Page 55 of Oath

Words were meaningless as I began to spasm around him. His gasp was music, then he let go of my legs and I spread them as he fell. As much as I longed to have his weight press into me, he caught himself on his hands.

"Wrap those legs around me, Gracie."

I happily obeyed that order and then wrapped my arms around his neck as he took my mouth in another kiss. We rocked together and I savored the feeling of him. The drive as he relentlessly took me toward another orgasm.

This time, he jetted over with me. His hips stuttered before he came in a hot rush and then we were just holding each other, slick with sweat, breathless, and it was my turn to cradle him.

He buried his face against my throat and my legs were like spaghetti, but he didn't try to pull away from me. Instead, as we got our breathing under control, he began to nuzzle kisses against my throat.

"Legend…"

"Hmm?"

"I think I'm hungry."

He was quiet for a moment, then he began to chuckle. Finally, he lifted his head. "Are you now?"

"Yes." I licked my lips as I pressed upwards and he rolled onto his back. "I know exactly what I want, too."

He hadn't let me do much before, but now I wanted to explore. I wanted to kiss his bruises. I wanted to taste him.

"Fuck me, Gracie," he groaned as I began tracing a path down his chest.

"That is the plan," I promised. I wanted more of him. I wanted more of all of them.

Chapter

Sixteen

VOODOO

Icaught the movement from the corner of my eye as O’Rourke focused on the screen where Alphabet worked. Shifting my position, I blocked any view O’Rourke might have of the hall or the stairs. Lunchbox stole away with Grace and that worked for me.

She needed the distraction—her stress etched in every furrow of her brow, tension cinched tight around her eyes—and for Lunchbox, it was more than a break; it was a lifeline. His fury at O’Rourke seeped into every exchange, volatile and suffocating, like cloth drenched in gasoline.

Their complicated history painted a target on every goal that we neither had the time or the patience for. As long as O’Rourke could be useful, Lunchbox would suck it up. He never let his own feelings dictate the mission execution.

When we were done with O’Rourke, though?

Well, his survival might be the only thing he could ask for, particularly because he’d burned so many damn bridges. His focus on our firecracker was doing him no favors.

“Where did they grab you again?” Alphabet asked as he reviewed CCTV footage, scanning forward in ten-to-fifteen-minute increments.

“Hotel lobby,” O’Rourke stated. “The New Rothschild.”

“Time?”

“Just after midnight.” There was some improvement in O’Rourke’s lack of playing coy. He kept his answers short and to the point.

Tabbing through the various screens, Alphabet’s jaw tensed. The lobby appeared to be a dazzling homage to the opulence of the Gilded Age from the grand double doors to the marble floors veined with gold. The wainscoted walls wrapped in a rich brocade wallpaper dressed up the space as much as the staff in their crisp livery. The towering Corinthian columns rose like guardians on watch over the space.

“Betrayal must pay really fucking well,” Alphabet commented. “Let me guess, their toilet lids are done in gold too?”

“Be hard to clean,” O’Rourke deadpanned.

I almost snorted, but buried the reaction to keep it all business. “Why were you staying at a place like this?”

Enjoying luxury wasn’t a problem. Ilikedluxury. That said, this place was not just luxury, it was a lifestyle. The massive crystal chandelier was easily twenty feet across and it cascaded from the coffered ceiling and seemed to give the impression that it was made from diamonds.