"We need to stay sharp," he informed me, his voice dropping into that low, serious register that always made my knees a little weak. "The local cells are moving, and keeping up appearances is our best defense. If anyone is watching this house, we need to look flawless."
"Flawless?" I teased, crossing my arms and stepping closer until I could smell the faint spice of his cologne. "Is that why you kissed me like you actually meant it, or was that just part of the tactical choreography?"
Mitch didn't miss a beat, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a heavy, unblinking intensity. "A good performance requires total commitment, Lauren. If I half-ass it, people notice."
"Right. Total commitment," I murmured, a slow smile pulling at my lips as his gaze drifted briefly to my mouth before he checked his watch.
He cleared his throat, adjusting his shirt. "I have an eight-hour run outside the perimeter today. Heavy-duty cameras and defense systems are live. You stay inside, lock the doors, and—"
"Actually," Mitch paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he evaluated me. "Did you want to come with me on my run today?"
I blinked, genuinely surprised, before a flirtatious spark flared in my chest. I tilted my chin up, stepping right into his personal space. "Are you asking me out on a date, *fiance*? Because I would love to tag along. I was getting incredibly tired of these four walls."
Mitch stared down at me, his jaw tightening just a fraction at my tone. "It's a run, Lauren. You follow my rules. You stay in the car, windows up, doors locked. No exceptions."
"Whatever you say, boss," I said with a playful wink, brushing past him to grab my jacket.
Thirty minutes later, we were in his dark SUV, navigating the winding roads away from the safehouse. The silence in the car was thick, heavy with the unsaid, but the energy between us felt entirely different now. Shifting. I kept my eyes on him, sliding my hand across the center console to let my fingers casually brush against his forearm.
Mitch pulled into the desolate, gravel parking lot of a dilapidated warehouse on the edge of the county lines. He killed the engine but kept the electrical power running so the AC hummed against the midday heat.
"Stay here. Keep your eyes on the mirrors," he commanded softly.
Before he opened his door, I reached out and caught his wrist, running my thumb over his pulse point. "Don't keep me waiting too long out here. I get lonely."
Mitch's eyes darkened, fixed on my fingers on his skin, but he didn't say a word. He simply pulled away and stepped out into the heat. Through the tinted glass, I watched him walk over to a nondescript black sedan that had pulled in behind us. A man in a low baseball cap stepped out. The exchange was quick, silent, and incredibly shady. Mitch reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick envelope of cash, and handed it over. In return, the man slipped a small encrypted flash drive into Mitch's palm. No words were exchanged. It was pure, unfiltered underworld business.
Mitch walked back to the SUV, sliding into the driver's seat and pocketing the drive. He started the engine, his expression unreadable.
"Who was that?" I asked, leaning entirely over the center console, bringing my face close to his profile. "Should I be worried my future husband is involved in illicit street trading?"
Mitch replied cleanly, throwing the car into reverse, though his eyes darted to my lips. "A broker. Information costs money."
Instead of heading back toward the safehouse, Mitch drove deeper into a wealthier pocket of the city, pulling up to the valet of a gorgeous, high-end Italian restaurant tucked away from the main strip. The kind of place with white tablecloths, dim lighting, and a secluded patio shielded by thick ivy.
My stomach let out an audible growl.
Mitch glanced over, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Come on."
As we walked inside, the hostess immediately guided us to a private booth in the back, shielded by heavy velvet curtains. The atmosphere was thick with romance, classical music drifting softly through the air.
"Okay, I'll bite," I whispered, leaning far across the table as soon as the hostess walked away, deliberately letting my low-cut top catch the candlelight. "Who are we meeting here? Is another broker dropping off top-secret files in the breadbasket?"
Mitch settled back into his seat, his posture serious and professional, yet his dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel thin. "We aren't meeting anyone, Lauren."
"Then why are we here?"
"This is for you," he said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. "A place to bring you if you ever chose to tag along on a run. You've been cooped up for weeks. I figured you needed real food."
I blinked, a sudden, fluttering warmth blooming in my chest, but I wasn't about to let him off the hook. I looked around the candlelight, the rose on the table, and then back at his ridiculously handsome face.
"So... like a date?" I asked, a slow, heavy-lidded gaze fixing onto him. I stretched my legs out under the small table, deliberately brushing the toe of my shoe up his shin.
Mitch's expression didn't break, maintaining his strict mask, but his fingers casually brushed against mine as he reached for the wine list. "No. Not a date. That would be entirely inappropriate given the constraints."
"Right. Inappropriate," I repeated knowingly, leaning my chin on my hand, completely dialed into him. "Well, since we're playing the part of the doting fiances, and you brought me to a gorgeous, candlelit restaurant, I'm just gonna go ahead and call it a date. You look amazing in this lighting, by the way. It really highlights your jawline."
Mitch stayed quiet, but as I locked my gaze onto his and kept my foot resting against his leg, I watched the pulse in his throat quicken.
"Are you going to feed me pasta, or are we just going to talk about logistics?" I teased, my tone dripping with flirtatious mischief.
Mitch reached across the small table to pick up his water glass. As he did, his knuckles slowly, deliberately dragged against the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. It wasn't an accident. The touch was light, feather-soft, but it sent a violent tremor straight down my spine.
He didn't say a word to acknowledge my flirting. He just took a slow sip of his water, his dark eyes burning into mine through the flickering candlelight. But I caught the faint, subtle tightening of his jaw, and the way his gaze lingered heavily on my lips. He was putting up a fight, trying to play the stoic soldier, but I could tell. He absolutely loved it.
By the time we got back to the safehouse, the sun had dropped below the tree line, leaving the living room bathed in a quiet, amber twilight. The tension from the day hadn't vanished; it had just coiled tighter, thick and heavy in the air between us.
Mitch walked straight into the kitchen, his movements fluid and efficient. When he stepped back out, he was holding a sleek, unlabelled bottle of dark red wine and two crystal glasses.
I leaned against the doorway, raising an eyebrow. "Oh. So we drink now?"
Mitch set the glasses down on the coffee table with a soft clink, his expression perfectly stoic. "Well, we did just get engaged. It would be inconsistent not to celebrate."
"Inconsistent. Right."
We sat down on the living room rug, clearing a space on the coffee table to deal out a deck of cards. The alcohol hit my system fast, melting away the sharp edges of my anxiety and replacing them with a loose, heavy warmth. I was definitely getting tipsy, the confidence swirling in my chest.
As he shifted, I leaned forward, resting my chin in my hands. "Let's make this more interesting. A new rule. Whoever loses the round has to strip off a piece of clothing."
Mitch paused, the cards hovering mid-air. He didn't disagree, but he didn't verbally agree either. He just gave me a long, unreadable look before cleanly slicing the deck and dealing out our hands.
We played a couple of rounds in a heavy, charged silence. The wine made me reckless, and my focus wasn't entirely on the cards. By the fourth round, Mitch had calmly discarded his tactical vest and unbuttoned his heavy black shirt, tossing it aside to reveal the broad, heavily muscled expanse of his tattooed chest and shoulders. I was down to just my underwear, my bare skin tingling under the heat of the room.
Mitch laid down his winning hand, his dark eyes scanning the cards I had just thrown down. He leaned back slightly, his gaze trailing slowly up from my hands, over my exposed collarbones, and finally locking onto my face.
"You're playing bad on purpose," he stated, his voice a low, analytical rumble. He didn't sound angry; he sounded intensely observant, tracking the deliberate mistakes I'd been making. "Your tactical assessment of your own hand is flawed, Lauren. You had a winning sequence."
I giggled, the sound rich with the wine. I didn't deny it. Instead, I leaned closer across the coffee table, letting my eyes drop to his bare chest before meeting his intense gaze. "Do you want to stop playing the game, Mitch?"
He didn't answer. He didn't say a single word. But the way he looked at me shifted entirely. A heavy, predatory hunger flared in his eyes—the exact same look I had caught him giving me ever since the night I had snuck back into the house, and he had quietly stood in the shadows, watching me wash the sweat off my skin in that glass stall. He wanted me, desperately, the memory of seeing my body under the streaming water still burning behind his retinas.
The playful confidence surged through my veins. I bypassed the table entirely, moving onto the rug until I was right in his space. I slid my legs around his waist and smoothly crawled right onto his lap on the couch, straddling him.
Mitch's hands instantly came up, gripping my hips to steady me. His grip was fiercely tight, his large, calloused palms scorching hot against my bare skin, anchoring me against him. His chest heaved beneath me, his heartbeat a rapid, heavy thud against my thighs.
I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck, looking down at his mouth, fully leaning into the tipsy haze. "Do you want to watch me shower again?" I whispered, my voice dropping into a dark, velvet invitation.
Mitch kept absolute eye contact, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked. He remained completely silent, but his fingers dug just a fraction deeper into my hips, his body rigid as an iron bar beneath me.
"Silence means yes in my book," I murmured.
I slid off his lap, catching his large hand in mine. I tugged gently, and the stoic soldier rose from the couch without resistance, his tall, massive frame trailing right behind me down the short hallway into the dimly lit bathroom.
The air in the bathroom was cool, but it heated up the second Mitch stepped inside, closing the door behind us. He stood flat against the wall, his arms resting at his sides, watching me with a hyper-focused intensity.
Slowly, deliberately, keeping my eyes locked on his, I stripped off the last pieces of my underwear, letting them drop to the tile floor. The cool air making my skin goosebump. Mitch didn't blink. His chest rose and fell in slow, disciplined breaths, but his dark eyes were tracking every inch of exposed skin, his pupils blown wide as he drank in the sight of my body.
I stood flat against the wall, the steam in the enclosure already becoming a thick, oppressive fog, trapping the heat of our bodies inside the glass. Mitch stood just inches away, his breathing already heavy, his eyes dark with an unholy amount of restraint as he watched me.
I looked up at his massive, tattooed frame, the warmth of the wine making me completely bold. I leaned in close, my lips brushing his jaw. "You can be rough with me, Mitch," I whispered, my voice dripping with invitation. "I like that."
A sharp, jagged breath hitched in his throat, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked. He didn't say a word, but his pupils blew out until his eyes were almost entirely black.
Driven by the intense look on his face, I sank slowly to my knees onto the wet tile floor. The cold water from the shower head pelted my back, but the heat radiating from him was blistering. I reached out, my hands wrapping around his thick thighs, and leaned forward to take his scorching, heavy length into my mouth.
Mitch let out a low, guttural gasp, his hands instantly flying to my head, his fingers tangling into my wet hair to hold me in place. I closed my lips around him, sliding slowly up and down his thick shaft, taking him as deeply as I could manage. Every wet, rhythmic stroke had him letting out short, ragged bursts of air above me. His hips twitched instinctively, wanting to push deeper, but he held his ground, his knuckles turning white in my hair as he fought for control.
The pacing grew faster, the tension in his thighs tightening into solid rock. Just as his breath hitched sharply and his hands gripped my hair with a sudden, desperate strength—right on the verge of finishing—Mitch abruptly stopped me. He didn't want it to end here.
He gripped me under my arms and hauled me up to my feet in one powerful, effortless motion. Before I could even catch my breath, he grabbed my hips and drove me back until my spine collided with the cool, tiled wall of the shower.
Mitch captured my mouth in a brutal, bruising kiss, his tongue sliding past my lips with a dominant force that stole the air straight from my lungs. I whimpered into his mouth, my hands sliding up his slick shoulders to weave directly into his shaggy, dark hair. I tugged at the damp strands, pulling him closer as a low moan escaped the back of my throat.
While our mouths locked together in a hungry, desperate clash, Mitch's hand slid down between our bodies. His large, calloused fingers found me, parting my folds and sliding inside my slick, dripping heat. He began to finger me with a firm, relentless rhythm, his knuckles rubbing against my core. I gasped into his mouth, my hips automatically rolling against his hand as the friction drove me wild. He pushed two fingers deep inside, stretching me out and prepping my body while his thumb kept up a punishing pace against my center.
To anchor us both and gain better stability against the wet, slippery surface, Mitch suddenly withdrew his hand and slammed his palm flat against the tile right next to my head. The heavy, echoing *smack* of his hand against the wall reverberated through the small stall, his arm locking like a steel beam to hold us steady.
He pulled back from the kiss, his chest heaving violently, his breath hitching as his dark eyes locked onto mine. I leaned my head down, burying my face into his neck, kissing the warm skin just beneath his jaw and letting my teeth softly nibble on his pulse point. Another soft, breathless moan broke from my lips, vibrating right against his skin. "I feel so safe with you, Mitch. You have no idea," I breathed out.
Every time I spoke or moaned against his skin, it felt like a silent command that wanted him louder, pushing him past his limits. His chest expanded with a heavy, shuddering breath, and his other hand gripped my thighs, hoisting me up in one powerful, effortless motion until my legs wrapped tightly around his waist to stay anchored. He aligned his length with me, pausing for a fraction of a second, before he drove himself inside me in one deep, unyielding thrust.
The sensation of him inside of me was staggering. He felt incredibly large, thick, and scorchingly hot, stretching me so acutely that my eyes went wide. The friction of his bare skin sliding against mine was an overwhelming, electric rush, filling the empty ache completely and locking our bodies together in a way that made the rest of the world vanish. I locked my arms tightly around his neck, my fingers tangling deeper into his hair.
"I've wanted you to hold me like this for so long," I breathed out, my voice hitching as I pressed my face into his shoulder.
The moment the words left my mouth, his pace turned fiercely aggressive. He threw his entire weight into me, his hand pressed firmly against the wall for leverage as he began to stroke into me with a brutal, punishing rhythm. Every single plunge felt heavier, deeper, as if he were trying to completely lose himself inside of me. The thick, scorching heat of him moving against my inner walls drove me higher and higher, the pleasure turning into a tight, breathless coil in my lower abdomen.
Mitch's hands never remained still. He was losing himself all over my body, his calloused palms mapping out every inch of my skin—gripping my waist, sliding up to cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing hard against my tight nipples until I was shaking. He was completely consumed, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts against my collarbone, yet his jaw remained set with an iron discipline. He was holding back, fighting his own body, deliberately waiting for me. He wouldn't let his own 'mission' be completed until I was taken care of first.
"Mitch—I'm close. I'm going to—"
He didn't let me finish. Hearing how close I was, he delivered three more devastating, targeted thrusts that hit the exact spot. A violent, shattering orgasm rippled through my lower abdomen, my inner muscles clenching tightly around his thick length as a breathless scream was swallowed by the sound of the rushing water.
Feeling the tight, rhythmic contractions of my release, Mitch finally let go. A low, guttural roar of pure exhalation tore from his chest. His pace became frantic, uncoordinated, throwing everything he had into me for a few final, heavy seconds before his body went completely rigid. He buried himself inside me as deeply as possible, his chest heaving violently against mine as he finally came, his release pulsing inside me as the hot water continued to wash over our tangled, trembling bodies.
