Page 113 of Only the Wicked

“You said the attraction was real?”

“Is,” I correct. “The attraction is very real.”

Warm breath caresses my cheek. His heady, freshly showered scent and heat envelop me. Beneath my palm, my heart struggles to break free.

“Before, you planned on saying goodbye this weekend. You expected I would never learn the truth.”

“You don’t want a relationship.” My words sound as defensive as they are.

The space between us charges with unspoken possibilities. Part of me—the professional—sees this as a tactical opportunity. Physical intimacy often breaks down psychological barriers, creating bonds that transcend professional boundaries. But as his fingers trace my collarbone, tactical thoughts slip. The heat blooming across my skin has nothing to do with operation parameters and everything to do with the way he looks at me.

He studies my face in the dim light filtering through the window, as if memorizing details he might not get to see again. His thumb traces my cheekbone with the gentleness of someone handling something precious and fragile.

“I’ve been alone for a long time,” he says quietly. “By choice. It was easier.” His hand stills against my face. “But these last few days... I forgot what it felt like to want someone to stay.”

The admission costs him something. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the vulnerability he’s unused to showing.

“I’m here now,” I say, though we both know how tenuous that is. “Whatever tomorrow brings, I’m here now.”

Something shifts in his expression—decision replacing hesitation. His forehead touches mine, and we breathe the same air for a long moment.

“Sydney…” My name on his lips sounds different than it did earlier. Less guarded. More real.

“I know,” I whisper, understanding what he can’t say. That this matters. That we’ve crossed a line neither of us planned to cross. That everything is different now. When he finally kisses me, it’s with the desperate tenderness of someone who’s found something they didn’t know they were looking for—and isn’t sure they’ll be allowed to keep it.

He seizes me with unexpected urgency, and I understand that we’re both seeking the same thing—a moment where the complications fall away, where we’re simply two people who’ve found something unexpected in each other.

The backs of his fingers skim slowly, oh so slowly, along my neck. Goosebumps rise along my arms. His hot breath warms my ear. He nips at my lobe, and my knees weaken.

I pull back, seeking those dark eyes, but his lips brush over mine, and my eyelids flicker closed, lost in the sensation of a slow, tortured kiss.

He breaks the contact but holds me close, and it feels like he has no intention of letting me go.

“Are we?—”

His nose rubs against mine, halting my question.

“The attraction’s real.” He presses me against his hard erection, confirming the physical reality. “Let’s agree on that one point. Take it day by day.”

That’s actually exactly what I had planned. Yet none of those plans included the way my body responds to his touch, the way my objectivity dissolves when his lips meet mine.

My feet leave the air as he lifts me with unexpected strength, spinning us away from the window’s exposure and through the suite into the bedroom. The movement is swift, decisive—perhaps even desperate.

He sets me on the mattress and we both undress, gaze locked on each other as our clothes rapidly come off, our intention clear. I notice how his eyes track my movements with the same intensity he shows when working—he misses nothing. He’s fully present, wholly focused.

An operative should always be aware of exits, weapons, vulnerabilities—but as his clothes fall away revealing the lean musculature beneath, my focus narrows to just him. The birthmark on his ribs—shaped like Australia, a physical feature noted in my initial dossier on him—now not a data point but an intimate secret I’ve been privileged to discover.

Hard kisses rain down over my shoulder, along my chest. A bolt of hot, sharp pleasure shoots through me. My palm glides along rippling muscle, smooth and toned. A brief suckling kiss on my exposed nipples makes my entire body twitch. In the next instant, a rustling wrapper mixes with our breaths. A condom. Of course. We’d obviously return to condoms.

I glimpse the ceiling as the burn of his cock fills me. The muscles between my legs instantly squeeze around him, and he thrusts, the movement so quick and powerful the bed shifts.

Our union is slow and fast all at once. Controlling and surrendering. Fucking and making love. As our bodies blend, it feels like my heart has been ripped from the protection of my ribs and pummeled.

Our movements are animalistic, depraved, desperate. I watch his eyes close. Muscles tight. Corded. We’re connected, yet we’re not. He lifts my thigh, changing the angle. Insistent on my pleasure. And he apparently knows my body well enough that he succeeds.

Ecstasy rockets up and down my spine as he shudders over me, pulsing deep within. I cling to him, legs wrapped around him, and his head collapses next to mine.

The intensity shakes me to my core.