Chapter 51: World-Saving Methods

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Now that I had received this affirmation, I could put my insecurities behind me and move on to saving the world. It was time to buckle down and focus on the important questions, like...

"So, when did you start loving me?"

Oops.

"I thought you were cute from the start, but when those Cutthroat bastards delivered a lock of your hair, that's when I knew I couldn't let you go. The thought of what they could do to you... what they might already be doing..." His jaw clamped, and he shook his head. "What about you? When did you realize that..." His head and shoulders both jerked, a you-know-what-I-mean gesture. As if by saying the words, he might break them.

"That I'm in love with you?"

The tension eased from his shoulders. "Yeah. That."

"Well, I guess it was shortly after. When you came for me. When you told me that my mother was crazy for..." The words stuck in my throat. If I said it aloud and Rekkan didn't remember, that well of happiness could evaporate into thin air.

Rekkan peeled himself off the wall and stepped toward me, eyes soft. "Crazy for leaving you."

"Right." I flashed a nervous smile. "That."

It was a perfectly sweet moment to wrap up the conversation. Now we could move on to world-saving logistics, like...

"So, I'm cute, huh?"

Double oops.

"Yes..." His eyes pleaded for mercy from the trap of my question.

I had no mercy. "Not handsome? Not sexy?"

"Those are not mutually exclusive."

"Which one am I the most?"

Rekkan heaved a disparaging breath halfway between a laugh and a sigh. But to my surprise, he answered. "Depends on your expression."

"Yeah? Like what about right now?"

"Mm..." His eyes flicked from my scowl to the hands on my hips. "Cute. Definitely cute."

Gaze locked on his, I closed the distance between us and unbuttoned his flannel shirt. I trailed a finger through his chest hair and traced his defined pectorals and chiseled abs. By the time I reached his waistline, his arousal strained his jeans. I pulled back an inch to mock-touch the place I knew he wanted my hand most. He clamped a hand over his opposite wrist behind his back, but his hips rolled forward an inch.

"And now?" I whispered.

Rekkan nabbed my arm and spun me back against the wall. My shoulder blades hit just hard enough to excite me, but he cradled the back of my head so his hand absorbed the impact. Then his lips captured mine, crushing and desperate.

In a blur of clumsy motion, our clothing disappeared. The moment my skin was exposed, his hands were all over me. Cupping my neck, slipping over my shoulders, raking down my back. Exploring every part of my body, worshiping it. His fingers blazed a trail of fire.

Ether, I missed that fire.

We stumbled toward the bed. When I knocked my shin against the frame, Rekkan swept me off my feet and lowered me onto the covers. Lifting my bare leg, he pressed a kiss to the stinging spot on my shin. Then his thumb brushed over a healed scar on my calf, and he stilled.

A bulletwound.

"It's ok," I murmured. "That was before."

He released my leg, but his eyes remained clouded. "Even back then, it felt wrong. I knew it was wrong."

I snatched his hand and rubbed a thumb over his. "Back then, anyone who forgave thieves ended up dead."

"But you weren't a thief, really. Just a survivor." He swept rough fingers over my cheek. "The bravest one."

The admiration in his voice knotted my stomach and swelled my throat. How differently he saw me to how I saw myself.

I forced a joking, off-handed tone. "Not the fluffiest one, though."

He planted his hands on either side of my shoulders but held his body off of mine, putting several painful inches between our naked skin. "Not the fluffiest? What are you talking about?"

My eyes dipped down his chest to that V-line so close to my own body. With a cough, I forced my attention back to his face. "That Southie woman talking to you had fluffier hair."

"What Southie woman?"

Whatever small grain of jealousy remained ground to dust. "Never mind. Just fuck me."

His restraint channeled into unadulterated lust with a speed and force that caught me off-guard. It still wasn't enough. I urged him on, biting his lip as his mouth bruised mine and gripping his fist over my cock.

He grabbed the lubricant and then paused, brow arched in a silent question. I shook my head, not patient enough to figure out the logistics of anything new.

When his finger penetrated me, I moaned and arched my back. Doing the same to myself only felt strange, but something about knowing this was Rekkan made all the difference. Feeling his eyes on mine, his breath rising and falling in sync with my own, his probing finger more giving than preparing, like he was happy just to bask in my moans, in the flutter of my lashes. Like nothing could please him more than pleasing me.

By the time he removed his finger and his erection pressed against me, my whole body trembled with need.

"Zaf, are you ready?"

His voice choked, strained, grasping at threads of control. I thought if I said no, he might actually crumble. Luckily for him, I had no desire to say no.

"Yes. I'm ready."

* * *

"Well, that was definitely more than three minutes."

We lay facing each other, still panting. Still naked. The clock ticking beside Fluffy's jar informed me that Contribution time time was nearly over and lunch would soon begin, but neither of us bothered to move.

"Yep," he agreed. A smile played across his lips, but his gaze was distant. The yellow lamp beside us highlighted the lighter strands of his tousled hair and cast a soft glow over his sweaty bronze skin. My chest tightened at the sight. Unbelievably beautiful.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

He hesitated. "The air duct. Will you tell me now? I mean, if you trust me not to..."

"Yes. I'll tell you everything."

I presented a brief rundown of what I had learned. While I spoke, his fingers skimmed up and down my hip, a sweet, thoughtless movement that raised goosebumps of pleasure and stirred heat in my belly. His hand tensed during the part about hiding from the lab experts and again when I listed the three prime suspects, but he did not interrupt.

When I finished, he chewed on one corner of his bottom lip. "Zaf, what if... could the Head Chef be the co-author of your mother's book?"

I furrowed my brow. "The co-author? What co-author?"

"You know, where the handwriting is slightly different. In the annotations and on the last page."

"I assumed she was just in a hurry when she wrote those parts."

He shook his head. "It's the wrong kind of change for that. Some letters slant the wrong way."

My eyes widened, and I sat up. "Rekkan, you're right! But the handwriting is so close. Do you think someone didn't want anyone to notice the difference?"

"Could be."

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

He shrugged. "Figured you already noticed, since you're smarter than me."

I snorted. "I'm not smarter than you. Clearly. I studied that book for so many hours and never even realized there were two writers."

"You were probably focusing on what the words said."

"Maybe." I flashed a grin. "Told you I need you."

He propped himself on an elbow and spoke slowly. "You know, I saw that letter slant somewhere else."

"You did? Where?"

"The schedule on the wall near the entrance."

"Ether, that's it! Whichever Sentry wrote that probably also changed my mother's book." I snatched my shirt and pulled it over my head. The fabric muffled my next words. "I have to go re-read those notes to figure out what exactly they changed and why they —"

"Freedom!" The speakers echoed down the hallway. "Freedom at last!"

I darted a glance at the clock. "Lunchtime already?"

Rekkan rolled up to sitting, a hypnotizing shift of shoulder muscles and contraction of abs. Unfortunately — er, probably fortunately — he slipped his flannel shirt back on before my mind could wander too far. "At lunch, we can ask Zhina who wrote the calendar. And after, you can go study the book some more."


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