Page 58 of Guarded Hearts

“Oh god! Carson!” She flattened her body over his and rocked her hips, drawing his length through her heated walls.

The plane engine whirred louder and louder as they got up speed to soar into the air.

“I never thought I’d be part of the mile-high club.” She took him to the root once more, eyes squeezing shut in bliss.

He rolled his hips and almost came at the tight feel of her gripping his cock. “We’re not a mile up yet.”

“Then we’ll have to do it again later!”

God, could he be more in love with this woman? A cruel twist of fate had torn them apart, but he’d beat the odds and won her back.

As the jet pitched upward, he felt Layne’s pussy begin to clench. Tight, then tighter. A breathless scream left her.

His own release surged out of him in sharp spurts. Love overflowed, and he told her with his kiss.

After long minutes, she collapsed on top of him. He clasped her in place as the jet leveled out.

“Nothing will ever separate me from you again.”

She brushed a kiss over his neck where his pulse still hammered. “You really will put your life on the line for me.”

“Don’t ever question that, Layne. I was built for this moment. I trained for it.” He smoothed his hand over her round ass. “I will protect you until the last breath leaves my body.”

Chapter Fourteen

Carson stood in the dimly lit room. The rough cement was cold under his bare feet. Chains clinked as he moved, his wrists bound to the rough-hewn wall behind him.

The air was thick with humidity, along with the dampness of stone and something metallic—blood.

His body ached from the countless days of enduring barbaric treatment. Or maybe it was weeks. He’d lost count.

He peered into the darkness, just waiting for what he knew came next. It was always the same. They beat him until he lost consciousness, then threw him in this room. The prisoners in the cells around him called it the dungeon, and they weren’t wrong. Not that they were ever allowed to speak to each other, but there were more ways to communicate than to talk out loud.

He heard the tapping on the metal bars somewhere nearby. Morse code was something he’d learned as a kid, a way to communicate with his brothers after lights out. Their old man never did catch on to what they were doing, or if he did, he didn’t say so.

H-E-S-C-O-M-I-N-G

He’s coming.

Carson already knew the leader of the prison was on his way to torture him again. But the alert made him lift his head and glare straight into the soulless, purely evil eyes of his enemy.

He tensed, anticipating the blow to come. What would it be this time? Would he strike him in the face, bruising it further? Go for the stomach? His kidneys were so bruised that he pissed blood more often than not.

After that, he lost track of what happened. He knew only the burning pain on his broken body and the jolts of electric shocks used to rip the answers that the enemy wanted so badly out of him.

He never answered a single question. He took the beatings, the electric shocks. The pain.

For the love of his country. For his family who deserved to live in a free world.

He jerked so hard that he heard his spine crack—into place or out of it, he couldn’t be sure. He grabbed at his head, hands shaking, his breath rough and searing through his lungs.

He gulped the air. Cool instead of stifling.

Through his splayed fingers, he peered in front of him. Not the eyes of the enemy but the back of an airplane seat.

He was on his private jet.

And Layne was grabbing at his hands, trying to pull them away from his face.