Page 82 of Whistleblower

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I prefer to spend the day by myself. I already told Callen I won’t be at work. In fact, he gave me Friday off as well.”

“You want to be alone?” I ask and she nods in response. “On your birthday?” She nods, again. “Is it because you’re…sad?”

She shakes her head emphatically, her long hair whipping both of us in the face. “Not at all. On my birthday, I don’t want any obligatory surprise parties or fancy dinners I have to get dressed up for. I want to be lazy, lounge around in my underwear all day, and eat dry cereal right from the box while watching trashy reality TV. You wouldn’t want to see me like that, it’s not a pretty sight.”

Trailing my fingers over her chest, I pop open the top button of my shirt and trace the top of her full tits. “Says you.”

Snatching the box off the counter again, she shakes it playfully, as if it should rattle. She snorts in laughter when she opens the lid and sees a pink tube of lipstick. “Is this for more artwork on your dick?”

“Flip it over. Feel that button?... Two taps.” She does as I instruct and flinches when the low buzzing sound of electricity surrounds us. “Anywhere will do the trick but aim for the throat if you can.”

“This is a lipstick taser gun?” she asks, admiring the little device.

“Essentially, but I had it…upgraded.”

“This won’t kill someone right?” She sets it back in the box and I grab her hand, bringing her fingertips to my lips and planting soft kisses on each one.

“No.” It’ll hurt like hell, though. “This is so you can feel a little safer, without feeling less like yourself. You don’t need to kill anyone, Eden.” I nod toward the pink tube. “That’ll slow them down until I arrive.” It’s hypothetical, but my jaw still clenches at the thought of anyone threatening Eden.

“You must really not want me to get a gun,” she muses softly.

“I don’t want you to change—not a goddamn thing about yourself. You be the light in this dark, depressing world. Let me be the big, bad wolf.”

She touches my cheek, her fingertips warm and soft. “You wouldn’t really kill someone because of me, right?”

“No, Precious,” I murmur. Pulling her off the chair, I hoist her onto the kitchen island, wedging myself between her smooth thighs. I trail slow kisses down her neck as she moans in appreciation and instinctively spreads her legs and pushes against the growing bulge in my pants. I can’t get enough of the way she smells…tastes…feels. Fuck, I need this woman like I need air. “If someone tried to hurt you, what I’d do is so much worse. I’d make them fucking beg for death.”

Eden pulls away and her eyes grow wide. “Linc, no. I don’t want—”

I swallow her protests when I cover her mouth with mine, ending all her objections with a demanding kiss. I yank the rest of the shirt buttons free, exposing her plump tits and slim waist.

“Hush. You’re mine now, Eden.”

And no one who wants to live, threatens what’s mine.

THIRTY

EDEN

The entire weekend was a haze. A sexy, satiating, blur of orgasmic overload. I more than made up for my dry spell. Linc has more endurance than any man should, so when he got called away Sunday afternoon for a job, I was slightly relieved. I returned to my own apartment, took a scalding shower, and slept for twelve hours straight.

I’ve been in enough relationships to know to really lean into the honeymoon phase because it’s fleeting. You need all the sweet memories to survive the bullshit that follows. At least with Linc, I have a lot of material. It’s more than a honeymoon, it’s the entire beehive and the whole fucking cosmos.

This man… I couldn’t have conjured him up any better in a dream. He’s thoughtful, patient, so intelligent, and so gruff exactly when I need him to be. I like him so much in fact that I’m trying very hard to ignore what he’s out in the world doing at the present moment.

I don’t want to know. It’s easier that way.

Walking into my office on Monday, I make my way to my desk and pull out my gifted copy of War and Peace from the desk drawer. I return it to its rightful place on the top of my desk, front and center—my favorite souvenir.

“Knock, knock,” Callen says instead of actually knocking, seeing my door, as usual, is wide open.

“Hey, Callen, come on in. How was your—Oh. Hello.” I greet the woman in a smart suit trailing right behind. She’s wearing a badge, identical to Callen’s, but I immediately recognize the extra authority in her. It’s in the way she walks—directive, with a purpose and no tolerance for distractions. She sidesteps Callen and makes her way across the office, her hand outstretched and aimed at me.

She shakes my hand firmly as she introduces herself. “Dr. Abbott, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so many impressive things.”

I correct almost everyone who calls me “Doctor.” But for some reason, I don’t correct her. Maybe because she’s already wildly intimidating with her thick manicured brows, angled features, and thin lips pressed firmly together that still somehow scream, “I don’t have time to fuck around.”

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