Page 30 of Arrogant Bastard

Yes,” she breathes, and pumps me harder, urging me on with hungry pulls I can’t resist.

I capture her nape and fuse my lips to hers one last time before my world turns a lovely shade of purple bliss and I erupt like a fucking fire hose. I’m aware I’m shaking like a leaf and groaning like a fucking idiot. But I don’t care. I continue to fuck her sensational hand until I’m utterly spent. My cheek slides past hers until my head rests against the wall. She rests hers on my shoulder, and we just…breathe.

An eternity later, I attempt to lift my head. “That was amazing. Thank you.” I brush my lips on her cheek. She stiffens a little but doesn’t pull away. Progress.

I want nothing more than to take her back into my arms, but I don’t push my luck. I straighten, tug my T-shirt off, and use it to clean us up. I’m still semi-hard, and I catch her watching as I put my dick away.

“Come wash up with me?”

She nods. I walk her into my bedroom and through to the master bathroom. I throw my soiled shirt in the laundry and turn on the tap at the sink. I hate that she’s washing my essence off her skin, but I’m a little more worried by her silence.

“You okay?”

She bites her lip, avoids my gaze in the mirror, and soaps her hands.

“Talk to me, baby.”

Her mouth flattens for a second. “I’m not sure talking works. All we’ve done so far is fight and…”

“Make each other feel good? Yeah, I see how that’s a problem.”

She grimaces. “You know what I mean. We can’t keep doing this.”

“I beg to differ.”

She stares solemnly back at me.

I sigh. “We’ve been off for a while. Rebooting is bound to have a few hiccups.”

She flashes me an irritated glance. “I’m not one of your computers, Killian.”

I hand her a towel to dry her hands. “No. You’re way sexier than any of them can ever hope to be.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Betty that when we go back in.”

“Shit. Please don’t. I don’t need her cranky. Not today.”

She almost cracks a smile. Almost. She turns from me to hang up the towel.

“How about we call a truce and go keep our appointment with Betty?” I suggest.

“Okay.”

We finish cleaning up and return to the study. She takes the seat next to mine and drinks from her water bottle as I fire up my air-gapped computer. An alert pops up on the screen. A single name jumps out at me.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” she asks.

I take a deep breath and reread the info. I don’t want to alarm her unnecessarily. But the tension gripping my neck and the icy rage flooding my system tells me I didn’t read the name wrong.

She moves closer. “Killian, what is it?”

Resigned, I turn the screen toward her. Let her see for herself. She gasps at the first name highlighted by Betty. I watch her face grow pale, her eyes widen with shock.

“Is this intel correct?” Her voice is husky with disbelief.

“Yes. Paul Galveston passed through passport control at Dulles Airport six hours ago.”

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