I looked up to see that she was watching me. Her eyes were lidded, darkened with lust, but I saw the love she had for me. I groaned. I couldn’t stay out of her anymore. “Fuck it.” I hoisted her up one more time, and Emma was waiting for me. She was ready. Her other leg wrapped around my waist again, and then I was in her. All the way.

We moved together.

I kept thrusting, and she grinded against me. Our hips strained against each other. I didn’t think I could get more inside her, but she changed our angle, and suddenly, I was there. I was so deep. As I kept sliding in and out of her, I closed my eyes and just felt her. She trailed a hand down my face, tracing my lips.

That small touch. So gentle. So loving. That was Emma. Then she took hold of my hip and began matching my movements. She pounded down on me, as hard as I was going. We were screwing and making love, all at the same time.

I felt my climax coming. I didn’t want it to. I wanted to hold out, and I slowed, gripping her hips so she slowed as well. As she did, she held herself still, and my hand went to her entrance. I began rubbing over it, applying pressure and then softening as she gasped. Then, when I felt her body starting to tense, I began moving inside her again.

She was coming.

I kept touching her, kept thrusting in her.

Her legs suddenly convulsed, wrapping my waist in an ironclad grip, and I felt her come. Her entire body lifted, arching against me. She kept trembling, and I waited, going a little slower. As she started to subside, I watched. I waited. Then her eyes opened, and she bit down on her lip, nodding to me.

It was my turn.

I began pounding into her. Harder. Deeper. Shit. I would never have enough of this woman. Ever. Emma worked with me, holding my hips as an anchor while she lifted her body up and down, too. I leaned a hand against the wall above her head, my other hand grabbed her thigh, and I kept going. I was going to come. It was nearing. I closed my eyes, once more going into her, and it washed over me. Waves of pleasure rolled through me, leaving me weakened and satiated. No, that was Emma. No other woman made me feel like this. It was her, only her.

Opening my eyes, I found her watching me and smiling as her chest heaved for air.

“I love you,” she murmured.

Goddamn. I kissed her and whispered against her lips, “I love you, too.”

“Carter.”

She sounded so sad. I pulled back and waited. A hand always punched through my chest when I heard that tone from her, when she was hurting.

“I’m scared you won’t get her back.”

That hand was still in my chest, and it rammed further down, all the way to my gut. I shook my head. The hand kept ripping through me, but I said, “I will find her. I promise.”

A voice in my head warned me not to lie to her, but I told him to shut up. I would, but I couldn’t promise to find her alive. I prayed Emma didn’t push that. I couldn’t say those words. I couldn’t lie to her.

She didn’t.

She nodded and leaned against me, letting me hold all of her weight. I was grateful to hold her there, just enjoying the feel of her in my arms. I would hold her till my last breath, if I could.

“Uh…”

We tensed, hearing Michael clear his throat on the other side of the door.

“I don’t know what I’m interrupting in there, but I have to interrupt,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m going to keep apologizing because, again, I have no idea what I’m interrupting, and I have to do that. Interrupt. That’s what I’m doing right now, and I’d punch a guy for doing this to me—”

“What is it?” A growl formed in the back of my throat.

“Uh. Yeah. Peter and Drake are back.” He paused. “They found Andrea.”

Emma gasped, shoving me back. She dropped to the floor and ran for the door, but I caught her arm, swinging her back to me. “What?” A snarl twisted her lips.

I grabbed her shirt from the floor and pushed it against her chest.

“Oh.” As she covered herself, I pulled up her shorts. She glanced down and another, “Oh,” left her lips. “Yeah. Thank you.”

I zipped myself up, grinning down at her. “You’re mine. Not theirs.”

She reached up and pressed her lips against mine. “You’re mine, too.” Then she had the door open and ran through it, asking, “Where is she?”

Peter and Drake had found her. That information was cemented in me, securing my hope. She was alive. She had to be. I was ready to go with them, fight beside them, but Carter wouldn’t have it. Peter had been shot as they got away. They were going to regroup, but I had to stay back and tend to Peter.

At first I refused, but I saw the warning from Carter. If I didn’t, he said he would lock me in the bathroom and be damned the damage I would do as I tried to get out. Fine. I told him I would stay back. I would dress Peter’s wound.

That was what he wanted to hear. So that’s what I said.

And now, after seeing that the bullet had gone all the way through Peter’s shoulder, and after finishing his bandages, I had another item on my agenda.

Spying a bungee on the floor behind his chair, I pulled it through a loop on his pants, tying it in a firm knot to the chair where he sat. It wouldn’t stop him, but it would give me the element of surprise. That was all I needed. I waited another second, but he wasn’t paying attention. It was now or never.

“Peter.”

I secured the end of the bandage over his wound and stepped back. He’d put his gun on the counter behind us. I knew what I was going to do, but I was an idiot. Still, I didn’t see another way around him, and with my decision finalized in my head, I stepped backward. He inspected the bandage as I took one more step backward and reached behind me. My hand closed around the gun’s end.