"We don't have time to waste. Let's go," Walter said, gripping my hand—tight, commanding, like he didn't have the patience for questions.
"But..." I looked down at the drenched puppy cradled in my arms, its fur shivering against my chest. "Can we take the puppy too?" I asked, eyes wide, voice softer, sweeter—intentionally.
Walter paused for the briefest second.
He looked at me, then at the little creature curled against my soaked hoodie. His jaw flexed.
"We risked our lives for it," he said at last, voice low and gravelly. "Take it."
I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips as I hugged the puppy tighter, rain dripping from my hair. We ran through the glistening Paris alley, and that's when I saw them—two black motorcycles parked like sentinels under the flickering streetlight. Two men waited beside them, faces unreadable.
Walter didn't hesitate.
"Take the dog. Go straight to the mansion. We'll meet you there tomorrow. "
One of the men nodded, stepping forward. I hesitated only a second, whispering a soft goodbye to the puppy, pressing a lingering kiss between its ears. As I handed it over, I noticed Walter watching me with an unreadable expression—somewhere between patience and fire.
"Records say they're moving in this direction," one of the men said. "You don't have long."
Walter turned to me, eyes locked on mine.
He held out a helmet. "Put this on."
I raised a brow. "Is this where you sweep me off my feet, knight?"
He smirked, that devil-may-care glint in his eye returning. "Only if you hold on tight."
I slid onto the back of the bike. The leather seat was slick from the rain, and I had no choice but to press flush against him—my big boobs crushed to his back. They were pressed well and my arms wrapping around his torso. My hands landed on hard muscle. His abs flexed slightly under my touch.
"Hold me tighter," he murmured, almost teasing.
"Bossy," I whispered into his ear, my lips almost brushing his skin.
With a roar of the engine, we flew into the Paris night.
Rain lashed against us, cool and sharp. My soaked clothes clung to every curve, and the wind only pushed us closer—no space, no boundaries. I could feel his every movement, every breath. His body was tense, alert... but I didn't miss the way he leaned back into me.
We zipped through narrow streets and wide boulevards, cutting through the wet city like a phantom. At one point, we sped past Pont Alexandre III, the lamps glowing golden through the rain like something out of a fever dream. I gasped, the view taking my breath—but it was nothing compared to the man I was holding.
After nearly half an hour of adrenaline, engines, and unsaid words, we finally pulled into the driveway of an elegant hotel. My fingers were stiff from gripping him too tightly, but I didn't dare let go until he shut the bike off.
I stepped off, breathless and flushed—not just from the ride.
Then... the betrayal.
He walked to the reception and booked two rooms.
I blinked, my mood dropping like the rain still clinging to my skin. "Really?" I muttered under my breath.
Walter turned to me, calm and maddening. I waited—half hoping, half daring—for him to invite me in. To say something. Anything.
Instead, he only looked at me once, unreadable.
"Your clothes will arrive soon," he said.
Then he turned and walked away—leaving me standing there, wet, breathless, burning... and absolutely not satisfied.