Page 172 of The Fallen One

I laughed, and I swore it was the first time I’d done that since we’d been in Ireland. “Was that a Freudian slip, sir? Lock me up? Tie me?—”

He caught my last word with a kiss before sharing, “Oh, if you give me the go-ahead, I’d tie your ass down right now and lower my face between your legs. I mean, it’d be the best medicine to heal me.”

“Right, right.” I grinned. “I think I read that in a medical book somewhere. Going down on each other cures any ache or pain.”

“It’d make me feel a hell of a lot better.” He lifted his brows suggestively a few times, and seeing him happy, even if we were only in a temporary bubble, made my heart soar.

“Hmm. Let me go talk to Oliver. I’ll be right back.” I stood, and he caught my wrist in one fast movement, pulling me back onto the couch.

“Ask that man if I’m allowed to eat your pussy, and I will spank that sexy ass of yours,” he rasped.

“Mmm. Promise?” My thighs tightened, feeling desire unfold inside me for the first time since we’d made love in the shower what felt like forever ago back in Scotland.

Did that mean I was healing from the trauma of the betrayal? Sierra didn’t deserve my pain, and Bahar was alive, so . . .

Yeah, screw Sierra and The Collective.

“Don’t test me, angel.” His warning was full of sugar and spice and everything nice, though.

“I just want to slip into something a bit more comfortable if we’re going to, well, pleasure each other after not being together for so long.”

He pulled on one of the hoodie strings. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Give me two minutes. Pour another scotch. I’ll be right back.” I winked, then tried to pull away to stand, but he stopped me.

“No talking to Oliver about your pussy or my cock, got it?” He arched a brow, his voice low and rumbly, and when my eyes shot to the crotch of his jeans, they were tented with his arousal.

I licked my lips, anxious for him. “Yes, sir.”

At that, he released me, seemingly satisfied with my answer and how I’d said it. He propped his forearm up on the couch and palmed his crotch. He lifted his chin, urging me to get a move on.

Not wanting to waste time, I hurried from the room and down the hall.

Finding Dallas standing outside the laundry room, staring at it while cocking his head to the left, then the right, I quietly went over, curious what had his attention.

It sounded like a pair of tennis shoes were rolling around in the dryer. I set a hand to the knob, prepared to ease his nerves, then halted at what I heard next.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop . . .” A moan followed. “Fuck, yes, yessss. Right there. Ugggh, I hate you, but if you stop right now, I’ll?—”

“Sure you do, buttercup. You hate me all right. That’s why you keep coming into my bedroom every night and . . .”

I backed up, nearly tripping over Dallas, forgetting where I’d been going and why. No more eavesdropping for me. I was done with that.

A smile snuck up on me at the fact those two had finally given in to their desires.

Now, it’s time to give in to mine.

73

CARTER

WASHINGTON, D.C. – FORTY-EIGHT HOURS AFTER ELECTION DAY

The snapping sounds of cameras filled the cold afternoon air as reporters waited for President Bennett to approach the podium for the impromptu press conference he’d announced. I had to believe the location outside was very much intentional on his part.

Slipping on my sunglasses, I reached for Diana’s hand as we hung back, waiting with her parents for him to speak.

We weren’t exactly sure how much he planned to reveal about what almost happened on election day, but the President had requested we fly in from Dublin, promising I wouldn’t be intercepted by the Feds at the airport.

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