Page 10 of The Captain
I hauled her up, spinning her around, bending her over the sofa. She braced herself, ass up, and I slammed into her from behind—deep, hard, no mercy. She cried out, pushing back, meeting every thrust. Her pussy was tight, wet, gripping me like a vice. I pounded into her, skin slapping, hands on her hips, pulling her onto me. She reached back, nails digging into my thigh, urging me on.
“Faster,” she gasped.
I fucked her hard, the sofa creaking under us. Sweat slicked our bodies, the room filled with our moans, the wet sounds of us colliding. I reached around, cupping her perfect tits, squeezing. She came undone again, clenching around my cock, milking me, her scream echoing. I didn’t stop, chasing my release, the pressure building, hot and urgent.
“Come inside me,” she begged.
That broke me. I thrust one last time, burying myself deep, and exploded—hot ropes filling her, my vision blurring, body shuddering. We collapsed onto the sofa, panting, tangled, her body soft and spent against mine.
She got up suddenly, and when she disappeared I heard the shower running. I took that as my cue, started gathering my clothes to leave. But when she emerged, she wasn’t dressed, wasn’t wrapped in a towel. No. She was fucking amazingly naked.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I just figured?—”
She shook her head. “I’m not done with you, yet.”
That’s all I needed to hear. My clothes came off and once again we collided, two strangers trying to forget. But there’s no fucking way I ever would.
5
CAMILLE
The call came at 4:30am—one hour’s warning, the kind of courtesy that wasn’t courtesy at all. It was obscene, really.
“Dr. Allard,” Lt. Cmdr. Pincense said, crisp as a pressed crease. “Requesting your presence at a coordination meeting before 0530. Location: Dominion Hall.”
Before I could tell him what I thought about men who summoned women at this hour, he added, “It’s important,” and hung up. Another map followed by text. A dot on the harbor like a pin through a butterfly.
I washed my face, brushed my teeth with one hand, pulled my hair into a knot with the other, and was dressed and on the road by 5, the sky still more night than morning. I’d left Becca a voicemail that said what mattered—lactate recheck at intake, fluids, calm hands, call if he dips—then drove into the quiet, Charleston holding its breath before the humidity woke up and sat on everyone’s chest.
Dominion Hall didn’t glow in the dark so much as absorb it. The iron gates split without drama when the guard confirmedmy name, his eyes flicking over the rescue decal on my windshield and the scrape on my knuckle with equal interest. The drive curved through live oaks and shadow, the lawn beading with dew that looked like a million tiny decisions waiting to be made.
Under the portico, the air felt cooler by design. A man in a tailored suit opened my door with a nod and the ghost of a smile that said he’d seen women arrive here at worse hours for worse reasons. I stepped into stone and hush, the interior cool settling over my skin like a command: quiet yourself.
I did not belong here.
I belonged in tide and sand and bodies that trusted me because I’d learned how to listen. But I’d been asked to come—no, summoned—so I squared my shoulders, smoothed my damp skirt, and let myself be escorted down a hall lined with oil paintings that made storms look like something you could buy and frame.
Some sort of conference room was waiting, glass wall to the harbor, long table, screens asleep like beasts conserving strength.
Two uniforms stood when I entered. Pincense had that polished ease that read as helpful until you learned better. Beside him, Lieutenant Leanne McGuire—tight bun, steady gaze—gave me a nod. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Allard.”
“You insisted,” I said, and then stopped because the air shifted.
Two men stepped out from the far side of the room, not in uniform and not pretending to be anything other than what they were.
The first moved like a scout—quiet steps, quick eyes, a face people told things they shouldn’t. Broad through the chest, coiled in the waist.Ryker Dane, my mind supplied even before Pincense said the name. I’d heard of him. He wore simplicitylike a choice: dark shirt, clean lines, the exact amount of watchfulness that said he was already measuring who could hurt whom and how fast.
The second did not move so much as exist. Atlas Dane, as I was told, was massive, beard thick and neat, presence like a tide you didn’t notice until you realized you were no longer standing where you thought you were.Leader, my body decided before my brain did. Not just for the size—though he had that in spades—but for the stillness that came from knowing he didn’t need to prove a single thing.
“Dr. Allard,” Pincense said, hand out. We’d never met in person, but I recognized him from an official photo I’d found online. “Lt. Cmdr. Pincense. This is Lt. McGuire. And Ryker and Atlas Dane—Dominion Hall is partnering for logistics.”
“Doctor,” Ryker said, voice low, watchful. A nod like a blade. He didn’t offer his hand. I didn’t offer mine.
“Dr. Allard,” Atlas said, deep as a church bell, the word doctor landing like an oath kept. He did offer his hand. It swallowed mine without pressure. The heat of him surprised me, a living thing under the expensive shirt.
“We’ll be brief,” Pincense promised, as if he understood what it cost to drag a woman out of bed before dawn for a meeting.
