Page 42 of Whisper

For now, we’re safe.

Not just physically. Emotionally.

Outside, Phoenix is still hunting. Our reality still waits with teeth bared.

But right here, right now, I feel protected in a way no perimeter check or reinforced wall could ever match.

“Seventy-two hours,” I murmur into his chest.

“Maybe ninety-six,” he corrects, tightening his grip like he’s claiming every second.

“Good,” I say, and I mean it with everything I’ve got left.

“Why’s that good?”

“Because that gives you more time to show me all those tactical positions.”

His laugh vibrates against my skin. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“What else would you call it?”

“Hot sex.” He grins. “But if you think I’m good for only one round, you’ve got another thing coming.”

I blink. The words trip something automatic in my brain.

“Technically,” I murmur, still breathless, “it’s ‘another thinkcoming.’ It’s a misheard idiom—an eggcorn. The original phrase— ‘If you think that, you’ve got another think coming’ dates back to the early 1900s, not ‘thing.’ Though the modern misusage has gained?—”

His gaze sharpens. Slow. Lethal.

“Eliza.” His voice is low. Rough. Laced with danger. “If you don’t shut that pretty little mouth right now, I’m going to shove my cock in it and fuck you silent.”

The words slice through the air like a blade.

I freeze.

My mouth stops mid-syllable. My brain, always racing, skids and crashes.

Did he just?—

“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes locked on mine. “You like that, don’t you?”

I stare at him, speechless. My skin flushes, my thighs instinctively clenching.

“Yeah,” he breathes, dark delight flickering in his eyes. “You’re looking at me like I just ripped the thought right out of your dirtiest little fantasy.”

I go completely still. Just stare at him. Mortified.

He shifts, rolling me flat, moving over me, still hard, still hungry.

“You gonna play innocent now?” he growls, sliding a hand between my thighs. “After coming all over my cock like that? After crying out my name like you were begging me to ruin you again?”

His fingers find me—slick, throbbing. I jolt.

“You think I don’t know what’s going on in that brilliant little brain of yours?” He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You want it. Not the dirty talk. Not the dominance.” He drags his fingers over my clit—slow. Unforgiving. “You want to be taken. To be on your knees, chokingon my cock.”

My breath catches.

He sees it.