Page 70 of Duty Devoted
“I’m fine. We’re alive and safe, thanks to you.”
His eyes met mine, and I saw everything there—guilt, desire, fear, something deeper he wouldn’t name. Then he was kissing me again, softer this time, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. His lips traced a path down my throat, across my collarbone, lower.
He took his time, mapping my body with the same careful attention I’d given his scars. When his mouth found sensitive places that made me arch beneath him, he lingered, drawing out sounds I didn’t try to muffle. His fingers joined his exploration, and I forgot about yesterday and tomorrow, and everything but the building pressure and the need for more.
“Please,” I managed, tugging at his shoulders. “Logan, I need?—”
“I know.” He moved up my body, settling between my thighs with careful attention to my injured side. “I’ve got you.”
When he pushed inside me, we both stilled. The connection felt like more than bodies joining. His forehead pressed to mine, breath mingling as we adjusted to the feeling.
“Look at me,” he whispered, and I opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed. His gaze held mine as he began to move, slow and deep, watching every flicker of pleasure across my face.
Our eyes locked as long as I could stand it, and then I pulled his head down, needing his lips on mine. I wrapped my legs around him, holding him close as we found our rhythm. Each movement sent sparks through me, building toward something that felt too big for my body to contain.
His hand found mine, fingers interlacing against the sheets. Such a simple gesture, but it undid me completely. The pressure crested, and I shattered with his name on my lips. He followed me over, face buried in my neck, my name a broken prayer against my skin.
We stayed joined afterward, neither willing to accept separation. His weight should have been uncomfortable, but instead, it anchored me to the moment. To him.
Eventually, he shifted to his side, pulling me against his chest. The suite was dark now, city lights painting abstract patterns on the ceiling. For the first time since Diego Silva had executed Carlos—maybe since before that—I felt truly safe. Not just physically protected, but soul-deep safe in a way that terrified me.
“Sleep,” he murmured against my hair. “I’ve got watch.”
“You can sleep too. We’re safe here. The door’s locked, we’re on the twentieth floor?—”
“Then I’ll watch you sleep.” His arm tightened around me. “Make sure this is real. Make sure you’re real.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him he needed rest more than I did. But exhaustion pulled at me like an undertow. The last thing I felt was his lips pressed to my temple, his whispered words too quiet to catch.
Tomorrow would bring debriefs and airports and the return to lives that no longer fit quite right. Tomorrow, I’d have topretend this week hadn’t fundamentally altered something in my DNA.
But tonight, wrapped in his arms while the city pulsed below us, we existed outside of time. Two people who’d found each other in the worst possible circumstances and discovered something worth more than either had expected.
Chapter 23
Logan
The nightmare rippedme from sleep like a grenade blast. My hand shot toward the nightstand, fingers searching for the Glock that should’ve been there. The familiar weight. The textured grip. The tool that meant survival.
Nothing.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I rolled out of bed, bare feet hitting cold marble. Where was my weapon? Where the hell was I? The room was wrong—too soft, too quiet. No diesel fumes. No distant mortar fire. Just the hum of air conditioning and?—
Lauren.
She lay curled on her side, honey hair spread across the pillow like silk. One hand tucked under her cheek, the other reaching toward where I’d been. The sheet had slipped down to her waist, revealing smooth skin marked by the bandage over her ribs.
Puerto Rico. The hotel. We were safe.
I forced air into my lungs, trying to slow my racing pulse. My hands shook as I scrubbed them over my face. Sweat cooled on my skin despite the room’s perfect temperature.
Safe. The word tasted like a lie.
I closed the bathroom door behind me with a soft click. I cranked the shower to scalding and stepped under the spray, letting the water pound against my shoulders. Steam filled the glass enclosure, but it couldn’t wash away the feeling crawling under my skin.
Mateo Silva was dead. The mission was complete. Lauren was alive. Everything had gone according to the revised plan, considering the cluster it had turned into.
So what the fuck was wrong with me?
