Nash and Dahlia were huddled in a cramped, dark space behind the wall. It was a hidden closet-like compartment, thick with dust and shadows, barely big enough for two people, stacked floor to ceiling with old documents, crumpled papers, and files spilling from rickety shelves.
The air was stuffy, hot with the scent of old paper and metal, the walls pressing in like a coffin. They were glued together awkwardly, Nash behind her, his body spooned against hers in the tight fit, both of them dripping sweat from the sex and the rush to hide.
His cock had slipped out during the scramble, but their skin stuck together from the mess of fluids, her ass pressed firmly against his groin, his arms wrapped around her waist to steady them.
Dahlia trembled like a leaf. She was so dead if Victoria found her. She was supposed to stalk Nash, but this turn of event was a calamity for her.
"Shh," Nash whispered right in her ear.
