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"Are you calling me in?" I ask instead of taking that bait. As far as I'm concerned, it's the only important question right now.
A week ago, I would have welcomed him telling me to get back to Los Angeles. A week ago, I was looking for any excuse to get the fuck out of here, away from temptation. Now though? I'm not ready to go back to work.
I'm not ready to leave Mila.
Finn hesitates for a long moment and then sighs. "No," he says, sending relief through me is a soft rush. "We're going to sweep up as many of them as we can and pray like hell we slow them down. There's no reason for you to come back."
He doesn't say the word yet, but I hear it anyway. I know how this works. If that drug makes it to Guerrero, it's going to be an all-hands-on-deck situation. I won't have a choice but to go back because we can't afford for him to gain any ground, and he will do whatever it takes to keep that drug under his control. Even if he has to start a war to do it.
I stopped praying a long time ago, but the urge hits hard and fast, throwing me off balance. Only, I don't pray to slow them down or stop that war. No, I'm fucking begging God that I won't have to leave Mila sooner than planned. Because that? That's what's tearing me apart. Leaving her behind.
My entire adult life, I've been focused on my job. I sacrificed everything for it. But I've had Mila in my bed for a handful of days, and suddenly nothing else seems to matter.
She's unraveling me, obliterating me piece by piece, and God help us both, but I don't want her to stop.
When she comes downstairs a few minutes later, I'm still standing in front of the coffee pot, staring out at the beach. My mind runs a thousand miles a minute, but I know the second she walks into the room. Tense knots loosen all over my body, and my dick turns to steel.
"Hey." She wraps her arms around me from behind, resting her head against my back.
"Morning," I mumble, grabbing her hand and tugging until she's in front of me, trapped between my body and the cabinet.
She tilts her face up to me, smiling softly.
God, she's beautiful. She's wearing one of my T-shirts again, her legs bare. Her hair is still a mess, as if she didn't bother trying to tame it after crawling out of bed. Her green eyes are bright, and her cheeks are flushed.
I study her for a long moment, looking for any hint of sadness or fear, and finding none. The only thing in her eyes as she smiles up at me is happiness, desire, and confidence. I fucking live for knowing I'm giving her back a little of what Damien Wentworth stole from her.
"Are you okay?" she asks in that sweet little voice that drives me wild. She lifts her hand to my cheek, running her fingers beneath my right eye. "You look tired."
"I'm good," I tell her, only partially lying. With her in front of me, I am good. I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips. Her fingertips are soft against my skin. I nip them gently before sliding my hand into her hair and tilting her head back. Her lips part and I dip my head, brushing my lips across hers.
As soon as our mouths meet, she moans, pressing one hand against my abs.
"Roman," she whispers.
My cock jerks.
I love the way she says my name.
I love the way she screams it even more.
Fuck. I need to be inside her.
I lift her up in my arms as the urge to fuck her strikes hard and fast. She squeaks in surprise and then twines her legs around my waist. Her hands go to my hair, tugging. Her mouth doesn't leave mine. I deepen the kiss, nipping her bottom lip until she opens for me.
Her mouth is so fucking sweet. I can't get enough of it. I've never been big on kissing. It was always just a means to an end, but I could kiss Mila all fucking day and still not have enough of the way her mouth works with mine. Every time she kisses me, she does it like she's addicted to me, unable to tear herself away.
I groan when she bites my bottom lip and grinds her hot little body against my dick.
"You want me, baby?" I ask.
"I always want you," she moans, still grinding against me.
Fuck.
I break away from her mouth, trailing my lips across her cheek and then down to her neck. She cries out, pulling my hair hard when I suck her skin into my mouth and bite, marking her again. I'm always marking her, leaving behind reminders of who she belongs to. When I can't be in her, I'm still all over her.
She loves seeing those marks on her body as much as I do.
