Page 82 of Theta

I glance at his zipper, and then out the window. "Too bad it's still daylight and there's people everywhere. I'd fix that right here right now, but unfortunately for you, I’m not an exhibitionist.”

We stop again—this time for a flat-nosed cube van to unload crates of fresh produce; there's no way to go around and cars piled up behind us, and the unloading process looks to take a while, so Killian puts the Audi into park and leans back in his seat, stretching with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Story…" he takes my hand and kisses the back of it. "How do I say this?"

I frown at him. "Not sure I like the start of this."

He frowns thoughtfully. "I don't know how to say what I'm trying to say."

"Please pull into the nearest dead-end alley and suck my brains out through my dick?" I suggest, teasing a finger over the brass teeth of his zipper.

"That's just it—yes, I want that. I mean, shit, of course I want you to do that."

I nip his earlobe. "Now you're being shy?"

"Shy? Who's shy?" he shakes his head. "I'm not shy."

"Then say what you mean."

"Fine. Yes, Story. I always want you to suck my cock. There'll never not be a time when I don't."

It's my turn to arch an eyebrow at him. "But?"

"But I want more than that," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. "You sucking me off feels fucking incredible, obviously. And I'm pretty sure it does something for you. But it's not what I really want. It's not what I dream about."

I willingly take the bait. "What do you dream about, then, Killy?"

He takes my hand and kisses the back of it again, his eyes on mine, green fire piercing to the core of my soul. "Hearing you scream my name while I'm inside you," he growls.

15

Too Late To Run

My stomach does several very athletic flips at his statement. He's driving with his left hand on the wheel, his right resting on his thigh. I take his hand in mine and crush-grip it as a bolt of unadulterated need rampages through me. I thunk my head back against the headrest and shove his hand between my thighs, squeezing as hard as I can. "Dammit, Kills," I hiss. "I need that. I need you."

"I almost wish I could raise those fuckers from the dead just so I can kill them again for cock-blocking me," Killian mutters. "Fucking assholes. They couldn't have waited a few minutes?"

I bite my lower lip, leveling a scorching, aroused stare at him. "Only a few minutes?" I ask. "You really think all you're gonna give me is a few minutes?" I reach for his zipper. "Killy, honey. I'm gonna need a few hours. At least."

His returned stare comes with a cocky smirk. "I was exaggerating for dramatic effect." He grabs my wrist and stops me before I can make contact with the promised land. "Don't. We have to focus. If you touch me, all bets are off."

"Fine, whatever. Be all right and stuff."

He laughs. "Sorry that I want to live long enough to be able to fuck you until your legs don't work."

I groan out loud, clamping my thighs around his hand all the tighter. "Killian Harris, you are not a nice man. You shouldn't tease me like that."

"Not a tease—a promise."

I force my thighs to unclench, focusing on letting my arousal ebb away through slow, controlled breaths. Slowly, I manage to pull my attention away from my sexual and emotional desperation to make love with Killian and dial in on our situation. "You said your drug dealer buddy was gonna be meeting us at the hostel at midnight."

Killian threads his fingers through mine and rests them together on my lap. "That's what we agreed, yes. But the hostel is blown."

"So we ambush the next squad, find somewhere to hole up until midnight, and then intercept your friend outside the hostel. Take the ferry to Rome. Do something about Enzo's kid. Get a clean burner and contact our family. Wrap up this bullshit." I lift our hands and kiss his knuckles. "And then you take me somewhere and spend at least a week ruining me in all the best ways."

"Only a week?" Killian murmurs. "Gonna need a lot longer than that."

"A month?"