When Yara finally heads up to her room to read and talk to her friends online, Morello and I retreat to the porch with mugs of hot tea.
We sit in comfortable silence as the sun dips low on the horizon, setting the sky ablaze in dazzling hues of orange and pink.
"It's beautiful," I whisper.
Morello reaches for my hand. "So are you," he says. "Extremely beautiful."
He tucks a lock of hair behind my hair with his other hand as he gazes down at me.
"And this is a beautiful new beginning," he adds softly.
I lace my fingers through his, a promise written in that simple touch.
As the sun slips below the trees, I rest my head on his shoulder.
The future is uncertain, but we'll face it hand in hand.
Chapter 40
Alina
Iache for him, my every nerve ending on fire as I stare at the outline of Morello's hard length straining against his pants. I have to have him, need to taste him, to soothe the ache in my core that only he can fill.
In one swift motion, I drop to my knees before him, my hands shaking as I undo his belt buckle.
His cock springs free, thick and throbbing, his head already leaking in anticipation.
"Oh, fuck," Morello groans, his hands fisting in my hair as I take him into my mouth.
I moan around him, an overwhelming sense of power surging through me as I feel him shudder under my touch.
My tongue swirls around the head, savoring his salty, musky flavor.
Slowly, I slide him deeper into my mouth, my throat constricting around his girth.
I know I'm playing with fire, but the high stakes only turn me on more.
"Alina, baby," he groans, his voice a mix of pleasure and restraint. "Fuck, you're killing me."
He pauses.
"And I'm more than okay with dying this way. Holy fuck, you're good at that."
I look up at him through hooded lids, my mouth full of his cock, a naughty grin on my face.
This very real man, the formidable FBI agent Morello, reduced to moans and curses by my touch.
It's empowering and freeing, like nothing I've ever experienced before.
I bob my head faster, taking as much of him as I can, my tongue swirling around his shaft and teasing the sensitive spot just underneath the head.
"Oh my god, the throat. Yes," he rasps.
I love the way his fingers dig into the couch, as if he's battling for control.
I know deep down that he'd never hurt me, but the primal part of me thrills at the idea of him losing himself to my touch.
"Ah, fuck, Alina," he moans, his voice gritty with restraint. "You're gonna make me..."