Page 33 of Tracking Shadows

So, I set a hesitant pace, my hands bracing against his chest for balance, and he groans, a deep, guttural sound of approval.

"That's it," he pants, his hands guiding me, helping me find a rhythm. "Feel how deep I am inside you."

I whimper, feeling him in a whole new way, and I start to move with more confidence, my hips rolling, experimenting with different strokes and speeds.

The angle is perfect, and with each downward thrust, I feel him brush against a spot deep within that has my vision sparking with white-hot pleasure.

"There," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Right—there."

He grunts in response, his hands holding my hips firmly, helping me move faster, harder.

I quicken my pace, wanting to feel that spark of pleasure again and again, and it builds, coiling tighter and tighter, until finally, with a cry, I shatter, my body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. He follows soon after, his hands tightening on my hips, holding me in place as he finds his own release.

As the final waves of pleasure ebb away, I melt into him; my breath still comes in short gasps as I rest my forehead against his. Our hearts beat out a chaotic rhythm. For the next few hours, It’ll be just us, tangled together, with the heavy scent of sweat and sex clinging to the air. His warmth seeps into me, and I let my eyes drift shut, savoring the silence that’s more comfortable than any words we could exchange.

Chapter 11 – Alexei

I wake up to the soft rhythm of Irina's breathing beside me. It's a sound that is so unfamiliar and yet, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. I just lie there, watching her sleep. I take in the way the early morning light catches on the strands of her hair. My hand moves on its own, reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek. I stop just short, and my fingers hover above her skin. I don’t want to wake her, not yet. Not when this is the most peaceful I’ve seen her in days.

But the urge to touch her wins out.

I run my fingers gently through her hair, feeling the silky texture slide between them. She stirs slightly, and her brow furrows before her eyes flutter open and meet mine. She pauses for a while before she tenses up, and then she shifts and pulls away.

“Irina.” I catch her wrist before she can slip out of bed. “Don’t run from me . . .. It doesn’t have to be anything more than this if you don’t want it to be. Just . . . don’t run.”

Her eyes are unreadable for a minute, but then, she lets out a breath, slow, like she’s deflating, and just lowers herself back down beside me.

I pull her closer, and my hand slips from her hair to cup her face. She doesn’t resist. She lets me kiss her, slow and soft at first, then deeper, and she kisses me back.

Her phone goes off, and it feels like someone just threw cold water over the whole damn moment. Irina pulls back,already reaching for the phone. Her face goes still as she reads the message.

“We have to move.” She's already on her feet, scanning the room like she’s mapping out the quickest way to pack and leave.

“What is it?” I'm up and moving before she’s finished speaking, grabbing my pants off the floor.

“Sergei’s men are looking for us. We need to get to the bunker.”

“Wait, how do you know this?”

“I told you I have my sources.”

“Sources?”

“You'll meet her soon.”

“Her?” I raise an eyebrow, surprised. Irina’s always been full of surprises, and I'm learning to trust her instincts.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me women can’t do this kind of work?”

“Of course not,” I reply with a slight grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She shoots me a look, and the corners of her mouth twitch up in the faintest hint of a smile before she turns back to what she is packing in a duffel bag. “There are a few packet meals in the drawer. Grab a few packs of those and just gather whatever you think is useful,” she instructs. “We might be at the bunker for a long while.”

I move quickly and start throwing together the essentials. We’re out the door in minutes, sliding into the car like we’ve done this a thousand times before. She’s in the passenger seat, and her eyes constantly flick to the mirrors as I take the back streets.

When we finally get to the bunker, I’m expecting some dark, damp hole in the ground. What I’m not expecting is . . . well, a house. An actual, livable, underground house.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” I say, whistling low as we step inside.

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