All Chapters of Cracking His Code: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

TariqThe brace is finally off.That’s the new hazard in the bed we’ve been sharing for several weeks now.It started with him insisting I should sleep on the bed, rather than in the chair next to it.I should have just been sleeping in my own damn bed, but I wanted to be close in case he needed something.Nothing’s happened. Not really.Some careful kisses. Holding hands. Nothing that we can’t walk back.Four days ago I told him he could sleep without the heavy foam and velcro brace. I never realized that it was like a third presence in the bed. A reminder not to touch.A chaperone who guarded our modesty.Without its looming presence I’m in a perpetual state of arousal and want, but I don’t want to push Saint for more than he’s ready to give.I don’t even know where to start.So I focus on the things I am good at.I lay down the law for his recovery.The swelling in his shoulder has gone down and hasn't come back without the brace.He can lift the left arm to mid-chest. Not an in

JozefThe boot room is freezing.It’s a cramped, miserable box off the back corridor, housing a splintering wooden bench.A single, bare filament bulb humming like a dying wasp. Three pairs of mud-caked wellies kicked into a corner. And a pair of filthy gardening gloves rotting on an iron hook. The air smells aggressively like wet dog, damp wool, and old dirt.I came in here to escape the noise for a bit.The front room is a suffocating wall of body heat and eager conversation. I love the team, but I like quiet and privacy just as much.I ate the food and nodded at the correct intervals.I laughed when expected. I’ve earned five minutes alone staring at a blank plaster wall.I get exactly three minutes before Oliver ruins it.He appears in the doorframe like a demon I didn’t summon.He’s ditched the pretty but useless leather coat for a heavy wool sweater. The steel ring pierced through his lower lip is between his teeth, telegraphing that he’s nervous.Both hands are shoved dee

KirThe hotel is in Marylebone. I booked a small suite on the sixth floor. The receptionist does not ask why we are checking in at midnight with one small bag. She doesn’t raise her eyebrows at the too-large coat Oliver is wearing.I’m not sure whether she’d be able to maintain her stoicism if she knew Oliver was completely naked under my coat, and his ass was a gorgeous, glowing red.London staff are paid not to ask questions, but I’m sure they have limits.The lift is mirrored. If Oliver was less loopy I would definitely have him pressed up against the back wall, watching our debauchery reflected back at me.But he can barely stand.He’s leaning against the brass rail with his eyes half-closed. The strap marks under it are warm enough to be felt through the fabric of the coat where my hand rests on his ass.He’s not speaking. Not because the protocol said so. He barely followed those rules in the club.Because his mouth is empty for the first time in a week and he’s enjoying t

OliverThe team is in the front room like a school assembly waiting for inspection, which is the silliest thing I've seen in months.Dom is on the sofa with her arms crossed. Butcher is at the window doing his Butcher thing. Staring intimidatingly at the trees or whatever.Tariq is on the arm of Saint's chair with his hand on Saint's knee in a way they've both stopped pretending nobody can see. Chana is on the rug with her laptop on her lap. She’s the only one who’s not very obviously waiting for my mother to arrive. Max is in the doorway with a mug, trying to look nonchalant, which is not something someone of his size and general ginger grouchiness can easily pull off. Oba has put out coffee and biscuits, which… Christ.Jozef is on the second sofa, all the way at the end, where he can see both doors and the window.His expression is what it has always been. A perfectly sealed door. Ray is in the armchair with his book closed on his knee, because Ray reads when there's nothing to

OliverI find her in the small library off the corridor that nobody uses. She’s sitting in the armchair by the window, one leg crossed over the other. An open book rests on her knee. It’s obviously a prop. I doubt she’s read a single fucking word of it.My mother can’t abide being idle, but she has nothing to do except wait for me to come to her.It must be killing her.The blond bob cuts a sharp line at her jaw. Diamond studs in her ears. The exact same ones she’s worn since I was a kid.Dangling earrings are too much of a risk in her line of work, but she loves to be decorated.I definitely get my vanity from her.She looks up when I walk in. She closes the book without giving a thought to marking her place, further proving that she has no interest in getting back to it. We need to have this conversation so she can be on her way."Oliver.""Mother.""I had hoped you would come find me.""You'd be hoping for a while if you waited for me to volunteer. Kir told me you were in her