch into the pressure.
"I need it." The words tear out of him, ragged, almost angry. "I need to be there. I need to be inside you while they're all around you. I need to watch you take them and know I'm the one who unlocked the door."
"Good." I grab his belt and yank him harder against me, the metal buckle digging into my hip. "Tomorrow night, you'll open that door and find exactly what I've arranged. And you'll stay. That's an order, Chief."
He makes a sound—half laugh, half groan—and presses his forehead to mine. "You're giving me orders now."
"I've been giving you orders since the supply closet." I grind my pelvis against his, feel the answering twitch of his cock through the cargos. "You just finally learned to follow them."
The dryer cycle ends with a loud buzz. We separate, breathing hard, my tank top twisted around my ribs, his fly visibly tented.
He reaches down and adjusts himself roughly, eyes never leaving mine.
"Tomorrow," he says. "23:59. I'll use my key."
"You'll use your key," I agree. "And you'll stay."
He picks up the clipboard, straightens his polo, and walks out of the laundry room with the schedule tucked under his arm. I lean against the humming dryer, thighs clenched, clit throbbing, the word tomorrow beating in my blood like a second pulse.
The log already has the blackout entry. My mother already signed the authorization.
The defenders already signed up. And Marcus Delgado just admitted he needs to be inside me while I take all of them.
Tomorrow, the whole line. Tomorrow, the final door.
Tomorrow, the log will say something it's never said before.
I finish folding the towels with shaking hands, and I don't stop smiling.