Page 17 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)

FOURTEEN

S he hadn’t said much since we got here.

Security had swept us through a back entrance and into the private wing of the first-class lounge—quiet, exclusive, designed to keep flashbulbs and whispers at bay. Our handlers stayed close but out of sight, giving us space like they could feel the shift in our energy.

We sat across from each other, both pretending not to be rattled while the distant clink of polished cutlery and the soft murmur of boarding announcements drifted through the air—like nothing was burning beneath the surface.

But it was.

Sienna sat across from me, legs crossed, that black trench coat folded over the back of her chair like it hadn’t been peeled off her shoulders hours ago while I was on my knees. Like I hadn’t kissed her until her thighs shook. Like I hadn’t made her promise things she whispered into my mouth.

Like I hadn’t cum inside her more than once.

And now she was sipping on her tea. Calm. Composed. Like she hadn’t just moaned my name into a pillow while her ass rolled like a wave against me. Like I hadn’t fucked her again before dawn.

Like she hadn’t ridden me with her feet planted on the mattress, tits bouncing, my name spilling from her lips as I sucked them into my mouth and told her to ride my dick like she meant it.

Her hair was up again. Bun tight. But a few curls had slipped free around her temples, softening everything she was trying to harden. Her skin caught the light like honey over bronze. And her blouse… that silk clung to her breasts like it still remembered the way I’d held her after.

Too cool. Too put together. But she caught me watching.

I looked away first.

Because I had questions I didn’t know how to ask without sounding like I gave a damn. But I did. More than I should’ve.

Amir sent me a text this morning.

Amir:

Lemme find out you got trench coat pussy walkin’ out your suite like you Bond or some shit,

[Image attached]

Respectfully… you wildin.

I almost laughed. Almost. But when I tapped the image, everything in me stilled.

It was Sienna outside my suite.

Her hair slightly tousled. Lips parted.

Eyes locked on me standing in the doorway with a towel around my hips.

Whoever took it caught the moment too well.

I stared at it too long.

Every memory hit at once?—

Her body bouncing on top of me. Her hand stroking my dick before sliding her mouth down the length of it. The way she whispered, “This right here. Your dick down my throat will never be pretend.”

Right before my hand gripped her head. Guiding her up and down my shaft.

It was all there. Laid bare in one image. No press release. No caption. Just truth.

My chest tightened. Because that moment had been ours. Now it was out there. Exposed. Speculated on. Packaged for clicks.

I came back to the present like someone had snapped their fingers in my face.

Sienna sat across from me—legs crossed, tea lifted to her lips, jaw tight.

I couldn’t unsee what had already been taken from us. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.

“You tell anyone about last night?”

Her brow lifted—barely. “No.”

“Your manager?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think Brielle would’ve leaked it. That’s not like her. She’s my girl. For real.”

I nodded. Let that settle in the space between us. Watched her sip again like her lips hadn’t just been stretched around my dick, spit sliding down her chin, eyes rolled back while she moaned around my name.

“Do you think I did it?” she asked, voice soft but direct.

“No,” I said evenly. “I don’t.”

But someone did.

And whoever it was made sure to get the best shot.

“That photo was clear as fuck.”

“I know,” she murmured. “Too clear.”

Silence fell again—wide and taut.

The kind that held every question we didn’t want to ask. Because answering them would mean saying out loud that this wasn’t pretend anymore.

She turned toward the window.

Her profile still and regal. Watching planes lift into the sky while her jaw worked, tight and subtle. Her lips parted like she was trying to swallow something she didn’t want to name. Her blouse rose and fell with each breath, tugging over her tits—and her nipples? Still hard.

My dick stirred. Just like that.

She didn’t even have to try. My body had been rewritten in her key. Every moan. Every arch. Every filthy promise. Etched into my memory now. Burned into bone.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Could’ve been Jalen.”

She looked back. “You think he’d do that?”

“He knows what the label wants. Might’ve figured stirring the pot early would help.”

And if I’m being honest, I never trusted his loyalty. Jalen was still in it for the money.

“That’s not his call to make.”

Her voice cut sharp—angry. Passionate. I felt it in my chest. And lower.

“That fire in your throat,” I said, voice low, “I felt it last night too.”

She looked away. But not before I caught the flicker of heat beneath the surface .

“I’ll talk to him,” I added. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Good.” Her tone was clipped. “Because this thing’s already blurry enough.”

She was right. Blurry and messy were the names of the game when it came to public speculation, and the plan was never that. It was to build anticipation and wonder, but once the world got inside of your house or bedroom, in this case, they could tear up whatever was special to you.

I’d tried to stay focused. Tried to remember the music. But all I could hear was Sienna’s breath stuttering against my throat.

All I could feel was her nails in my shoulders, her voice in my ear, her body trembling around me as she came again—tight, wet, mine .

We hadn’t talked about what it meant but I wanted an answer that couldn’t fit in a press packet. She shifted. Crossed her legs tighter.

Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip.

She whispered, “We’re not supposed to do it again, right?”

I stared.

Dropped my gaze to her chest.

Then back up to her eyes.

“Right,” I rasped.

“So we won’t.”

“Right.”

But we both sounded like liars.

She stood, reached for her coat. “I’m ready when you are.”

Our flight was boarding in ten.

Dre was already waiting when we stepped through Arrivals at Pittsburgh International.

Posted near the private pickup zone—cleared, quiet, shielded. A black Escalade idled at the curb, windows dark, engine soft. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes clocked everything.

Security had walked us from the gate to this point without incident, keeping press and gawkers at a distance. The kind of escort that said: these two matter.

He spotted us through the glass and stepped out just as we approached. I could tell—he’d seen the photo. The look in his eyes wasn’t judgment. Just awareness. And maybe a quiet warning: don’t play with her unless you mean it.

“Good trip?” he asked, moving to grab our bags off the cart.

Sienna gave a small nod, but her gaze slid to me—and held.

There was fire in it. Banked low. Controlled. But burning.

The kind of fire that made you forget what silence was even for.

Dre looked between us. Then back at her.

“Where am I taking you, Ms. Ray?”

She didn’t answer. Not right away. She just kept watching me. Eyes steady. Unapologetic.

And everything in her look said your move.

My voice came out low. I had to have her again.

“Take us to mine.”

Sienna turned back to Dre, smooth as ever. “You heard him.”

He didn’t blink. Just opened the back door and loaded our bags like this was nothing out of the ordinary.

We slid into the backseat. We were lying again. To the label. To the press. To whoever took that photo and tossed it to the wolves.

But not to each other.

Not tonight.

I looked out the window, watched the city smear past in streaks of streetlight and glass. But in my head, I was already unzipping her coat again. Already hearing her whisper my name into my mouth.

Already bracing for the wreck I knew was coming—and chasing it anyway.