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“Nestor, I had a plan. He was up to something, and I wanted to prove it. I wanted to get information.”

She won’t stop defending her ridiculous choice to tail Miron. Does she really have no clue how much danger she was in?

I’m so angry with her that I can barely see straight.

The thought of Miron getting his hands on her, of hurting her—I can’t begin to describe what it’s doing to me.

I’m sick with rage, stressed, and worried about all of the things that could have happened to her. Can’t she see it? Can’t she see what she’s doing to me?

“What do you think would have happened if he caught you?” I snarl, spinning to face her, standing over her with every muscle in my body so tense it might snap.

She bows her head lower, her lips curled in anger.

“Stop shouting at me,” she shouts back, standing up from the sofa, and pushing me away from her, trying to create space.

I take a step away, but not far.

“Nestor, I was careful. He didn’t see me. I made sure of it, and I even wore a disguise,” she sighs, rubbing her hands over her face in exasperation.

“A disguise? Are you joking right now? Do you think a hat and a pair of glasses is going to hide who you are? This isn’t a movie, Lara. This is real life, and Miron wouldn’t hold back or be gentle just because you’re my wife—in fact, he’d probably be more brutal because you are my wife.”

“I was trying to be useful,” she yells, throwing her hands in the air.

She’s still not getting it; she’s not understanding how crazy she’s making me. I grab her arm and pull her close, forcing her to look up at me.

“And I am trying not to lose you,” I shout angrily.

There is a tense moment of silence as we glare at each other, both holding our ground, determined not to back down—two fierce, strong personalities, each thinking that they are in the right.

Her eyes pierce into me, her brows knitted, her lips pout. I’m still gripping her arm, perhaps too tightly, but I don’t want to let go.

My gaze drifts from her eyes to her lips.

The shift in my body is instant. The flare of desire, the heat of lust that bolts through me—and she sees it, because the shift in her body is instant, too.

I tug her even closer, and my lips crash against hers.

Fireworks explode between us as our defenses drop, and the heated emotions turn to need.

She wraps her arms around my waist and tilts her head back to deepen the kiss. I push my tongue into her mouth, and she moans against me, her fingers knotting in my shirt.

She’s tugging at my clothes, pulling them off me in a desperate rush.

I tug her hoodie and her T-shirt over her head and toss them aside. She squeals when I push her onto the sofa, and she lands with a huff. I’m on top of her before she can blink, grabbing her pants and pulling them off her beautiful, slender legs. Perfectly shaped, toned and smooth.

Grabbing her delicate lace panties, I impatiently rip them from her body. Lara gasps and threads her fingers through my hair, pulling, causing pain that mixes with desire and pushes my need. My cock is throbbing, aching to be inside her.

I wrap my hands around her thighs and pull her legs apart, moving so that I’m kneeling in front of her. I push my face between her legs, and wrap my mouth over her clit.

The sound she makes causes my cock to go so hard it feels suffocated in my pants. With my mouth moving over her pussy, my tongue playing with her, I tug my belt off and rip my pants open to free my cock.

I grab it in my hand and begin to stroke back and forth in smooth, steady motions while my tongue dips in and out of her sweetness.

Lara lifts her feet onto the sofa, spreading her legs wide with her knees bent against her chest.

I push my tongue deeper, and she is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever tasted, but I want more than this. I need it. I’m desperate to have her in a way that claims her as my own.

I stand over her, lifting her and turning so that I can sit on the sofa. I pull her onto my lap, her legs straddling me. She’s so petite, weighing nothing as I grab her hips and hover her, legs spread wide, over my cock.

She shudders when my cock presses against her pussy.

“You’re mine, Lara. And your pussy belongs to me. I’ll do whatever I want with it,” I growl, pulling her down onto me.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders as my cock forces her pussy wide open, spreading her and filling her.

Our bodies fit together perfectly.

I hold her hips, lifting and dropping her onto myself, spreading my thighs and arching my hips upwards to meet her. I use her body like a toy, savoring the way her face distorts with pleasure, her lips parted, and those beautiful, angelic sounds spilling from her.

Each time I push into her, the need grows.

It’s impossible, but I want more. I want more of her.

I tug her pussy over my cock and push her onto me, penetrating as deep as I can. Then I rock her hips back and forth instead of up and down, grinding her over me, her clit rubbing against the base of my cock, causing her pussy to tighten around my shaft and her legs to start shaking.

I have never felt such pleasure before in my life.

How is it possible for her to be this perfect?

Lara tilts her head back, exposing her long, slender neck to me, her hair loose down her back.

Her breasts, round and full, bounce with each movement, her nipples erect, dark, round peaks.

I run my hand up her spine and take a handful of her hair, pulling with a steady, even force, locking her in place as I grind her even harder against me.

It’s her undoing.

She can’t escape me. She is at my mercy, and I am giving her exactly what she desires.

And it breaks her apart.

She arches towards me, gasping, her legs shaking.

Her stomach muscles tighten and her pussy clamps down on me.

I groan with pleasure as her orgasm spasms through her, wave after wave convulsing over my cock.

I explode as well, deep inside her, connected to her, and never wanting to let go.

***

Lara lies against my chest with her head on my shoulder, her breathing heavy.

I am still inside her as we sit quietly, slowing our racing hearts.

My fingers stoke lazily through her soft hair, down her back and over her ass, I lift my hand and do it again.

My body is shaken, but it’s not because of the intensity of our pleasure together; it’s because of how much she matters to me. The thought of losing her, the fear—it shook me to my core. And being with her now, after the fight, only strengthened the realization.

She means the world to me.

I need to tell her. She needs to know how I feel.

Lara lets out a groan of discomfort, and I lift her to see her face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask with concern.

“I don’t feel well,” she says, barely a whisper. “It happened earlier today as well, that’s why I had to call for help.”

“You should have called me, Lara,” I complain, but then, seeing the look on her face, I realize how bad she is. I carefully lift her off me and set her on the sofa.

“What do you need?” I ask, brushing my hand over her forehead. She doesn’t feel hot, but that only means she doesn’t have a fever. It could be anything.

“A glass of water, please. And maybe I need to take a cool shower.”

I lift her immediately into my arms to carry her to the bathroom.

While I turn the shower on, she ties her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head. I love it when she does that. She looks disheveled and cute as hell.

After the shower, she is still feeling horrible, so I put her straight to bed. My bed. I want to keep her close to me.

“Stay here, little one. I’ll make you something to eat. Maybe the dizziness is because you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Mm,” she says, closing her eyes and leaning back against the pillow. I watch her for a second, worried.

I go downstairs to make her a cup of tea and some toast. When I come back up, there is a bit more color in her cheeks, and she’s sitting up.

“What if I have the flu? It seems that the wave of weakness comes right after exerting myself,” she says.

I chuckle, remembering how good it felt to move inside her.

“Then we need to keep your heart from racing.” I touch her face again as I sit down on the bed. “But try and eat something. It will be good for you.”

Lara sits quietly while I watch her take small bites of her toast.

She glances at me, and I get the feeling she wants to say something.

Except I’m the one who should say something. The fight we had earlier—I was harsh because I was so worried.

“Little one, I didn’t mean to be cruel earlier. I was angry because of what might’ve happened to you. It scared me,” I say.

Her brows furrow as she looks at me.

“I wanted to help, Nestor. You’ve been so stressed the last few days, and you’ve hardly even spoken to me. I know you’re going through a lot, and I only wanted to help.”

I tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“I realize that. But please don’t do something like that again. I could have put one of my men on it if you thought it was important.”

She nods.

Then her bright, beautiful blue eyes lift to watch my face. “Nestor, we can’t—um—sex doesn’t just fix everything. We can’t just have sex and expect all of our problems to go away.”

Her words sting me and take me by surprise. I didn’t realize that she thought that was all it was. I thought she felt what I felt. It was so intense for me. So deep and meaningful, whether that terrifies me or not is irrelevant. It is what it is, and I felt it.

But apparently, she didn’t.

She sees it as a quick fix for an argument.

I clench my jaw, straightening my back.

“I understand. Don’t worry, sex is just an outlet. A way to blow off steam. You’re right. It’s better if we keep this as a professional partnership for the time being. We can work together to solve the issue with Miron.” I say what I think she wants to hear.

She nods.

Shit. It is what she wanted to hear.

I was ready to pour my heart out to her just a second before she said she wasn’t feeling well. How embarrassing would it have been if I put that pressure on her when she didn’t want the same thing?

I clear my throat loudly and nod.

“Well, I can leave you to rest if you like.”

Her eyes narrow, and there is sadness in them. Or worry. It’s hard to tell—and clearly, I am not as good at reading her as I thought. I thought she wanted more, too.

Should I tell her how I feel?

No.

You can’t.

She’s not feeling well. There is a lot going on.

Don’t add this awkward pressure. It will make things more tense between the two of you if she knows you want more from her and she doesn’t want the same thing.

I stand up, smiling, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “I better get dressed,” I chuckle dryly. “When you’re feeling better, you can go over the Miron info with me and tell me what puzzle pieces you’ve fitted together. We can work on a plan,” I say, thinking it’s what she wants.

She nods and smiles too, tense, uncomfortable. “Okay.”

I should leave her in peace.

I grab a pair of pants and slip them on, then hurry from the room.

As much as I want to sit next to her and pull her into my arms, let her sleep on my chest while I watch her beautiful face, I’ve clearly overstepped her bounds. I need to pull back and be respectful of what she wants.