Page 35 of Mission Shift

And then, she was there, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Her walls clenched around my fingers, her body shuddering with the force of her release. I continued to move my fingers, drawing out every last tremor until she lay spent and sated in my arms.

As her body relaxed, she tried to roll toward me again, no doubt with the intention of returning the favor. But I wasn’t having any of it. This wasn’t about me. This was about taking care of her, giving her the release she so desperately needed to find sleep.

“Shh,” I whispered in her ear, holding her firmly against me. “Just sleep, Daria. I’ve got you. I just wanted to take care of you.”

She melted against me, her body boneless and pliant in the afterglow of her orgasm. My arm folded around her, creating a protective cocoon that I hoped would keep the nightmares at bay.

“Sweet dreams, beautiful,” I breathed, kissing her on the cheek.

I started humming, gently singing, “Your Man,” one of my favorite songs by Josh Turner. As I sang, her breathing evened out, her body relaxing even further against mine. I watched her—this strong, fierce woman who had been through so much—as sleep finally claimed her. The lines of stress and worry vanished from her face, replaced by a serene calm that was almost otherworldly.

For a few minutes afterward, I continued to hum, my voice a low rumble in the stillness of the dark bunker. Soon my own eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion from the last few days finally catching up to me. But I didn’t want to sleep, not yet. I wanted to stay awake, to watch over her, to protect her from the dangers that lurked outside.

Eventually, though, sleep became an inevitability. I tightened my hold on Daria, tucking her closer to me. And with the sound of her steady breathing in my ear and the warmth of her body against mine, I allowed myself to drift off, content knowing that, for this moment at least, she was safe.

Chapter thirteen

Iwoke up draped over Braxton. My head was nestled against his chest, my body moving with the steady rise and fall of his breaths. His arms were still wrapped around me—protective and warm. I didn’t remember turning toward him during the night and couldn’t believe I had been so deeply asleep. Most women would relish being in this man’s embrace, but for me, it was an uneasy shock. What spell did he have over me?

Panic set in.

What time is it?!

I lifted my head, looking up at the dim light filtering through the turret opening. We’d slept too long—damn it! Every second we lingered brought our pursuers one step closer to us. I couldn’t afford this—this lapse in vigilance. I shoved aside the hazy sense of peace that had settled over me. This was his doing. Somehow,despite everything, Braxton was finding ways to slip past every wall I had built.

I shook his shoulder roughly. “Braxton, wake up. We have to move.”

He pried his eyes open. They were bleary but aware. Stretching, he groaned. “Jesus…every cell in my body aches,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair.

“The best medicine is to keep moving,” I said dryly, sitting up and reaching for my tactical belt. I strapped it on over my pants and pulled out the GPS, checking the time. It was just after sunrise. Thank God.

Braxton sat up slowly, rubbing his neck. I stood and turned toward the ashes of the fire that had long since burned out. I wasn’t about to let him see how disoriented I was. He had this uncanny way of making me feel…at ease. It was dangerous. Comfort was unacceptable in my world. And yet, when he touched me, it was different. His touch wasn’t just gentle—it was tender, patient, as though he cared more about healing the wounds beneath my skin than satisfying his own needs. No man had ever touched me the way he did—reverently, like I was more than a body to sleep with, like I had worth beyond what I was able to do for him or give to him.

I barely knew him, but he made me believe I was valuable. And that terrified me.

“Here,” I said, tossing him the packet of mixed nuts and fruits from one of last night’s MREs. I unscrewed the top off a water jug and handed it to him. “Drink up. We’ve not been staying sufficiently hydrated.”

He took a long drink before passing it back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and giving me a grateful nod. While I crouched to tighten the laces on my boots, he tore open the packet and started eating. I tried not to notice the way Braxton’s gaze lingered on me as he ate, but it was impossible to ignore.

This man was…complicated. An enigma I couldn’t quite figure out. Bold, capable. He could throw a punch and take one just as well. But what truly threw me off-balance was his kindness. He wore it boldly and didn’t apologize for it. To him, it wasn’t a weakness. It was simply part of who he was, as natural to him as breathing. Men like that weren’t supposed to exist, at least not in my world. Strength usually came with cruelty, and empathy was a liability. But Braxton defied those rules in a way that was both fascinating and maddening.

I couldn’t allow myself to hope I had a future with someone like that—someone like him. My life was built on survival, on keeping people at a distance. Anyone who got too close to me either ended up dead or became a target. I’d already lost too many people. I wouldn’t put that burden on him, no matter how much I was drawn to him.

“Ready?” he asked, shaking me from my thoughts.

I gave him a curt nod, and we made quick work of gathering our things. The plastic sheet and blanket were stuffed into the pack, along with the remaining food supplies. Braxton shoved the Makarov in the waistband of his jeans—on the side this time. It must have wreaked havoc, chafing uncomfortably against his back during the long trek yesterday.

Once we were ready, I glanced around the bunker one last time, ensuring we hadn’t left anything behind.

“Let’s go,” I said, striding toward the door.

The cool morning air brushed against my face as soon as we stepped outside. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, shards of sunlight gleaming through the trees. Birds chirped in the distance, a sign of normalcy in a place where peace was temporary.

We moved silently into the forest, the underbrush soft beneath our boots. The path ahead stretched endlessly, each step taking us closer to the border—and further from the danger at ourbacks. Time was against us, and the path ahead was long and uncertain, but for now, we had one goal: to reach the border before it was too late.

By midmorning, clouds had rolled in, covering the relentless sun and casting a merciful shade over us. This made the trek through the fields and forests more bearable, though the humidity stuck to us like a sticky film. Braxton and I kept a steady, brisk pace, stopping only when absolutely necessary—just long enough to gulp down some water or shove a few bites of food into our mouths before pressing on.

The landscape blurred into a steady stream of towering trees, expanses of open fields, and overgrown trails. My body screamed at me to rest, every muscle burning from the kilometers we’d already covered, but I couldn’t let myself give in. Rest was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I studied Braxton as we trudged through another dense patch of undergrowth. He looked just as worn out as I felt, sweat dripping down the sides of his face, but he hadn’t complained once. The man had more stamina than I’d expected, though I could tell he was pushing through on sheer willpower.

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