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His hips surged against her, over and over, impaling her with a pleasure that burned hotter and bright with each stroke.
She cried out his name. Her neck arched, her legs tightening as she felt the breath rush from her lungs and sensation imploding inside her.
His pelvis stroked her clit, sending a surge of electric intensity swarming through it until it erupted in ecstasy at the same moment that her pussy began to convulse in orgasm.
Above her, his heavy groans signaled his own release. A second later, deep, blistering pulses of warmth attacked her vagina and threw her higher, deeper.
She was flying through time and space, jerked out of reality and thrown into rapture. Stars exploded behind her closed lashes, violent pleasure streaked across her nerve endings, and his name was a wail of such utter completion that she wondered if she would ever survive without it again.
Collapsing against her, John released her legs, his body coming over hers as he caught his weight on his knees and elbows, his head burying at her neck.
She could hear him whispering something, his voice a hard thick growl filled with that forbidden accent. The man who had been dead lived in her arms for that moment. He held her, his cock pulsed inside her, his lips pressed to her neck as his fingers buried themselves in her hair.
Exhaustion swamped her as she felt the last fragile waves of pleasure ebbing through her. The shudders that racked her body eased, the blinding hunger was sated for the moment, and the world around her had disappeared.
Locked close to his body she felt a sense of peace slowly easing through her, the guilt easing away.
What she had been forced to do hadn’t been easy. She had lost friends, she had lost her last ties to the past. But in doing it, she was ensuring the future for more than just the friends she loved. She was ensuring her own future, the future of perhaps thousands.
John had done that for her. With just his touch, his possession. He had taken her past the world where nothing had made sense, given her a pleasure so overwhelming that it had made her realize exactly why it was so important.
It was just there. As the peace slid around her, sleep overtook her and that knowledge became cemented inside her. Wagner and Jules would survive, because she was doing what she had to do. She hadn’t been able to save Anna and Mathilda. She hadn’t been able to save her parents. But she could save Wagner. She could ensure that Warbucks never forced John to “die” again. The past she remembered might be cracked a little, but those she had so loved as a child would survive.
That survival was what mattered.
Sleep slid through her. Weariness sucked her under until her breathing eased and blessed numbness overcame her. There were no dreams. There were no monsters chasing her.
There was just this. Comfort. Warmth.
John.
JOHN SLID SLOWLY FROM the heated grip of his lover’s body and stared down at her, loving her so damned much he felt as though it were ripping his soul from his body.
Shaking his head at the surge of emotion, he dragged his weary body from the bed and moved to the bathroom. Wetting a soft washrag in warm water, he grabbed a towel and returned to the bed. There he washed her gently, drying the dampness from her flesh before she could become cold.
Easing the rag between her legs, he wiped his seed from her thighs, from the swollen folds of her pussy, and then dried them gently before lifting her against the pillows and pulling the blankets over her.
Other than a moaning little protest as he moved her, he didn’t disturb her. She slept deeply, heavily, exhaustion finally sucking her into a dreamless void where she could hopefully find a bit of peace.
Back in the bathroom, he washed himself before drying, turning out the lights, and returning to the bed.
Lying on his back, he stared up at the darkened ceiling and considered what she had been forced to do. No one, especially a woman with Bailey’s capacity for love, should have to face what she had faced tonight.
To turn her back on the proof she had waited for over so many years—proof against the man who’d had her friends and parents killed—had nearly destroyed her. He had seen it in her eyes, in her face. He had felt it as she had shuddered in his arms and fought to hold back the hysteria that had torn through her.
Then she had to maintain that act in the face of Myron Falks and Raymond Greer’s quiet interrogation. It was more than most women could have borne, even one as well trained as Bailey had been as an agent.
She had done it. She had held back that rage to do what had to be done.
Her strength amazed him.
He felt her move, her body shifting, seeking his warmth as she rolled against him. Opening his arms to her, he pulled her into his embrace, wrapped her in his hold, and let his own eyes drift closed.
Yes, Jordan was going to be pissed, because there wasn’t a chance in hell John was letting this woman go. Only death, a true death, could tear them apart now, because he would be damned if he would ever walk away from her.
She was his mate. His soul. A man didn’t walk away from his soul and survive.
“I love you, Bailey,” he whispered, allowing his true self to slip free.
