18. Two A.M. #4
“I know,” she whispered. “I’m right there.
”He sped up, his thrusts becoming harder, less controlled.
The sound of their bodies filled the kitchen — skin against skin, the wet slide of him inside her, the creak of the counter under their movement.
She dug her nails into his back, feeling the ridges of old scars beneath her fingers, and he hissed, driving into her harder.The second orgasm took her by surprise — not sharp like the first but deep and rolling, spreading through her body like warm water.
She clenched around him, and he gasped against her neck, his rhythm faltering.
A few more thrusts and he followed her, spilling into her with a low, broken sound that she felt vibrate through his chest.They stayed like that for a long moment — him inside her, her legs around him, his face buried against her neck.
Their breathing slowed together, and the kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant tick of the clock on the wall.He pulled back slowly, and she felt the loss of him, the sudden emptiness.
He looked wrecked — in a different way than his usual exhaustion.
Looser. Like something inside him had unclenched for the first time in weeks.
“You have whipped cream in your hair,” he said.She reached up and touched her hair, finding a sticky patch she had no memory of how it got there. “That’s your fault.”
“Most things are, apparently.”She laughed — softer this time, the kind of laugh that came from somewhere warm.
She pulled him toward her, pressing her forehead to his.
He closed his eyes, and she watched his face relax, the lines around his mouth easing.The espresso machine chose that moment to sputter back to life.They both turned to look at it.
A thin stream of coffee dripped into the portafilter, slow but steady, like the thing had been waiting for the right moment to cooperate.Chris stared at it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Camila started laughing again — full, unrestrained, her whole body shaking against him.
He looked at her, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, he actually smiled.
Not the ghost of one. A real smile, tired and crooked and genuine.
“All it needed was a little motivation,” she said, grinning.
“It needed a repairman, not a peep show.”
“Clearly it disagreed.”He shook his head, but the smile stayed.
He reached past her and turned the machine off, then lifted her off the counter, setting her on her feet.
Her legs were unsteady, and she grabbed his arm for balance.He looked down at her — bare, flushed, whipped cream still clinging to her collarbone — and something in his expression shifted.
Not desire this time. Something quieter.
Something that looked like the way he’d looked at her in the bathtub, and the first night in the bedroom, and every time she woke up to find him staring at the ceiling because his mind wouldn’t let him sleep.She squeezed his arm.
“I’m glad you’re here.”He kissed her forehead, then turned to pour two cups of coffee from the machine’s reluctant output.
She pulled her tank top back on and hopped back onto the counter, watching him.The coffee was terrible.
Thin, bitter, barely warm. She drank it anyway, and he drank his without comment, leaning against the counter beside her.
She smiled into her coffee. Some things — like espresso machines and quiet, stubborn men — just needed patience, the right pressure, and someone willing to stay in the kitchen until they worked again.Camila looked up.Chris looked down.“Go upstairs.”
“Come with me.”He nearly choked.“To your room?”
“Yes.”
“Inside Mateo’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Have you developed a death wish?”She smiled.“My room has a lock.”
“Your brother has keys.”
“Then we’ll be quiet.”Chris stared.“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Coward.”
“Alive coward.”She kissed his cheek.Then whispered:“Guesthouse?”
Chris looked toward the hallway.Then at her.“No.”Camila smiled.Chris pointed at her.
“I mean it.”
“Okay.”
“Go upstairs.”
“Okay.”She took three steps toward the hallway.Stopped.Turned.“Five minutes?”Chris closed his eyes.“Jesus Christ.”Camila smiled.“Seven?”His eyes opened.That was their number.Always seven.Chris shook his head.“You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Seven minutes.”She disappeared down the hallway.Chris stood alone in the kitchen.
He looked toward the stairs.Then at his abandoned plate.Then toward the back door leading to the guesthouse.
“Don’t do it.”He picked up his fork.Took one bite.Looked at the clock.
2:16.Chris stared at it.“Fuck.”At 2:23, he opened the guesthouse door.Camila was already waiting outside.She smiled.Chris looked toward the mansion. “You’re insane.”
“You’re late.”
“By?”
“Eleven seconds.”
“You counted?”
“Yes.”Chris shook his head.Then pulled her inside.Much later, Chris lay awake with Camila tucked against him.She slept peacefully.He didn’t.Again.His mind kept returning to Mateo standing in the kitchen.That look.The fork.The coffee.The long silence.Mateo wasn’t stupid.That was the problem.He noticed things.And Chris was becoming careless.Not operationally.Personally.The difference no longer mattered.If Mateo discovered Roman was sleeping with Camila, Chris could lose his access.If Mateo became angry enough, he could lose his life.If Mateo started digging into Roman because of Camila—he could discover something much worse.Chris looked down at the woman sleeping beside him.This wasn’t simply about hiding an affair anymore.One suspicious question from Mateo could start pulling threads.Street racing.Private security.Bullet wounds.Driving.Weapons.The warehouse.Roman’s entire history.And eventually—Chris Walker.Camila shifted closer.
Chris wrapped his arm around her.“Shit.”She murmured sleepily.“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”Chris smiled despite himself.Her breathing evened again.He stared into the darkness.Mateo noticing them could get Chris Roman killed.Mateo discovering the truth could get Chris Walker killed.But there was something Chris feared even more now.Camila finding out exactly who had been lying beside her every night.Because a bullet could only kill him once.The look on her face when she discovered the truth?
Chris had a feeling that one was going to stay with him forever.