by Marie James
She doesn’t answer me, but at least she isn’t trying to pull away from me.
“I can take you to the bathroom and remind you why you need to trust me.”
Her breath hitches, the slightest sound rushing into her nose, and I know she isn’t completely turned off by the idea. My cock has stayed perpetually hard since I snuck in her room and wrapped the soft cuffs around her wrists. It took all the power I had to keep from inching inside of her with the filthy things she confessed to me in the darkness last night. I’ll be damned if I give in and break now.
“I’m just scared.”
“I know, baby.” I press my lips to the top of her head, only releasing her long enough for her to offer her ticket to the gate attendant. After handing over mine, she’s right back at my side.
Her eyes are drooping, and her steps are unsure as we board, but once the door closes, eliminating the threat of Jones boarding with us, she settles, her head dropping to my shoulder for the hour-long flight back home.
As guaranteed, the SUV is waiting in the pickup line outside when we breathe our first breath of St. Louis air. The airport security guard is waving others around the parked vehicle instead of urging Flynn to make another loop.
I watch with pride when my friends all pile out of the SUV to greet us. Gaige takes both of our bags, grinning when Whitney keeps her fist tight on the strap of Simon’s backpack carrier. I don’t know what strings Flynn had to pull to get us on the plane with an animal, but I’m grateful. The purring cat calmed her in ways I couldn’t in front of the other passengers.
“Ms. Nelson,” Flynn says with a quick sweep of his hand to the vehicle.
God, I loved the sound of that, even if it’s her birth name and not because she’s mine.
Brooks and Quinten climb into the third-row seating, and I climb into the middle first, holding my hand out to her, offering the seat next to me before Gaige takes the seat on her other side. Finn grins from the passenger seat as she settles Simon’s bag on her legs and looks around.
“I feel like I’m on an episode of SWAT,” she whispers, but it’s loud enough for the guys to hear apparently, as a wave of low chuckles fills the air around us.
“Feel safe?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation, and I try not to let the disappointment that she couldn’t feel that way with the two of us alone eat at me. If it takes five other BBS employees to get her there, I won’t complain.
“Are we going to the office or back to your place?” Flynn asks as he nods at the security guard before pulling into the traffic ebbing and flowing near the front entrance.
I look down at Whitney, letting her know the call is hers. I’ll have to go to the office eventually, but for now I’m offering her control since I know she feels like she’s lost every ounce of it to the threat of danger.
“If we’re going to end up back at your place eventually,” she begins, swallowing as her eyes lock on mine, “I’d rather just go there from the beginning.”
I hold her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips to brush the inside of her wrist, nodding in understanding. I know she doesn’t like to go out often, and even though she’ll be in my place instead of at hers, I know that small comfort will help keep her calm.
Due to traffic, the drive back to my place takes longer than it should, but considering it’s Monday, I’m forced to just deal with it. The closer we get, the tighter the tension is in her shoulders. The guys joke, mostly ribbing me for being a nerd, but they keep the fact that I stalked her online before actually meeting her to themselves. I don’t know how long I’ll hold on to that reprieve, but for now I’m grateful. Small smiles tug at her lips, but what these guys are failing to realize is that she’s just as big of a computer nerd as I am.
Whitney is wound like a top by the time Flynn pulls into the underground garage. Her hands are trembling so hard, she doesn’t fight Gaige when he reaches for Simon’s bag. I pull her tight to my side as the guys circle around us at the elevator.
“We’re safe,” I whisper when the elevator opens with a ding. “My keycard assures no interruptions on the way up.”
I offer the card in question to Gaige, and he plugs it into the slot because it’s too far for me to reach, and I’m not going to let her go for a second.
I nod at Braden, a guy we’ve used in the past, when I see him standing guard outside the elevator. There are only two other apartments on this floor, and since we can’t demand other renters move, he’s there to make sure no one can reach my apartment door without prior approval.
“He’ll stand guard until seven,” Flynn says as Whitney looks over her shoulder at Braden. “Jason will be here then.”
Gaige uses my keycard to open my apartment door, and Whitney whimpers when he, Quinten, and Brooks walk inside ahead of us.
“They’re going to sweep the apartment just to be safe. I have jammers covering the entire floor, so there’s no way for Jones to use tech to infiltrate anything up here.”
I walk her deeper inside when the guys come back with the all clear.
“We found this in the stairwell,” I tell her, pointing to her abandoned phone sitting on my kitchen counter. “You can use it safely. I’ve updated the protections on it.”
Her eyes gleam with unshed tears.
“What is it?”
“Sarah,” she whispers. “I need to call her.”
“Sarah’s completely safe, but just to be sure, we contacted her to let her know what was going on. She’ll be staying at a friend’s house until we get all of this squared away. Call her,” I urge. “I know she’s waiting to hear from you.”
Relief washes over her instantly. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be—”
“I know, baby.” I pull her against my chest, pressing my lips to the top of her head. God, I could live this way, her against me, needing me for more than just orgasms and laughs. I want her to need me in all ways. “I know what you thought.”
She wiped everything from her computer before she left. She was running with no intention of coming back. The thought of never seeing her again makes my arms tighten around her until she squeaks from the pressure.
A throat clears behind me. Whitney jolts, but I’m more reluctant to release her.
“We’re going to head back to the office,” Flynn says.
The guys file out of my apartment without another word, and now that we’re standing here alone, the list of things I want to do with her are endless. I’d drag her to my room right now if I didn’t know just how exhausted she is. The hour-long nap on the plane wasn’t nearly enough.
Simon meows from across the room, still trapped in the backpack.
“Wait!” Whitney screeches as I cross the room to release him. “What about your bird? I’ve only had Simon for six months. I can’t guarantee that he won’t make a meal of him.”
“Puffy Daddy is back at the office. He enjoys the constant noise,” I assure her, reaching down to open the bag.
Simon hisses at me before jumping out and scurrying away like his ass has been set on fire.
“He’s going to hate me,” Whitney mutters. “I have so many things I need to get for him.”
“Follow me.” I take her hand, walking her down the hallway. “We grabbed most of his stuff from your apartment.”
“Really?” Hope fills her voice. “You wouldn’t believe how picky he is.”
I push open the cracked door of the guest bedroom. I didn’t want to be presumptuous about where she wanted to stay, and I know she’s got a lot on her mind. Making decisions about us while she’s going through this mess wouldn’t be healthy, so I’m giving her options.
“We set all of his stuff up in here,” I say, releasing her hand and walking into the bathroom.
I chuckle when we find Simon with his head buried in his food bowl, purring filling the air.
“Not exactly the dungeon I was picturing you having,” Whitney says after I follow her out of the bathroom back into the guest bedroom.
“Yeah, you know.” She looks around sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. “A place you can take your women and do filthy things to them?”
Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she becomes overly interested in the table lamp beside the bed.
“I’ve never had another woman in this apartment, Whitney.”
She swallows, but her eyes look everywhere but in my direction.
“I’ll let you get settled in.” I press my palm to her back, running my nose up her neck before kissing her cheek and making a hasty exit.
I lean against the door at my back, willing myself to remember that she needs space. It doesn’t matter that coming here was the finish line I gave myself to keep from knowing what my cock felt like inside of her. Just like she wasn’t ready to welcome me into her apartment after our dinner date, she isn’t ready now. Maybe she is physically, but I need every level of her ready for that final part, because once I’ve had her that way, I’ll never be able to let her go.
Chapter 26
Whitney
Hot and cold.
That’s the easiest definition for Wren Douglas Nelson.
I grin against my hands at the memory of his nana yelling that at the wedding. Did that happen only a few days ago? It seems like a lifetime, years, since I felt pure happiness without the ominous threat of danger.
He wants me, can’t control his cock in my presence, yet I’m sitting alone on this stupid fluffy comforter.
Going by the time on my phone, it’s been an hour and a half since he dropped me in here and scurried away. The first thirty minutes went by quickly, but it always does when I’m on the phone with Sarah. I assured her everything was going to be okay to calm her fears while I questioned my own sanity for coming back here where I felt the least safe.
Thoughtful Wren stocked the bathroom with everything Simon could need, not that the entitled asshole sleeping beside me offered to show any trace of thankfulness. He ate, stunk up the bathroom to the point I had to turn on the overhead fan, and then proceeded to curl up—ignoring me the entire time—and pass out.
I’ve been watching him for the last hour, knowing Wren is close by but arguing with myself about going out to see him. He confessed wanting me in every way, but I doubt he considered the level of clinginess I’m feeling right now as part of the deal.
Sighing, I throw my back against the obscene number of pillows and groan. My life has turned into a damn crime drama, and as much as I like covert operations and hot commandos on television, it was rather difficult to enjoy them when I was terrified my life was going to end because of a roadside bomb on the way back to this apartment.
Of course, W45PN357 would work for an elite group of men who command a room like they’re guarding the damn president. I want to get on my phone and do more research, but knowing Wren’s level of security, he’d know the second I type his company’s name into a search box.
I’ve always felt safe online, always thought I took all the right precautions to be safe. Apparently, my skills are lacking. Wren was able to find out in hours what it took me weeks of programs constantly running. I let a little smile tug at my lips at the sheer arousal I feel for getting a look at his systems.
Simon grunts when I climb off the bed. Any other time I’d assure him that I’ll be right back and not to worry, but he’s been petty for the last three days with his refusal to eat, and now it’s my turn. I do leave the bedroom door cracked so he’s not trapped, but it’s the only concession I’ll offer him.
I find the man of my very wet dreams looking better than I’ve ever seen him before. Although fully clothed with his back to me, I realize as his fingers fly over the keys of a laptop resting on the counter, that I’ve never seen him work, never seen his long talented fingers play anything more than my body.
Embarrassed by my reaction, I decide to hightail it back to the room.
“Whitney.” He doesn’t even turn to look at me, and the warning tone in his voice makes me pause.
“W-Wren,” I stammer.
“Did you need something, baby?”
God, do I ever.
I can’t formulate words as I watch his arms flex, the lines of his tattoos a seducing dance. And that’s how he finds me, standing behind him with my jaw hinged open and my eyes planted on his body.
He chuckles, but the sound barely reaches my ears.
“Are you hungry?”
“So hungry,” I manage, my eyes following the movement of his shirt as he turns to fully face me.
“Tacos?” he offers.
“Dick,” I murmur.
His laugh surprises me as it echoes off the walls around me. I jerk my eyes up to his.
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes.” His hand rearranges the condition he’s now fighting in his jeans. “I’ll order delivery.”
I nod in agreement, still not certain what it is he’s offering.
“Eyes up here, baby.”
Reluctantly, I pull my eyes from his bare feet, up the denim encasing strong thighs, and over his tight shirt before I manage to meet his.
“You sure know how to make a man feel wanted.”
I lick at my suddenly dry lips. Am I really breathing this hard?
I make an effort to calm my nerves, but I won’t be able to fully do that without looking away. An orgasm or three might help too.
“I do want you.”
“I know you do, baby.”
Is it possible to hate pet names until they’re spoken by the right guy? Months ago, I would’ve gone on a tirade about it, but now I just wait to hear him say it again and again. It’s official. I’ve lost my damn mind.
“Tacos?” he repeats. “Because you’re hungry.”
I’m a second away from offering him one taco in particular, but then my stomach growls. I was too nervous to accept his offering of breakfast at the airport, knowing I’d get sick if I even tried to eat something, and my body is now making it clear, I’ve gone way too long without ingesting something.
“I like Taco Bell.”
“I do, too,” he says with a knowing smile.
“Door Dash is pretty quick,” I ramble, still unable to keep my mind out of the gutter while looking at him.
His fingers trace over his bottom lip in contemplation, and I have to shake my head and look away. If he wants to punish me, I’m all for it.
“Whitney?”
“Huh?” I turn my head, keeping my gaze on his left shoulder instead of his eyes.
“I asked what you wanted from Taco Bell.”
“A Baja Blast.”
“Frozen or on ice?”
“Frozen.”
“What else?”
My cheeks heat because I’m starving, and Wren may not find me sexy after watching me put away the amount of food my stomach is begging me for.
“A quesadilla, no two quesadillas. Chicken. A gordita crunch. Two soft tacos, fresco style.” Gotta cut calories where I can, right? “A quesarito, and maybe one of those—”
“Hold on,” he says with a chuckle, his finger in the air to pause me. “Let me write all of this down.”
He grins the entire time I repeat my list, only frowning when I offer to pay.
“Who’s going to bring it up?” I ask after he submits the order. My mind is racing with the possibility of Jones making it past the imposing Braden in the hall. He’s FBI, after all, and I’m sure he knows a couple of tricks.
“One of the guys.” He shrugs, closing his laptop and finally walks across the room to get closer to me. “They’ll also be bringing some of your things. They pulled a bunch of stuff out of there yesterday, but they didn’t bring it straight here just in case.”
There’s so much to unpack with what he just said.
“You gave that list to one of the BBS guys?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re going to think I’m a hog!” His eyebrow lifts. “Really?”
He grabs my hand before I can smack him across the chest, but instead of looking angry at my attempt, he grins before pressing his warm lips to the inside of my wrist. I want to sigh with how good that tiny bit of attention feels.
“They won’t say anything about the order.”
“Who packed my clothes?”
“Ignacio. You met him at the wedding.”
“What?” I screech. “The sexy guy with the Spanish accent?”
His eyes narrow, but now isn’t the time to worry about some misplaced jealousy on his part.
“That hunk touched my panties?”
“I’ll kill him if he did,” Wren growls.
“So, you expect him to pack clothes with no underwear?”
He grins like he’s just now considering the possibility.
“Will you focus?” This time, in his distracted state, I’m able to make contact when I swat at him.
“I’d prefer you in my clothes or nothing at all, but I have to say, baby.” My eyes, mesmerized, follow the swipe of his tongue over his lips. “I like the temptation of you prancing around here with a t-shirt on and that sweet pussy of yours open to the air. Open to my touch.”
God, did the air conditioner in this place break suddenly.
“To my mouth.”
I whimper with need, and the grin on his handsome, stupid face tells me he has me exactly where he wants me.
Then my stomach growls again.
“Let’s go find something to watch on TV.”
“We have at least half an hour,” I whine.
“My guys are faster than Door Dash, Whitney.” He tugs on my arm, regretfully toward the living room rather than his bedroom down the hall. “And I’ll need much longer than thirty minutes before I’ll be able to pull myself away from that body of yours. Thirty minutes isn’t even long enough to eat your—”
“Enough!” He’s pulling my hands away from my ears. “Don’t say stuff like that if you’re going to force me to watch TV.”
He laughs again, flopping to the couch and patting the spot beside him. I want to be a petulant brat and sit on the recliner, but I need his closeness more than my desire to be bratty.
