Midnight at the Magnolia (Venom and Virtue #1)

14. Celeste

14

CELESTE

NOLA NOW

Viper’s victim count reaches twelve. Pattern suggests killer has intimate knowledge of New Orleans’ power structure. Police warn public to stay vigilant.

The soft glow of candles flickers across Ethan’s face as he uncorks the wine, casting dancing shadows that accentuate his chiseled features. Outside, the last rays of sunset paint the sky in vibrant oranges and purples, like the deadly nightshade blooms Grandma used to point out in her garden—beautiful, dangerous, impossible to resist.

I watch him from beneath lowered lashes, cataloging details with the same precision Grandma taught me to use when identifying herbs: the confident way he handles the wine bottle, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrates, the way his fingers grip the neck just a bit too tightly. Every observation gets filed away in my growing collection of Ethan-moments, precious and poisonous in equal measure.

“To partnerships,” Ethan says, raising his glass with a smile that makes my stomach flip. His voice is low and warm, like honey poured over gravel. The kind of voice that could make a woman forget all her carefully laid plans.

I clink my glass against his, forcing a relaxed smile even as Grandma’s words echo in my head: “The sweetest poison’s the one they drink willingly, child.”

The cool, smooth surface of the wine glass is a stark contrast to my clammy palms.

“To partnerships,” I echo, “and to unraveling mysteries, cher.” The local endearment slips out before I can stop it, a small piece of my true self breaking through the carefully constructed facade. Like kudzu breaking through concrete, nature always finds a way to reveal itself.

As we settle into our meal, the sky outside gradually darkens, the city lights beginning to twinkle like stars caught in Spanish moss. The wine is bold and full-bodied, its velvety texture coating my tongue. Through his open window, the night air carries the mingled scents of magnolias and mystery that make New Orleans what it is—a city where secrets bloom like night jasmine, dangerous and beautiful.

I savor each bite of the perfectly cooked pasta, letting the flavors ground me in the moment as my mind races with possibilities and fears. Across the table, Ethan watches me with the same intensity he gives his case files. Each glance feels like evidence being collected, each shared smile like a confession being drawn out. I recognize the look because it mirrors my own—the hunter becoming the hunted, both of us circling closer to truths we might not survive.

“So, Agent Blake,” I say, forcing a playful lilt into my voice. “Is the food living up to your Chicago standards?”

Ethan chuckles, his eyes meeting mine. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down my spine. “I have to admit, Celeste, this beats deep-dish pizza any day.”

“High praise indeed,” I smirk, taking a sip of wine to hide the tremor in my hands. “Though I’m not sure the Windy City would approve of such blasphemy.”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” he replies with a wink that sets my heart racing.

The muffled sounds of a saxophone solo drift up from the street below, a haunting melody that seems to echo the ache in my chest. I catch Ethan studying me again, his eyes tracking my movements with a detective’s precision. I wonder what details he’s collecting, what evidence he’s building in that brilliant mind of his. Part of me hopes he never puts the pieces together. A larger part, the part that terrifies me most, hopes he does.

“The food is amazing,” I say, watching him savor another bite of the jambalaya. The candlelight flickers across his face, softening his usually sharp features. I’m acutely aware of the weight of my secrets, pressing down on me like wet moss after a storm.

Grandma’s voice whispers in my memory: “Love’s like belladonna, child — beautiful and deadly in equal measure. The sweetest poisons are the ones we choose to take.”

“Celeste,” he begins, his voice low. “About what happened out there...”

My heart rate quickens, the sound of blood rushing in my ears almost drowning out the distant jazz. I lean forward, letting my hand brush against his on the table. The touch sends sparks dancing across my skin.

“What happens in the bayou stays in the bayou?” I suggest, my tone flirtatious but with an undercurrent of desperation.

He catches my hand, his thumb tracing small circles on my skin. The gentle pressure is both comforting and terrifying. “Is that what you want?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.

I bite my lip, playing the part of the coy waitress while my mind races. “I want...” I pause, letting the tension build. “I want to try the tiramisu you made for dessert before I answer that question.”

Ethan laughs, the sound rich and warm like summer rain on cypress leaves. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Deveraux.” The way he says my false name sends a shiver down my spine—another item in his evidence file of my reactions, I’m sure.

As I stand to clear the plates, I let my hand trail across his shoulders. The solid warmth of his body under my fingertips sends a rush of heat through me.

Grandma’s voice whispers in my memory: “Touch is the most dangerous herb of all, child. One brush of skin against skin can brew stronger medicine than any root or leaf.”

“You have no idea, Agent Blake,” I murmur, my breath hot against his ear. Like the night-blooming jasmine that winds through New Orleans’ wrought iron, we’re both reaching for something we probably shouldn’t touch.

I move towards the kitchen, feeling Ethan’s eyes on me like a physical caress. His gaze has the weight of evidence being collected, each movement I make another exhibit in his mental case file. The weight of my secrets presses down, mingling with the very real attraction I feel. Keep him close, keep him safe, I remind myself. But as I glance back at Ethan, his gaze full of warmth and barely contained desire, I wonder who is really protecting whom.

The clink of plates in the sink provides a counterpoint to the jazz still drifting up from the street below. New Orleans at night seeps in through the windows—all mystery and possibility, where even the air tastes like secrets waiting to be shared.

As Ethan refills our wine glasses, the bottle now half empty, I decide to broach the subject that has been weighing on my mind. “So,” I say, keeping my tone light as I twirl pasta around my fork, “any breakthroughs in the case? Or is it still more twisted than a Mardi Gras parade route?”

Ethan’s eyes light up, the green in them becoming more pronounced in the dim light. Like poison ivy gleaming after rain - beautiful, dangerous, impossible not to touch. I brace myself, gripping my fork tighter, reminding myself of Grandma’s warning: “A careful gardener knows when to prune and when to let things grow wild.”

“Actually, yes,” he says, leaning forward with that intense focus that makes my heart race. “The lab finally got back to me with some interesting results.”

I mirror his movement, closing the distance between us like vines reaching for sunlight. The scent of his cologne—a heady mix of sandalwood and citrus—envelops me, making it hard to concentrate. My free hand toys with the napkin in my lap, a nervous habit I can’t quite control. Grandma would scold me for such an obvious tell, but even her best student can’t maintain perfect control when the stakes are this high.

“Interesting, huh?” My voice remains steady, a skill honed through years of practice. Like measuring deadly nightshade—one tremor could spell disaster. “What kind of evidence are we talking about?”

Ethan’s eyes never leave my face as he speaks, and I wonder what evidence he’s gathering now, what micro-expressions I’m revealing despite my best efforts. I’ve started cataloging his tells too—the slight tightening around his eyes when he’s onto something, the way his fingers drum against the table when he’s building to a revelation.”They found trace evidence at one of the crime scenes that doesn’t match any of the victims or known suspects. But here’s the kicker—it does partially match DNA found at several other scenes.”

My blood runs cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room. I know exactly what he’s talking about—a strand of hair I’d carelessly left behind during one of my... interventions. I can almost feel the weight of that mistake pressing down on me, threatening to crush me under its weight.

“Fascinating,” I manage, my mind racing. The bite of pasta in my mouth suddenly tastes like ash. “So you think it’s the killer?” I force myself to take another bite, to appear casual, even as my stomach churns.

Ethan nods, his expression grim. The candlelight casts deep shadows under his eyes, emphasizing the toll the case is taking on him. “It has to be. And what’s more, the profile suggests it’s someone with access to the investigation. Maybe even someone in law enforcement.”

I feel a moment of relief—at least he isn’t suspecting me directly. But I know I need to act fast to divert his attention. The ticking of a nearby clock seems to grow louder, a countdown to my inevitable exposure.

“You know,” I say, leaning forward and letting my fingertips brush against his hand, “for all the time we’ve spent together, I feel like I barely know you, Agent Blake.”

Ethan’s eyes lock with mine, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Is that your way of saying you want to know more about me, Ms. Deveraux?”

I laugh, the sound surprisingly genuine. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to distract you from work talk.”

“Well,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that sends shivers down my spine, “what would you like to know?”

I pretend to consider, tapping my finger against my lips. “Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite color?”

Ethan chuckles, the sound rich and warm. “Really? That’s your burning question?”

“Hey, you gotta start somewhere,” I tease, nudging his foot under the table with mine.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, his eyes twinkling. “It’s green. Dark green, like the bayou at twilight.”

The intensity of his gaze as he says this makes my breath catch. “Good choice,” I manage. “Very... evocative.”

“Your turn,” he says, leaning closer. “What’s your favorite smell?”

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. “Jasmine on a warm night,” I say softly. “It reminds me of home.”

When I open my eyes, Ethan is watching me with a look that makes my heart race. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about the answer or me.

“Okay, hot shot,” I say, trying to lighten the mood before I drown in those eyes. “What’s your guilty pleasure?”

Ethan leans back, running a hand through his hair. “Promise not to laugh?”

I make a cross over my heart, biting back a smile.

“I... I’m addicted to cheesy 80s power ballads,” he admits, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, I can totally picture you belting out Total Eclipse of the Heart in the shower!”

“Hey, you promised not to laugh!” Ethan protests, but he’s grinning too.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I gasp, wiping tears from my eyes. “It’s just... not what I expected from a tough FBI agent.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges, his eyes glinting mischievously. “And what’s your guilty pleasure, Ms. Deveraux?”

I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing his ear. “Trashy romance novels,” I whisper. “The kind with Fabio on the cover.”

Ethan pulls back, his eyebrows raised. “Now that, I would pay to see. Celeste Deveraux, cool as ice, reading a bodice-ripper.”

“What can I say?” I shrug, feigning nonchalance even as my pulse quickens at our proximity. “I contain multitudes.”

“That you do,” Ethan murmurs, his gaze intense. “So, what’s your biggest fear?”

The question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m tempted to tell him the truth—that I’m terrified of being discovered, of losing everything I’ve worked for. Instead, I say, “Snakes. Can’t stand ‘em.”

Ethan nods sympathetically. “Living in Louisiana must be tough then.”

“You have no idea,” I say, grateful for the out. “Your turn. What scares the big, bad FBI agent?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. “Failing. Letting people down when they need me most.”

The vulnerability in his admission tugs at my heart. I reach out, covering his hand with mine. “Ethan,” I say gently, “from what I’ve seen, you could never let anyone down.”

His fingers intertwine with mine, the touch sending sparks dancing across my skin. “Thanks, Celeste,” he says, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

We’re silent for a moment, the air between us charged with unspoken emotions. Finally, I clear my throat. “So, um, if you weren’t an FBI agent, what would you be?”

Ethan’s face lights up. “A chef,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve always loved cooking. It’s like solving a puzzle, but with flavors instead of clues.”

“Well, based on this meal, I’d say you missed your calling,” I tease, gesturing to our empty plates.

“High praise from a New Orleans native,” he grins. “What about you? If you weren’t serving coffee and solving crimes on the side, what would you do?”

I pause, considering. It’s been so long since I’ve thought about a life beyond my mission. “I think... I’d like to be a writer,” I say slowly. “Tell stories that make people feel something.”

“I bet you’d be amazing at it,” Ethan says softly. “You certainly have a way with words.”

Our eyes meet, and suddenly the room feels too small, too warm. The ticking clock fades away, replaced by the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. For a moment, I forget about the case, about my secrets, about everything except the man in front of me.

“Ethan,” I breathe, not sure what I’m going to say next.

He leans in, his lips just inches from mine. “Yes, Celeste?”

And in that moment, balanced on the knife’s edge between desire and duty, I make a choice that will change everything.

I want to keep him. For all the selfish reasons. I want to keep him.

The ticking of a nearby clock seems to grow louder, each second a reminder that time is running out.

Like Grandma always said, “Even the sweetest bloom must eventually fade.”

But looking at Ethan across the candlelit table, I’m not ready for this moment to end, dangerous as it might be.

The line between hunter and hunted has never felt more blurred.

Ethan studies me across the table, and I can see the exact moment his investigator’s mask slips. The candlelight softens his features, but his eyes burn with an intensity that makes my breath catch. Like oleander in full bloom - beautiful, deadly, irresistible.

“Celeste,” he breathes my name like a prayer, or maybe a confession. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Grandma’s voice echoes in my head: “Love’s the most powerful poison of all, child. Once it takes root, there’s no cure.”

The war within me reaches a fever pitch, love and guilt battling for supremacy. Like nightshade and morning glory fighting for the same patch of soil.

In that moment, as I look into Ethan’s eyes, I make a decision that I know will either save me or damn me.

“I think I’m falling in love with you too,” I whisper back. The words feel both foreign and achingly right on my tongue, like tasting a new herb and recognizing its power immediately.

It isn’t a lie. And that’s what makes it so dangerous.

I meet his lips, which are soft and searching at first, then increasingly passionate. The taste of wine and tiramisu mingles as we kiss, creating an intoxicating blend that reminds me of Grandma’s most potent brews. As we continue, I feel myself being pulled under, drowning in the intensity of my feelings for him. The world narrows to just this—the softness of his lips, the warmth of his hands on my waist, the racing of my heart.

Like kudzu claiming a tree, we’re becoming hopelessly entangled. Each touch, each kiss, each shared breath weaves us tighter together. Part of me wants to run, remembering Grandma’s warnings about letting anyone this close. But a larger part wants to stay, to let this beautiful poison work its way through my system.

The city plays its nightly symphony outside - jazz mixing with distant laughter, sirens wailing in the distance. But in here, in this moment, there’s only us. Two predators circling each other, both knowing we’re dancing with danger but unable to stop.

When we finally break apart, both breathless, Ethan’s eyes are shining. The brown in them seems more vibrant than ever, flecked with gold in the candlelight. Like sun through cypress leaves, dappled and dangerous.

“I want you,” he says simply, his voice rough with desire.

And God help me, I want him too. Even knowing this could destroy everything I’ve worked for. Even knowing that love between hunter and hunted never ends well.

And I will never allow that to happen.

Ethan’s eyes soften at my words, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. The rough calluses on his palm send a shiver down my spine. “You’re something else, Celeste Deveraux,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone.

I lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. For a moment, I allow myself to forget about the case, about my mission, about all the lies between us. In that instant, we are just two people, falling in love against all odds.

And I’ll be damned if I said I wasn’t selfish enough to embrace it. Because I am. All I want right here, right now is him.

I kiss him again, pouring everything I can into that one kiss. All the lies I can’t speak, all the truths I yearn to spill. Everything.

As our kiss deepens, I feel myself getting lost in the moment. Ethan’s hands roam my body, igniting sparks wherever they touch. I run my fingers through his hair, reveling in its softness. The world outside fades away until there is nothing but us, two bodies intertwined on his couch.

Ethan breaks the kiss, his breath hot against my neck as he trails his lips down to my collarbone. “Celeste,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “You’re incredible.”

I arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips. “Ethan,” I breathe, tugging gently at his hair to bring his face back to mine. Our eyes meet, and in that moment, I see everything I’ve ever wanted reflected back at me.

Love, desire, trust—it’s all there, shining in those green depths.

Everything I ever wanted. Everything I shouldn’t touch.

Without breaking eye contact, I slowly begin unbuttoning my blouse. Ethan’s gaze flickers down, then back up to my face, a question in his eyes. I nod, giving him permission to touch, to explore.

His hands replace mine, deftly undoing the remaining buttons. As he pushes the fabric off my shoulders, I shiver, partly from the cool air on my skin and partly from anticipation. Ethan’s eyes roam my body, his expression a mix of awe and hunger.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

As I lean in to kiss him again, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close, my cool facade crumbling with each beat of my heart. His lips are velvet fire, insistent and hungry, his body a furnace against my suddenly chilled skin. I can feel his heartbeat, a tribal drum echoing my own wild rhythm. Our breaths dance together, our desires clashing and melding, drowning us in a shared heat.

Ethan’s fingers trace the lace of my bra, sending electric shivers cascading down my spine, igniting a trail of goosebumps. I gasp as he replaces his fingers with his lips, drawing out a soft, involuntary moan from deep within my core. My hands grip his shoulders, nails biting into his flesh, anchoring myself to him as waves of pleasure threaten to sweep me away.

“Ethan,” I whisper again, my voice barely a breath, a secret, a promise, a plea. His name tastes sweet and forbidden on my tongue. He looks up at me, his eyes obsidian with desire, dominant and demanding. I reach for his shirt, my fingers trembling slightly, betraying my calculated exterior, as I begin to unbutton it. He helps me, impatient, shrugging it off, revealing the lean, sculpted muscles beneath, tanned and tantalizing.

I run my hands over his chest, marveling at the contrast—the hard planes under smooth skin, the strength and the heat of him. He is a living, breathing contradiction—unyielding yet tender, commanding yet vulnerable. He catches my wrists, his grip firm, controlling, kissing my fingertips before lowering my hands to his belt. His silent command is clear, and I comply, my heart pounding a frenzied tempo in my chest, echoing the pulsating need between us.

As I fumble with the buckle, Ethan’s hands explore my body with an urgency that sends jolts of electricity coursing through me. Each touch, each kiss is a dance, a step closer to the precipice. His hands are hot, slightly calloused, a stark contrast to my own cool, smooth skin.

I am a woman known for my control, my calculation, but under his touch, I am coming undone. And I want it, want to fall, to fall with him, into him. I want to lose myself completely in Ethan, if only for this moment.

Finally, the belt gives way, and I look up at him, my breath hitching in my throat. His eyes are intense, his pupils swallow the intense brown, his expression serious.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice hoarse with desire, a low rumble that resonates within me.

I nod, my voice barely above a whisper, “More than anything.” And with that, I let go of everything—the case, my mission, the lies. I let go and fall into him, into us. Into this wild, beautiful, dangerous dance of love and desire.

His breath hitches, mirroring mine, and he captures my mouth in a searing kiss. It is a kiss of surrender, of mutual understanding. We are crossing a line, a point of no return, and we both know it. But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. We are drawn to each other, like moths to a flame, unable to resist the heat between us.

Ethan gently lowers me onto the couch, his body covering mine. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, echoing my own racing pulse. His hands, those strong, dominant hands, explore every curve, every line of my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, craving more, craving him. His scent, a mix of musk and earth, fills my senses, intoxicating me. His mouth trails kisses down my neck, his stubble rough against my sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine.

My cool facade is crumbling, replaced by a raw, genuine desire. I cling to him, my nails digging into his back, a silent plea for more. His lips find mine again, his tongue demanding, dominating. And I meet him stroke for stroke, surrendering to the inferno that is us.

My hands aren’t idle either. I trace the muscles of his back, feeling them flex under my fingertips as he moves. I pull him closer, needing to feel his weight, his warmth. His lips leave mine, trailing kisses down my neck, my collarbone, until they reach the edge of my bra again. This time, he unclasps it, freeing me from its constraint.

I gasp as cool air hits my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of Ethan’s gaze. His mouth replaces the chill, branding me with a warmth that sends my heart racing. I grip his hair, my composed exterior crumbling as waves of pleasure threaten to drown me.

“Ethan,” I breathe, his name a secret, a confession, a surrender.

He looks up, his eyes not just glazed with desire, but burning with an intensity that stokes the inferno within me. I reach for him, my cool facade melting as I pull him back up to me.

“I need you,” I whisper, my voice laced with urgency. Our mouths meet in a clash of tongues and breaths, a desperate duel where control is both lost and found.

His hands, confident and dominating, move lower, tracing the waistband of my pants before dipping beneath to tease the sensitive skin there. “You’re mine tonight,” he growls softly, his voice a low rumble against my skin. I lift my hips, allowing him to strip away the last of my defenses, leaving me bare and exposed. “And I intend to explore every inch of you with my tongue.”

He stands, his eyes never leaving mine as he removes the rest of his clothing, revealing the extent of his desire. There is no hesitation, only raw, unapologetic hunger. “I want you to see what you do to me,” he says, his voice heavy with lust. His hands travel down his torso to grip the base of his cock, already hard and ready. The tip seeping with pre-cum.

With deliberate slowness, he strokes himself, a provocative promise of what’s to come. I’m captivated, my breath hitching as I watch him, my own desire pooling like liquid fire between my thighs. He leans down, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind my ear, his voice a husky whisper, “And I want you to feel what I’ve been craving. I want to hear you scream my name.”

Yes, a thousand times yes. Ruin me.

His body covers mine, a blanket of heated muscle and pent-up passion. I can feel him, hard and eager, pressing against my entrance. My nails dig into his back, urging him on, impatient for him. He teases me, rubbing his length against my wetness, drawing out a gasp from deep within me.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice stern yet tender. Our eyes lock, and in that moment, he thrusts into me, filling me completely. The world reduces to this, to us, to the rhythm of our bodies moving in sync. Each thrust is a declaration, each moan a confession. His mouth finds my breasts, sucking and biting, drawing out a cry of pleasure that echoes through the room.

He flips me over, his hands gripping my hips as he enters me from behind, his pace quickening. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice strained with desire. His hand reaches around, his fingers finding my clit and circling it, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me.

Leaving a wet trail up my stomach he grips my neck forcing my lips to meet his. He kisses me softly, deeply, as if we have all the time in the world, yet every second counts.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” he murmurs against my lips. His touch is no longer just a spark, but a wildfire, incinerating the cool, calculated walls I’ve built around myself, leaving me bare and vulnerable, consumed by the passion that rages between us.

His lips never leave my skin, tasting, exploring, as if it’s a landscape he wants to conquer and claim. “You taste incredible,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I gasp as he moves lower, his intent unmistakable. I whisper his name, a question, a plea, a final leap from the edge of my restraint. He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, holding mine captive, a silent promise that he will catch me as I fall into the abyss of our passion.

He reaches between us, circling my clit with a touch that’s both expert and teasing. Waves of pleasure crash over me, stealing my breath and my thoughts. There is only Ethan, only this moment, only this exquisite torture. I am drowning in him, and I never want to be saved.

I reach back for him, shattering as raw, primal need takes over. I feel him, all of him. Filling the void that’s now aching, throbbing, at his touch.

His pace quickens, his hips moving with a primal rhythm, a dance as old as time, yet uniquely ours. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through me, chipping away at my control, building towards a crescendo of pure ecstasy. The room fills with the sounds of our lovemaking, the scent of our desire, the raw, primal energy of our connection.

The world outside fades away. There is no case, no mission, no lies. There is only Ethan and me, our bodies intertwined, our hearts entwined. I feel the pressure building, a heat that threatens to consume me, a fire that burns away all pretenses, leaving only raw, genuine desire. I am on the edge, ready to fall, to surrender completely.

“Please, Ethan,” I whisper, my voice raw and desperate, a stark contrast to the composed exterior I wear like armor. “Please.”

He leans down, capturing my mouth in a kiss that sears my soul. Our breaths mingle, ragged and urgent, hearts pounding in a wild, synchronized rhythm.

“You feel so good, Celeste,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “Your body is begging for me.”

He pulls out causing a distressed whine to slip from my lips. Lifting me effortlessly he sits on the couch positioning me on top of him. His hands grip my hips, leaving bruises on my flesh as he thrusts up into me and pauses.

Leaning back I watch the pleasure crash over his features. it’s powerful, knowing that look is for me and me alone.

Then I begin to move, a slow, torturous dance at first, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through me, chipping away at my control. I cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on, desperate for more. Our pace quickens, his hips moving with a primal rhythm, a dance as old as time, yet uniquely ours.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his voice rough with desire. “Take all of me.”

The world outside fades away. There is no case, no mission, no lies. There is only Ethan and me, our bodies intertwined, our hearts entwined. I feel the pressure building, a heat that threatens to consume me, a fire that burns away all pretenses, leaving only raw, genuine desire. I am on the edge, ready to fall, to surrender completely.

“You’re so tight, so perfect,” he whispers, his words fueling the inferno within me. “I can’t get enough of you.”

His words are my undoing. With a final, powerful thrust, we both go over the edge, our bodies convulsing together as waves of pleasure wash over us. I cry out his name, clinging to him as if he were my lifeline, my anchor in the storm of our passion.

We stay like that for a moment, our limbs entangled, our hearts pounding in sync. Ethan’s face is buried in my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin, a stark contrast to the cool, calculated world I usually inhabit. I can feel the sheen of sweat on his back, the trembling of his muscles as he holds himself above me, a testament to his dominant desire.

As our breathing slowly returns to normal, Ethan lifts his head to look at me. His eyes are soft, the fierce desire from earlier replaced by a tenderness that makes my heart ache. He brushes a stray strand of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear, a gentle touch that belies the passion that still simmers between us.

“Celeste,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

I smile up at him, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken bond between us. “You don’t have to say anything. Just hold me.”

He rolls onto his side, pulling me into his embrace. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, a soothing rhythm that lulls me into a sense of security. His arms wrap around me, holding me tightly, as if he were afraid I might disappear, a stark reminder of the reality that awaits us.

We lie there in silence, our bodies pressed together, our hearts beating as one. The world outside can wait. For now, it is just us, lost in each other, in this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, a stark contrast to the cool, calculated world I usually inhabit.

But as I drift off to sleep in Ethan’s arms, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a warning. This is only a temporary respite. The case, my mission, the lies—they are all still there, waiting in the shadows. And sooner or later, we will have to face them.

For now, though, I push those thoughts aside. I am here, in Ethan’s arms, and that is all that matters. Tomorrow can wait. Tonight is ours, and I am going to hold onto it for as long as I can.