Page 162 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

This isn't comfort. This is her claiming me.

Hands move without permission, tangling in her dark hair, pulling hard enough to make her gasp against my mouth. Something shifts inside me, the careful control I've maintained around her cracking open.

She tastes like coffee and determination.

Footsteps crunch on gravel outside. Someone walking past, their keys jingling. We freeze instantly, her finger pressed to my lips.

The door is still up. Anyone walking by could see us. Could see me pressed against the wall with her body molded to mine, could see the bike watching like a silent witness.

Security camera at the corridor end might catch the angle if they look hard enough.

She whispers against my ear. "They could see everything."

Pulse hammering. Not from fear of being caught, but from the way her breath hitches when I wrap my hand around her throat. Gentle pressure, just enough to feel her swallow.

The eager, bouncing energy that usually has me talking too much is gone. Something else is taking over.

"Is that what you want? Someone to catch us?"

Her pupils blow wide, fear and arousal mixing in her eyes. She can feel the change in me, the shift from broken to something darker.

She lit this fire. Now she gets to burn in it.

My thumb traces the tactical knife clipped inside my waistband. Always there, always ready. Three years of private security means never going anywhere unarmed.

Mira's eyes catch the movement when my shirt rides up slightly. Her fingers follow mine, tracing the textured grip.

"Were you armed at your parents'?"

"Always armed. Old habits."

Something shifts in her expression. Recognition. Approval. The kind of look that makes my chest tight.

I pull the knife out slowly. The blade catches afternoon light streaming through the storage unit door. Her breath catches, pupils dilating as she tracks the weapon.

Her gaze moves between the blade and my face, something hungry in her expression.

The blade traces along her collarbone, sharp edge barely kissing skin. Not enough to cut, just enough to raise goosebumps. A promise without words.

"You're not scared of me."

It's not a question. I can read her body language now, the way her pulse jumps at her throat, how she leans into the touch instead of pulling away.

"I'm scared of how much I want you to use it."

There it is. The truth she's been hiding.

Footsteps crunch on gravel again. Closer this time. Someone checking units, maybe looking for their own storage space. My body moves before my brain catches up, spinning her to face outward, her back pressed against my chest.

The knife comes up to her throat. Sharp edge this time, dangerous to anyone looking.

"Don't move. Don't make a sound."

A man in work clothes walks by, clipboard in hand. His eyes sweep across the open units, pause at ours. Mira's body goes rigid against mine, every muscle coiled. His eyes widen at the knife, at our position. He makes a note, keeps walking faster.

Can't tell if he saw everything. Don't care anymore.

The blade moves lower, catching the fabric of her shirt. Expensive silk that probably cost more than most people make in a week. The knife slides through it like butter, threads separating with barely a whisper.