I’m dizzy from his words.
“Tell me Aiden’s going to be okay.”
“I have a friend moving him and my foster folks to another safehouse in Canary Wharf. It’s close to City Airport. With any luck, they’ll be on their way to Sicily….” He checks his watch. “In five hours from now. And Ada? We’re going to be on that jet, too. I can feel it.”
“And Danny?”
“Guido has eyes on O’Sullivan’s house and a contact inside. They’ll let us know when he leaves. That way, we can get in and get your brother without waking up the neighbourhood.” He lets go of my face, but I can still taste his war in my mouth. He wants to kill O’Sullivan, to rip him apart with his bare hands and avenge his family, but he wants to keep me safe as well.
“Thank you.” Crawling back across the seat, I slide on top of him again, and take his face between my hands. “Thank you for seeing me. For remembering me…”
“For chasing feathers,” he mutters.
“No regrets,” I whisper.
After a beat, he repeats it back to me, looking me dead in the eye. Holding nothing back but the truth:
“No regrets.”
We ditch the stolen car and catch a couple of taxis to Greenwich, changing cabs every ten minutes, or whenever the drivers start asking too many questions.
Frankie keeps me locked in his arms the whole time, managing to make me feel calm and safe, despite the whole world burning down around us.
I love the smell of him on my clothes, my skin… I love that every time I move, I feel him between my thighs. That piece of me will never be Kirill’s, no matter how many times he beats or rapes me in the future, should he ever catch up with us. I gave it of my own freewill to a man who deserved it, and the Russian will never be able to erase that.
The address for the safehouse comes through as we’re passing by The Royal Observatory. By seven thirty p.m., we’re pulling up to a terraced redbrick on a quiet road in West Greenwich, with nothing patrolling the pavement except a couple of overfed tabby cats.
There’s a key safe on the side wall. We let ourselves into a narrow white lobby, and Frankie double bolts the door behind us. There’s a sterile, unused smell about the place, but it’s a castle and a kingdom after O’Sullivan’s oppression.
Feeling thirsty, I head into the kitchen to find us some glasses as Frankie’s phone starts ringing again.
“Yeah, we’re here. One weapon, no spare clips.” He catches my eye and jerks his head towards the stairs. “Go take a shower,” he mouths.
“In a minute,” I mouth back, filling up my glass and taking a sip.
“Now.” He narrows his eyes at me, and I catch another glimpse of the emerging capo.
“I will, if you join me.”
This isn’t the time for sex, it’s about survival, but there’s something about the heat of his touch that bleeds strength into me. I want it constantly. I need it indefinitely.
His cocky half-smile gives me all the encouragement I need.
Shrugging out of my filthy white dress, I’m stepping into the shower cubicle when I feel his lips between my shoulder blades.
“My folks made it to Canary Wharf.” He slides his hands around my waist to palm my bare breasts, the relief in his voice evident above the running water. “The jet’s fuelled and ready to go, but they’re asking some serious questions.” His lips and hands disappear. Next, I feel a soft breeze against the back of my legs as his clothes drop to the floor. “Guido’s giving me a status update on O’Sullivan’s house in an hour.”
I lift my face to the shower head, hoping that the hot water will burn away some of my guilt.
“Don’t,” he says harshly, reading my thoughts. “You don’t have to justify a thing to me, Ada. I’d do the same if it was Aiden. Danny doesn’t deserve to die in that basement. And neither do I blame him for your father’s part in what happened to my family. We were all innocents.” He wraps his arms around my waist again, the water spilling all around us. Moulding us. Making us one.
His hand moves between my legs, gently washing me down there.
“Are you sore?”
“Not that sore… How much do you trust your friend?” I rest the back of my head against his chest, feeling his cock twitching against my thigh.
“He saved my life seven years ago, so I’m leading with that.”
“Tell me.” I turn to face him, still locked in his embrace, rising up on my tiptoes to bring my face level with his jaw. “What happened that night, Frankie?”
He stares down at me, tracing letters into my cheek with his finger, spelling things we can’t say to each other yet, but things we’re both feeling. “Everything fell apart, and then I saw you dancing in the ruins.”
“Would you like me to dance for you again?”
“Yes,” he says huskily, taking my face between his hands, and then taking my mouth in a brutal, all-consuming kiss. “But first, I want to fuck you.”
There’s a roughness to his touch as he curls my legs around his waist, before he’s pinning me against the white tiles with a desperation that only makes me want him more. This hour is precious. It might be the only peace we have for a while. Even if we make it to that jet alive, Frankie won’t rest until Cian O’Sullivan is dead. He’ll keep coming back to London, risking his life again and again to make the Irishman pay for what he’s done.
Carrying me through to the bedroom, he lays me down on the white sheets.
“You look like a fucking angel,” he says, moving slowly down my body, spreading my thighs wide as he dips his dark head between them; my hips jerking sharply as he wraps his lips around my clit.
Oh my God.
The sensations are overwhelming and another moan escapes me. “Last week, you were a stranger, and now…”
Now, I can’t imagine breathing without you.
“We were never strangers, Ada. Just lovers undiscovered.”
Lifting my head, I watch in a heavy-lidded haze as he devours my pussy. Licking, sucking, tongue-fucking. I take a thousand blurred pictures in my mind at the sight of his messy dark hair between my legs—fixing me with his mouth and his fingers, until I’m crying out his name.
“Let me feel it. Fuck, let me feel it.” Grabbing my hips, he presses my pussy tight against his face as I come, the vibrations of his satisfied groans making my orgasm last forever. Only when I’m strung out and panting does he drag his chin across my tender clit, gently scraping me with his stubble until I’m a panting mess all over again.
The next thing I know, he’s climbing back up the bed and driving inside me, catching the last of my cries in his mouth.
He fucks like he’s chasing the devil. Blurring our bodies. Moving so quickly and so savagely I can’t catch his rhythm as he banishes what’s left of Kirill’s fingerprints.
“Ada, shit!”
It feels like he’s splitting me in two, but he’ll only find himself below my surfaces.
I come first, gasping and pleading. Seconds later, he’s stilling with a vicious curse and filling me up again.
Afterward, he presses our foreheads together—our breathing ragged and wild. “I needed you too much.”