Page 140 of The Wrecked One

Her dimple appeared with that smile, God help me I loved it. She swatted my chest with her free hand. “So help me, Oliver. What am I ever going to do with you?”

I pulled my hand free from hers to cup her cheeks. “Well, for starters, you could sleep in my arms tomorrow night.”

56

OLIVER

TWELVE DAYS LATER

I groggily patted the bed, searching for my better half. Not finding her there, I opened one eye and then the other, confirming I was alone. I slowly sat upright, locating her sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room. She’d spent the last few weeks working there on the story that’d be published upon POTUS’s go-ahead.

She had a cappuccino in one hand, and tapped her pen at the desk with the other.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Waking up to her in my arms every morning had been bliss, but I rather enjoyed the sight of her in her silk PJs at the desk, as well.

She set both her cup and pen down and spun around in the chair. “Morning, handsome.” She smiled at me, and it was like the sun in my eyes. Bright and fucking everything, bringing me to life and waking me up.

“Working early, I see.” I gestured for her to come back to bed, but she didn’t budge.

“More like you’re sleeping in late.” She lifted her chin toward the nightstand clock, letting me know we were going on brunch territory.

I tossed the covers and swung my feet to the floor. “In my defense, a certain someone woke me up twice in the middle of the night, once while stroking my cock, and the second time while asking to take a ride on it.”

“You know how horny I get this time of the month.”

And I was about to ask for a third go. I stood and walked over to her, offered my hand, and she accepted, rose, and quietly padded toward where I wanted her.

In front of the window, I slung her arms up, placing her palms flat on the glass. Peering over her shoulder, I searched for her reflection even though it was a bit too bright outside to make her out very clearly.

I was only in my boxer briefs, and I pressed my erection against her while sliding one hand around between her legs and the other down the top of the scrap of pink silk to cup her breast. My naughty girl didn’t have panties on, and she moaned and bucked forward against my palm as I caressed her sensitive spot with my thumb.

“I really want to fuck you naked against the window.” My shoulders fell at the sight of Farmer John outside. It was a made-up name I’d given the security guard who liked to pick fruit while doing his perimeter sweeps.

“But we’ll have eyes on us, and you don’t like to share,” she said, her raspy, seductive tone nearly making me forget that important fact. “Rain check, then?” She turned toward me, forcing me to let go of her pussy and breast. “Maybe tonight when it’s not so sunny and easy to see in our room.”

“Promise?”

“To be a bad girl again later?” She slid her hands up along her silhouette to give me a sneak peek. “Absolutely. Only for you.”

“Damn right only for me.” I drew her into my arms and kissed her, forgetting Farmer John might see us, but fuck it.

“What were you working on? I thought the story was done?” I asked once coming down from the high of her tongue in my mouth.

Angling her head toward the desk, she pulled away, and I took that as my cue to go over.

She flipped open her laptop and typed in the password so I could take a look at the screen. “It’s going live tomorrow. Gray messaged this morning.”

Shit, was it finally time to end this? Another thirty-seven insiders, including the governor of Virginia, two higher-ups at the NSA, and the former CIA director from twenty years ago had been detained. Not to mention three more “hands” on the clock that made up The Collective had been eliminated. One happened to be a billionaire philanthropist. Yeah, philanthropy my ass.

We were down to three now, and those three marks were elected officials. Not American, but allied nations. With any luck, and quite a few prayers, the article would change the tide and bring them down by the will of the people.

“You hear me?” She waved a hand in front of my face, and I blinked, pulling myself back.

“I did.” Standing behind her, I held her shoulders, looking at her screen. I’d read the article several times. Not that I could offer anything other than compliments, because it’d been perfectly written as far as I was concerned. “That’s new,” I said, catching the last line of her article.

“Nelson Mandela. ‘May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.’”

“About sums everything up right there with what’s happened with us, huh?”

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