Page 49 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

The third orgasm builds slower, deeper. Every nerve in my body is on fire. His mouth is relentless, worshipping me like I'm something sacred and profane all at once.

"Come for me one more time," he commands against my swollen flesh. "Let me hear you scream for me."

When it hits, it's devastating. My back arches completely off the hood, a sound ripping from my throat that's part pleasure,part prayer. The echo bounces off the cliffs and comes back to us like an answer.

He pulls back slowly, reluctantly. Face glistening in moonlight. "The speed turned you on. The danger. When we almost went over—"

"I don't know what—"

"You came when I lost control of the car. I heard it."

"Stop trying to analyze it." But he's right. The danger made everything more intense.

"Your turn." I reach for his zipper, needing to touch him.

"Can't." He catches my wrist, gentle but firm, and stands. I can see his cock straining against his jeans. "Not yet. Not here."

"Why?"

"Because once I start, I won't stop. Won't be able to." He runs his hand through his hair, agitated. "And we have work. The team. Real life waiting."

Reality crashes back. Right. I'm moving to the safehouse. Living with his team while we hunt Alexei.

"The safehouse," I say, trying to steady my voice. "When am I supposed to—"

"Today. Later today, technically. It's almost dawn." His voice cracks. "But separate rooms. Definitely separate rooms. I couldn't survive sharing a room with you."

The self-awareness makes me almost smile. "Obviously."

"Try not to kill anyone. My team, I mean. They're good people, just—"

"Just stay out of my way, Jax."

But we both know that's impossible now. Our bodies are magnetized to each other. Living under one roof while hunting the man who destroyed my life.

We're going to destroy each other.

twelve

Mira

"Stop staring at my ass."

"I'm not—I wasn't—" Jax's voice cracks as I bend to check the blade against my thigh. Fourth adjustment in two minutes. Can't get it right because my hands won't stop shaking.

It's been four days since we almost died on the highway. Four days of living in the safehouse, pretending we can exist in the same space without combusting. Four days of him finding excuses to brush past me in hallways.

The team's been tiptoeing around us—Cole watching every interaction like he's waiting for an explosion, Asher making dry comments about "operational complications," Remy just shaking his head whenever we're in the same room.

But they've stopped questioning my presence. Stopped treating me like a temporary problem to solve.

"Position confirmed," Asher's voice comes through comms. "Target approaching in three minutes."

Jax is still staring. I can feel his gaze like hands on my skin, tracking the line of my dress where it clings to still-damp skin. Because I've been wet for four fucking days.

"Look, I know you don't need—I mean, obviously you're capable of—shit." He runs a hand through his hair, starts again.

His nervous energy makes me want to bite him. Sink my teeth into that spot where his neck meets his shoulder, taste all that anxious need.