Page 68 of Protecting the Nerd

“York,” he groaned.

“Let me feel you come.” I pulled him into a searing kiss that spoke of shared passion and mutual desire.

Our lips clashed with the same intensity that had marked our movements, and his body trembled against mine as he crossed the threshold of his release. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, shaking, pressing his body against mine in pure connection. His warmth spilled inside me, a new sensation and more intimate than I had expected, but one I loved.

In the quiet aftermath, our panting breaths echoed in the room. After a minute, he pulled out, and I winced. This part wasn’t fun. My ass was sore, the sting a reminder of what we had shared. But thankfully, Quillon didn’t get up yet. I couldn’t have borne his absence, not even for a minute.

Quillon lay beside me, an arm draped over my waist, his chest rising and falling in a calming rhythm. I turned to face him and traced the contour of his jaw, rough with evening stubble. He smiled, a lazy, contented curve of his lips.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice husky from exertion.

“Hey yourself,” I replied, not quite steady. The emotional whirlwind that had swept through me was settling, leaving in its wake a profound sense of peace.

Something unspoken passed between us—a shared understanding that what had happened went far beyond physical satisfaction. “Did I…?” How did I phrase the question bubbling inside me?

“Was it good for you?” Quillon asked quietly.

“It was perfect.”

Quillon pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. “I love you.”

My heart did a little dance. “Love you too.”

22

QUILLON

The sheets lay twisted around my legs, a tangled prison of cotton that seemed to tighten with every restless toss and turn. I followed the shadows dancing on the ceiling like specters in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. The digits on the bedside clock flipped with a silent yet taunting regularity, marking the time I’d lain awake—each minute stretching into an eternity of worry.

York’s steady breathing had been my only solace, the soft rise and fall of his chest a lullaby that should’ve soothed me into oblivion. But instead, dread gnawed at my insides, an unrelenting beast that wouldn’t be sated.

This should’ve been the happiest time of my life. In a way, it was, but my joy over being with York was overshadowed by my worries for his safety. The Robinsons had embarked on their Caribbean cruise, and two of the four new agents had moved into their home while the other two stayed with Miller and LaFontaine. It wasn’t subtle, but we had found no other way. Everyone was on high alert.

Even with York gently snoring beside me, his arms and legs wrapped around me as if he feared I’d sneak off in the middle of the night, I had trouble relaxing. Knowing how real the threat against him was made that impossible, although Coulson kept assuring me they had eyes on those terrorists.

But I loved holding York and sharing a bed with him. The sex had been everything I could’ve hoped for and then some, with an emotional underlay I’d never experienced. I’d had quick fucks, hookups that had lasted for hours, and everything in between. But I’d never felt this close to someone emotionally, like our hearts and souls were as connected as our bodies.

I’d never considered myself a romantic, but now I could wax poetic about York for hours. Not that anyone had asked. I was dying to tell my family, but I couldn’t while the case was still ongoing. It would raise too many questions, and keeping a low profile right now was crucial. But I bet that once they got to know him, they’d love him. What was not to love? The man was sweet, sexy, and so goddamn smart. Seriously, I felt like I was way out of my league. Yet we were perfect for each other.

York stirred, then blinked. “Why are you awake?” His voice was still raspy with sleep.

“I can’t sleep, nerdy. But it’s okay.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, this is me not being able to relax.”

He yawned, stretching. “Wanna watch some TV together? Tomás has a nice TV in his bedroom.”

Sometimes, it amazed me how much money Tomás had spent on a house he’d never lived in, but then I remembered who he was and how much money he must’ve made during his career, and I let it go. I was all too grateful to be on the receiving end of his hospitality.

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep, nerdy.”

“Like I can sleep now, knowing you’ll be staring at the ceiling.”

“You’ve had no trouble for the last week.”

Oops. I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Maybe the lack of sleep was getting to me.

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