Rockwell Agency: Boxset

by Dee Bridgnorth

  But Quentin stopped, tugging on her hair gently—but still firmly enough to get her to look up at him. His face was a mask of pleasure, and his voice was rough with need. “Too good,” he managed, tugging on her again. “I don’t want this to be over yet. I’ll come if you don’t stop.”

  She lifted her head from him, amazed and enthralled by the idea that she—Lydia Winn—could bring a man like Quentin to the point that he was about to lose control. If the way he was looking at her was any indication, he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him, and that was the greatest aphrodisiac she had ever felt.

  He sat up, flipping her over so that it was her back against the bed now, and he hovered over her. Reaching out, he pulled her shirt over her head, his eyes feasting on her naked body. Then he gripped her leggings and pulled them down her legs, his fingertips brushing over the center of her soft, cotton panties.

  She was all but naked beneath him, and he lowered his head, nuzzling his nose against the curve of her breast, then circling his tongue around her nipple. As he took her nipple into his mouth, he began to stroke her damp center, driving her wild with the slow, steady caress of his fingers. Lydia gasped, rubbing back against him and cupping the back of his head as he worshipped her with his fingers and his tongue. Her eyes closed, and all she could do was relish his touch, as he moved over her body, kissing every single spot on her, his fingers moving slowly between her legs.

  It was almost too much, but also just right. Lydia felt her body building with pleasure, until she couldn’t do anything but give herself over to it. She gripped his broad shoulders, moaning his name and writhing with need. Her hips bucked once more, and his fingers were beneath her panties now, stroking against the folds of her center, and when she covered his hand with hers, his fingers slipped inside of her, sending her over the edge. She shattered, coming apart beneath him as pleasure swept through her body. Lydia cried out, gripping him so hard that she crushed him to her as the tremors moved through her in wave after wave of pleasure.

  When she finally stilled, breathing hard, Quentin picked his head up and gave her a slow, lazy smile, clearly satisfied with himself. “Wow,” he murmured, kissing her lips. “Wow …”

  Lydia laughed softly, her head resting against his. Her eyes were closed, and when he shifted above her, she didn’t realize at first what he was doing. But then he’d pushed her panties aside, and he was inside of her, filling her with his hot, hard length. Her body had yet to fully come down from her first high, and it rocketed back up towards its peak again as he stretched her and pulsed within her. Lydia’s eyes flew open, and she gasped, staring into Quentin’s eyes as he began to move within her.

  It was better than anything that she had ever felt, and she was stunned into speechless pleasure, her hips matching the rhythm he set as their bodies moved together. His gaze held hers the whole time, and her hands lifted to frame his face, holding him close to her as he set a steady, driving pace. As she approached her peak again, Lydia gasped, circling her hips against him. He groaned, breaking eye contact with her for the first time, as his head dipped low, and his face buried in her hair. He thrust again and again, and then he bucked hard, spilling himself inside of her, as she cried out his name and followed him over the edge again.

  They came together, clinging to each other, as they rode out their mutual high. And then Quentin relaxed on top of her, kissing her neck and the sweet, sensitive spot behind her ear. He nuzzled close to her, his arms enfolding her, and Lydia pressed her cheek to his. She stroked her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes, her whole body relaxed in that moment.

  Quentin had done the impossible. He had made her forget all of her worries, and he had kissed, and stroked, and teased away every bit of tension from her. Lydia realized how absolutely exhausted she was after so many hours awake, and she didn’t fight sleep as it started to consume her. It swept her up in its warm embrace, and her last thought before she drifted into her dreams was that she hoped Quentin would stay there with her all night, holding her as close as he was now.

  Chapter 25

  Quentin

  Quentin had never slept so soundly or woken so refreshed. He lay there in bed, watching Lydia as she slept beside him, her beautiful face pressed into the pillow and both of her hands tucked beneath her chin. Her legs were askew beneath the blankets, which were tangled up around her, and her long, thick hair was spread wide across the pillow. She looked comfortable and content and cuter than any woman had a right to look after a night of heavy sleep.

  They were both still naked beneath the covers. Lydia had fallen asleep while he was still holding her the night before, after they had made love. He had taken it as a good sign, because he had worried that she wouldn’t get any sleep all night, given how stressed she had been after their search. But she had given herself so completely to him, losing herself in the moment and in the pleasure, and when it was done, every muscle in her body had been loose and relaxed and she had drifted away.

  He’d spent hours holding her, stroking her hair back from her face, and watching her to make sure that she was sleeping peacefully. It had been much too early for him to fall asleep, but he had been content to rest there beside her, feeling her body close to his, warm, and sweet, and soft. Making love to her had been like nothing he had ever experienced. He had never been so connected to another person. Never felt such a powerful desire for another person. Never felt like he could completely and entirely lose himself in another person.

  But there was no denying it. He’d lost himself in Lydia, and he didn’t want to find his way out anytime soon. She was incredible, and he was smitten.

  At some point the night before, he had gotten up, leaving her asleep, and gotten himself something to eat. He’d done a bit of research on his phone, trying to piece together the puzzle that was in front of them, and then he had come back to the bed, stripped off his boxers again, and climbed in beside Lydia. She hadn’t stirred at all, even when he had curled up behind her and slid his arm around her waist.

  Now she lay facing him, just starting to stir after almost twelve straight hours of sleep, and he found that he couldn’t wait to see her eyes open again. They hadn’t talked at all about what had happened between them, and he wanted to see her open her eyes and smile, remembering everything that they had done. He wanted her to kiss him again, and he wanted to pull her close, this time letting her get on top of him so that he could watch her as she rode them both to their peaks all over again. He wanted to hold her breasts in his hands, as she rode his hips, and as he placed his thumb at the apex of her center, adding to her pleasure by circling her clit.

  He was rock hard again, just thinking about it, and it was all he could do not to slide his hands over her body and pull her against him so that he could have her now.

  Lydia’s eyes opened.

  Quentin waited for her smile. He waited for her to reach for him. He longed to slide his arms around her.

  But she didn’t smile. She stared at him, almost as though she was shocked to see him there, and then she pulled the covers closer around her, suddenly shy. “Hi.”

  Concerned, Quentin kept watching her. “Hi …”

  “Hi.”

  Worry nagged at him, replacing the soft contentment he had been feeling all morning. She didn’t look like a woman who had given herself completely to a man last night. She didn’t look like a woman who had reached her peak twice, then fallen asleep in the arms of the man who had given her that pleasure. She didn’t look like a woman who had realized just what impact she had on that same man. She looked like a woman who had been startled.

  “Lydia …,” Quentin said. He said her name, but he didn’t know how to say anything else. He wanted to ask her if she was all right, but he didn’t want to plant the idea in her mind that there was anything to be upset about. He wanted to ask her to say something, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she might say. He suddenly worried that everything that he had spent the whole night feeling and th
inking was so far off base from where she was. Maybe she just needed an escape, and he had been there. Maybe she just needed to forget. He wouldn’t blame her for that, surely. She was entitled to check out from her reality for a while, and they had both enjoyed themselves, so there was no harm in that.

  Except that it might break his heart more than he would ever admit to her.

  “Shit,” Lydia said, squeezing her eyes shut and making Quentin’s heart sink. “Did we use protection?”

  He was so relieved that that was what she was worried about, that he couldn’t even be concerned about the fact that they definitely hadn’t. Quentin smiled and pulled her to him, rolling her on top of him, as he kissed her. “No.”

  Lydia groaned, kissing him sweetly and laying her head against his chest. “We probably should have. And by probably, I mean really, really, really should have.”

  “I’m sorry. Next time,” Quentin said, stroking his hand over her back. “We definitely will next time.”

  “Right …,” Lydia said. “Next time.”

  Quentin wrapped his arms tightly around her, kissing her hair as he held her. He wanted next time to be right now, but he was also content to just hold her, knowing that his few moments of panic, that last night had meant nothing to her were both foolish and unwarranted. Ryan and Barrett would laugh at him if they knew. So, would Jordan, actually. Hannah would be the only one who thought it was sweet that he was so nervous to see Lydia’s reaction when she woke up.

  “Did you sleep well?” Quentin asked, rubbing her shoulders.

  She moaned under his soft touch, stretching her body. “I slept like a rock. Is that what a jet-lag sleep is like?”

  Quentin chuckled and slid his hands down lower on her back, massaging her muscles. “Probably. You needed sleep. You were exhausted after being up all night and searching all day.”

  “Okay …,” Lydia said, her muscles melting under his skilled touch. “But now I have to focus again. I have to get up.” She snuggled closer to him. “Tell me to get up.”

  “What if I told you that you could lie here with me for a few more minutes, and we could still be productive?”

  She picked her head up. “You want to go again?”

  Quentin laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Yes. Very much. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

  “Oh, so now you want to be professional,” Lydia said, lowering her forehead to his. She smiled. “A bit late, no?”

  He kissed her, turning them over again so that she was beneath him. Quentin nuzzled at her neck and peppered her skin with soft kisses. “I did some reading last night. Followed up on some things that Norman talked to us about. We’re going to have to figure out who put the schism on Jack, because that’s the only person who can control the portals. It turns out that the person who puts the schism on someone can exist in both worlds with them. They’re also the only person who can control the portal. A portal also functions as a way to sort of …tracking the person. It’s like a homing device almost. Which …actually, we could use right now.”

  “No kidding,” Lydia said, her arms around him. “Do dragon shifters have any homing devices?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Quentin said, lifting his head to look down at her. She was looking worried again, as though the moment they began talking about Jack, all of her tension came rushing back. He didn’t blame her or expect anything different, but he knew that no matter how much they both wanted to linger in the warm, sweetness of their morning after, it was gone now. They needed to get up and get moving. They needed to find Jack today, and neither of them knew how.

  Quentin got up, pulling Lydia with him. He hugged her naked body against his once more, then patted her on the ass, and sent her off to the shower. They had to leave soon to get to the airport anyway. They showered, got ready, made breakfast, talked, and an hour after getting out of bed, they were walking out of the apartment, hand-in-hand, as they walked down to Quentin’s car.

  On the way to the airport, he made calls to his friends, getting updates from all of them that they had continued to search but they’d found no sign of Jack. They’d all eventually given up when it started to get really late, but they were open to helping more today. Quentin thanked them, and Lydia seconded his sentiment. It was easy, having his friends on speakerphone while he and Lydia talked to them, and he was once again amazed at how comfortably Lydia fit in with him, and his friends, and his world.

  They soon pulled up to the pickup area of the airport, and Lydia pointed to Whitney. “There she is. Ready and waiting.”

  Quentin surveyed the woman ahead of them, as he slowly moved along in the line of traffic of other cars also there to retrieve their passengers. She was dark-headed, with eyes just as dark as her almost-black hair. She was dressed well, in a pair of fitted black slacks and a red top. Her lips were the same shade of red as her top, and her skin was clear ivory with just a hint of color in her cheeks. Quentin could understand why Lydia might tend to idolize the woman or Jack and Whitney’s marriage, because everything about Whitney, just from looking at her, seemed to suggest poise, and competence, and grace. She was certainly an elegant woman.

  But as Quentin pulled up right next to her, studying her closely, he realized that he vastly preferred Lydia’s unique, casual, and somewhat quirky version of beauty. There was no doubt that Whitney was movie-star material, but she didn’t have that same aura that Lydia had about her. He glanced over at Lydia, and he felt something within him that he knew was as unique as she was.

  He parked the car, and Lydia jumped out, greeting Whitney with a bear hug that the other woman returned. The two women did seem close, and Whitney appeared kind as she put down her suitcase and cupped Lydia’s face in hers, softly reassuring Lydia, as Lydia apologized over and over for what had happened.

  Quentin could hear them perfectly, despite the closed car door, and he heard Whitney cluck her tongue as she shook her head. “Now, now. It’ll all work out. Everything always does. We’ll find Jack, and we’ll get it all sorted. I know we will.”

  He wondered if Whitney really felt that self-assured, or if she was one of those people who always had to put on a calm, unaffected front to avoid anyone seeing her true emotions. He couldn’t imagine feeling so calm if his spouse had been missing for almost twenty-four hours, and he suspected that Whitney was not being authentic. It made him wary of her because he valued authenticity above all else, which was why he had been so standoffish with Lydia before she had come clean with him.

  It wasn’t that he blamed Whitney for coping how she needed to cope.

  But he didn’t fully trust her, either.

  The two women got back into the car, and Quentin turned around to Whitney in the back seat, introducing himself. “Hi, Whitney, I’m Quentin. I’m the lead investigator on your husband’s case right now. I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”

  “Yes, the dragon shifter,” Whitney said, taking her makeup bag out of her purse and looking into the mirror to touch up her lipstick. “Nice to meet you.”

  Quentin tensed. He had felt relieved when Lydia had finally told him why she had sought him out because it all made so much sense then. But he did not like this woman, that he didn’t know, being so flippant about his best-kept secret, especially when he had no reason to trust her yet.

  “If it’s okay, I’d prefer that we not discuss that. It’s important that nobody else overhear such a statement,” Quentin said, turning back around and guiding the car out of the line of traffic.

  “We have to keep that under wraps,” Lydia told Whitney. “It’s the key to his ability to do his job effectively.”

  Whitney nodded. “Yes, of course. But it’s only the three of us in the car, and we’re all in on the secret, aren’t we?”

  Quentin didn’t respond. Her logic wasn’t flawed, but he still didn’t like it. “Whitney, I’m sure you want to be debriefed right away. I’m driving you back to our agency, where my fellow agents will also meet us. We’ve been condu
cting a search, which unfortunately has not resulted in finding Jack, yet. But we’ll all come back together and get you all up-to-date as we decide what steps to take next.”

  Whitney nodded again, closing her compact. “Sure. That sounds good. I’m terribly worried, of course. It isn’t like Jack to be gone for this long.”

  Lydia glanced over at Quentin, and he shrugged. He had never had a client so calm about a missing person before …except for Lydia the first time she came by. When she knew that her sister wasn’t really missing.

  “Until then …,” Quentin said. “We might as well use the drive to give you some basic information. There are going to be some things you’ll hear over the next few hours that will feel shocking to you, and that’s okay—it’s perfectly fine to feel afraid or overwhelmed. We can take it as slowly as you need to. Although, I guess you’re pretty familiar with the supernatural if you were aware of your husband’s interest in such things.”

  “Oh, it takes a lot to surprise me,” Whitney said, looking out the window. “I think I’ll be fine with whatever you need to tell me. It’s a lovely day here for January. I didn’t even bring a jacket with me after I checked the weather. It’s going to snow tonight in Idaho, so this will be a nice break from that.”

  Quentin cleared his throat again, deciding that he was going to take her challenge that she wouldn’t be easily shocked. “Whitney, a powerful person has performed a spell on your husband. It’s called a schism, and it has divided his world into two halves. A version of him lives in each half of the world, and there are portals that can create a pathway between them. A portal opened, and the versions of your husband switched worlds, which is ultimately fatal if not corrected. However, before we can figure out how to create the portal again and send him back through, we have to find him. He’s alone in the city, presumably, with no idea where he is or why he’s here, and he doesn’t have his cell phone.”

  Whitney listened quietly throughout his speech, which was delivered in rapid-fire. It was blunt, and a style that he would associate with Jordan rather than with himself. But he had wanted to shock her.