Page 60 of Devotion

“I do not.” Any of this. Not being there at headquarters. Not knowing if my people are safe.

But I know my duty.

We park in a coded garage, continuing on foot through several buildings, underground tunnels. By the time we reach the apartment building, we are both huffing. At the top of the stairs I lean against the wall, resting my hands on my knees.

“Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” I look up, noting the hint of a smile on his face.

“Saving our asses.”

“I could not let you die. Not without getting you back for last night.”

“You rescued me so you can get revenge?”

“So I can do this.” All of the pent-up frustration in me bubbles over. My fears, my anger. Everything rushes to the surface and all I can think about right now is distracting myself from running away, from hiding. The last twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind.

And I need him close to me. Inside me.

Before he can say a word I throw my arms around his neck, kissing him, claiming his mouth. He lifts me into his arms, swinging me around toward the door, turning circles as I fumble the key from my pocket, ram it into the lock, never once pulling apart as he devours my lips.

Then we are inside, slamming the door.

I tear at his shirt, dropping my coat as he tosses his aside.

“Van—”

“I need you. Now. No games.”

11

CIRO

Glass shatters as the frame hits the floor.

The whole wall rattles as she slams me into it, ravaging me.

I shove off the wall, scooping her up, rushing across the small entryway, lifting her off the ground.

Everything on top of the buffet goes down next, scattering, clattering.

Vanya drags me onto her as she settles on top of it, wrapping her legs around me, tugging at my hair, my shirt. Every movement is wild, almost frantic.

And I love the chaos.

We roll to the side, knocking the table over, crashing into the kitchen our lips never more than a breath apart for longer than a second as Vanya growls softly, biting my lower lip. This is what I wanted. That side of her that I’ve seen, the unbridled creature that takes what it wants.

And for every lash of her tongue, I reciprocate.

Her hands grip me tightly, pulling me, shoving me.

So I shove her back, dancing away for a moment, breathing hard, watching her circle the discarded furniture. Stalking me.

I can’t resist her, though.

Leaping over the legs of the table, I grab her again, swooping my hands under the edges of her sweater, up and over her head, casting it aside. All she has on underneath is a tight tank top, formfitted to her perfect, full breasts.

She nips at my mouth, watching my eyes, playing with me.

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