Final Protocol (The Protocol Series Book 3)

by Eden Butler

  “Lia...wait...I want...”

  “No, Cruz.” She stepped back only to tug my jacket off my shoulders to get at the loose button-up I wore. It was wrinkled from the long bus trip and got discarded next to my boots and belt and Lia’s tee and jeans. “I need you, right now. Like this.”

  She had me against the kitchen table, a round, walnut number with blue, glittering snowmen salt and pepper shakers in the center. Frosty and his companion were the first casualties to Lia’s need as she bumped against the table, lying flat. She tugged me forward, my jeans already unbuttoned, her fingers cupping me, then stroking me until I was ready for her.

  “You feel this?” she said, pushing my hand over her pussy, eyes slipping closed when I teased her. “I’ve been like this, thinking about you, wanting only you since I watched them take you away from me in handcuffs.”

  “That turn you on, mami?”

  “The handcuffs?” I nodded, and Lia laughed. “Maybe a little. Mostly,” she said, pulling me against her with a heel against my lower back, “mostly, I just lay in my bed every night, touching myself...” I fell against her, holding myself up on my palms as Lia took guided my hand over her wet center. “Touching myself, imagining I had you between my thighs.”

  “Lia...” I panted, wanting her so much my entire body felt tight, my skin pulsing with an ache. I couldn’t wait for her and she didn’t seem inclined that I did.

  We adjusted, moving together like a dance, her helping me to push down her thong, me slipping off my jeans until we were skin to skin, until nothing was between us but heat and wetness and the hum of electricity.

  I slipped inside her and cried out from the shock of how she felt, from how tight and wet and welcoming she was around me.

  “Mami,” I growled when she pulled me down, opening her mouth to invite in my tongue, moaning just from the small movements of my hips and the strength of my lips working over hers. She gripped me everywhere, with her pussy, with her fingers in my hair, her feet pushing my back to get me closer and I reciprocated, holding her tight against me, watching how receptive she was to every sound and touch I made.

  “Missed...this,” she managed, arching up, then shuttering against the table when I slipped my hand away from her hard nipple to hold her face with my palm. She pulled my thumb into her mouth and sucked, the sensation, the sight of it too much, too fucking glorious.

  “Lia...I have to...”

  “Go fast and hard, Cruz...and I’ll come.”

  I did, jerking against her, thighs burning, as I watched her, that beautiful face unbelievable when I touched her clit, circling it to match the rhythm I made inside her until finally, Lia clamped around me, milking me and I fell over the edge.

  Just like always, Lia took me, and I followed.

  EPILOGUE

  Lia

  It got dark early in this small town and Cruz and I had begun a custom only a couple of weeks into his release. Seven p.m. every night, he pulled me outside, wrapped tight around him and a large, thick quilt Anna had made for him as a Christmas present. We’d declined his sisters’ invitation to celebrate in New Orleans because the swing and the night and this town seemed too perfect to be away from.

  “Think it’s ever snowed here?” I asked Cruz, relaxing against his shoulder as he made lazy brushes from his fingertips against my thigh.

  “In Texas?” he asked, a low laugh deepening his voice.

  “It’s snowed in New Orleans. Last winter, in fact.”

  “They’re closer to the water back home.”

  “Are you a weatherman now?” I asked, jabbing him in the ribs when he rolled his eyes at me.

  “No. Unless you asked me what the weather will be in Fallujah on any given day.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate, head shaking before he looked over at me. “Because I promise you it’ll be dry and hot and unbearable.”

  I tilted my head, rubbing the side of his face. “Do you miss it?”

  “The desert?”

  “Belonging. Having a purpose.”

  “I belong here,” he said, smoothing his hand up my thigh. “My purpose is to make you happy, mami.”

  “But your job...”

  “Is...not mine anymore.” I straightened at the confession, not sure why it made me hold my breath. Cruz had given up a lot for the job he loved. Me included. Now that the impeachment process had begun, and Nelson was in jail alongside Bella and Gable, there wasn’t much for Cruz to do. He’d testified before the Senate. He’d recounted the things they’d wanted him to do, but he hadn’t mentioned going back to work. Even when the new president, Catherine Williams, asked him to rejoin the agency, Cruz hadn’t given her a yes.

  He was proud, but a little too stubborn. I knew what he thought—that since his arrest, his reputation was tarnished. Williams and her administration didn’t believe that, it seemed, in fact, and was eager to have someone so devoted, so loyal back on staff, but Cruz still hadn’t seemed eager to return.

  “You know,” I said, keeping my voice indifferent, maybe a little bored. It was the only way I might manage getting him to say yes. “I don’t need a babysitter. I can watch over myself and this place...” He jerked his attention to me, frown hard and worried. “What?”

  “You...don’t want me here?” I hated the expression he gave me. I could never quite tell when he was simply hurt or utterly enraged. Cruz was just too good at keeping his emotions under check.

  “Of course, I want you here, insane man,” I promised, sitting up to kiss him. “I just...” I shook my head, eyes closed to focus my attention on what I wanted to say and not how warm he was, or how he kept trying to tease me underneath the cover from the quilt. “I won’t let you...”

  Cruz silenced me with a finger over my mouth. “Shut up, Lia.” Then Cruz stole any stupid noble notions I had about giving him up with the press of his mouth over mine and the silencing power in his kiss.

  “Um...hey, y’all.” I heard, pulling away from Cruz when our next-door neighbor interrupted the kiss. “Beautiful Texas night, ain’t it?” Margie Lawrence was about seventy-five and had spent the past two weeks filling us in on every conceivable trait of our new home and the generations of different families that had lived in our home before us—it might have been overkill, but we humored her. That’s what southern people did when older folks were talking.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cruz offered, giving Margie his full attention. “You up for a hot chocolate?”

  “Ain’t you the sweetest?” She laughed, waving off his offer. “You better keep your eye on this one, darling, or I might just steal him.”

  “I will!” I said, laughing at her wave as Margie disappeared into her house. “She has a crush on you,” I told Cruz, smiling at the quick blush on his cheeks. “I might have to up my game so your eyes don’t wander.”

  “Never,” he said, pulling my leg over his hip. “But you know, people in small towns talk. They love gossip.” I shrugged, unbothered by the potential. “We’re gonna scandalize them, living in sin.”

  “Baby,” I said, diverting the direction he seemed to want to take the conversation. “That’s my favorite place to live.”

  “YES! OH, GOD, CRUZ!” My voice carried over the room and for a fleeting second, I wondered if our properties were close enough that Margie could hear how loud I was every time Cruz gave me an orgasm. “Was that...am I too loud?” I asked him, loving the weight of his body against my chest after he followed me.

  “Not for me,” he said, kissing my rib, moving his mouth and teeth against my skin, to the curve of my breast before he sucked my nipple into his mouth. He looked up, licking against my pebbled skin. “I like how loud you are, mami. It’s hot.”

  “Wonder if every sinner sounds the way I do.” I snorted, ignoring the tilt of Cruz’s head. He’d already forgotten the comment he’d made two hours before on the porch. “You called us sinners...”

  “No,” he said, moving to my side. “I said we’re living in sin.”

  “There’s a di
fference?” He nodded, rubbing my back, down to my ass when I got up from the bed to step into the bathroom for a glass of water. The counter was clear except for a Time magazine that lay between the double sinks. It was brand new, another political cover, but this time it had the president, her beautiful smile wide and welcoming as she stared at the camera. The title read “America’s New Beginning” with a subtitle I was sure mentioned how Williams was the first African-American woman to hold the office and likely something about how easily she’d snag a second term. Fleetingly, I thought about sending her a card, offering up my help if she was in need of it, but squashed the thought almost as soon as it came. Catherine had won her position as Speaker of the House when Lincoln was president. I’d always liked her. She was smart, so smart, in fact, I was positive she didn’t need any help from me.

  Besides, I’d had enough of D.C. and politics to last a lifetime.

  I returned to the bed, snuggling beside Cruz, distracted by my own thoughts when he started to speak. “Living in sin is different.”

  “We aren’t living in sin,” I started, frowning when he exhaled and rested against his pillow. “What?” I asked him, not liking how he shook his head.

  “I had this whole thing worked out.” Cruz shifted his gaze from the ceiling, right to my face. He reached for me, tracing a fingertip over my forehead like he wanted to see if he could get the small line to leave my features.

  “What worked out?”

  “How to...ah, hell, here...”

  I didn’t expect anything from him at all. Cruz had given me so much just by coming back, by not complaining that I’d bought this house and put it in his name. I’d wanted it quick and settled before he was released. No matter what I didn’t expect, he still handed over a box big enough to hold two thick wads of cash, which earned him a glare and a small pistol, which I avoided when I opened it.

  “I need to find a bank,” he said, moving the cash and gun out of my way when I began to dig around the items in the box. Aside from the money, I took hold of a beautiful, glass bead rosary. The beads themselves were maroon and the clasps between each with black metal. At the end hung a crucifix, carved in ivory. “My mother’s,” he offered, pushing my hair behind my ear as I held the rosary between my fingers.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  He sat up, kissing my temple before he whispered, “That’s not what I wanted you to see.”

  “What is this?” I asked, picking up a black velvet bag, small enough to fit in my palm. He didn’t answer when I watched him, eyebrows up in a silent question.

  “Just open it, mami.”

  Cruz laid back down, his focus sharp on me as I opened the small satchel, upturning it into my hand. I had a lot of ideas about what I might find, but none of them came close to this. It didn’t seem right, him giving me this ring, but then, there wasn’t anything normal, anything fair about me and Cruz and the road we took to get to this moment.

  The ring looked antique, the setting silver, the intricate scroll work mildly Art Deco. In the center was a large diamond square with a cluster of smaller diamonds edging the larger stone. I held it between my fingers, shooting a glance at Cruz when he rubbed my arm, a nervous tic he had when his patience was getting thin.

  “You...don’t want to be a sinner with me?” I asked, unable to keep the tease out of my voice.

  “I wanna be an everything with you,” he answered, sitting up with his hands holding my forearms. “What do you think?”

  “That’s a proposal?” I asked, smile stretching when he laughed.

  “Marry me,” he said simply, voice gravelly sweet.

  “Because I silence the noise?” I whispered, the smile gone now from my mouth.

  “Because, mami,” he said, fingers dancing over my cheek, “with you, there’s no noise at all.”

  I took a breath, loving the weight of that ring in my hands, loving it more as I leaned forward, kissing Cruz, and slid the ring over my finger.

  —The End—

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to my friends and betas, especially Renita McKinney and her Curtis, Judy Lovely, and Trish Leger for being tolerable to my requests for quick reads. Thanks also to all the betas and readers who understood that this project would run late, and ARCs would come far later than they should have. I apologize for being such a procrastinator.

  Warmest gratitude goes out to my Sweet Team, the Saints and Sinners reader group, and Ena with Enticing Journey for their patience and massive support. It is much appreciated.

  Thank you to Alexa Riley and Jenika Snow for the short-reads advice, and to all my author friends and acquaintances who helped me promote this serial, especially Chelle Bliss, Toni Aleo, Brenda Rothert, Andrea Johnston, LK Farlow, Annika Martin and Carrie Ann Ryan.

  As always, to my Corporate Hell sisters, Marie Anderson-Simmons (who keeps us ALL in check), Barbara Blakes, Kalpana Singh, Sarah Cooper, and Sherry Jackson—I love you all to my bones. I couldn’t do a single day without you.

  To my love, Chris, thank you for your constant hustle and your unending support. Thank you to my girls Trinity, Faith and Grace for always believing in me and to the moon baby, Jax, for the best hugs and smooches in the world.

  A special thank you to Shonda Rhimes for the inspiration, and to Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, who, in my humble opinion, is a champion and a warrior. If you have a story like hers, like mine as well, we are all listening.

  Never stop speaking your truth.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  EDEN BUTLER IS AN EDITOR and writer of Romance, SciFi, and Fantasy novels and the nine-time great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.

  When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden patiently waits for her Hogwarts letter, writes, reads and spends too much time watching rugby, “Doctor Who” and New Orleans Saints football. Currently, she is imprisoned under teenage rule alongside her husband in Southeastern Louisiana.

  Please send help.

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