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“Roman,” she begged. He didn’t make her wait. Pressing her thighs wide with both palms, he slid his tongue over her, their moans twining together as she lifted her hips off the mattress to maximize the contact with his mouth.
“Oh, God. Oh, fuck,” Camila said. Good. Good. He felt sogood. “More. Please, more.”
He gave her everything. Lowering his mouth back to her pussy, Roman worked her clit with everything from slow circles to hard, fast flicks of his tongue. He tasted and took, building a fire inside of her that she was sure would consume them both. But even as her climax built deep in her belly, she wanted more. She wanted him, truly and irreversibly.
“I need you,” she gasped, her clit throbbing harder with every pass of his tongue. “I need your cock. Roman—”
He shifted his body in an instant, burying his cock inside of her in one hard, almost punishing thrust. The pressure slammed into her senses, her inner muscles clenching hard around him for just a fraction of a second before her orgasm followed. Keeping their bodies fully joined, he rocked against her, the base of his cock hitting her clit with every thrust as she came so hard, the edges of her vision darkened. But Roman didn’t stop. He rode her through her pleasure while chasing his own, his thrusts growing faster, his grip on her hips harder.
“Take it. Take everything,” Camila said, another orgasm—or, God, was it still the same one?—rising from within her. “Please. Don’t stop.”
Roman fucked her in relentless strokes, their bodies slapping together again and again until finally, his muscles locked and he came on a shudder.
And as he said her name over and over like the sweetest prayer and the dirtiest oath all at once, Camila knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that not only was she in love with him, but she couldn’t live without him.
25
Archer watched Camila wave to the woman who lived across the street before heading to her car, travel mug of coffee in hand. He’d spent over a week quietly waiting. Watching patterns. Habits. Tendencies. Looking for weaknesses and calculating. He’d admit, between the precautions the Intelligence Unit had put into place and the fact that she was shacking up with an FBI agent whose townhouse had a serious-ass security system, snatching her up to kill her was going to be a pain in the ass of epic proportions. But he and Portia couldn’t stay underground forever. Just because the police thought they’d left town (new sightings in Cincinnati, thanks to a few more “anonymous tips”) didn’t mean they could get careless. Any tip that they were in Remington would trash all the hard work he’d done to divert the Intelligence Unit’s attention. He needed them to get careless so he could do this one last thing to buy the freedom he’d fucking earned.
And he’d finally found his in. Agent Roman and the Intelligence Unit might be protecting her well, but Camila had a weakness. It was the perfect Achilles heel, and it was going to be her downfall.
Tonight.
* * *
Camila lookedat the message in her personal email for the fifteenth time since she’d first opened it, her heart threatening to burst. Nothing in the body of the message had changed, and it was very straightforward. But she was still terrified that somehow she’d misunderstood, or maybe it was even a cruel joke.
Per our conversation earlier today, please find the offer for you to join the Remington Police Department as a forensic artist attached to this email…
Phone in hand, Camila walked out of the middle school, finally allowing herself to grin. She took a cursory glance around as she moved over the sidewalk toward the parking lot, but everything looked normal—a few dozen kids milling around, waiting for parents, a landscaper spreading some kind of pre-winter treatment on the grass—so she dialed Roman’s number.
“FBI Fraud Division, Agent Roman,” he said, and gah, his voice never failed to make her heart do a little backflip.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Did you get the email?” he asked, making her laugh.
“Well, hello. It’s nice to hear your voice, too.”
“Camila,” Roman warned, although there was nothing but excitement and anticipation in his tone.
She folded like a double-load of laundry. “Yes, I got the email. It’s official. They offered me the job.”
“I knew it!” he said. “I’m so damn proud of you.”
Camila hit the button on her key fob to unlock her car doors, peeking inside the backseat before opening the passenger-side door to put her school bag inside. “Well, I still have to do the hard part, which is to impress them with my ability.”
“Nope. No way,” Roman said. “You are an artistically gifted badass, and you’re about to start a new career doing something you love. You’re going to take this moment to celebrate without worrying.”
“Okay, okay!” she laughed, slamming the passenger-side door and taking a breath full of chilly afternoon air. “Crooked Angel, seven o’clock? If I don’t tell everyone in Intelligence tonight, they’ll find out through the grapevine, and you know how wellthatwill go over.”
Roman paused. “I got a new case dropped in my lap today. I’m probably going to be tied up here until about six-thirty.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m headed home right now, but I’ll just drive on my own and meet you there.”
“Okay. But text me updates?”
At one time—a few months ago, even—this might have made Camila feel incapable. But even though the threat level was pretty low and decreasing by the day, she knew her safety could still be an issue. Roman cared about her. Loved her. Needed her safe.
