Page 124 of Hidden

She unwraps her legs from around my waist. I pull out of her slowly, watching my cum leak from her swollen pussy onto the sheets. The sight makes my cock twitch again, but I force myself to step back.

I walk into the bathroom, wet a soft towel with warm water, and return to the bed. She’s still lying there, her thighs slightly parted, flushed and beautiful. I kneel between her legs and gently clean her, wiping away the mess with careful strokes. She watches me the whole time, her eyes soft and dark with lingering heat.

When she’s clean, I toss the towel aside, lower myself, and press a slow kiss to the inside of her thigh. Then another. I move higher. Her breath hitches.

“Miles…”

I don’t answer with words. I spread her open with my hands and drag my tongue through her folds in one long, deliberate lick. She’s still sensitive, still tasting of both of us, and the soft, broken sound she makes goes straight to my cock.

I lick her slowly at first, savoring every drop, circling her swollen clit with the flat of my tongue before sucking it gently into my mouth. Her hips jerk. Her fingers slide into my hair, she’s not pushing me away, just holding on.

“Oh god…”

I settle in properly, one arm pinning her hips down while the other keeps her thighs spread wide. I eat her like I have all night, long, thorough strokes, teasing flicks, and deep sucks on her clit that make her thighs tremble around my head. She’s already so wet again, I savor the taste of her flooding my tongue. I slide two fingers inside her, curling them against that perfect spot while I suck harder.

Her moans turn higher, more desperate. She’s grinding against my face now, chasing every movement of my tongue. I add a third finger, stretching her, fucking her with my hand while my mouth works her clit relentlessly.

“Miles…please…don’t stop.”

I don’t. I double down, licking and sucking and curling my fingers until her whole body goes tight. She comes with a sharp cry, her thighs clamping around my head, pussy pulsing hard around my fingers as another wave of wetness coats my tongue.

“Yes!” she moans as she comes again.

I keep licking her through it, gentle now, drawing out every last tremor until she’s shaking and gasping for air.

Only then do I crawl back up her body and kiss her deep, letting her taste herself on my mouth. She melts into it, her arms wrapping around my neck, still trembling.

I pull her against my chest and hold her there, one hand stroking slow circles on her back.

We lie in bed together for a few minutes, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare back. The room is still warm with the smell of sex and her skin.

“I love your tattoos,” her voice is soft as her finger traces over the owl.

I go to reply but stop when the computer starts beeping like it’s trying to climb out of the desk.

I sit up fast. The progress bar on the main monitor is finally solid green, 100%. Two weeks of brute-forcing that encrypted partition, and it’s finally cracked open.

“About fucking time.”

I swing out of bed, pull on sweatpants without bothering with anything else, and drop into the chair. Sadie follows, wearing only her panties and my T-shirt. I shove a high-capacity drive into the port and start dumping everything: files, message logs, financial trails, location data as fast as the system will allow.

“What’s happening?” she asks, her voice still soft from what we just did.

“I’m in. Two fucking weeks and I’m finally in.” My fingers fly across the keyboard, copying folders, verifying checksums, forcing the transfer to prioritize the critical data. “This is the whole upper tier. Names. Accounts. Safe houses. Everything.”

I’m halfway through a second copy when I hear the noise.

A floorboard creaks downstairs, one that shouldn’t. The alarm system I left in silent mode flashes a single red indicator on the secondary screen. I freeze mid-keystroke.

“Shhh.”

I open the bottom drawer of the desk, grab the loaded Glock, and chamber a round. The metallic click is loud in the sudden quiet.

Sadie makes a sound. It’s small, not a full word, just her breath catching on its way out.

I look at her and she's gone white, standing in my t-shirt with her arms wrapped around herself like she's cold, and I know she's not cold. Her eyes are locked on the gun in my hand. Her whole body has gone rigid, the same way it did on the path when she couldn't move her feet.

"Miles," she says, it’s barely a sound. Her hands are shaking, and she presses them flat against her thighs to stop it, but it doesn't stop. "Miles, is it them?"