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“And go where?”
“I’ll let you know when I decide.”
“What about Edward?” I ask. “Are you going to kill him?”
His jaw tenses. “Do you want that answer?”
“Yes. No lies.”
“Then yes, I’m going to kill him.”
I wait for this to bother me, but I think at this point, I’m numb. I’ve turned off a switch, and I’m in survival mode. I think I won’t know what I really feel until later, perhaps much later. “And then what? We ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after? Is that really possible?”
“Damn straight we do, and it is.”
“Like the CIA will let you walk away? They think you’re a criminal.”
“I’ll prove I’m not, and I’ll resign. I told you. I have cash saved up. I’ll go into private hire work. We can go anywhere you want to go, and you can have your identity back. They took it to hide you from me.”
“I can be me again?”
“Yes, baby, you can be you again. I’m going to make that happen.”
“How will I explain who you are?”
“The truth. I was CIA, and you couldn’t tell anyone who I was.”
“It feels too simple.”
“Simple is safe and good. Always go with simple.”
“We aren’t simple.”
He lowers me to the couch and comes down on top of me. “We are as simple as it gets. Two people who love each other.”
“Yes, but—”
His mouth closes down on mine, and I forget what I was going to say. There is just his tongue licking against my tongue, and his hand sliding under my backside, caressing it, lifting me. “I really need to feel you close.”
“We just did that,” I remind him.
“Six months without you, Ashley. We didn’t do nearly enough.”
My hand settles on his face. “I hated thinking you were the enemy.”
“I hated knowing you thought I was the enemy.” And then he’s kissing me again, and his hands and mouth travel to my jaw, my neck, then lower. He pulls my sweater over my head and then he’s kissing my nipples, cupping my breasts. Kissing and licking a path down my body until he’s pressing his mouth to my belly and unzipping my pants. Heat rushes through me with the certainty of what he plans to do, and it’s been so long, so very long.
I’m right about where his mouth will travel next. He tugs my pants down and drags them, along with my shoes, off of my body. Then his hands are on my ankles, his eyes meeting mine. “I haven’t properly tasted you in six months.”
My nipples and my sex clench with that bold statement. “There’s a lot we haven’t done in six months.”
“Too much,” he says, easing my legs apart, settling one on his shoulder while he settles between my thighs and strokes a finger over my clit.
I suck in air and arch my hips, sensations rolling through me, and his mouth isn’t even on me yet, but it will be, oh God, it will be, and I need this. I need this and him and—he licks me and presses two fingers inside me, a move that ends me in so many ways. There is no thinking, no worrying, no feeling anything but pleasure, only pleasure. So much pleasure. He licks, he strokes, he touches, he caresses. He pumps his fingers in my sex, and I lift into every move, push, and grind. I can’t help it. I can’t help myself with this man. He opens me up in ways no other man has and explores my body. Tears down my walls and inhibitions, and with that, we were always so damn hot together.
I don’t know where I am right now. I only know where his mouth and fingers touch, and it’s no time before I’m shattering, my body quaking into a crazy, hard release that I feel in every part of me. I collapse into the cushion, and he lowers my leg, sliding up my body to kiss me long and deep before he says, “Taste yourself on my lips. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Yes. It is.”
