Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“You like that too, don’t you?” he rasps quietly. “You’re leaking down your legs now, soaking me. Such a dirty little whore. Such a tight little pussy for such a filthy slut.”
Holy fuck, I can’t process it, any of this. My skin is so heated, all I feel is fire inside me, smothering me, wanting to consume me whole.
He’s fucking me harder now, one hand braced on the railing beside mine, the other wrapped around my hip to pull me back onto each thrust. The angle is incredible, every stroke hitting that spot inside me that makes my eyes roll back, my mouth falling open. I’m making sounds that would embarrass me if I could think, but I can’t think; I can only feel.
“You’re so tight.” His voice is breaking apart. “So fucking wet. Every time I’m inside you, I lose my goddamn mind. You make me lose my mind, Mia. Do you know the power you have over me?”
The last part is said so quietly, it sounds like a confession, one that makes my heart trip up. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but can only let out a moan.
The idea I have power over this man, of all men…
“I want you to come.” His invisible mouth finds my ear, teeth scraping the rim. “Come hard on my cock with all of New York watching.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice, even though he did.
I let go.
The orgasm rips through me with violent intensity, my whole body convulsing, my scream swallowed by the wind. My legs give out completely, but he holds me up, keeps thrusting, fucking me through the peak until I’m sobbing with overstimulation.
“Mia…” My name is a breathless prayer as his rhythm falters. “Fuck, I’m—”
He slams deep one final time, and I feel him come, feel the pulse and throb of him inside me, the heat spreading through my core. He groans my name like both a curse and a prayer, and I feel his forehead drop to my shoulder, his breath ragged against my skin.
We stay there for a long moment, suspended between sky and street, his invisible body draped over my visible one. The wind dries the sweat on my skin. The city pulses below us, utterly unaware.
Then, he flickers back into visibility, his arms wrapping around my waist before he carries me inside.
Later, we lay tangled in my hotel sheets, legs intertwined, his hand slowly gliding up and down my curves. It should seem relaxing, but there’s a restlessness to his actions.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.
His fingers still on my skin.
“I turned off my wellness monitoring tonight,” he says finally. “First time ever. Just…switched it off and came here instead of doing my rounds.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Probably.” He snorts a humorless laugh. “Julia will have noticed the gap by now. Marsh will want an explanation, I’m sure.” His jaw tightens, his eyes darkening. “They’re always watching me—every heartbeat, every hormone spike, everywhere I go. I’m so fucking tired of it, Mia.”
I reach up, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. He leans into the touch like a man starved.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he says suddenly.
“Where?”
“Montana. Livingston. Where I grew up.” His eyes find mine, and somehow, he looks younger. I can almost picture him as the cowboy of his youth. “Global Dynamix wants to turn the ranch into a museum someday. The Vanguard Experience or some shit. But I own it, and it’s still mine—for now. Still real.”
“Montana,” I repeat. “That’s not next door.”
“No, it ain’t. But Danny can take us in the hover car. I’ll leave the watch behind. I mean, they’ll still track me through the vehicle, but at least I won’t be pinged every five minutes.” He pauses. “I want to show you who I was, before all this. Before I became their property.”
The word lands heavy between us. Property.
I think about my mission, about the intel I’m supposed to be gathering, the reports I owe London…the lies I’ve already told. I think about Kat’s warning: when this is over, someone will have to put him down.
And I think about the man in front of me. The one who turned off his surveillance to see me. The one who wants to show me his childhood home, his real self, the person he was before they turned him into a symbol.
Or maybe even a weapon, a voice speaks up.
“Okay,” I say.
His face lights up, actually lights up, like a boy who’s just been told Christmas is coming early. It’s bloody adorable.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Take me to Montana, Nate Whitaker. Show me who you really are.”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me close, and I feel his smile against my hair.
This is dangerous, I think. This is so fucking dangerous.