Page 50 of Mile High Daddy

“More,” she whispers, her voice barely there.

I growl in approval, adding another finger, curling them inside her, stroking her just right—until her head falls back, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

I press my thumb to her clit, circling it slowly, torturously. “Come for me,” I command against her ear.

And she does.

Her entire body tenses, her thighs trembling around my hand as she falls apart, moaning my name like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. I keep stroking her, prolonging her pleasure, reveling in the way she clenches around me, the way her body gives in to me completely. I lean up, capturing her lips again, swallowing the last of her moans as she sags against me.

And then?—

BANG.

The sound of gunfire cracks through the air.

Lila stiffens, her eyes flying open just as a second shot rings out?—

BANG. BANG.

The car jerks violently.

The world tilts, metal screeches, and everything is spinning.

Lila screams, clutching at me as the car careens out of control.

I wrap my arms around her, twisting to shield her as the vehicle slams into something hard.

Glass shatters.

Tires screech.

And then?—

Darkness.

14

LILA

Asharp ringing fills my ears as I blink my eyes open. Everything is hazy, my mind sluggish, my body aching as I struggle to make sense of where I am.

The dim glow of streetlights filters through shattered glass. The car is tilted at an odd angle, smoke curling from the crumpled hood. My breathing is uneven, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.

Mikhail is still inside the car, but he’s no longer beside me. He’s in the front seat now, gun in hand, his posture tense, coiled—like a predator about to strike.

Across from us, Torres is slumped over, unconscious, blood trickling from his temple.

I try to sit up, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through my ribs. My voice is hoarse when I manage to speak. “Mikhail?”

His head snaps toward me, his gray eyes flashing. “Stay in the car,” he orders, his voice rough, dangerous.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my mind spinning, trying to grasp the situation.

“We were attacked,” he says, checking the magazine in his gun before flicking the safety off. “Stay down.”

Attacked.

The word sinks in slowly, cold and heavy in my chest.

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