Page 55 of The Sentinel

This wasn’t about claiming her, not yet. It was about feeling her, knowing her in a way I hadn’t before.

She tilted her head, her lips parting just enough to draw my gaze, and then she lifted her hands to the hem of that tank top. My breath caught as she peeled it off, slow and deliberate, the fabric sliding over her head and dropping to the floor.

The black lace bra came next, her fingers deft at the clasp, and when it fell away, I went hard—instantly, painfully—yearning pulsing through me like a live current.

Her shorts followed, unbuttoned and tugged down her thighs, leaving her bare except for the air between us. She stood there, unashamed, staring up at me with those piercing eyes, and I felt stripped too, like she could see every crack I’d hidden for years.

“Go shower,” she said, her voice low, steady, cutting through the haze in my head.

I didn’t argue.

I nodded, turning toward the bathroom, my pulse thudding in my ears. The door clicked shut behind me, and I stripped off my clothes—shirt, pants, boxers—leaving them in a heap on the tile.

The shower hissed to life, steam rising fast, and I stepped under the spray, letting the hot water pound against my shoulders. I didn’t rush. My hands moved slow, soaping my chest, my arms, the tension in my muscles easing but not the ache in my core.

I was almost nervous—me, Marcus Dane, who’d faced death without blinking, who’d buried men and secrets without a second thought. Nervous because of her, because of what this was becoming.

The water sluiced over me, rinsing away the sweat and the day, but my mind stayed on her—on the way she’d looked at me, the way her voice had softened when she’d said my name.

I shut off the shower, grabbed a towel, and dried off, wrapping it around my hips before stepping back into the room.

She was on my bed, under the sheets, the charcoal-gray duvet pushed aside in a careless heap. She lay on her side, one arm tucked under her head, the curve of her hip outlined beneath the thin fabric.

My breath hitched, and I let the towel drop, crossing the room in silence. The mattress dipped under my weight as I slipped in behind her, my chest pressing against her back, my arms sliding around her waist. Her skin was warm, her scent sharp and floral, and I buried my face in her hair, inhaling deep.

We didn’t speak. Words felt too heavy, too fragile for what this was. I just held her, my hands splayed across her stomach, feeling the slow rise and fall of herbreathing. Her body fit against mine like it belonged there, and for a long time, that was enough—just the quiet, the closeness, the way her heartbeat pulsed under my palm.

Then she turned, shifting in my arms until she faced me, her eyes locking onto mine. She didn’t say anything, just leaned in and kissed me—soft at first, her lips brushing mine like a question. I answered, kissing her back, slow and deep, tasting the salt of her grief and the heat of something else.

Our eyes stayed open, locked, and I felt her hand slide down my chest, over the ridges of my stomach, until her fingers found my cock—rigid, waiting, straining for her touch.

Her grip was gentle, tentative, stroking me fully from base to tip, her thumb brushing over the head in a way that made my breath catch. She didn’t look away, didn’t break that gaze, and I let her—let her touch me, let her see me, raw and unguarded.

My hips twitched, a low groan escaping my throat, but I didn’t rush her. This was hers to lead, and I gave it to her, every shudder, every pulse of want.

Then she moved, climbing over me, her thighs straddling my face as she lowered herself down. My hands slid to her hips, gripping her tight, and my mouth dove in, tasting her—hot, slick, sweet as sin.

She gasped, a sound that shot straight through me, and then her lips closed around my cock, taking me deep. The room narrowed to this—to her, to us, to the wet heat of her mouth and the velvet of her against my tongue.

I licked her slow, deliberate, my tongue tracing her folds, circling her clit with a pressure that made her moan around me. The vibration hummed through mycock, and I groaned into her, my fingers digging into her thighs to hold her steady. She was dripping, coating my lips, my chin, and I drank her in, savoring every shudder, every hitch in her breath.

My tongue flattened, pressing hard against her clit, then flicked fast, relentless, until her hips bucked, grinding against my face.

Her mouth worked me in tandem—sucking me deep, her tongue swirling over the tip, her hand stroking what she couldn’t take. The heat of her, the tightness, the way she hollowed her cheeks—it was too much, too good, and I felt the edge creeping closer.

I wanted her to come first, needed it, so I ran my thumbs down the middle of her ass, spreading everything, angled my head, sucking her clit into my mouth, rolling it gently between my lips while my tongue flicked over it, fast and firm.

She whimpered, the sound muffled around my cock, and her thighs trembled, clamping tighter around my head. I could feel her tightening, her body coiling, and I didn’t let up—sucking harder, licking faster, my hands pulling her down so she couldn’t escape the pressure.

Her hips rocked, desperate, chasing it, and then she broke—coming hard, her cry vibrating through me as her release flooded my mouth. I lapped at her, greedy, drawing it out, feeling her shake and pulse against my tongue.

The sensation tipped me over. Her mouth tightened around me, her hand stroking faster, and I groaned—low, guttural—as heat surged down my spine. My cock jerked, spilling into her mouth, and she took it all, swallowing me down with a soft hum that made my vision blur. My hands gripped her hips, holding her thereas I rode it out, every pulse a shudder that left me wrecked.

She pulled back first, breathless, and slid off me, collapsing beside me on the sheets. Her chest heaved, her skin flushed, and she turned onto her side, pressing against me again.

I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, her head resting on my chest as our breathing slowed. Her hair tickled my skin, damp and wild, and I ran my fingers through it, grounding myself in the feel of her.

We lay there, tangled, quiet, the aftershocks fading into a stillness that felt fragile but real. Then she lifted her head, her gray eyes meeting mine, and her voice came soft, steady despite the weight behind it. “What are we going to do?”

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