Page 36 of Whisper

Cooper moves through the space with lethal calm, checking the windows and scanning the street through gaps in the blinds.

Silent. Controlled. Dangerous.

He doesn’t answer.

Which only makes me talk faster.

“The furniture looks deliberately generic. Practical but forgettable. Nothing that would stand out in anyone’s memory. And these walls—are they reinforced? They appear to be thicker than standard residential construction. Probably bulletproof, right? How long has this location been operational? Do you have multiple safe houses, or is this the primary?—”

“For the love of God,” Cooper cuts me off, voice like sandpaper and heat, turning to face me with an expression I can’t quite decode.

His green eyes are locked on me—intense, unblinking, loaded with a tension that has nothing to do with logistics and everything to do with us.

The space between us tightens.

“Do you ever shut up?”

The words should land like an insult. But they don’t.

Not with that look in his eyes.

That predatory stillness. That heat curling behind his gaze, restrained by the thinnest thread.

My breath catches.

“No,” I say, chin tipping up. “I don’t. I process verbally. It’s how my brain works. If that bothers you?—”

I don’t get to finish.

He closes the space between us in two brutal strides, hands framing my face, body pinning mine against the wall.

His mouth crashes down on mine with no finesse, no permission, no hesitation.

Just hunger.

Wild. Unleashed. Consuming.

My hands fist in his shirt, clinging, pulling him closer as his tongue claims my mouth—deep, possessive, absolute.

Something I’ll never recoverfrom.

He pulls back enough to look at me, his breathing ragged, jaw clenched like he’s on the edge of losing control.

“There.” His voice is raw. Rough. Dangerous. “Finally found a way to shut you up.”

My cheeks burn—not with embarrassment, but from the way he’s staring at me.

Like I’m something he wants to break open and devour.

Fire licks through me. My core clenches.

“Cooper,” I whisper, but I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Every synapse has gone offline, short-circuited by the way he tastes, the way he feels, the weight of him between me and the wall.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, and the words hit like a blow. “Put that mouth to better use.”

A pause. His gaze flicks over my face, daring me to stop him.

“You’ve got one chance to say no. One. But if you don’t, the same rules apply.”