Page 92 of Echo: Line
My hands grip her hips, thumbs tracing small circles on the skin there. Not guiding, just touching, grounding us both. She picks up the rhythm, slow and deliberate, rising until I almost slip free before sinking back down. The slide and drag of it builds heat in my spine, coils tension low in my gut.
She leans forward, changing the angle again, and the friction makes her moan—a sound that goes straight through me. Her breasts press against my chest, skin slick with sweat, hearts hammering against each other. When she kisses me, I taste salt and heat, feel the shudder that runs through her with each movement.
"Alex—" My name breaks on her lips.
I raise my hips, driving up to meet her next downward stroke, and her spine arches. Her nails rake down my chest, leaving trails of sensation that border on pain. Perfect. The pace quickens without either of us deciding it, bodies finding synchronization that only comes from trust. From knowing each other.
She's close—I can feel it in the way she tightens around me, see it in the tension building through her body, hear it in the sounds she can't quite suppress. I slide one hand between us, finding where we're joined, and her eyes fly open.
"Don't stop," she gasps. "Don't?—"
"I love you," she says against my mouth.
"Love you too." My hands slide up her back, pull her closer. "So damn much."
The pleasure builds gradually, a slow burn rather than a wildfire. Every movement deliberate, intentional. She rolls her hips, and the angle changes, and suddenly she's gasping my name. I feel her tighten around me, see the flush spread across her chest, watch her come apart with an honesty that breaks me open.
"Alex—" My name on her lips destroys me.
I flip us carefully, mindful of her wound, and she wraps her legs around my waist. The change in position lets me go deeper, and she arches beneath me. Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in, and the small edge of pain grounds me in the moment.
"Don't stop," she breathes.
I don't. I drive into her steadily, chasing the pleasure that's building at the base of my spine. She meets me thrust for thrust, completely present, completely mine. When the orgasm hits, it's with her name in my throat and her body trembling beneath me. I follow her over the edge, and for those suspended moments, there's nothing but us. No missions, no threats, no past trauma. Just this.
After, she stays draped across me, her weight solid and real. Our breathing slowly evens out, sweat cooling on skin. I can feel her heartbeat against my ribs, the steady thump of it grounding me in the moment.
"That was different," she murmurs against my shoulder.
"Good different?"
"Yeah." She lifts her head to look at me. "That was 'I'm not going anywhere' sex."
I almost laugh. "Is that a category?"
"It is now." She settles back down, fingers playing with the dog tags I never take off. "We should probably get dressed. The team knows what we're doing in here."
"Let them know." I tighten my arms around her. "I'm done pretending this isn't serious."
"What do we do now?" she asks quietly.
"We build." I kiss her temple. "Work with Echo Ridge. Have a life together."
"Sounds perfect."
By evening, with Delaney cleared for full duty, Kane calls the team to Echo Base for a debrief. The war room feels different than usual—less tense, more celebratory. Sarah's already cracked open a bottle of bourbon, and Tommy's setting up glasses.
Kane waits until we're all assembled—Stryker, Rourke, Mercer back from Nevada, Willa with Khalid at her side. Delaney stands beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush, and I catch the glances from the team. They approve. Good.
"We destroyed a major Committee facility," Kane says, raising his glass. "Exposed corruption in the FBI, cleared our names with the public, and everyone came home alive. That's a win."
"To not dying," Sarah adds.
"And to Delaney," Tommy raises his glass toward her. "For not running when things got weird."
"Define weird," she says, but she's smiling.
We drink, and the whiskey burns smooth. It's not victory over the Committee—Kessler is still out there, the organization still has roots we haven't torn up. But it's a victory that matters. We fought, we survived, and we're still standing.
