Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I hated seeing him unhappy and stressed.
“I knew something more was going on,” I admitted. “But I didn’t know how to get you to admit it.”
His jaw moved, but he said nothing.
If he was upset with me, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. His silence was a pain in the fucking ass.
I shoved him away and sat up, turning to flick on the bedside table lamp so I could see him better. “You’re going to be mad at me?” I asked incredulously. “That’s rich.”
“You manipulated me.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Join the fucking club, Locke. You’ve been manipulating me, too. Or were you really having me look up a location in the Kiel Canal just to test some tech?”
The accusation hit its mark. His nostrils flared, but I also saw a brief look of contrition before he wiped it away.
“Because it was none of your business why I wanted you to look that up. It had nothing to do with you—”
Is he serious?
“You made me feel like an idiot! I kept asking you, begging you to tell me, and you kept insisting that I didn’t know what I was talking about. And this whole time, you’ve insisted you were playing goddamned chess, and in reality, you were—”
Locke’s strong hand over my mouth kept me from finishing the sentence. “No.”
When he finally let go, I lowered my voice even more. “I want to know so I can help.”
“You can’t.”
“I definitely can’t if I don’t even fucking know!”
“I’m not allowed to tell you anything about this,” he hissed. “Telling you puts you in danger.”
“I can handle danger,” I said, unable to spill my own secrets but unwilling to let him worry about me.
He scoffed. “Right.” He stopped and sucked in a breath. “Jett, there’s a difference between living on the streets and going up against people this powerful.”
I let out a soft, incredulous huff. If only he knew what kind of situations I’d been in before. What kind of danger I’d faced and continued to face every day in my job.
The words piled up in my throat, but I didn’t let them out. The reality of asking him to spill his secrets while being unable to spill my own made my stomach churn.
I had more reason than ever not to trust him. But I wanted to trust him more than ever, too.
What the fuck am I doing? When did this get so fucking complicated?
Locke’s eyes stayed on mine. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but his message was firm. “I need you to stay out of this. Stop asking questions. Please.”
He’d moved closer, and I hadn’t even realized he’d been holding my hand until he squeezed it. The warm strength of him was reassuring, and I was a sucker for the fantasy of letting him protect me.
Locke’s other hand came up to cup my face. “Baby. Please.”
There was no way I was staying out of it, but I suddenly wanted to be Locke’s “baby” more than just about anything. So I crawled into his lap and kissed him. “I know a lot of people, Locke. I can help if you’ll let me.”
“You’re helping enough by being here with me,” he said softly.
I knew he meant it, and it felt good. But not being seen as someone with vital information or skills to help in whatever it was they were doing stung.
I kissed him back, hungry for connection despite my frustration.
The kissing turned into Locke’s fumbled reach to pull my cock against his and stroke us off together. It was fast and desperate, his grunts hot against my skin and my face eager to stay pressed as close as possible into the crook of his neck.
“That’s it,” he urged in a broken voice. “Oh fuck, Jett. Baby. Fuck.”
I spilled over his hand and belly, wondering how it was possible to feel this close to someone who didn’t know me at all. Someone who kept secrets just like I did.
Later, when he was already breathing regularly against my shoulder, his body slack from sleep, I couldn’t stop myself from considering the impossibility of the situation.
I wanted Locke. And not just in bed.
I wanted more time with the sweet man who’d taught me Paxis. The one who took care of his people.
I wanted to kiss his jaw when it got tight and smooth the worry from his forehead. I wanted to see his eyes lighten and the tension bleed from his shoulders when we shared a joke or a meal or a touch.
But in what fucking world could the two of us have something other than this?
No world.
He thought I’d been lying to him about Santi when in reality, I’d been lying to him about everything. Who I was. What I did for a living. The reason I was curious about Paxis.