Page 37 of No Mistakes
I run a hand over my abs, which are now smeared in sweat and my release. I stare at the mess like a fucking lunatic, but I don’t care. I’d wear it with pride if it meant I could keep this feeling a second longer.
This isn’t just lust any more. This is an addiction.
Sheis my addiction.
She’s everywhere. Under my skin. Behind my ribs. Coursing through my veins like a drug, I’ll never quit.
If she knew what she did to me, what the little moan, thosetremblingthighs, that sharp inhale when I rubbed her just right… She wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye. Or maybe she would. Maybe she’ll lean in close, whisper filth in my ear, and tell me exactly what she wants next time.
Fuck, I want there to be a next time.
But I’m not going to beg. Not until she begs first.
The shower is cold by the time I drag myself out. I hardly slept by the time I finished thinking of Mandy. I look at the clock sitting on the bedside table to see that it’s just past 7 am.
I don’t bother with a shave, instead I just pull on my boxers, black cargo pants and my fitted white tee.
By the time I make it downstairs, the house is quiet, too quiet. But the scent of fresh coffee, and something citrus hits me the second I enter the kitchen, to see she’s already there.
She’s perched on the edge of the kitchen island, one leg crossed over the other, laptop open in front of her, and a mug in hand. Her hair’s up, messy and sexy, like she rolled straight out of bed and didn’t care who noticed.
But I do. I notice everything when it comes to her.
Her eyes flick up when she senses me. That sharp, unreadable look pierces straight through me. She doesn’t blush or smirk. Last night is no doubt etched into both our minds, carved into the space between us like a scar that still stings.
She knows what she did to me, she’s opened a door that can never be closed, and she’s just welcomed the devil himself.
I grab a mug and pour myself a black coffee before leaning on the island. Her fingers fly over the keyboard like she’s avoiding me on purpose, but her foot is bouncing.
“Morning,” She says finally, her voice too casual as if she’s practised until the early morning.
I nod once, taking a sip of my coffee as my eyes roam her body.
Flynn enters the kitchen, quickly followed by Axel. Voices echo as plans start forming again. But it doesn’t matter. Because all I can think about is the way her body arched into mine, the way she bit her lip when I rubbed her through the material like she’d burn for it.
“We have a lot of work to do today.” Axel announces while pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Coffee first.” Flynn yawns, dragging a hand through his hair like it might wake him up. He steps behind Axel, snatching his steaming mug without hesitation. He doesn’t make it far when Axel turns around, smacking him across the back of the head. “Make your own, asshole.”
Flynn grins, nursing the mug like a lifeline. “You wouldn’t have poured it so perfectly if you didn’t secretly want me to steal it.”
“You’re delusional,” Axel says, rolling his eyes.
“Sleep-deprived, same thing.”
Mandy doesn’t laugh, but I see the way her lips twitch at their interaction.
I set my mug down a little too hard, and her eyes glance up, meeting mine. We hold contact just for a second, but enough to make my blood throb, and my fingers itch to bend her over the kitchen island.
“Hello, Earth to Ant,” Flynn shouts, waving a hand in front of my face. “You look like you’re planning someone’s murder or someone’s orgasm. Either way, blink if you need help.”
I swat his hand away without looking at him. Mandy breaks the stare first, shifting in her seat like her skin’s suddenly too tight. She tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, but I don’t miss the way she crosses her legs tighter under the table.
Axel clears his throat, commanding the room. “Vegas. Let's focus.” He pauses, scanning each of us until he’s sure we’re all listening. “The meet is less than a week away at the Bellagio. Until we get further intel, we assume the place is wired. That’s the elevators, lobbies, and even hallways. Eyes everywhere.”
“Security?” Mandy asks, her tone steady. The complete opposite to how she was a few hours ago, when she almost came apart in my hands.
Carter walks in, towel slung over his shoulders, damp hair curling at the ends. “Private detail. Ex-military types dressed as Bellagio staff. Bartenders, janitors, and maintenance. They’ll be checking invites, not faces. If you’re not on the list, you don’t get in.”
