Page 49 of Over the Edge

Instead, I moaned into his mouth and kissed him back, hungry and desperate, letting him pull me against the heat of his hard body. He lifted me effortlessly and carried me into the bedroom.

He tossed me onto the bed, and I fell back with a gasp as he followed, effortlessly pinning my wrists above my head in one hand while he ripped open another condom package with his teeth.

“One night,” I whispered, parting my legs to welcome him. “You get one night.”

“If that’s all I get…” He rolled on the condom, positioned his thick head at my entrance, and filled me with one vicious stroke. I arched beneath him, gasping at the delicious fullness.

“I’m going to make it count,” he promised, his voice a rough growl against my ear. “I’m going to ruin you for all other men, Siren.”

I didn’t say it, but I was pretty sure he already had.

CHAPTER15

FLYNN

I’d spentmy entire adult life perfecting the art of waking up alone. I’d had my share of women over the years—good women, dangerous women, beautiful women, and everything in between—but I’d never been the type to linger the morning after. Not after missions, and definitely not after sex. I was always planning my exit before I even arrived. It was my personal code, my survival instinct, the reason I was still breathing while so many others weren’t.

I wasn’t looking for permanence. No roots or connections that couldn’t be easily severed. My life was compact by design—everything I owned fit in one duffel bag. My relationships were the same.

Clean. Uncomplicated. Disposable.

It was the way I liked it.

Until Lyric.

I blinked awake to light filtering through the terrace doors, painting the room in soft gold. My body ached in places I hadn’t noticed last night. Not from the chase, not from the fight, but from her. From the way we’d torn into each other like the world was ending.

Hell.

She was still sound asleep beside me. She lay on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath her pillow, the other stretched toward me. The sheet had slipped to her waist, exposing the elegant line of her spine, the soft curve of her shoulder blades. Her hair was a tangle of platinum and gold against the white pillowcase, and there was a mark on her shoulder where I’d gotten carried away with my teeth. She looked softer in sleep, the sharp edges and walls she kept so carefully constructed during waking hours momentarily dismantled.

An unfamiliar, unsettling sensation spread through my chest.

I wanted to stay with her.

The realization hit me like a suckerpunch.

I wanted to wake up next to this woman tomorrow. And the day after that. I wanted to learn the map of those freckles, memorize the sounds she made when she came apart beneath me, discover what made her laugh, what made her cry, what made her trust—and what had made her so afraid to.

Well…

Fuck.

I’d known Lyric Renard for less than a week, and somehow she’d already gotten under my skin in ways no one else ever had. It wasn’t just the sex, though Christ, that had been mind-blowing. It was everything else. The way she’d handled herself during the chase. How she’d fought beside me like we’d been a team for years. The way she never backed down, never flinched, never hesitated.

I imagined, for the first time in my adult life, what it might be like to have something real. Something that lasted beyond a mission or a night. Something that mattered. What if, after Sentinel was secured and Moreau was neutralized, there was... after? What if there was breakfast in bed and lazy Sunday mornings? What if there were inside jokes and favorite restaurants and a side of the bed that was mine?

What if there was a life beyond the job?

The possibility felt foreign, almost ridiculous, like trying on someone else’s too-tight clothes. I’d spent my entire career—my entire life—being the guy who could walk away. The one who didn’t get attached. The one who never looked back. It was what made me good at my job.

But looking at her now, I couldn’t imagine walking away. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like coming home.

Christ. When had I turned into such a sap?

She stirred, her breathing changing rhythm as she drifted toward consciousness. I watched her brow furrow slightly, her lips part on a soft exhale. Then her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as awareness returned.

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