I plunge my tongue between her lips. She trembles and searches my mouth with hers.
I flex up into Jane. Cock burying back into her.
She nestles her face in the crook of my shoulder. Smothering her gasps, but I feel them hot against my skin. Pressure fists me as I pump in slow waves—fuuck.
Fuck.
I brush her sweaty hair off her neck and suck her nape. Her hips bow forward. Grinding, her breasts smashed against my sculpted chest. As close as physically fucking possible.
She clenches around me.
Goddamn. My head spins. Oxygen ejecting, and I breathe hotter breath through my nose. Gritting down to keep from grunting.
Jane looks back, her eyes melting in pleasure while I thrust up and back down. Tonight has been one of the longest, most intense fucks of my life.
Slow and quiet. Passionate, exhausting in the best endurance-challenging way. I don’t remember when we started. I can’t tell when we’re going to stop.
As I push back into her, she reaches down, and I watch her touch her swollen clit. “Fuck ,” I grunt under my breath.
She contracts around me again—and Jane lifts her glistening fingers, her shimmering eyes on me. I know what she wants.
I clutch her wrist, and I guide her hand closer to my mouth. She smiles, and as she slides her fingers between my lips, I taste her against my tongue.
Gripping her wrist tight, I suck her fingers.
She crumbles to pieces, her body shuddering in silent waves. Her head against my chest. I wrap a strong arm around her back. Tucking her in close to me. I take her fingers out of my mouth and thrust deeper.
I barely hear her muffled words.
“Right there,” she moans. “Don’t stop. Please, please. ”
I quicken my pace. Sweat dripping down my temples.
Jane keeps moving her hips until she can’t any longer. A prisoner to her own pleasure that ripples through her body. Fuckfuckfuck. I press my forehead on the top of her head. Don’t come .
Don’t come
Not fucking yet .
My cock screams at me for release. But I breathe harder through my nose, controlling myself. She comes down, stilling, and I lift her hips and gently pull out of Jane. We don’t shift a lot. She’s on my lap. But my rock-solid cock stands at attention against her belly.
Jane inhales at the sight.
I’m about to change positions. But her fingers graze my shaft, and my chest collapses, shoulders tensed against the headboard.
Our eyes flit to each other, then to our bodies.
“Can you…?” Jane whispers, breathless.
I grip and tug my cock. What she wants to see. My large hand stroking my need. I hold the back of her head.
Jane watches, open-mouthed, her arousal building back up. Her eyes glimmer and she toys with my balls—my breath knots.
Christ. We kiss deeper, more urgently, and I can’t jack off anymore. Swiftly, I hoist her up, and she sinks back down on me.
Pressure overwhelming me again.
I thrust up. Careful with each pump, watching her reaction, and then I create more friction. Faster. More heat. Deeper. I shelter her high-pitched moans against my palm.
Quiet.
She kisses my palm and then licks it. A groan scratches my throat. Lights blink in my vision. I’m holding my breath.
My muscles stretch beyond fucking taut. Pulled into a raw visceral place. Our eyes embrace, clinging. I never turn away from Jane. Never look away, passion overgrown, and she cries out against my hand. Her body vibrating all over again.
God.
I push up. And erupt, releasing hard into an explosion of emotion. My chest rises and falls heavily.
We both come down, and as I pull out and we naturally shift to our sides under her pink sheets, I hold Jane and feel her heartbeat slow against my chest.
Her eyes flutter closed.
Exhaustion tries to sink me too. I’m almost there. You can’t spend the night. I should leave now, but heaviness and the warmth of her body draws me in.
I don’t want to disturb her. Not yet. She’s sleeping peacefully. Safe and content.
I shut my eyes, and the world goes dark.
* * *
Radio static fills my ears. “Phantom Two One, this is Phantom Two Actual. Maintain speed .”
“This is Phantom Two One. Roger that.”
Humvees on gravel and dirt mix with the static. “Viper Two Two, cleared hot .”
I wake.
Eyes snapped open. I’m covered in sweat. My head pounds.
Jane sleeps soundlessly next to me, her freckled cheek on my bicep. I check the clock. Zero four hundred hours. Unholy shit . I overslept.
I needed to leave an hour ago. I carefully shift my arm out from under Jane. Lifting the sheet and blankets higher on her bare, beautiful body.
I stand off the bed. Cats greeting me, all five rubbing up against my calves while I find my clothes, as quietly as I can.
I move in systematic order. Boxer-briefs on, black slacks on—I pull a black crewneck over my head, and then I grab my radio, holster my gun to my waistband.
And I find her sticky pad on the end table. About to jot down a quick note, but I notice her illegible handwriting. I trained myself to decipher it when I was a lead.
I read the words clearly.
Merci mille fois. Pour tout.
xoxo Jane
She knows I can translate simple French phrases. She wrote: Thank you a thousand times. For everything.
My lungs expand. I tear her note off the pad. Pocketing it, and then I write on the top blank one.
It’s my honor to be with you in everything.
I place the note on the pillow next to her. And I’m at the door in two strides. I look back. Checking on my client, she breathes contently.
I grip the doorknob. I fucking hate this part.
Leaving Jane after we had sex.
At the beginning, it was hard. Now it’s excruciating. The reality is, I’ve never been a frat-bro and she’s never been a quick meaningless fuck to me.
What happened last night deserves a morning. Where she wakes up in my arms.
But that’s not part of the agreement.
I’ve already accidentally pushed a fucking hour. And right now, my head is killing me. I rub at my eyes, static still in my ear. But my radio isn’t on.
Fuck me.
I slip out of the room. No lights on. Toodles, her sixth cat, lounges sluggishly by the bathroom.
With my long legs, I skip two stairs at a time. Bypassing ones that I know squeak. Silent as I descend.
&n
bsp; I reach the living room. Dark—but soft light illuminates from the kitchen archway. I pick up sound in that direction.
Someone is awake.
I strain my ears…
And I hear Farrow. Contempt in his rough voice, and it takes a hell of a lot to push his buttons. I would know.
Concern drives me toward his location, and I listen to his angered whisper.
“I’m not bartering with you…” A pause is taken. “You worthless bastard… Is that a threat? Yeah?”
Instinct pushes me through the archway.
I see Farrow with a phone to his ear, elbows on the counter. Hunched forward in a lunge. He sees me, surprise flashing in his heated eyes. But he doesn’t stiffen or move a muscle.
He cuts his gaze forward. “You’re in prison, you motherfucker. This call is recorded.”
Prison.
Donnelly’s dad or mom could be on the line. His dad is supposed to be released from prison soon, and I only ever considered that intel in terms of Donnelly’s wellbeing. But if he’s threating Farrow from prison…
My brows pull together, and then a sharp ringing pierces my head—I touch my ear. My heart rate spikes.
Fuck this.
I walk tensely to the sink. Turn on the faucet and splash water on my face.
Farrow watches my movements. Still talking on the phone. “No. Never…” His jaw muscle tics, and then he hangs up.
I rub water off my eyes. “Was that Sean Donnelly?” I name Donnelly’s dad.
“Yeah.” Farrow leans his side casually on the counter. Just in drawstring pants, tattoos scatter his chest, ribs, arms, and neck. He’s assessing me as much as I’m looking at him.
I grip the sink’s ledge. “Is he going to be a problem?”
Farrow eyes me up and down. “I’ll let you know when I know.”
He’s not sure yet. I nod once. And I splash more water on my face before shutting off the faucet. My heart rate is starting to slow. I dry off my forehead and jaw using the hem of my shirt.
Farrow goes to the fridge and tugs a water bottle out of the door. He extends the drink to me. Like I once tried to do for him in Greece.