Page 106 of Bombshell

“Fine.” I tell myself it’s the truth, because while we might have dealt with some problems today, there’s still a lot left for us to conquer.

“Liar,” he whispers. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Done,” I say, leaning down to his perch on the stool and kissing the side of his brow that’s not cut up. I pull him to me, planting both my hands as far away from his face as I can, on his back—I don’t trust them anymore.

He winces in pain anyway, and I jump back. “What now?”

“Sorry. Kidney.”

“Well, what can you do?” I say, my hand flashing to my mouth as soon as the words are out.

“What can I do?” he says, repeating the phrase again with maximum incredulity, a hungry look coming over him. He stands and lifts me over his shoulder in one fluid movement, and just like that he’s carrying me to the bedroom.

He almost tosses me on the bed when we arrive, and has to flex his back to loosen it up before crawling on top of me. I feel his cock beneath his suit pants, rubbing against the thin fabric of my skirt, and instantly, I’m ready.

He leans down and kisses my collarbone, his hand cupping my ass and drawing my hips against his. “I didn’t know fighting was a turn on for you.”

“Neither did I,” I admit.

He shoves my skirt up and my legs open in invitation.

“We need a condom. I missed my pill,” I warn him.

“In the drawer of the nightstand,” he says.

I roll over slightly, my hand searching the interior of the draw, but it’s bare. “Nothing there.”

“In a box under the bathroom sink,” he mumbles, letting me slip from underneath him, and propping himself on his side as I disappear to the bathroom.

“Which sink?” I call in to him.

“Left, I think,” he says distantly.

It’s not the left sink, or the right. There’s another cabinet mounted about the toilet, though, and—thank God—the box of condoms is in there.

“Found one!” I declare triumphantly, returning to the bedroom. Sterling’s still propped on his side, his back turned to me. I climb on top of him, kissing behind his ear and taking care to avoid his sensitive spots—or, at least the ones I know about.

He lets out a strange grunt, almost like he’s clearing his throat.

“Sterling?”

Avoiding the large, swollen, purple welt on his side, I shake him firmly.

He responds by letting out a long, deeply satisfied snore. I finish tugging off his pants, which takes some effort since he’s out like a rock. Tossing them on the ground, I pull off my dress.

“Damn. You owe me one, Ford,” I whisper, slipping into the space beside him and listening gratefully to the sound of him breathing.

I roll over, sleepily running a hand across Sterling’s chest. Moonlight streams through the large windows, casting him in shadows. Overhead, blue light shines as my ringtone slowly seeps into my consciousness. Who is calling me in the middle of the night? Sterling stirs, and I shift to grab my phone off the nightstand before it wakes him. As I go to silence it, the screen flashes Malcolm. My eyes skip to the time, and I hesitate a moment before answering. I can’t think of many reasons for my brother to call me at this hour, but I’ve learned the hard way what happens when you don’t take important calls.

“It’s one in the morning,” I tell him in a whisper. Sterling shifts behind me, rolling to his side.

“Where is she?” Malcolm demands.

“What? Who?” I’m still half-asleep, but the moment the questions leave my mouth, I know why he’s calling with deep, nauseating certainty. I’m already swinging my legs over the side of the bed when he responds.

“Ellie. You took her!” He’s shouting now, and I’m on my feet.

“I don’t have her.” But he’s too busy ranting to hear me. “Malcolm! How long has she been missing?”