Page 15

Mia

Dillon implores me to stay at the door once we’re inside my room. After tonight’s events, I don’t argue with him.

What I do though, is watch him. The serious set to his brow. The way he moves in such an efficient manner, with his arms tucked tight against his torso. The strong two-handed grip he has on his gun. How lethal he looks doing a routine check. How there’s an absolute silence to his every footstep. Knowing that every move he makes—that he has made—has been to protect me.

There’s a sudden swoop low in my stomach, and it’s more dizzying than butterflies.

I look down at myself and I’m reminded of how differently things could have gone tonight. I’m in one piece. I’m safe. I’m relatively unharmed. But I’m covered in dust and bone fragments, and my clothes have been soaked with sweat that has mostly dried.

I start stripping, unable to stand another second of the filth and all its implications. I’m down to my bra and panties by the time Dillon has finished the room and moved on to the bathroom. I meet him at the door as he’s walking out.

“Clear—” His words die on his tongue, his breath leaving him as if he’s been punched in the stomach.

“I’m going to take a shower…” There’s a foot of space between us, and it’s just enough for me to see the hunger in his stare as he rakes over my mostly naked body. I can see the small gold flecks in his eyes when they come to rest at my cleavage.

I’m about to ask if he wants to join me, but he’s already taken two steps backward, placing his gun carefully on the counter. He takes his tee by the back of the neck and pulls it easily over his head, leaning forward slightly. His abs ripple from the movement.

He wastes no time with ridding himself of his boots and socks. Dillon goes for his belt, but I place a hand on his, stopping him.

“Let me,” I say on a whisper. His hands still, then drop to his sides. His fists clench as the clattering of the buckle fills the space. I take my time, letting the two ends of the leather fall away from each other. There’s no denying the bulge that lies mere inches from the button I’m working on.

A light trail of hair disappears into his pants. On either side is that delicious V-dip that makes my mouth water. His skin retracts as my knuckles brush against his waist. He inhales sharply.

With every move I make, he’s not taken his eyes off me. It’s as if he’s cataloguing my reactions. Learning what turns me on, the places my gaze lingers.

I don’t even realize how he crowds me or the way his hips are pressing into me, until I feel the coolness at the edge of the counter through my panties. His hands are on either side of me. I’ve managed with his button and lowered the zipper the rest of the way, and with his arms flexed around me like a protective cage, and his pants open, teasing me with a glimpse of his cock through his briefs, I gulp.

Gently, he leans in. His lips find mine in an unhurried way. My mouth parts for him while he explores, taking my tongue with his own. It’s a kiss that’s deep, languid and wet, causing my core to clench.

Dillon groans into me, unable to get enough it seems. His left hand comes to rest on the small of my back, where he pulls me against him. His skin is hot on my own, our bodies nestled together as tight as cards stacked in a deck.

I break the kiss, needing a breath. My breasts press just under his chest. The skin above my bra is fevered, and with each inhale it brushes against his own. Dillon’s breathing is shallow as his eyes find mine, rooting me in place.

Then, it’s nothing but teeth clashing and tongues dueling as we come together in a rushed force. The breaths we took just seconds earlier will be the only thing able to sustain us. Because with the way his hand grabs the back of my neck, and the uncoordinated way I rid him of his pants, and how his hold on me tells me he’ll never let me go again, it’s breathing life into me.

Dillon pulls back just enough to take my lower lip between his teeth. He bites gently and my nipples grow even harder.

His lips stay against mine as he uses both his hands to shove my underwear down. His follow seconds later.

“For the love of Christ, tell me this is okay,” he pants, “because I won’t waste another second of not being inside you, Mia.”

His words are heady and wanton. And it’s more than okay. “I need you—”

Before I can finish my sentence, I squeal as he lifts me onto the counter. He pulls me roughly by the hips and lines himself up with me. The tip of his cock is at my entrance, but I can see indecision cross his face for a split second. Hooking my heels around him, I pull him in. It’s all the encouragement he needs.

In a swift move, he’s fully inside me. My gasp turns to a low moan as I adjust around his size. I’m gloriously full and for a moment, I just feel . The strength of his biceps under my hands. The sheen of sweat that’s beginning to form across his skin. And the way his cock twitches so deep inside me, I wouldn’t have even thought it possible.

And I know this won’t take long for me. From the vigorous thrust of Dillon’s hips, I know it will be quick for him as well. Neither of us are interested in slow right now. We’re both consumed with an inherent need to do this fast. To prove that we’re safe. The danger is gone, but our basic instincts are not.

“Gonna…come…” Dillon says with a strangled voice.

I’m right there with him, and I tell him so.

Two more pumps and his body goes taut. I shatter around him as a blinding orgasm racks through me violently. I’m physically shaking against him. He runs his hands up and down my quaking thighs. Nuzzling my nose, he pulls me from my blissful fog.

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?” There’s a calmness to him now, despite the way his chest is still heaving and the beads of sweat that sit on his forehead.

I shake my head. Articulating myself is difficult, like words are a foreign substance in my mouth. “I…no, you didn’t hurt me.”

Dillon begins to inspect my shoulder, gingerly prodding and kneading at it. He’s still inside me. Neither concept bothers me.

I relax into his touch, a sigh escaping me at his ministrations. His touch is so gentle; a complete one-eighty from moments ago. But that’s how he is. Fierce and passionate one minute. Tender and doting the next.

“Maybe the hot water will help,” I say, relaxing my legs. They feel like Jell-O when they dangle over the edge of the counter.

He makes sure I’m secure before he pulls out and walks to the shower to start it. I take the opportunity to watch him once more—this time fully naked. His body is lean, but muscles fill him out in all the right places. Across his upper back, the breadth of his shoulders is perfectly proportioned to his trim waist. Is there an ounce of body fat on this man? My eyes wander from his exceptional ass, then back up. It’s then that I notice a wicked looking scar on his right shoulder blade. It looks like a tangle of scar tissue that’s exploded.

I pad over to him. With his back still turned, I finger it lightly. His entire body goes rigid under my touch and I hope I haven’t crossed a line. He makes no move to elude my exploration. But his next words cause my breath to catch.

“Gun shot.” I don’t say anything, unsure what I can say. He takes my silence as a sign I’m waiting for an explanation, which I’m not. “It was a boy. That did it.”

“I’m sorry?” I sound like a mouse, squeaking out my disbelief.

“Iraq. The bastards arm their kids with various rifles. I took a ricocheted seven-six-two to the shoulder… I was lucky; the round missed my brachial artery by half an inch…” He doesn’t need to explain the unspoken. Nicking or hitting an artery would have been fatal.

I’m lost in thought when Dillon turns, taking my hand in his. He pulls me into the shower. The warm water hits my skin like the skilled fingers of a masseuse. Dillon places me under the shower head where he cups my face, demanding my attention.

“It was a long time ago, Mia.” I simply nod while the overhead spray washes away an errant tear. Dillon’s lips trace its course before pausing at my mouth. He places a single kiss at the bow of my upper lip, pulling back when he’s done. I rest my hands over his forearms as he leans in and steals a kiss that leaves my legs wobbly and my breath ragged.

He’s slow, angling his head to deepen our connection. He takes his time sliding his tongue along mine. Exploration is no longer the objective. Tasting and pleasing is. And he does so with the grace of a man that belies his past and his scars.

We drift, inch by inch in the stall, tethered to one another, unwilling to break any contact. The water pools in my face, and I let it. Because I have no fear of drowning. Not with Dillon. His breaths become mine. A shared involuntary act. And I know he’d give me his last one if he had to choose.

Luckily, there is no choice. We’re both here and alive.

I reach up to wipe the water from my eyelids. I wince, my shoulder throbbing with a newfound pain.

“Let me.” Dillon tips my head forward, using the pads of his thumbs over my lids. I look at him, amazed at the care he’s showing me. His hands slip to the back of my head, fingers weaving into my hair. My eyes flutter closed when he begins lathering shampoo against my scalp. Goosebumps cover my entire body, and after today’s events, I’m unsure if this is better than an orgasm. I decide it’s a close second.

Dillon finishes and reaches for the conditioner. I turn to make it easier for him, leaning against his strong body to stay upright. The way he’s rubbing my head with his fingertips is lulling me to sleep. It’s over too soon, but when I feel his hands fall away and the press of his erection against my back, I’m no longer tired.

His hands snake around my front where he cups my breasts. Nibbles at my neck turn to nimble nips and blissful bites.

“Ahh,” I moan. His mouth on me is becoming addictive, and I don’t want him to stop. I wiggle back against him, feeling his hardness. In response, his hips tilt, pressing his cock to the cleft of my ass. Before I can settle into the sensation, he’s spinning me until I’m facing him.

He dips a finger inside me, his eyes turning molten when he finds me drenched. “Ready for my cock again?” he asks, voice dripping with drunken desire.

I’ve never had such direct bedroom talk before. It turns me on more than I care to admit. I lift my leg in invitation, hooking my heel around to his calf.

He toys with me. His fingers alternate between a lazy exploration with a certain emphasis on my clit, to slipping inside my walls that are all-too ready for him. The warmup is unnecessary, but when I reach for his cock and take it in my hands, the way he swears makes it paramount. Dillon is attractive with his clothes on. But naked, with every corded muscle in his body strained, he’s exquisite.

His fingers still when my hand pumps him the first time. He braces himself on the shower wall with his free hand, looking down. It’s like he’s entranced, watching me glide my palm down his shaft, just to make my way to the engorged head and repeat the motion.

My thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the moisture that’s gathered there. It’s like a switch when I do. Dillon removes his hand from me urgently. Lifting me easily, he slowly inches me down until he’s fully inside me. A hiss escapes him. My back is pressed against the wall as his hips begins to move under me. It’s not difficult to match the undulation, neither is it long before the hypnotizing rolls turn to steadier thrusts.

His mouth falls to my breast. He laps and teases and grazes his teeth across the sensitive flesh. I lose the grip I have on him with my bad arm. Dillon is there, steadying me, a satisfied grin upon the swell of my chest.

“I’ve got you,” he says confidently. His grip at my sides tightens, his fingertips spanning to my cheeks.

“Dillon, it’s so good ,” I say, drawing out the last word with a huskiness I didn’t know I possessed.

“Stop holding back,” he says seriously.

How he knows that, gives me pause. But only for a second. Because he places his thumb on my clit, creating that friction that sends me over the edge in a powerful freefall. My toes curl as my orgasm reaches every extremity, leaving me lightheaded in the best and most satiated way possible.

With a roar, Dillon comes seconds after me. His orgasm is just as strong as mine was, its violent nature causing his arms to tremble as it passes through him like a freight train. His forehead falls to my chest where he nuzzles between my breasts, gasping for air like he’s been depleted of oxygen for several minutes. It’s a powerful thing to witness.

Placing me down with care, I kiss his pec, tasting the salt of his exertion.

The soreness between my legs is a faint reminder that no amount of yoga could have prepared me for this. For Dillon. For his frantic need to take me before showing me a slower, more compassionate side.

“…Perhaps we should actually take a shower now?” I ask, teasing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be mad about that,” he says.

With capable hands, he washes the rest of me. I return the favor before we finally get out.

I don’t even recall drying off. I’m too distracted with the coolness of the sheets as I lie naked in a spacious bed. Dillon’s arm snakes around my stomach, pulling me flush with his body. It’s the safest I’ve ever felt.

But before sleep takes either of us, I turn sideways in his arm, feeling a little foolish for what I’m about to ask.

“Dillon?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you think we can sleep with the bathroom light on…just for tonight?” I refuse to conjure any images from the crypt, but all I know is the dark holds a different meaning for me than it did last night.

He says nothing, but silently gets up. His absence is palpable. The glow from the adjoining room illuminates the space enough to cast away frightening shadows.

I’m asleep before he slides in beside me once more.

Under me, the bed is firmer than I remember, the sheets not as soft. They’re at my feet, kicked down in a rumpled mess. Goosebumps ripple across my skin as a salty breeze floats in from the open windows. Dillon told me to close them last night to keep the bugs at bay.

I’m restless. My legs squirm as I take handfuls of the bottom sheet. My toes drag across the bedding, catching along the way from my chipped polish. The pillow at my head depresses further into the mattress each time my legs get away from me.

“Be still,” he whispers. Dillon ?

I can only manage a whimper. I have to be quiet so the team doesn’t hear us. At least I was able to deter Blaze. Hopefully he was able to shower and not wait too long.

The constant ebb and flow of the ocean outside the hut is soothing. It pairs nicely with the sensation that tells me I’m far away. In a foreign country. Colombia .

“Mia…” His voice returns and it makes me happy. It sends warmth across my entire body, leaving me with the notion that I’m adored and safe.

There’s weight on my thighs. Fingertips apply pressure over the tops, and hot palms mold to my flesh. My skin is fevered, the sheets under my bare back becoming damp. And yet I continue to writhe.

The sound of his voice drifts to me once more, but it’s inaudible. I know it to be him by the low rumble that comes from his throat. It practically vibrates against me, sending a gratifying shockwave throughout my body.

My legs press together involuntarily, vainly attempting to prolong the feeling. A low sound of appreciation tumbles from my lips.

Then there’s a swift tug as if being pulled closer…

Diffused light fights its way past my eyelids. An intricate mosaic pattern on the ceiling greets me. Not Colombia, then.

The rest of the room slowly comes into focus, and the events from yesterday come flooding back. Granada. The procession. The chapel. The kidnapping. Dillon…last night.

I look down at my exposed breasts, remembering it all. Every nerve ending in me is electric and sensitive. Because nestled between my legs is Dillon.

His hands are curled over the top of my thighs and his tongue is swirling and flicking, setting my nerve endings on fire and leaving quite the dizzying effect. The hard set to his brow softens when my eyes land on his. With his hair disheveled and a possessive heat in his eyes, he’s devastatingly attractive. My breath hitches just at the sight of him.

“You’re better than any alarm clock I’ve ever had,” I say, my voice husky from sleep.

“I aim to please,” he says, amused.

I weave my hand into his hair with my nails scraping his scalp. He leans the side of his face against my inner thigh, taking pleasure from my touch. The gesture is short lived, but the intimacy of it turns my insides to mush.

Dillon takes his time with me. There’s a confidence behind every seductive swipe of his tongue, every firm flick, and every tantalizing taste he takes. I spread my legs wider to accommodate him. He growls against my sensitive flesh and uses the extra space to slide two fingers inside me. He curls them in a come-hither motion, and I cry out in blissful pleasure.

“Please don’t stop.”

He responds with a grunt, never letting up on the pressure. With each pump of his fingers, I squeeze, not willing to part ways with the friction he’s creating or the intense wholeness that consumes me from his thoroughness.

He doesn’t stop.

Dillon has me so close to the edge, right on the precipice. And with one last stroke of his skilled fingers and a final lap of his wicked tongue, I’m coming. The force of it shocks me; it’s a slow burn that builds and builds until the sheer force of it steals my breath and causes me to see stars.

I blink them away, slowly returning to reality. The bed shifts. Dillon crawls up until he’s hovering above me, the bulge of his upper arms prominent and sexy. He leans down and kisses me soundly. I don’t mind my taste on his tongue. I arch my back to deepen the kiss further, a newfound headiness making its way through my veins.

With his knee, he nudges me apart. I find that as intense as my orgasm just was, I’m ready to take the rest of him.

His mouth finds my neck where he sucks at the tender area just under my ear. A hand finds my breast. The entirety of it fits in his large hand, and soon he’s rubbing his thumb over my nipple. Sweat has gathered in my cleavage. It doesn’t stop him from kissing his way across my entire chest, pausing at the other nipple.

The weight of his cock rests against my thigh. I grow just as restless without him as I did when he was having his way with me. My good arm goes to the firm roundness of his ass. I slap it suggestively while pulling him in with my heels.

His lips hum on my breast. “Impatient?”

I’m not proud of it, but I whine. “Yes.” And not for the first time, I feel a smile spread across my skin. “Dillon—” He thrusts into me, eliciting a guttural gasp. “You feel so—”

“—Tight. Christ, Mia…” It seems we’re both struggling to find enough words.

His hand finds mine. He laces our fingers together, pinning them above my head. Then, he moves. He kisses me. My mouth. My throat. My nipples. My skin is his playground and he wastes no time seeking his own enjoyment from it. I’m not complaining.

My hips meet his, syncing to the rhythm he’s set. It’s slow at first, but each upstroke is poignant and passionate. His abs ripple and tighten with each thrust, and the fine line of hair under his navel is damp from perspiration. He’s hot everywhere we’re connected, despite the air conditioning of the room. The ceiling fan tries its best to blow the fine hairs from my forehead, but like Dillon, sweat has claimed us as its victims.

“Tell me you’re close,” he says, breath hot at my neck. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

Heat flushes across my chest at his words. “I’m close. I. Want. To,” I say between strokes that have rapidly increased in pace.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs. “Do it.” He releases my hand and it drifts to my chest. “Fuck.” It’s a growl as he watches me roll my nipple before taking the slight weight of my breast and kneading it. His nostrils flare and a bead of sweat drips down the side of his neck.

“I’m right there,” I tell him.

“Me too.”

My legs lock around his waist. My toe-curling orgasm chases through my body as he goes still and rigid as a plank. He muffles his thunderous cry into my neck. The force of it is erotic to hear through the blood whooshing in my ears. His weight becomes stifling as his body begins to relax.

I tap his side. “Sort of…crushing me…”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, quickly remedying the situation by rolling off and settling at my side. His long arm hitches over my hips, pulling me possessively close to him. “Are you okay?” His gaze darts from my eyes to my lips to lower, desperate for an answer.

I can’t help but roll my eyes, suppressing a smirk. “I’m not a porcelain doll in a glass case, alright? I’m fine.” I choose not to tell him that I’ve secretly come to love his overprotective nature.

“I…okay. I just didn’t know since your shoulder…and everything else…you know, that happened last night.” His delivery is careful, unsure. There’s a vulnerability to it that I’ve never heard before and it sends a tingle down my body at his apparent trepidation.

“My shoulder aches, but nothing a little massage and Aleve won’t help,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood. I yawn, unable to help myself. “What time is it?”

“Oh three hundred,” he says. “There’s still time to sleep.” Then, his eyes grow wide, a thought suddenly coming to him. “Were you able to find anything yesterday? We need to get Midas and the guys up. We’re losing time.” Dillon props himself on an elbow, ready to get out of bed.

I grab his forearm, stopping him. “I bought us some time…”

“I’m gonna need more than that, Mia.” He’s settled once more, brushing errant strands of hair from my face.

“Well, you know the man who kidnapped me?” He nods in understanding, so I continue. “When I took a good look at him, he was familiar. I knew I’d seen him before.” I tell Dillon about Carl’s position and reputation. “And when I saw the jewelry box, I immediately recognized an obvious difference from the first one. So, I provided enough of a verbal clue about what I saw. It was Carl that came to the conclusion on his own. It was just the wrong one,” I say slowly.

“Son of a bitch. You hoodwinked him?” Dillon is wearing a smile that creases the edges of his eyes and the sight of it makes me giggle.

“I did. And hopefully well enough that it buys us quite a bit of time.” I pull the pillow closer, snuggling into the plushness, readying myself to tell him the conclusions I came to and how I sold it to the dear professor. “Do you remember the smaller jewelry box, how under the keyhole was the seal of Isabella?” He nods, a patient listener. “The one in the museum was different in the fact that her coat of arms wasn’t there. In its place was a seal. A very famous seal.”

“Of what?”

“It was the seal of the Knights Templar. Two men on horseback, carrying spears. Unmistakable,” I say confidently. “It was rather easy to convince Dr. Carl that the location of the cuff is in London. At the Temple Church.”

“Didn’t the Knights build that?”

“They not only built it, but it was their English headquarters. And what better place to hide a priceless relic like the cuff, than at one of the most heavily guarded churches in Christendom?” I’m still quite pleased with how it was Carl that really came to the conclusion of the cuff’s supposed whereabouts. I just suggested a church. In London.

Dillon’s brow furrows. “But…it’s not in London, you’re saying?”

I smile, proud of myself. “It’s not. It’s in Cyprus, actually. Or, at least, that’s my best educated guess.”

“I’m dying to hear how you came to that conclusion,” he says.

“It was easy. Like I said, the larger jewelry box differentiated from the smaller one. The coat of arms versus the seal…and right before he forced me down to the crypts, I noticed a glaring variation between the boxes. Do you recall the base of the smaller one? How between the feet, the wood is scalloped and vines are carved in the base?” I ask.

“To be honest, no, but I can picture what you’re describing,” he says truthfully.

“Well, the base to the large one is the same, except that in the center is a carved dove carrying an olive branch: direct symbols of Cyprus. Which also makes complete sense because after the Mamluks conquered the Knights at the siege of Acre in 1291, the surviving Knights were forced to move their headquarters—”

“—To Cyprus?”

“Yes. To Cyprus,” I say with a smile.

“Your mind is a fascinating thing.” Dillon leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re brilliant.”

I avert my eyes from his, shyness heating my cheeks. “Just trying to make sense out of the obscure.”

“Or, you’re just brilliant,” he repeats. I open my mouth to say otherwise when his hand that’s been resting on my hip, slides to my butt. He gives me a playful tap and says, “Accept the compliment, or I’ll punish you.”

A thrill of giddiness rushes through me. “Well in that case, I do not accept.”

Over the next several hours, Dillon delivers my comeuppance.

Luckily, I’m a glutton for punishment.