Page 84 of Open Secrets
She reaches back, her fingers digging into my hip, urging me on. "Let go," she whispers. "I want to feel you."
Those words push me over the edge. My vision blurs as waves of pleasure crash through me. I bury my face in her hair to muffle my groan as I empty myself inside her, my body shuddering with release.
For a moment, we lie tangled together, catching our breaths. The only sound in the room is our synchronized breathing gradually slowing down. I don't want to pull away, don't want to break this connection between us.
With her toes, she pulls the quilt back over us, settling in. I feel myself softening inside her, still connected in that perfect way.
"Just like old times, huh?" I whisper against her hair, my voice thick with contentment.
She doesn't answer with words—just smiles that smile I know so well, eyes heavy with satisfaction. The one that says everything without saying anything at all.
We lie like that for a while, the quiet between us comfortable now. Her breathing slows, becoming deeper, more rhythmic. Her body relaxes against mine, and I realize she's drifting off to sleep.
"I'm not going to let this break us," I murmur, not sure if she's still awake to hear me. "Whatever happens with Collins, with the Army—we'll figure it out."
Her fingers find mine under the sheets, squeezing gently. She's listening.
"I've been so caught up in what I might lose," I continue, "that I forgot what I already have."
She shifts slightly, her back pressing closer against my chest. "Took you long enough," she whispers, her voice thick with sleep. I can't see her face in the darkness, but I feel her fingers intertwine with mine, pulling my arm tighter around her waist.
Lying there, her warmth steady against me, I know what I have to do.
I won’t let anything—anything—come in the way of us. Ever.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Maria — Present
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Maria,” Lyle starts, but I cut him off.
“No. You are not going to that woman’s hotel.”
He exhales, already bracing for me. “I have to meet her to call her bluff.”
I freeze mid-slice, the knife hanging in the air above August’s toast, half a crust cut. Slowly, I look up at him, my brows rising. “You think meeting a woman who’s blackmailing you—alone—in her hotel room is a good idea?”
He hesitates. “…Well, no.”
“Good.” I slam the knife down.
“Fine,” he mutters, “I’ll tell her to meet me at the restaurant downstairs.”
I gape at him. “Oh, perfect. The romantic restaurant thirty feet below her bed.”
He spreads his hands. “It’s the only thing I can come up with.”
I purse my lips, my jaw tight. “Calling her bluff is the right idea, but your execution is horrible.”
He leans on the counter, arms crossed. “Then what else can I do?”
I wave the knife, pointing it at him like a general issuing orders. “I’ll meet her.”
His eyes flick to the blade, then back to me. “And do what exactly?”
I smile. “Relax. I’m not going to kill her.”
