Page 67 of Mob Star

I sit up and gaze into his eyes before we can’t keep our hands off each other and our lips apart. His hand cups the top of my neck just below my braids. His fingers rub at the knots, and the pain is soothing. The tension’s easing. His other hand continues to roam over my ass and tits. When he tries to pull back, I fist his hair and press his head forward. He relents and devours me. I tried to take control, and now he’s reminding me who really has it. I love it.

When we absolutely have to come up for air, we pant, looking at each other. He presses gentle kisses to my forehead, the tip of my nose, and my cheek. I sigh with happiness. I’m so damn content that I never want to get up. I glance toward the door, knowing someone could walk in at any time.

“How’d you get in here?”

“I know my way around this hospital, and I’m patient. I follow people through the security doors.”

“How?”

“I look like I’m on my phone, then like I’m rushing to slip through the doors since they’re already open. A grin makes people think I belong.”

He cups my jaw and kisses me again. This one is so damn tender. I’m so into him. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to get up. I wish we could stay like this. The only thing better would be feeling him inside me.

“I missed you, little one. Any free moment I had, I thought about you.”

“Same. I’m so glad you’re back. What I told you didn’t make you leave early did it?”

“No. I finished what I went up there to do. I couldn’t resist coming to see you, but how much longer is your shift?

I glance at my watch. “Forty-four hours.”

He groans, and I’m echoing him in my head. I want to strip and ride his cock. I want to make him come. I want to feel his hands on my bare skin and his tongue against my nipple. I really want to feel his cock. It’ll be another two days before I can do that. There is no real privacy in here, and I would never fuck at work. It’s not worth the risk.

“How long do you have right now?”

“Two-and-a-half-hours.”

“I know you were sleeping, and I hate waking you. But I need to talk to you, and it can’t wait.”

Trepidation fills me. “Should we go for a walk, so no one can interrupt this? You shouldn’t be in here, anyway.”

“Yeah.”

I get up, slipping into my shoes before I put my lab coat and surgical cap back on. When we get to the door, I open it and peer down the hallway in both directions. We slip out and make our way to the elevator. There’s an enormous courtyard in the center of the hospital complex. There’s plenty of room for people to talk without being overheard.

“Are you okay to be out here?”

“I have my pager.” I pull it out of my lab coat pocket and clip it back on to my scrubs’ waistband.

Finn slides his hand into mine as we walk to a secluded area. He waits for me to sit on the bench before he takes a seat, too. I wish I was on his lap. Instead, our hands rest on his thigh.

“Thea, whose woman were you?”

Can my heart lurch and stop at the same time? There’s no clinical diagnosis for that, and it defies human anatomy. But mine just figured out how to do it. I can’t breathe. I feel entirely frozen. He spoke to Corey. I should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as him putting a bullet through the bastard's heart. That’s my past. One I’d hoped not to relive, but I’ve always known I would tell Finn. I just didn’t think it would be so soon or like this. I’m slow to look up at him. I don’t realize I’m crying until he swipes tears away with a feather soft touch.

“Finn, I don’t want to do this right now when I have nearly two straight days of work left. But I also can’t fear what’s going to happen for two days. Why did you come here to talk to me about this while I’m at work? What happened that made it so urgent?”

I watch him. There’s a hard set to his jaw. His gaze isn’t cold, but it’s distant. I don’t like any of this.

“Are you jealous?”

“Of course, I fecking am. But that’s not why I came. Corey made it sound like he’ll send whoever was in your past down here to get you. He kept saying you have responsibilities up there, that you were a?—”

He really doesn’t want to say it.

“A Mama.” I hate that term and think it’s so stupid. But that’s one thing a biker chick— a biker’s woman —is called. It’s the most benign.

“That wasn’t the one he chose.”

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