Beg For Me by Sierra Cartwright

Chapter Two

“Going somewhere, Commander Carter?” Mira glanced up from the British crime drama she was streaming and muted the television. Just as he had for the past two Monday nights, Torin was leaving the carriage house around nine p.m. If his usual pattern held, he’d return sometime after one. It didn’t matter to her where he went, but the fact that he didn’t volunteer the information made her curious. And when she’d asked, he’d given a vague half answer, intriguing her further.

“Don’t wait up,” he responded.

Though they’d been under the same roof, sharing a bathroom, eating most meals together, partnering for over a dozen operations, they kept their private lives as protected as possible. She trained at the gym, met with Hallie for a couple of happy hours, indulged in the occasional café au lait, visited some of New Orleans’s best galleries, and tried to ignore the effect her former instructor had on her sex drive.

Tonight, he was wearing a long-sleeved white dress shirt and tailored slacks. His shoes were polished to a high-shine. He smelled of temptation.

“Hot date?”

“Fishing for information?” he countered.

“Nah.” Pretending disinterest, she turned the volume back up.

The moment the door sealed behind him, she moved to the window and nudged back the blinds to watch him reverse out of the garage. As if knowing she was there, he stopped near a lamppost and lifted his right index finger in acknowledgment.

Did he miss nothing?

As she’d already planned to, she crossed to the kitchen table, snagged her keys, then waited until the gate closed behind him before jogging down the stairs to her car.

A short time later, she was behind him on the road. Keeping a couple of vehicles between them, she followed him onto Saint Charles Avenue. When he turned onto Loyola, she raised her eyebrows. The French Quarter? Seemed likely since this was the same route he’d traveled when he took her to dinner that first night.

She lost him on a narrow pedestrian-and-vehicle-packed one-way street. Having no other real option, she continued on, then spotted him again entering a parking lot on Iberville. It wasn’t the same one he’d used when they went to dinner. She pulled over, parking illegally next to the curb, waiting for him.

Eventually, he emerged to head down Royal Street. Last week, she’d browsed art galleries there, but she was guessing he wasn’t interested in paintings or sculptures.

Knowing the risk of a ticket—or worse, getting towed—she slipped out of her car to follow him.

As if suspecting he had a tail, or just taking appropriate precautions, he darted through jammed, honking vehicles and turned onto Toulouse, heading deeper into the heart of the French Quarter.

As quick as she could, she followed him, down a couple of blocks until…

She pressed her back against a nearby building as he opened an unmarked green door. One she knew well. The Quarter, New Orleans’s oldest, most vaunted BDSM club.

Holy hell.

Torin Carter was a Dom? And he attended her club?

She dragged in a deep breath. Her fantasies about him hadn’t been far out of line. Had something deep inside her intuitively responded to his unspoken vibe?

A tourist carrying a camera jostled into her, dragging her back to reality.

Still hardly able to think, she pushed away from the wall and joined the throngs on the sidewalk.

Now what? Even if it meant seeing him there, Mira refused to give up her occasional visit. BDSM scenes weren’t just something casual for her. They were much more than a simple, pleasurable release. Inside the construct and rules, she could be free, let go in ways she wasn’t able to in the outside world. Participating fed something essential inside her.

In front of her, a reveler lurched to a stop, and she bumped into him. “Sorry.” She shook her head as a way to forcibly reel in her thoughts. Allowing Torin’s secret and its implications to distract her was a sure way to lose her edge.

Focusing on where she was going, she walked to a corner restaurant and ordered a muffuletta sandwich to go. It was ginormous enough to feed her for two meals.

When she returned to her car, there was a parking ticket on it. Of course. At least she hadn’t been towed.

The later it got, the more difficult it became to navigate the narrow one-way streets. Many pedestrians didn’t even look before stepping into traffic.

The drive back to the mansion took much longer than the trip to the French Quarter, and her mind was still scattered when she parked on the property.

Because safety was ingrained, she checked the grounds before entering the carriage house and closing the door behind her.

On automatic, she ate part of her sandwich, then wrapped the remainder and stored it in the refrigerator. Restless, she checked email. Still empty. And no notifications on social media. That wasn’t a surprise. Because of the nature of her job, she rarely posted her whereabouts or anything personal. She glanced at the latest memes from her friends. A lot of them had to do with parenting or whether it was wine o’clock yet.

It was as if everyone she knew had a totally different experience of being alive than she did.

Mira closed her browser and plopped onto the couch in front of the television to scroll through the programming guide. There were at least a hundred choices, and none of them captured her interest.

With a sigh, she admitted the truth to herself.

She wanted to go to the club.

Action was the only thing that soothed her and allowed her to put her demons to rest.

Mira stood, turned off the television, then picked up her phone to call Hallie. “Are you still planning to go to the Quarter Wednesday night?”

“Oh my God.” Silence echoed between them. “Are you serious? Tell me you’re coming!”

She and Hallie had attended the same boarding school, then later, college. Even though they couldn’t be more different, they’d roomed together and become lifelong friends.

“Earth to Mira.”

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “Yes…or, well…I’m thinking about it.”

“That will make it so much more fun!”

“I’ll be on duty, so there’s a chance I’ll get a last-minute assignment.” Since it was a Wednesday night and the schedule was still clear, things looked good.

“It’s a Victorian theme night. You have something to wear, right?”

“No.”

“Even better! Let’s meet tomorrow at the costume store, then go to happy hour at the Maison Sterling. Ever since you mentioned it, I’ve wanted to try it. Four o’clock?”

After they ended call, Mira turned the television on again. The drama couldn’t hold her attention, and neither could a stand-up comedian.

An hour later, she gave up again, she changed into her bathing suit and headed down the stairs to the hot tub.

She sank into the water up to her neck, then tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

Where was Torin now? Sitting in the bar, observing what was happening in the main dungeon? Scening with some lucky sub?

Damnation and fuck it all.

She didn’t want to allow her thoughts to go there.

Did he have someone? A sub? If he had a girlfriend, he wouldn’t have been able to hide it for the month they’d been assigned together. But it was completely possible for him to have a woman he played with at the Quarter.

Taunted by her own thoughts, she left the tub in favor of making a few laps in the swimming pool.

The water was blessedly cool on her skin, and the within a few minutes, she was able to banish thoughts of him pleasing some unnamed woman…at least until she went to bed to toss and turn.

Around two, she woke up, dragged out of a deep sleep.

She climbed out of bed and grabbed her robe. As she left the bedroom, she tightened the belt.

The front door was closed and locked. Torin’s bedroom door stood ajar, and there was no sign of him anywhere in the carriage house. His wallet wasn’t on the counter, and the jacket he’d been wearing wasn’t hanging from the peg near the door. Obviously, he hadn’t returned from his night out.

Without turning on any lights, she walked to a window. The courtyard was empty, and trees swayed in the gentle breeze.

She wandered toward a window on the far side of the carriage house for a different view when a key turned in the lock.

Moments later, Torin entered and flipped on a light switch.

He stood there, completely naked, holding his clothes.

Water droplets shimmered on his smooth, bare chest, and his dick—massive dick, some wild part of her thoughts corrected—was pulsingly erect.

She ordered herself to look away, perhaps mumble something as she fled. Instead, she was immobilized.

“Sorry if I disturbed you.”

Being a light sleeper was a hazard of the job.

Torin offered no apology for his nakedness, and in fact, seemed completely unconcerned about it.

Of course, she’d seen him in his swimwear and from a distance. This, though, was different. His muscles were clearly delineated, and if she reached out, she could skim her fingers over his taut, gorgeous muscles.

He turned to close the door, giving her a full view of his tight ass. This was the perfect opportunity for her to excuse herself, but instead, she stood where she was, unmoving.

He placed his clothes on a nearby table, then, in silence, faced her again. His cock was scant inches from her.

“You should go back to bed.”

He’d given voice to her thoughts. But his prompting didn’t make her walk away.

“Final warning, Araceli.”

“Or what?” Her words were a whisper, more of an invitation than a challenge.

“Or what?” He swirled his hand into her hair. “I’m going to kiss you.”

No. Yes.

Smelling of sin and danger, he leaned in, bringing his magnificently erect cock even closer to her. “Tell me not to.”

This, inviting him, tempting him, was foolish. He might be able to fuck her and forget her, move on with his life. But to her, it would mean something, no matter how much she tried to pretend it wouldn’t. And yet… Even if she might get hurt, she wanted him. “I might die if you don’t.”

He brushed his lips across hers in a sweet, tender gesture that was completely unexpected. He’d been at the Quarter, so she’d anticipated he would claim her in a much more dominant manner.

Then she recognized his strategic brilliance. The brief touch fed her hunger, rather than sated it. “Carter…”

“You’re so fucking desirable, Mira.”

At the use of her first name, with a slight, sexy roll to r, her tummy fluttered. She reached up to loop her arms around his neck. His skin was cool and damp, and droplets from his hair dripped onto her forearm.

“That’s it.” He captured her chin. “Give me what I want.”

Responding to him, she lifted onto her toes. Except for that night in training, they’d never been this close. The reality was more overwhelming than she remembered.

She kissed him, then captured his lower lip with her teeth. He groaned, turning her on. The moment she released him, she soothed the tiny bite with a soft kiss.

“You read me right, Araceli.”

His approval made her pulse skitter.

“And now…” He seized control, blue eyes darkening with intent.

This time, he sought entrance to her mouth, and she yielded, opening wide for him. He tasted faintly of whiskey. Bourbon, maybe. If so, that meant he hadn’t scened at the club, unless he’d headed for the bar after a very brief encounter. That, she couldn’t imagine.

He moved a hand to the center of her back and placed the other at the curve of her spine. It was intimate, and yet…not, as if he was holding part of himself back.

With restrained power, he brought her in a little closer. His cock pressed against her, making the world swirl. He deepened the kiss, exploring her responses, finding what she liked and giving her more of that.

Mira met his slow, sensual dance and surrendered to it until she went dizzy. Her body softened, and she tightened her grip on him so that she could remain upright.

For a moment, he ended the kiss, giving her time to inhale a shaky breath. But he never let go. In fact, he spread his fingers farther apart so he could hold her more completely.

“I’m not done with you.”

“Good.”

With a deep sound of approval, he claimed her again.

This time, he wasn’t gentle. He thrust his tongue into her mouth possessively. She liked it every bit as much as the first kiss, and maybe even more.

He consumed her, igniting a flame that had been dormant for more than a year. Since she was focused on her career, she didn’t indulge in casual sex. Suddenly, though, she ached, wanting to be filled, to be taken. But not by any man. By Torin.

She moved one of her arms and dug her fingers into his hair.

Slowly, he eased back.

Part of her was grateful, another, not at all.

When he lowered his hands, she unwrapped herself from around him.

She met his gaze and was consumed by the way he looked at her. Longing. And… Regret? “I should go to bed,” she said, an echo of his earlier sentiment.

“Agreed.”

She took a step back. Her nightclothes were damp from his skin, and a couple of droplets of water clung to her. His turgid cock was pointed her direction, throbbing. Her hand trembled, and she wanted to reach out and explore him. Would he let her?

The answer didn’t matter.

She was too smart to find out.

Mira hurried back to her room. She didn’t care if she appeared to be fleeing. She was.

She shut the door with a decisive click, more for his benefit than hers.

In the dark, beneath the sheet, she pressed a hand against her swollen lips, reliving his tenderness as well as his urgency.

Whatever it was she felt for him, it disturbed her. She wanted to name it lust, but it was much deeper. Desire? Not deep enough. It was more like recognition. Inevitability. He saw into her, guessed her secrets, and he still wanted her.

She yanked the sheets around her shoulders, like a cocoon.

Torin Carter was a threat to her, not just because of her attraction, but because he had ghosts of his own, ones that weren’t at rest.

In the bathroom, the water ran. She envisioned him beneath the spray, soaping his erection.

Moaning, she turned on her side. But she couldn’t escape her imagination.

Knowing she’d never get to sleep, she reached for the tiny vibrator tucked beneath a paperback.

She worked her hand inside her panties. Then, with her eyes closed, the sounds from across the hall and the scent of clean, masculine soap on the air, she turned on the toy and pressed the tip against her clit.

Pressing her lips together so she didn’t cry out, she nudged the power a little higher.

Then, lost, she moaned as an orgasm built.

Her thoughts ran wild, and she pictured Torin fastening her to a Saint Andrew’s cross, or better, taking her upstairs to a private room at the Quarter where he could strip her completely bare. He’d use a flogger on her, one that had long, thick falls that would wrap around her, delivering dozens of simultaneous thuds to sear her nerve endings. He was a fit, powerful man, capable of the force she needed to achieve subspace.

Rationally, she knew she should fantasize about a nameless, faceless Dom, but Torin filled her senses.

So lost beneath his dominance, she screamed out as she orgasmed.

Out of breath, she dropped the still-humming vibrator and dragged in a dozen desperate breaths.

As reality returned, she became aware of a preternatural quiet.

The water was no longer running. The air conditioner was silent.

Seconds later, a footfall echoed outside her room. Shortly thereafter, his bedroom door closed.

Torin had been there? Listening?

Embarrassed, praying she hadn’t called out his name, she turned off the vibrator. How the hell would she face him in the morning?

The remaining weeks loomed larger than ever. And she was less and less certain about her ability to survive.

* * *

“Are you kidding me?”Hallie demanded as she fastened the top button of Mira’s Victorian gown.

In the dressing room mirror, she met her friend’s gaze. As Hallie had helped her into the long red gown, Mira recounted last night’s events with Torin.

“So you’re sure he was outside your door while you were, ah, polishing your pearl?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Well, at least he didn’t walk in on you.”

“He’s my partner. I would have died for real, if he had.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. What the hell could he have expected after he kissed you and flashed you his full-staff dick?”

Because of Hallie’s support, Mira was able to laugh.

“He was probably patting himself on the back.”

Maybe.

“I bet he beat off in the shower.”

“Hallie!”

“Girl, if he wasn’t proud of that thing, he wouldn’t have walked around in all his naked glory.”

Mira didn’t point out that he’d probably believed she was asleep.

“What do you think of the dress?”

Mira studied her reflection. “It’s a little tight across the chest.” But the waist was perfect. “I like it.”

“Do you have shoes you can wear?”

She hadn’t thought about that. “No.”

“I have some you can borrow. Come by around nine, and then we can take a car from my place.” Hallie went on for a few more minutes before winding down. “We’re going to have fun. You can find someone to take your mind off Mr. Hard Dick.”

With a grin, Mira shook her head.

After she changed back into her boring work clothes and paid the rental fee, she hung up the dress in her car. She and Hallie left their vehicles in the lot and caught a taxi to the Maison Sterling.

“Damn,” Hallie said as they walked beneath the green awning.

The door was opened by a man dressed in livery, who tipped his top hat as they entered.

“I’ve driven past, and I knew it was nice, but…” Obviously at a loss for words, she repeated, “Damn.”

“My reaction as well.” Mira’s boots echoed off the polished marble floor.

They found tall stools at the elegant bar. Within moments, the bartender appeared, with a crystal bowl filled with nuts.

“Oh my God.” Hallie picked out a cashew. “These are primo. Not even a single peanut among them. Be still my heart!”

Even though the hurricane was outrageously priced, Mira decided to splurge. After all, there was no way she could drink more than one.

Hallie selected the happy hour house wine. It was still more money than almost anywhere else in town, but the ambience was first rate. Lights were dimmed. Candles sat atop each table. Light jazz played, softly enough that it didn’t drown out conversation. The chairs appeared to be hand carved, and the others throughout the area were real leather.

At a table across the room, a couple was cozying up, so into each other that they didn’t appear to even notice anyone else. At another, away from anyone, their backs at a slight angle to hide their faces, two men conferred over highball glasses.

“Can you ever give the spy stuff a rest?”

“I’m in protection. That’s totally different than being a spy,” Mira protested.

Hallie rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed every single detail of what’s going on here.”

She gave a half smile. Being a good agent meant she needed to be aware of her surroundings. Her life, and that of her principal, might depend on it.

“That couple…” Hallie prompted.

“An affair. She’s cheating on her husband.”

Hallie frowned.

“Her diamond flashed when she put her left hand on his shoulder.”

“They could be on their honeymoon.”

“Not with the way she checks her phone.” Mira plucked the cherry from her drink and sucked on it before biting into the delicious sweetness. “Those men over there…” She inclined her head. “One’s got money. The other’s a politician.”

“Cash for influence?”

The way of the world.

“I don’t care what you say,” Hallie proclaimed. “Figuring out all that stuff is spy shit.”

“No. It’s just a casual observation.”

Hallie shook her head. “Not true. I observed two guys having a drink.”

“They’re in the far corner, away from the other patrons. No one walking through the lobby can see that part of the bar. Oh. And. They moved their candle to another table.”

“See?” Hallie demanded. “Freaking spy shit!” She took a drink. “Where as me, a mere mortal, have just observed a prime specimen of masculine glory.”

Mira glanced over her shoulder. Hallie was definitely right. The gentleman striding confidently across the floor was exceptionally handsome.

“Evening Mr. Sterling,” the bartender greeted.

When the tall, striking man was out of earshot, Hallie signaled for the bartender to come over. “Is that him? The owner? Like the Mr. Sterling. As in Sterling Hotels?”

“It is.”

“Wow.”

He pulled up a chair to join the other two men.

“Worth the cost of the wine to sit here and people watch,” Hallie observed.

It was. After a few sips of the Cat Five hurricane, Mira pushed the glass aside and ordered a sparkling water. “It’s lethal,” she told the bartender.

The woman grinned. “There’s a reason we list a warning on the menu.”

Mira leaned toward Hallie. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

Hallie fished out a few more nuts before sighing. “What makes you think there’s anything?”

“Seriously?” Mira raised eyebrow. “Do-or-die friends know these things.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mira grinned. “Okay, you’ve got a tell, like a poker player might. You’ve said almost nothing the whole time we’ve been together. You’re keeping the conversation all about me and my life, which means you’re being evasive. And you avoided my question just this minute. Ergo…” She paused for dramatic effect. “There’s something you don’t want to tell me”

“That’s spy shit,” Hallie protested, looking down at her glass.

“And… There you go again. Start talking. Otherwise the interrogation begins. I might even get out the thumbscrews.”

Hallie shook her head. “You would, too.”

“Waiting.”

Hallie pushed away her wineglass. “So I met a guy.”

“Oh?”

“And no, you can’t have his full name, and I do not want you to run a background check on him.”

Mira remembered, all too well, what happened the last time Hallie had been so secretive. Her anguish, the tears, the hospital visit… Mira put her hand over her friend’s. “Hal—”

“If it gets serious, then you can.” She pulled away her hand with an exhalation. “This time, I’m smarter. I promise.”

Having no other choice, Mira nodded. “I care about you.”

“I appreciate it. But I want to find out more on my own. I mean, assuming it goes anywhere.”

As she waited, Mira took a sip of her water.

“I met him at the Quarter.”

That helped, just a little. The club owner, Mistress Aviana, vetted all members. But she relied on referrals more than extensive background checks.

“He visits periodically. Lives in Baton Rouge.”

It was a commute, for sure, but doable.

“We’ve played twice, and after the last time, we had a drink before he took me home.”

“And…?” She took the lime from the rim of her glass and placed it on the napkin.

“He’s…” Hallie paused. “Nice.”

Mira hated being a skeptic, but she was. Maybe because she’d rarely met nice men. It didn’t mean they didn’t exist, but in her world, they didn’t. “Give me a first name, at least.”

“Master Bartholomew.”

“A scene name?” she guessed. Plenty of people used them, herself included. Since she didn’t want anyone finding her outside of the club, she went by Ember when she was there, and she never shared her phone number or surname. To her, when she was at the club, she was able to be someone else, and she liked the freedom it gave her.

Hallie looked into her glass.

“You don’t know for sure.” She swallowed back a sigh. Shit. Even though she protected her identity, she would reveal parts of herself if she were interested in someone. That he hadn’t done that much concerned her. “He took you home?”

Hallie nodded. “He walked me to the door, like a perfect gentleman.”

“And then what?”

“Nothing.” She plucked a cashew from the dish, but she didn’t eat it. “He kissed my hand and said good night.”

“When was that?”

“Last week.”

“And you haven’t heard from him since?”

“A text message last night. He’ll be out of town for a week.”

Hurt wove through Hallie’s words, making Mira cringe. “But the scenes were good?”

“He was thoughtful, and…” She smiled, vanquishing her former gloom. “Yes. They’ve been epic.”

“Epic? Then concentrate on that.”

“I will.” Hallie finally popped the nut into her mouth. “It’s better than thinking about work. It still sucks. Too damn many unfilled positions. Always trying to do more with less. Any openings at Hawkeye for math geeks like me?”

Hallie was an office manager at an oil and gas firm that was cycling through another downturn. “You should apply,” Mira encouraged. “Use my name. Or better, let me call HR and recommend you.”

“I’ll think about it. Vacation time, retirement…”

The realities of leaving a job.

They finished their drinks, and she watched the politician leave the table. A few minutes later, Mr. Sterling followed suit. The businessman lingered, typing lots of notes into his phone before pocketing the device and adjusting his blazer. After checking his watch, he strode from the bar.

“All that power in one place,” Hallie said. “We have to come back here again.”

“It definitely is a good place to people watch,” Mira agreed before relating the story of protecting The Crush.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m applying at Hawkeye.”

Mira laughed. “I promise, it’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds.”

“But you hung out with The Crush.”

“I was about as close to him as we were to that politician. And I got a black eye from the overzealous fan who wanted to climb onto the stage.”

The man who’d been snuggled up to the woman stood. Then he left, with a couple of sad over-the-shoulder glances.

After refreshing her lipstick, the woman signaled for a server to clear the table, then ordered a glass of white wine.

A few minutes later, another man—presumably her husband this time—joined her.

“You called that one right,” Hallie observed, finishing the last of her drink.

Since she had to drive, Mira gave up on the hurricane. “Next time, I’ll catch a ride from the house so I can drink the whole thing.”

After finalizing the plans for meeting at the Quarter the next evening, they exited. A valet flagged down a cab to take them back to the costume store.

From there, the drive back to the carriage house took less than fifteen minutes.

She grabbed her purse and the costume from the car and wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved when she discovered Torin wasn’t in the pool. She didn’t have to worry about seeing his naked body, but it also meant he was probably inside where she couldn’t avoid him.

He was cycling on the exercise bike when she entered. Thankfully, he was wearing a shirt and shorts. She was starting to fear that spontaneous combustion might be a real thing.

“Need a hand?”

“Thanks. I’ve got it all.” She placed her purse on the counter, then locked the door.

“What have you got?” he asked.

She debated her answer, then stuck to the truth. No doubt he’d noticed the name on the garment bag. “It’s a Victorian gown. For an event tomorrow night.”

“Ah.”

Mira carried the gown down the hall and hung it in her closet. When she returned to the living area, he had a towel draped around his neck, and he’d opened an amber ale from the famous local brewery.

“Can I get you one?”

“Uh. No. I just had a Cat Five hurricane at the Maison Sterling.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“It was slightly worse than that. I didn’t finish the whole thing.”

“How about a pizza?”

That had fast become a once-a-week tradition. “Sounds good.” And normal.

“The usual?”

Mira nodded, relieved he was acting as if he hadn’t kissed her or stood outside her door while she moaned and maybe called out his name.

Forty minutes later, the open pizza box on the coffee table, he sat on the couch and turned on the television to an Australian drama about a lawyer who was currently in trouble with the tax collector. She selected a large slice of the double pepperoni, then curled up on a lounge chair.

He raised an eyebrow at her choice but said nothing.

After watching two back-to-back episodes that she’d paid almost no attention to, she stood. “Good night. I’m going to bed to read for a while.”

“Already?”

It wasn’t even ten. “The aftereffects of the rum,” she lied.

He watched her go.

When she reached the end of the hall, he called out, “Araceli.”

The soft command in his voice stopped her cold. But she didn’t look back at him.

“It happened. All of it. And at some point we’re going to stop pretending it didn’t and figure out what the hell to do with it.”

She was fine with continuing as they were. “Taking it any further would be a mistake.”

“One you want to make.”

Then she did look back and wished she hadn’t. He was so damn handsome, so inviting. Tempting.

The fact that he was right made it worse. “Good night, Commander Carter.”

“So that’s how it is.”

She escaped into the bedroom and closed the door.

The book couldn’t hold her interest. When the door to the outside closed with a slight click, she moved to the window. As she guessed, he was swimming, and there was no doubt he was naked.

Quickly, she dropped the blinds, determined not to let him, his statement—or his sexy body—get to her.

It took hours to harness her thoughts, and she didn’t manage to fall asleep until he was back inside and out of the shower.

For another hour, she tossed and turned, drifting in and out of sleep, looking at the clock every ten minutes or so.

Around three, she awakened hard, alert.

“No!”

Torin?

“Goddamn it! Noooo!” Pain ripped through the word. “Noooo!”

She tossed back the sheet, then jumped out of bed to dash down the hall. She pounded on his closed door. “Commander Carter?” When there was no response, she turned the knob. “I’m fucking coming in!”