Page 69 of Duty Compromised

I kissed down her throat, finding where her pulse fluttered against my lips. When I sucked gently at that spot, she gasped, her hips rising to meet mine. The friction made us both freeze for a moment, overwhelmed.

“I need…” she started, then made a frustrated sound.

“What do you need? Tell me.”

“Everything. You. This.” Her hands clutched at my shoulders. “I need to feel something besides fear.”

My heart clenched at her honesty. I kissed her deeply, pouring everything I couldn’t say into it—how these two weeks had changed something fundamental in me, how watching her work was like witnessing art, how her courage humbled me.

I unhooked her bra with practiced ease, then took my time exploring, learning what made her gasp, what made her arch off the bed, what made her fingers tighten in my hair. She was so responsive, so genuine in her pleasure, that I nearly lost control.

“Ty,” she panted, “please…”

I kissed my way down her stomach, pausing at the waistband of her jeans. “Still sure?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

We shed the rest of our clothes with urgent need, and then she was bare beneath me, flushed and stunning in the dim light.

“Perfect,” I breathed.

I kissed her deeply while my hand found the heat between her thighs. She was already wet, ready, and when I touched her, she cried out against my mouth. I took my time, learning her responses, what made her breath catch, what made her hips lift seeking more.

“Oh God,” she gasped. “Yes— Yes, I?—”

“Let go,” I murmured against her neck. “I’ve got you.”

When she came apart, it was with my name on her lips, her body arching beneath mine. I worked her through it, drawing out every wave until she collapsed back, breathing hard.

“That was…” She couldn’t finish, looking dazed and wonderful.

“Just the beginning.”

I grabbed my wallet—thank God for old habits—and found the condom I’d tucked there weeks ago. When I positioned myself between her thighs, she wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer.

“Please,” she whispered. “I need you.”

I pushed inside slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. She was tight, perfect, and when I was fully seated, we had to pause, foreheads pressed together, sharing breath.

Then we were moving together, finding a rhythm that had her meeting me thrust for thrust. The ancient bed protested beneath us, but neither of us cared. The world had narrowed to this—skin and breath and the building pressure between us.

“Harder,” she demanded, nails scoring down my back. “I won’t break.”

I gave her what she wanted, what we both needed. Her cries grew louder, more desperate, until she tensed beneath me, my name a broken prayer on her lips as she came apart again. The feeling of her clenching around me sent me over the edge, and I followed her down.

We lay tangled together afterward, both breathing hard. Charlotte was draped across my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. For the first time since I’d found her at the hospital, she looked peaceful.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For making me feel human again. For making me feel.”

I pressed a kiss to her damp hair, tightening my arms around her. “Anytime. I’d offer to put that on my business card, but Citadel might have questions.”

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating through my chest. “Is that a standing offer?”

“If you want it to be.”