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The hum of the jet engines was the only steady sound in the cabin. Tim sat in his seat, the picture of calm, while Lucy balanced herself on the armrest beside him. They had been “Jake and Sava” for the last 3 hours now, but every muscle in his body hummed with vigilance. Across the aisle, Lyon and Wisco—Hajek’s right hand men—were talking in low voices, and Tim kept his eyes casually forward while tracking every twitch of their movements.
Lyon leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Roman Krupka imports H for the Monarch Cartel.”
“So, the competition,” Lucy said smoothly, her tone laced with interest at the new information regarding the cartel.
“Something like that,” Lyon smirked. “Krupka’s paranoid, doesn’t trust computers, never keeps a written record. The details of his operation exist in one place—The Brain. A man named Leonard Madris.”
Tim scoffed at the stupidity. “Ain’t that a little dangerous—making one man the center of your whole operation?”
“Yeah, it is,” Lyon chuckled. “That’s why Madris is kept under heavy guard, barely leaves Krupka’s compound. But we received a solid tip that he’s headed to Vegas this weekend.”
“With his bodyguards?” Tim asked, fishing for details he could pass on to Lopez.
“Never goes anywhere without them,” Lyon’s grin sharpened. “That’s where you come in. You guys take out the guards while I grab Midras. And then we…” Lyon glanced at Wisco who grinned back, “torture The Brain for every detail… And take over the business.”
“Oh,” Lucy let out a derisive scoff, slipping into character. “It sounds like we should be getting paid more.
Lyon’s gaze hardened. “Tough. Like my mom used to say—‘you get what you get, and you don’t get upset.’”
Lucy’s body tensed, but she masked it with a sly smile. Tim felt the truth of it in the way her fingers brushed too tightly over his shoulder, grounding herself while still selling the part.
“Well,” she said, voice steady even as her pulse raced, “this seems a lot bigger than we thought.”
Minutes later, Lyon’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, brows lifting. “Look at this.” He handed the device to Wisco.
“No way,” Wisco muttered.
Tim feigned curiosity. “What?”
Lyon read aloud, his tone amused, almost careless. “Rosalind Dyer just escaped.”
The words slammed into Lucy like a body blow. She stumbled from her perch, breath hitching as though the air had been stolen from her lungs. The cabin went muffled, her heartbeat drowning everything out. Rosalind. Out. Again.
“Glad we’re not in L.A. tonight,” Wisco muttered, shoving the phone back. “That chick gives me nightmares.”
Tim turned sharply, catching Lucy’s hand where it still rested on his shoulder. He squeezed it once, grounding her before her cover cracked. “How long till we land?” he asked Lyon, tone even.
Lyon checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Plenty of time,” Tim said smoothly, his lips curling into a smug grin.
Wisco frowned. “For what?”
Tim smirked wider, playing the part. “Mile High Club, baby.”
Lucy blinked, understanding instantly. She forced a sultry grin, sliding her hand along his chest. “I never thought you’d ask.”
The men laughed crudely as Tim tugged her toward the narrow aisle. They slipped into the airplane bathroom, shutting the door behind them.
Lucy’s hand flew to her forehead, feeling a migraine incoming. The walls felt too close, the air too thin. “How could this happen?” she whispered, voice fraying.
Tim crowded in front of her, his expression hard and steady. “I don’t know. But every law enforcement agency in Southern California is on it, okay? She won’t be out long.”
Lucy shook her head, panic bubbling. “D-Did she have help? Another apprentice? Like Caleb, I mean—”
“Stop.” Tim’s voice cut sharp, firm. “Stop.”
Lucy’s breathing faltered, chest heaving.
“We can’t worry about that right now,” Tim said, his eyes dark with something more than professionalism. “If your head isn’t a hundred percent in the game, it’ll get you killed.”
“I know. I just—” Lucy blinked fast, steadying herself. “I’m fine. I can do this.”
“No.” He shook his head, lips pressed thin. “No, you’re not. I’m pulling the plug as soon as we land.”
That got her attention. She straightened, fire sparking in her whiskey eyes. “No. Look, the stakes are too high. This is our one chance at Madris. The news threw me for a second, but I’m back. I’m fine.”
Tim studied her, the set of her jaw, the determination burning through her fear. Against his better judgment, he felt a flicker of awe. Damn, she was really good at this. Better than good.
“I can do this,” she said, firmer this time, her voice steel.
A knock on the door jolted them both. “Yo, finish up. We’re landing,” Wisco’s muffled voice called.
Tim exhaled slowly, reluctant. “Okay. But Lucy—if you change your mind, you say the word.”
“I will.”
“Okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Let’s go,” he said, pushing the lock.
But Lucy’s hand pressed against his chest, stopping him. “Wait—”
“What?” he asked, brow furrowed.
Her lips twitched. “We’re supposed to be hooking up in here.”
His brows shot higher. “What?”
She sighed with exasperation, grabbing his face in both hands. Before he could react, she surged forward, kissing him hard.
Tim froze—then melted, instantly, hopelessly. Her lips were fire, her mouth demanding, and his body betrayed him as he pulled her flush against him. The kiss wasn’t acting. It was heat and hunger and the terrifying realization that he wanted more.
Lucy pulled back abruptly, chest heaving, lips red and swollen. She brushed at his plaid shirt, smudging the lipstick stain on his mouth to sell the illusion. “Okay. That’s good.”
And just like that, she unlocked the door, slipping out first with a practiced sway. Tim stood rooted to the spot for a beat longer, dazed, lips tingling, his carefully built walls threatening to crumble.
When he followed her back to their seats, Lyon smirked knowingly, and Wisco snickered under his breath. But Tim didn’t hear them. All he could think about was the taste of Lucy Chen still burning on his lips—and the dangerous truth he couldn’t admit, even to himself.
By the time their flight touched down, Vegas was alive in neon, the Strip glittering against the night sky. Lyon handed Tim a key card. “Get some sleep,” Lyon ordered. “Big day tomorrow.”
Tim nodded, slipping the card into his pocket. Lucy, however, froze when her gaze caught something familiar in the casino lobby. Angela and Aaron, dressed sharp and casual, sat at a blackjack table, playing tourists.
Lucy’s lips curved into a reckless smile. “Who sleeps in Vegas? We’re hitting the clubs.”
Tim arched a brow, but when Lyon glanced back, he just shrugged as if to say, what my woman wants, she gets.
As soon as Lyon and Wisco disappeared down the corridor, Tim and Lucy veered toward the blackjack table, slipping into character with easy swagger. Angela barely flicked her gaze up from her hand, but the smallest curve at the corner of her mouth told them she’d clocked their approach.
Tim pulled out a chair and slid into the game like he’d been there all night. He tossed a couple of bills forward, his posture relaxed, voice low enough to blend into the hum of the casino. “Target’s Leonard Madris.”
Angela’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She didn’t miss a beat as she waved for another card. “Madris knows where everything in Roman Krupka’s operation is buried—and everyone. Where is he? I’ll have Vegas PD pick him up.”
“They haven’t told us,” Tim murmured, keeping his eyes on the dealer. “We make our move first thing in the morning. We won’t know anything until we’re en route.”
Lucy leaned in just enough to be part of the conversation. “What happened with Rosalind?”
Angela exhaled through her nose, her voice flat. “She hired a psychopath lawyer who helped her kill a deputy and escape.”
Lucy’s stomach twisted. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I knew it. Another Caleb.” The thought of Tamara flashed across her mind, alone in their apartment. Her voice tightened. “You need to protect Tamara.”
“Already on it.” Angela’s gaze softened. “She’s at the station, safe. We’ve got protection details on everyone Rosalind might even think about targeting.” She flicked a glance at Lucy, her voice dipping lower. “Are you sure you’re up for this? If you need to pull the rip cord, I understand.”
Lucy opened her mouth, but Tim spoke first, his tone firm, brooking no argument. “She’s solid.”
Angela studied Lucy for another second, then gave a faint nod. “Okay. I’ll get Vegas PD working Madris tonight. With any luck, we’ll get a location and snatch him before bullets start flying.”
The dealer pushed chips across the felt. Aaron raked in his winnings without missing a beat. Angela’s hand brushed the edge of the table, sliding a burner phone across the green surface toward Tim like it was just another chip.
Tim palmed it smoothly, rising to his feet. Lucy slipped her arm through his, leaning into him with a playful grin.
“Good luck,” she purred, her voice all smoke and confidence.
No one watching would’ve noticed a thing.
Their hotel room was sleek, modern, the window giving a panoramic view of the Strip. Lucy immediately snatched up the remote and flicked on the news. The screen blared the headline: ROSALIND DYER ESCAPES LAPD CUSTODY.
Tim sighed, crossing the room. He plucked the remote from her grip and shut the TV off.
Lucy whipped her head toward him, glaring in disbelief.
“They don’t know anything we don’t,” he said firmly, setting the remote on the table.
Her lips pressed into a line, but after a beat she nodded, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “Yeah… yeah.”
She bowed her head, massaging her scalp with both hands. “Ugh. My head is killing me.”
Tim picked up the room service menu, flipping it absentmindedly as he glanced at her. “You’re really good at this, you know?”
Lucy’s eyes flicked up, surprised.
“The whole undercover thing,” he clarified, his mouth curving into the faintest smile.
Her breath caught. Compliments from Tim were rare, and she let it sink in before exhaling softly. “Thanks.”
The silence that followed edged toward awkwardness, so Lucy pushed herself up. “Uh, do you mind if I take the first shower?”
“Go ahead.” He didn’t look up, eyes still on the menu.
She disappeared into the bathroom, sliding the door closed with a thunk—except it bounced back just slightly. Tim raised his head to call after her, “Hey, you hungry?”—and froze.
Through the small gap, he caught a glimpse of olive skin, the smooth line of her bare back as she stripped off her top. His throat went dry, eyes widening.
“Yes,” Lucy called back breezily. “I’d get some French fries if you’re ordering.”
Tim jerked his gaze away, stumbling back toward the bed as if burned. “Y-Yeah. O-Okay. Fries.”
The water hissed on, and he sat stiffly on the foot of the bed, trying not to glance at the crack in the door—failing miserably. He finally grabbed the hotel phone, ordered room service, then turned the TV to football in a desperate attempt to occupy his mind.
When the shower cut off minutes later, he killed the TV, forcing calm.
Lucy emerged wrapped in a soft blue robe, towel-drying her hair, cheeks flushed from the steam. She looked lighter, brighter.
“The water pressure is epic. And I’m totally taking one of these robes. Wait—does that count as stealing?”
Tim snorted, grateful for the distraction. “No. They’ll just charge Hajek.”
“Then we should take two,” she said with a chuckle.
He looked at her then—really looked—and something twisted in his chest. She caught him staring.
“What?” she asked, suspicious.
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Her stomach dropped. “About what?” Her voice was careful, wary, bracing for Rosalind.
But Tim shook his head, stepping toward her. “The airplane bathroom. Your apartment.” His hands gestured vaguely between them. “I don’t know. Call me crazy, but it doesn’t feel like pretend.”
Lucy’s breath caught. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, nerves fluttering. “Uh… it’s an intimate act.” The words tumbled out clumsy, too fast. “I mean—we’d have to be dead inside not to feel something, right? It’s… it’s basic biology.”
As soon as she said it, she wanted to smack herself.
“So,” Tim said slowly, “you’re saying it’s not a big deal? Doesn’t mean anything?”
“Right. I—”
The burner phone rang, slicing the tension.
Tim exhaled sharply, turning back to the bed. He grabbed the phone. “Yo.”
Angela’s voice carried through the speaker. “It’s me. Can you talk?”
“Yeah. Just me and Lucy in the room.”
“Uh-oh,” Angela teased, and Tim pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What do you got?”
“Vegas PD got a location on Madris. We’re moving with them unless you need backup.”
Tim’s eyes flicked to Lucy, who was standing frozen in her robe. “No. We’re good until morning.”
“When we get Madris, we’ll come back for Hajek’s crew.”
“Copy that.”
“And Tim?” Angela added, smug amusement thick in her tone. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t—”
He hung up before she could finish.
“They have Madris?” Lucy asked quickly.
“Yeah. They’ll move tomorrow.”
The silence that followed was thick again. Tim glanced at her, realized she was still wrapped only in the robe. “You, uh… gonna get dressed?”
Lucy scoffed. “No. My clothes feel dirty. I’m good in this robe and I can tolerate the thong.”
Her eyes widened a second too late as the words left her mouth.
Tim’s jaw went tight, his eyes shutting like he could will the image away. He shrugged out of his plaid overshirt, thrusting it at her. “Here. Wear this. I’m gonna shower. Wash the grease out.”
She took it, fingers brushing his, and for a split second neither of them breathed.
Steam still clung to the air when the bathroom door cracked open. Tim stepped out, toweling off his damp hair, the rest of him dressed down to nothing but black boxers.
Lucy froze mid-bite, her oversized fry dangling from her fingers, because—well, there was no ignoring the sculpted lines of his chest and the sharp V that disappeared below his waistband. She inhaled sharply and forced her eyes back to the tray of food.
“Room service showed up,” she said casually, though her voice had an edge of strain. She plucked another fry, crunching down on it like that was going to distract her from the fact that he looked like walking temptation.
It wasn’t until Tim’s gaze finally landed on her that he faltered, the towel slipping in his hand. Lucy was curled against the pillows, lower half shielded by the comforter, but his shirt—his button-down—hung loose on her frame, the collar dipping enough to tease smooth skin. He knew she wasn’t wearing anything else underneath except that thin strip of black thong he’d glimpsed earlier, and the thought nearly made him stumble. His jaw clenched, breath hitching as he quickly looked away before his mind went anywhere it shouldn’t.
Tim gestured vaguely to his own state of undress, still watching her from the corner of his eye. “You mind if I just stay like this? My clothes feel filthy.”
Lucy shook her head quickly, keeping her face neutral while silently begging herself not to ogle.
With a small grunt of thanks, Tim grabbed his burger from the tray and rounded the bed, dropping onto the other side. He switched on the TV, the low drone of some late-night sports highlight filling the silence between them. For a few minutes, the only sounds were the crisp snap of Lucy’s fries and the muted crunch of Tim’s burger.
But silence didn’t erase tension—it thickened it. The longer they sat side by side, the more the air charged between them, like a storm waiting to crack. Lucy licked salt off her thumb, told herself she was just tired, and pushed the tray away.
“I’m beat,” she murmured, sliding off the chair and tugging at the hem of his button-down she’d thrown on. “I’m gonna crash.”
She froze on top of the bed and finally realized.
Tim glanced her way, saw her distraught. His jaw tightened, like he’d just realized the same thing at the exact same moment.
Their eyes met, heat flickering in the space between them. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The double bed suddenly felt a whole lot smaller.
Tim wiped his hands on a napkin and leaned back, glancing at the bed, then at the tiny couch tucked into the corner of the room. His jaw tightened as he pushed his empty plate away. “I’ll take the couch,” he offered gruffly, already half-standing.
Lucy followed his gaze, then arched a brow. The thing barely had enough length for an average-sized person, let alone someone built like him. She shook her head, lips quirking despite the heaviness in her chest. “No, we’re adults. We can sleep in one bed, Tim.”
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy, before she settled under the covers like it was the simplest thing in the world.
That was the last thing either of them said. Tim clicked off the TV, the room plunging into quiet save for the hum of the air conditioner. He flicked off the bedside lamp, casting them in shadows, and stretched out stiffly on top of the blankets, leaving Lucy cocooned beneath them.
She turned on her right side, facing away, her dark hair spilling across the pillow. Tim stayed flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about the fact that just beneath the covers, Lucy was close to naked except for the whisper of fabric and his shirt.
Minutes bled into long, restless stretches. His body refused to settle, the ache in his core pressing harder the longer he lay there. With a quiet curse under his breath, he shifted in his boxers, trying to adjust himself without making a sound. His thoughts drifted dangerously close to giving in, to sneaking back to the bathroom just to ease the tension.
But his eyes slid sideways instead.
Lucy hadn’t moved since she’d turned over. Her shoulders rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm, her breathing soft and even, as if the night didn’t claw at her the way it clawed at him.
Tim clenched his jaw, dragging his gaze back to the ceiling, willing himself to stay still.
The steady hum of the air conditioning doing nothing to cool the heat running through his body. Every inhale carried her scent—warm, sweet, maddening. Lucy Chen, lying inches away, wrapped in nothing but thin fabric and shadows. He dragged a hand over his face, debating the couch again, but it was far too late for that. He was already too aware of her. Too far gone.
Fuck it , he rasped quietly and slowly pushed his boxers down, freeing his cock. He spat on his palm and gave his shaft one long stroke. Relief shuddered through him at the first touch, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He let his mind wander to where it always did when he wanted to get off—to the woman beside him.
Long brunette hair, whiskey brown eyes, a curvy, tight body that was all fire and defiance. Tonight, the fantasy was unbearable, sharpened by reality. She was right there, so close he didn’t even have to imagine her scent—it clung to him, wrapping around every breath, making it impossible to think of anything else.
Beside him, Lucy kept her eyes shut, though sleep was the last thing on her mind. The faint rustle of movement had caught her attention, followed by the unmistakable rhythm of his breathing changing, deepening. Then came the sound—the soft, repetitive shift of fabric and skin. Her body went taut, pulse quickening as the realization hit. She was a thousand percent sure Tim is jerking off right now.
At first, she tried to convince herself it was the bed. A shift of sheets, maybe. But no—there was no mistaking it now. No denying the sound of his hand moving up and down his cock. Up and down.
Hit bloomed across her chest. Her nipples tightened against the fabric of his button down. She couldn’t see him, but her mind painted the picture for her—Tim sprawled out inches away, muscles taut, lost in the kind of pleasure she wasn’t supposed to be hearing. The thought made her dizzy. Made her ache.
It felt wrong. Filthy. And yet—God—it was the sexiest thing she’d ever experienced. She wanted to roll over, to watch, but the risk of being caught and the fear of embarrassment froze her in place. Instead, she clenched her thighs together, desperate to still the restless stir beneath the sheets. But her body betrayed her, every nerve sparking with need. That, and the sharp intake of Tim's breath beside her.
A soft, shaky breath escaped him, and it unraveled her. She couldn’t hold still anymore. Slipping a hand under the covers, she pressed her knuckle against the throbbing ache between her legs, biting back a whimper. It only made the hunger sharper. So quietly it hurt, she slid her fingers beneath the elastic of her thong, circling her clit in slow, desperate strokes—her body tuning itself to the rhythm of his beside her.
Fuck, she wanted to come so bad. More than that, she wanted to see him get off, wanted to see him spurt white hot cum all over his stomach.
The more aroused she gets, the less embarrassment seems to be a factor for her.
Fuck it , she thought.
She bit her lip, fingers twitching with the urge to follow her own desire. And then—impulse. Carefully, slowly, she shifted onto her back while still acting asleep. She heard him slow down with caution. She played along, pretending restlessness, pushing the comforter off with a lazy kick of her legs.
Again, she heard a sharp intake of breath. She could feel his eyes drag over her form. She opened her eyes slightly to peek. His eyes dragged over her form, catching on the curve of her hip, the bare line of her thigh where his shirt had ridden up showing her thong-clothed pussy. A groan slipped past his lips, raw and unguarded.
Lucy’s heart thundered. The sound—his sound—sent a shiver through her veins. She shouldn’t want this, not here, not now. But God, it was intoxicating.
“Lucy…” His voice was low, strained, carrying both warning and plea. Hearing her name fall from him like that unraveled what little restraint she had left.
Her hand inched lower, slipping beneath the hem of the shirt. She moved slowly, deliberately, until her fingers rested just below her navel. She knew he was watching, knew he could see the small tremor of her body responding to his.
Tim turned his head fully now, his eyes—shades darker—locking onto her. In the dim light, they gleamed with hunger, with need he could no longer disguise. He looked wrecked—beautifully, achingly wrecked.
Lucy sat up slowly. With deliberate movements, she slid her thong down her legs, her pulse thundering in her ears. She placed the thin scrap of lace on his chest, her voice a breathy whisper. “ Use them .”
Tim’s jaw flexed, his throat working as he swallowed hard. But there was no hesitation. He knew what she wanted. He took the tong, wrapped the fabric around his cock. The friction drew a ragged sound from him—his head falling back against the pillow, a raw moan breaking free.
“Fuck, Lucy,” he groaned, voice rough and reverent all at once. “You’re drenched… Have you been awake and listening the whole time?"
"Uh-huh," she panted, her eyes locked on the sight of him—her soaked lace sliding up and down his thick, throbbing cock—while her fingers worked slow, trembling circles over her clit.
Tim’s voice dropped to a growl, rough and unrestrained. “I bet that sweet cunt is aching. Do your fingers make you feel good, Lucy?”
Her answer came without words—just a desperate movement. She shifted, angling herself so he had a full view, both knees bent, legs falling open. With a soft whimper, she slipped her fingers inside, pumping shallowly, letting him see every needy plunge.
“Fucking hell,” Tim rasped, his chest rising hard, sweat glistening at his temple. His eyes were locked on her slick folds, feral and unblinking. He kept stroking himself with her panties, jaw tight as if the sight alone might undo him. “I’d give anything to slide into that pussy.”
For a fractured second, reality cut through the haze—they were still undercover, Hajek’s men just a few doors away. It was reckless. Dangerous. Wrong. And yet, his voice broke through again, ragged and pleading.
“Lucy…” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his tone thick with desperation. “Can I taste you?”
The words unraveled her completely. Every nerve in her body screamed yes, though she tried—futilely—to resist. Her voice cracked with need. “Yes.”
Tim didn’t hesitate. In a swift, almost primal motion, he rose from the bed and dragged her to the edge, urgency carved into every line of his body. Dropping to his knees on the hotel floor, he spread her thighs apart with the sheer breadth of his shoulders, locking her open for him. His arms wrapped around her legs in a possessive hold, anchoring her in place and to him.
Lucy gasped, the sound sharp in the thick air, as he brushed her trembling hand aside. Then his mouth was on her—hot, greedy, unrelenting. His tongue swirled through her folds, slow at first, savoring, before circling her clit with maddening precision.
Her back arched off the bed, fingers clutching the sheets as pleasure bolted through her. Tim groaned against her, the sound vibrating straight into her core as he buried himself deeper, devouring her like a man starved.
“Shit, Tim,” Lucy moaned, a full-body shiver wracking through her as his mouth worked her over. The rough scrape of his stubble against her slick, hypersensitive skin made her nerves light up like sparks catching flame. It was maddening, overwhelming, and she loved every second. She wanted him to mark her, to leave behind the proof of where he had been, the reminder of who had claimed her so completely.
Tim groaned into her, low and guttural, as though the taste of her was the only thing he’d ever craved. The vibration of the sound had her hips bucking, grinding shamelessly into his face, chasing the rhythm of his tongue. Lucy’s head fell back against the pillow, her mouth open on a strangled cry, her entire body trembling as if she were balancing on the sharp edge of release.
Tim had always been a man who appreciated food, but Lucy had never seen him consume anything like this. He wasn’t just eating her—he was devouring her, hungry and unrelenting, and it had her unraveling so fast it was dizzying.
“Lucy,” he growled, his voice muffled between her thighs. He dragged his mouth over her with feverish intensity before lifting his eyes, dark and blazing, to lock with hers. “I’m going to come just from how fucking good you taste.” His lips were slick, his jaw shining with her arousal before he bent his head back down, tongue plunging, sucking, licking like he couldn’t stop himself.
The sight alone made Lucy whimper. Propping herself up on her elbows, she forced her eyes open despite the haze of pleasure threatening to shut her down completely. She needed to see him—needed proof of what he was doing to her. And when she caught the sight, she nearly came undone instantly: Tim’s hand was wrapped tight around his cock, stroking himself in perfect rhythm to the way he ate her out. He looked ruined, wrecked, utterly lost in her.
The rawness of it all pushed her over the edge. “Tim, I’m—oh God—I’m about to come,” she cried, her voice breaking as her muscles seized, her body wound tight as a bowstring. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, gripping hard as her thighs trembled around his head.
Tim groaned into her, the sound reverberating through her soaked flesh—and then Lucy’s eyes widened as she caught the moment: his hand tightened, his hips jerked, and with a guttural curse, hot white liquid spilled from him, painting the hotel floor in ragged, pulsing streams. The rawness of it—the fact that he came undone just from tasting her—sent her spiraling.
Her release hit like a tidal wave, crashing through her with ferocious intensity. “Tim!” she screamed, his name breaking on her lips as her body convulsed around his tongue. She shattered apart, harder than she ever had in her life, her entire body quaking as the pleasure tore through her in relentless waves.
Tim didn’t stop, not even when she was shaking, not even when her cries pitched higher. He held her down, mouth still greedy, still desperate, swallowing every drop of her pleasure like he couldn’t get enough. And Lucy, breathless and undone, could only collapse back against the sheets, her body trembling, every nerve still lit on fire from the way he had just destroyed her.
A sharp knock rattled the hotel door, and both of them froze mid-breath.
“Shit,” Tim hissed, his voice low and sharp. Lucy’s heart lurched as reality came crashing back—oh God, they’d been so loud. Loud enough to echo through paper-thin walls. Loud enough that Hajek’s crew could’ve heard every moan, every plea, every bit of cover-shattering truth.
Tim was already in motion, muscles coiled with urgency. He yanked on his boxers, tossed the comforter over Lucy’s bare body like he was covering his most-prized treasure, and snatched his gun off the nightstand. Peeking through the peephole, his jaw locked tight—ready for anything.
But before he could even take a proper look, Lopez’s voice cut through the door, dripping with exasperation:
“Horny loud bastards, we’re leaving in twenty minutes. Get dressed, or we’re leaving you here.”
Tim exhaled hard, lowering his gun. Lucy collapsed back onto the pillows, a mix of mortification and relief bubbling out in a nervous laugh.
Their eyes met, and the simultaneous sigh they let out was long and deep, shoulders sagging. Thank God. Just Lopez.
If Lopez was here, then the op was done. Hajek’s crew was already handled. Trust Lopez to clear an entire operation and still have enough time to drag them for getting off in the middle of it.
Lucy arched a brow, lips curving in wicked amusement. “Didn’t know Tim Bradford had a loud dirty mouth on him.”
Tim groaned, running a hand down his face, but the twitch of a reluctant grin betrayed him. “Back at you, Lucy Chen.”