Because under all of it, my body is fixated on something else. Decker stood six feet from me for that entire session, and I couldn’t touch him. Six feet. It felt like six miles.
In the den I could reach out any hour of the day or night, and there he was. Warm, solid, mine to touch. I didn’t know what I had until this building pulled us apart. Now he’s right here, and I can’t reach him. Now, when I feel like I need him more than ever.
My wolf has been pacing since last night. Since his tread stopped outside my door and moved on. She doesn’t understand walls. She understands that he’s close and I’m not going to him, and she’s starting to claw.
Behind us, the corridor picks up a sound I’d know anywhere.
His tread. Unhurried, even, closing.
My whole back comes alive before I turn around. Marek stops. Decker comes up the corridor behind us, and I turn. His eyes are on me, and whatever he sees in my face makes his step slow.
We stand there. Two people in a hallway, a guard between us, doors somewhere behind us with people behind the doors. Nobody says anything. The space between us is closing, and each step closer makes my skin tighten. His jaw is tight. His hands hang loose at his sides the way they do when he’s keeping them steady.
He feels it too. I know it. He’s holding still the way he did in the briefing room, and it’s as hard for him as it is for me.
The pull under my ribs leans so hard it almost moves my feet.
“I need a word with Decker,” I say to Marek. My voice comes out level. I have no idea how. “Privately.”
The guard looks at Decker. Then at me. Whatever conclusion he reaches, he keeps to himself.
“Her door in fifteen,” he says, and walks to the junction and posts himself with his back to us.
I don’t wait to see if Decker follows. There’s an emergency exit off to the side. I push through it, and he comes in behind me. It leads to a silent stairwell and a bare landing. The door swings shut behind us.
“What’s this about?” he says.
I turn around and throw myself at him.
He catches me because he always catches me, and for half a second he’s rigid. I get my fingers in his hair and my mouth on his, and I feel the exact moment he lets go.
It’s fast. That’s what shocks me, even now, even knowing him. One breath he’s the contained man from the meeting, and the next his hands have gone hard on my hips, and he’s turned us, and my back meets the cold block wall. A sound starts in his chest, low, rising, and he swallows it. The effort shudders down his arms and into me.
“Now,” I say against his mouth. “I need you now.”
“Grace.” Low, hoarse. “Here?”
“Here.” I’m pulling his shirt out of his jeans. My hands are shaking. “Before I lose my nerve.”
“Quiet,” he breathes. It isn’t a request. It’s the one condition.
“Then keep me quiet, bear.”
Something goes out of his eyes at that. Whatever was left of the careful man goes with it.
He gets my jeans open and shoves them down with my underwear, one side, far enough for me to spread my legs for him. His hand pushes between my thighs and finds me already soaked. His breath leaves him at the feel of it. Two fingers slide through my folds, find my clit, and my head goes back against the block. I groan, and his other hand covers my mouth. Big and warm, sealing it in.
I moan into his palm. He works me open with his fingers, quick, nothing patient about it, his forehead dropped forward, both of us breathing through the same inch of air. I’ve had free access to him for days, and now they’ve locked us apart, and my body has been aching for him.
I shove at his waistband. He gets his jeans open one-handed, and his cock comes free into my grip, hot and hard and alreadyslick at the head. The size of him in my hand pulls another sound out of me that his palm muffles.
He lifts me. One arm under my thigh, the wall taking my weight, and there’s nothing slow about any of it. The angle is awkward, but I don’t care; I twist my hips to give him access. He lines up and pushes in, and even wet, even wanting it, he’s a stretch that makes my fingers tighten on his shoulders. My cry lands in his hand. He stills, buried deep, shaking with the effort of not moving.
I bite his palm.
Move.
I’m pleading with my eyes because if he takes his hand away, there’s no chance I’m keeping quiet.
