Chapter fourteen
Lilly Rose
There's a thrill in the secrecy. A kind of high I never expected.
Not from him. Not from this.
The rush of brushing past Simon in the hallway, our fingers just barely grazing. The low rasp of his voice when he leans in close under the excuse of a briefing, only to whisper something that makes my stomach drop and my thighs clench. The heat in his eyes when we pass each other in front of the others—like I'm the only thing he sees.
And the best part?
No one knows when we'll disappear. Not even us.
⸻
Tonight it's the storage tent—dark, dusty, crammed full of crates no one's touched in weeks. I'm supposed to be doing inventory. He's supposed to be reviewing a mission file.
Instead, I'm on my knees in front of a supply crate, trying to breathe steady as Simon steps in behind me, one arm sliding around my waist, the other bracing against the crate beside my head.
"Thought you were working," he murmurs against my neck, his breath hot and teasing.
"I was." I lean back into him, arching just enough to feel the hard line of his body pressing against mine. "You're the distraction."
"I'm a bloody disaster," he mutters, kissing the spot behind my ear. "And you keep asking for it."
I shouldn't.
We shouldn't.
But I turn in his arms anyway, grabbing the collar of his shirt and dragging his mouth down to mine. It's messy. Heated. My hands dive under his vest, clawing at fabric, trying to get to skin. His grip tightens around my hips, backing me into the crate as his tongue slides against mine.
Every kiss tastes like danger.
Every touch feels like defiance.
He lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the edge of a crate, and my legs lock around his waist as his hands wander—down, up, under. We're feverish, out of breath, trying to squeeze an eternity into ten stolen minutes.
"Quiet," he warns, lips against my collarbone. "Someone walks in…"
"They won't."
But we both know that's a lie.
And maybe that's what makes it hotter. The risk. The edge of being caught. The fact that, at any second, the illusion could crack.
But until then?
We keep chasing the high.
The forbidden.
The fire.