The chaos of New York felt miles away as I stepped into the terminal. After the intensity of the last forty-eight hours—the standoff with Volkov and the marathon session with Monet—I needed more than just a break; I needed a total reset. And if Sasha was the one doing the resetting, I knew it would be anything but relaxing.
I spotted her near the private lounge, and even in a crowded airport, she was an absolute lightning rod for attention.
"Hey, Druski," she purred, closing the distance between us instantly. She didn't just greet me; she claimed me, her arms sliding around my neck as she pressed her lips against mine. The kiss lingered, a deep, honey-sweet promise of what the next few days held.
