Page 130 of Unrequited

He positions himself behind me, the head of his cock nudging my entrance.

“If it’s too much… tell me,” he says softly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Zoya.”

“Please,” I whisper, trembling. “I want you in me. I want you, Seamus.”

And then he pushes into me, and it’s not pain, it’s perfection. Full, deep, right.

It’s everything.

I shatter. My pussy hugs his cock, contracting in ecstasy. I stifle a scream, loath to be overheard, as he fists my hair and pounds into me. I rock with him, riding the waves of pleasure, until we’re both spent and boneless.

It’s been a long night. Every inch of me aches in that delicious, spent way. He cleans me up tenderly, his touch reverent, then I collapse onto the bed, my body giving out.

My eyes are half-lidded, floating somewhere between consciousness and sleep. “You’re so tired, darling,” he murmurs, brushing hair from my cheek. I give him a soft, lazy smile.

“The wine’s hit me. It makes me sleepy,” I add, barely above a whisper.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes as he winks.

I drag myself to the bathroom, moving like a half-dead zombie. My limbs feel like they’re moving through syrup, but I want to be clean before I crawl into bed for real. Once I’m done, I slide under the covers, and he’s there, lifting them gently, tucking me in.

No one’s tucked me in since I was a little girl. I didn’t know I missed that. It feels… warm. Safe.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and I mean it.

He bends down, presses a kiss to my forehead, and there’s something sacred in the gesture. “Thankyou,” he says back. He doesn’t tell me what he’s thanking me for. But he means it too. I can feel it.

“Are you coming to bed?” I ask, surprised when he doesn’t join me. I want him behind me, his warmth, his weight, his breath on my neck. My oversized teddy bear, lethal and all mine.

“Not yet,” he replies. “I have some work to do.”

He walks to the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony, phone in hand, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers. His body is ridiculous, cut like stone, and mine to worship. But there's something in the set of his shoulders that tightens my chest. Something’s wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask gently, hoping, praying, he says no because I’m too tired to carry anything heavy tonight.

“Not yet,” he says, turning to glance at me. “I will. Get some rest, Zoya.”

I grab my phone, check for messages from home. Nothing. Why has no one reached out again? It’s unlike them.

I scroll aimlessly, letting the blue light lull me. But I can feel it, the tension pulsing in the room. I wonder if the code he swears by is fraying at the edges. If the whispers have started weaving their way through his ranks. I know they don’t trust me. Our families are at war, and I’m the enemy in their eyes.

Thank god that Keenan said it’s unlikely Seamus will bepicked up by Russia. Though he did say unlikely… not impossible.

His phone buzzes. Again. And again. He scowls down at it, thumb tapping the screen. “Branson,” he mutters.

I drift off to the low hum of voices. His voice, serious and sharp. I don’t know how long I sleep. An hour? Two? When I wake, I can tell it’s the dead of night by the inky blackness out the window.

He sits beside me, gently shaking my shoulder. “I’m sorry to wake you, lass. You awake, love?”

I sit up fast, heart pounding. “Yes.”

“I got a call,” he says quietly. “And I need to go. Makes me nervous leaving you here, darling. You remember what I said about you accompanying me. I trust my family, but they aren’t the only ones in and out of this house.”

“You want me to come with you?” I ask, already throwing the covers off. I remember how he said he’d come with me wherever I go.

I’m your shadow, your bloody shield, your man for every damn thing.

He hesitates. “I’m just meeting with my men. They have updates. My father wants me there.”