Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Parker watched her like a man who'd already seen the script play out three steps ahead. Calm. Unmoving. But his eyes—those eyes—were calculating every pause, every shift in her breath, the tremble in her voice, the way she blinked one too many times to hide whatever war her mind was losing.

He leaned on the railing, hands in his pockets like he wasn't phased. Like he already knew the first thing that was going to leave her lips the moment that call dropped.

The phone beeped. Call ended.

She lowered it slowly, not even turning around fully when she spoke.

"They need me home. In the next three days."

Bingo.

He didn't flinch. Didn't twitch. Just smiled like it was the most casual news in the world. "Good. We've got time then," he said, as if they hadn't just been hit with the start of something tectonic. He didn't think she needed something to remind her she was leaving him so he opted for something else.

He reached out and took her hand again. No words. Just that small motion that said I'm not letting go.

Together, they continued the climb—step by step, past the polished walls and quiet corners of a mansion that suddenly felt too still. The kind of stillness that only exists right before a storm tears the roof off everything.

When they reached the bedroom, Parker pushed the door open with one hand and pulled her in with the other.

Click.

The door shut behind them.

And then—

He didn't wait.

He spun her gently but with a kind of urgency that made the air crackle. Her back hit the door with a soft thud, and his mouth was on hers before she could gasp.

It was sweet.

It wasn't slow.

It was like months of unspoken things, like weeks of tension, hours of near-fracture—all poured into a single, soul-snatching kiss.

His hands held her like a vow, like if he didn't anchor her now, she might disappear before morning. She melted into him, arms locking around his neck, her body surrendering before her thoughts could even catch up.

Because in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the call.

Not the three days.

Not the storm coming.

Only this.

Only them.

And neither of them spoke.

Because words were stupid right now. Words couldn't carry what was crawling under Tessa's skin or what was burning behind Parker's eyes. Words weren't enough for what it meant to know that time was suddenly a thief, counting down days—three, to be exact—like it was trying to rob them blind.

She looked up, lips parted as if to say something, but Parker didn't let her.

His hands found her waist, strong and sure, and pulled her into him like the world was ending tonight—and maybe, for them, it was. Their mouths collided, not soft, not slow, but in a way that said remember me. That screamed feel this, because tomorrow might be silence.

Tessa didn't just kiss him back—she devoured the moment like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality.

Her fingers tangled into the back of his shirt, dragging him closer, her lips parting against his with a sigh that wasn't soft—it was broken, needy, raw. And Parker? He kissed her like a man who'd been starving and didn't realize how much until he tasted her again.

His hands roamed her sides, not possessive, but grounding—like if he didn't hold her, the world might rip them apart again.

They broke for air once—just once—breathing heavy, foreheads pressed together, their eyes locked like magnets that didn't know how to look away anymore.

"I missed this," she whispered, her voice a confession.

He smiled, barely. "Then don't run."

"I'm not," she breathed, pulling him back in.

Lips met lips again. Slower this time. Deeper. They moved together like two souls who'd been tuned to the same song, offbeat for a while but finally, finally, finding the rhythm again.

Her fingers slid up under his shirt, not teasing, but claiming, desperate to feel skin and warmth and truth. Her nails grazed his back and he shuddered—not from pleasure, but from the rawness of it all. From knowing this might be the last time he held her like this without armor between them.

They stumbled back, their steps messy, blind, but practiced—like they'd done this dance a hundred times in dreams they never admitted. His shirt was gone, hers followed, and then they were tangled in sheets that had only ever known versions of them they never let anyone else see.

They didn't talk. They breathed each other.

Lips on collarbones. Fingers tangled in hair. Gasps. Whispers. Pleas.

She kissed the scar near his ribs like it held a secret, he pressed his forehead to hers like she was his prayer.

And as they moved together, it wasn't about lust or want. It was need. Like survival. Like two universes collapsing into each other for just one night of peace.

They didn't make love like lovers.

They made love like people who were about to be ripped apart.

And when it was done—when their bodies would be spent and their souls a little less heavy—Tessa curled into his chest, still not saying anything, but letting her fingers draw shapes on his skin.

Just to remember him by. In case this… them… unraveled tomorrow.

And Parker? He kissed her hair, then her shoulder, and pulled her even closer.

Because fuck time.

This moment was theirs.

And if it was the last clean breath before the chaos ahead, then they were damn well going to make it linger.

Tessa shifted slightly in his arms, her cheek pressed against his bare chest, where his heartbeat wasn't just steady—it was fucking militant. Like it was keeping time for the universe, and today, it was drumming just for her. She traced lazy circles along his ribcage with the tip of her finger, each one smaller, slower, more intimate than the last. There were no words—just breaths, skin, and the quiet flutter of something holy building between them.

Her hand drifted lower, knuckles grazing the waistband of his pants.

His inhale was sharp. Controlled.

She felt it vibrate in his throat before she heard it.

"Tessa," he said her name like a warning. Or maybe a surrender. She couldn't tell anymore.

She looked up at him, eyes molten with that teasing edge only she could pull off, lips slightly parted. "Tell me to stop."

Parker looked at her—really looked—and the war in him wasn't masked this time. Not by pride. Not by discipline. Not even by charm. His gaze was naked. Raw.

He didn't tell her to stop.

Instead, he brought his hand to her cheek, held her there like she was some fragile miracle he'd been entrusted with—and kissed her again. This time deeper. Slower. Hungrier. Like every second their lips weren't touching was a second wasted. The kiss deepened until her spine arched into him and he leaned down, hand trailing from her jaw to her waist, then under her blouse like it belonged there.

God, she was warm.

Her skin, her breath, her everything—warm enough to melt the ice in his veins that had been stuck there since yesterday. Since forever.

He moved them back, guiding her gently against the bed like gravity finally got its way. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he settled there, the two of them still half-clothed, but no space between them anymore. None.

His hands were slow—worshipping.

He didn't grab.

He held.

Touched her like he didn't deserve to but wasn't gonna waste the gift of her saying "yes." Her fingers slipped under his waistband, tugging lightly. A silent request. A silent challenge.

Parker smiled against her neck, breath hot. "You're insatiable."

"You're stalling," she breathed, kissing just beneath his ear. "Again."

The way she said it—again—like she knew how he pulled away when shit got real, made something wild twist inside his chest.

No more stalling.

Her eyes followed every line of him like she was reading scripture off his skin.

She bit her lip.

"Damn."

He cocked a brow. "Just 'damn'?"

She smirked. "Shut up and kiss me."

He did. Again. And again. Until kissing wasn't enough. Until skin was all that remained between who they were and what they needed.

Their hands mapped old paths like they were discovering them new. Their mouths moved in sync, gasping, groaning, biting. Tessa whispered his name like a prayer and Parker said hers like a promise. They didn't chase a rhythm. They made one. Their own.

Every sound was sacred.

Every second burned.

And when they finally came undone—together—it was with no armor, no pretense, no roles. Just Parker and Tessa, tangled in silk sheets and sunlight, trying to love each other louder than the silence trying to creep in.

He stayed inside her even after the tremors faded.

She didn't let go.

Their breathing slowed, syncopated, messy.

And maybe—just maybe—they'd survive this.

But for now?

They were infinite.

Just them. Nothing else.