"Relax,"Igrunt near her ear. "Type."
Leaningforward, she positions her hands over the mechanical keyboard. "Don'tbreathe on my neck."
"Ineed oxygen,Kaila."
"Getit from somewhere else."
"Type."
Sheattacks the keys.AndGod, her speed proves lethal.
Thoseslender fingers fly across the board in a complete blur.Therapidclack-clack-clackof the mechanical switches fills the room.Thatrhythm usually soothes my frayed nerves, but now, it just syncs with the heavy pounding of blood rushing south.
Ikeep my eyes on the screen, but my focus anchors entirely on the woman planted in my lap.Tensioncoils tight in her core as she works.Herbreath hitches every time my thumbs brush the thick denim covering her hipbones.
"You'renot just patching the loop,"Imurmur, watching the code rewrite itself in real-time. "You'rebuilding a trap."
"Ifthey attempt to exploit the gap," she reasons, her tone breathy and distracted. "Thissubroutine catches the packet and traces it back to the source.Itturns their attack into a glowing beacon."
Pure, unadulterated competence.Herraw skill sparks a massive surge of heat, more of a turn-on than if she had stripped naked in front of me.
"Smart,"Iadmit, my voice rough.
Relaxingher posture, she completely forgets her position.Hershoulder presses flush against my chest.Shefits perfectly in the spaceI'vecarved out for her.
"Itold you," she whispers, keeping her vision locked on the compiling code. "I'mgood."
"You'redangerous."
Myarms lock tighter around her waist, dragging her deeper against my groin.Stoppingthe motion proves impossible.Possessionmorphs into a living thing, clawing violently against my ribs.
Hertyping halts.Herentire body freezes.
"Tracker," she warns, a tremor bleeding into her tone.
"Daniel,"Icorrect. "Myname isDaniel."
"Daniel, let me go."
"Notyet.Deploythe patch"
Ashaky finger slams the enter key.Thescreen flashes bright green.PATCHAPPLIED.
"There," she breathes out. "Safe."
Safe.
Nothingabout this situation offers safety.
Theintercom on the desk buzzes, shattering the silence.Logan’sharsh voice fills the loft.
"Tracker, pick up."
Kailajerks upward, trying to scramble off my lap.Irefuse to yield an inch.Smackingthe speaker button,Ikeep one arm locked around her waist like a steel vice.
"GoforTracker,"Ireply.
"Scannersare picking up heavy chatter,"Loganreports, a tense edge in his tone mirroring aPresidentsensing an incoming storm. "Costasare moving cargo near the gorge.Austinsays the perimeter cameras glitched.Youseeing anything?"