Every Last Secret

by Christa Wick

  Fighting against the squirm, against the vulnerability it reveals, I don't think I can breathe. I hold the air in, suck in some more.

  Maddy cups my balls, her touch tentative. They fill her hand. She rolls them lightly, smoothes the pad of her thumb across the sensitive skin.

  A bead of pre-cum pearls against the crown of my cock. Seeing it, she strokes up the rigid shaft and flattens the growing dot with the tip of one finger.

  Leaving the bed, she strips down to her bra and panties. Both pieces of clothing are a silky black that starkly contrasts with her creamy white skin and its spattering of freckles. Handcuffed to the bed, I can only race my eyes across her voluptuous flesh.

  Her nipples are hard beneath her bra. I can see that, see their proud pout. And moisture already darkens the gusset of her panties. She is so lovely and hot. I can't keep the groan inside me. When I let it out, Maddy sucks with need at her plump bottom lip.

  "Come back," I scratch out, my voice hoarse from the way my throat squeezes around itself.

  She grants my request, floating over to the mattress. She plants one knee then gracefully swings the other across the top of my thighs. Her big, round bottom that I want to dig my fingertips into settles against her heels.

  This time, when she takes my cock, she takes it with both hands. She rubs its length, first with just her fingertips, then with the silk-clad press of her mound.

  Her mouth opens. Her tongue delicately molds itself against her upper lip. Torso and limbs contort. Eyelids flutter then close. The soft rub against my cock becomes an erratic grind as her lips twist and stretch. Her breasts heave. The dark spot on the bottom panel of her panties grows bigger and wetter.

  "Take them off," I coax with my raspy voice.

  Eyes closed, she shakes her head but meets me halfway. Gasping, she pulls the front and bottom panel to the side and presses my aching shaft against her labia.

  She is wet and fever hot. I feel the jump of her swollen clit against the sensitive flesh of my crown.

  I want to dip down a few inches, slide into her thick and bare. I want to push up until she grinds down and then, when she's climaxing, I want to release into her, want to fill her with every last drop.

  A mewling cry escapes Maddy's lips. She freezes, then slides up, back down. A dozen micro-expressions flash across her face. She jerks, curls around her core, another cry releases.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. She's going to have me coming across my stomach instead of inside her.

  Fisting my cock, she squeezes, her hand otherwise immobile. It is the same maneuver I would make to stop my climax. She holds me hard like that until my breathing settles and I am no longer ready to burst.

  "Can you sit up?" she asks, sliding to the side.

  A faint smile breaks free as I shoot back a question of my own.

  "Can you remove your bra?"

  She complies with the request. I comply with hers, staring as I move at the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen.

  I want a kiss. I get a nipple instead.

  It's almost a fair exchange.

  My lips gloss the cherried tip.

  "Harder," she groans as her fingers wrap around my cock once more.

  I pull the nipple into my mouth, sucking hard and scraping with my teeth. A shudder rolls through her body.

  Maddy slides her pussy over my cock. Her juices soak the flesh. What we lose in friction, she makes up for with a hard rub up and down my shaft.

  Once more, I ache to be in her.

  Her body curls inward. I lift my head, catch her mouth and kiss her just as hard as I took her breast.

  If she needs rough, I can give her rough.

  We gnaw at one another's lips. Our tongues thrust and slide with the same ragged tempo of her pussy and fingers gliding over my cock.

  Her ass lifts higher, plummets, lifts again. The way she's holding me, as wild as her movements are, she is in danger of impaling herself.

  I break the kiss, bite at her ear.

  "You need more," I say, my tight throat bruising the words.

  She doesn't answer, just whimpers and moans.

  I slide down the bed, stopping only when my broad shoulders and cuffed hands keep me from reaching her hot center. I press hard kisses against the inside of her thighs.

  "Lift."

  This time, I'm ordering.

  Maddy grabs the top of the bed frame, raising her torso despite widening the gap between her thighs. I wiggle until my chin is sliding against her thick folds.

  I part the plump lips with my tongue. She groans, her upper body whipping while the bottom stays frozen but for its trembling.

  When I touch my tongue to her clit for the very first time, she turns electric.

  I suck the swollen dangle into my mouth, my lips pinching at the fragile flesh.

  I can give her harder than she ever dared dream—if that's what she needs.

  Her weight pushes down. I press upward, the strong muscles of my neck forcing my head to bob up and down, my tongue stroking her clit with a merciless pressure.

  She starts to squeak and gasp.

  An earthquake threatens.

  She pulls back before it can break free.

  "Maddy…baby—"

  She cuts me off before I can ask what I did wrong.

  "Are you clean?"

  My face, scrunched with need and purpose seconds before, stretches wide.

  "The surgeries," she explains, knowing I had transfusions. "Other women…"

  I don't tell her there have been no other women, at least not since I met her.

  "Blood's clean," I say. "Doctor tested me at six and twelve months out."

  "Good."

  She exhales the word as her hand moves between her legs. Strong fingers seize my cock, hold it steady and then Maddy slams onto it.

  Balls about to burst, my toes curl.

  When I can force my eyes open, I look up at a red-haired goddess, her body slamming onto my shaft with the same wildness of the hair whipping around her pale shoulders.

  One hand presses against her clit. The other wraps around the jut of my hip as she drives up and down, up and down.

  My chest muscles freeze. My thighs and glutes still work. I slam upwards as she flings herself down. We grind and grunt. The handcuffs bang against the headboard's metal railing.

  Maddy gasps, gasps again. Her breasts jiggle as a tremor vibrates through her. All around my cock, I feel her tight muscles milking my length, pulling me deeper and deeper until I am butting up against her cervix.

  There is another opening there, yawning in reception of what I am about to unleash.

  It's that thought, the idea of my seed spilling into her, that is my undoing.

  My climax jerks through me, twisting my spine along the mattress with each sticky jet that shoots into her.

  She arches at the same time and sinks onto me, her bottom against my thighs, two of her fingers V'd to stroke at the base of my cock as her sweet pussy continues to suck the length of my shaft and coax the longest climax of my life from me.

  When there is no more of me to fill her, she collapses. Her breasts, slick with sweat, press against my chest. She buries her damp face against my sweaty neck.

  But the muscles that hold me won't relent. Strong contractions run through her, massaging my cock as they draw my sperm past that second gate.

  I want out of the handcuffs. I want to flip Madigan on her back, push a couple of pillows beneath that deliciously plump ass and keep her tilted while I thrust my fingers into her and feast on her engorged clit until she climaxes again.

  "Thank you," she says, sliding to the side and standing up.

  Just like that, my beautiful, wild Maddy is gone. The raspy sighs and needy moans are vanquished. The woman getting dressed alongside the bed while I remain naked and wet with our juices is Agent Armstrong.

  Only once she is completely clothed does she grab the key off the nightstand and remove the cuffs.

  "That was great," she says
even as she side-eyes the door to the hallway.

  Her hand gestures at the bed, swooping in a wide circle.

  "I don't need the other stuff," she tells me.

  It takes me a few seconds and a cough before I find my voice.

  "You mean cuddling?"

  Agent Armstrong lifts a shoulder.

  "We can do that first part again—if it was satisfactory for you."

  Satisfactory?

  It blew my fucking mind.

  But this…this "conversation" is blowing my mind, too. In a completely different, anxiety-inducing, way.

  "It was," I croak out. "But, if we do it again, no handcuffs."

  She takes a few tormenting seconds to consider the proposed arrangement, then bobs her head.

  "We can proceed on those terms," she agrees as she walks out of my room without a glance back.

  11

  Sutton

  Alone, I leave the bed and walk down the hall naked, my dick as deflated as my emotions. Beyond the physical aspects, I have no idea what the hell happened.

  She used you like a piece of meat.

  I brush with irritation at my shoulder, as if there really is some sly devil perched there giving me bad advice. I knew well before shucking off my jeans and climbing onto the bed that Madigan doesn't interact the way most people do. If she used me like a piece of meat, it was only because I offered myself up as such.

  After locking the front door, I go into the kitchen and pour a big glass of juice for some much-needed rehydration. Then I head for the bathroom. A long piss relieves only a little of the pressure inside me—just the physical. I turn the shower on, wait for the water to get as hot as my flesh will tolerate, then step inside.

  Water blasts me, both the pressure and heat feeling like they are peeling away a layer of skin. Soaping up, I try not to think about Madigan as my hands move briskly around my body.

  But she is all I want to think about.

  What the hell did I walk into?

  Will things be any different the second time? The tenth?

  Jerking on the shower handle, I cut the stream of water. I grab a towel, dry my face first. I'm working on autopilot, my mind disconnected from the actions of my hands.

  Discovering exactly how bad I have it for Maddy was a kick in the balls. Having her just up and go after screwing my brains out was like she dropped a cinder block on them.

  Out in the hallway, I stop. My gaze travels between two doors. One opens onto the bedroom, the other onto my home gym. It's past midnight. And, no matter what I told Sherrilynn, I have to be at the ranch tomorrow, setting up in the morning, making sure things run smoothly, then tearing down.

  Spreading my arms out, I open both doors and flick on the lights in the workout room. The space is orderly and sterile. It demands no distractions, just unrelenting effort.

  A faint odor drifts from the bedroom. The scent of passion—it will fade soon. I look at my wrists. As much as I strained against the cuffs, there's no evidence on my skin that I ever wore them.

  The feminine musk Maddy left behind, the mix of her juices and my cum on the sheets, draw me out of the hall and into the bedroom. I sit on the edge of the mattress, senses reeling as my erection returns.

  Breathing becomes an exercise in willpower.

  I am in love with Madigan Armstrong—a woman who may never demonstrate that she loves me back, no matter what her true feelings are.

  What would it be like living with the constant uncertainty whether the most important person in your world loves you back?

  Gasping for air, I snatch a pillow from the floor and spend the rest of the night on the couch.

  12

  Maddy

  "Pacing again?" Delia's Boston accent turns the question into something closer to an accusation than the good-natured teasing her expression communicates.

  "You have the orientation this afternoon," I offer as both a deflection and as a possible reason for why I am adding a new wear pattern to the living room carpet.

  "It won't be like last time."

  Her soft, forceful words can't hide the hint of uncertainty detectible to my practiced ears.

  "Sutton is arriving early," she continues. "That way we can ease a path to the school and offer a bribe for after."

  Delia pops down the hall and looks in on Caiden. The side of her mouth lifts in a smile. When she turns to face me, I can see the threat of happy tears. As my sister scurries excitedly toward me, I brace for impact.

  Wrapping her arms around my shoulders, Delia squeezes for all she's worth.

  "He's still Skyping with Dotty," she whisper-squeals. "She's such a treasure! She showed Caiden pictures of her homestead. The ground is practically littered with arrowheads. Sutton is taking us this weekend."

  I bob my head. This is the first I've heard of weekend plans between my sister and the man I slept with Saturday night.

  "You think you'll be free?"

  My mouth pops open. I snap it shut before I say something so wrong as the truth that I thankfully have work to do.

  "Wiretap duty," I say after a few more seconds. "I'll be freezing my ass off in an over-air-conditioned FBI surveillance van."

  "Someone needs to talk to your boss," she huffs.

  Dense as I can be when it comes to reading emotions, I have had weeks to catch on to her seldom calling Emerson by name. The way she addresses him ignores what I had thought was a friendship between them when Emerson and I still worked out of the Boston office.

  But what do I know about the dealings between people? She and Caiden are the only true relationships I have ever formed.

  I watch Delia walk as she heads into the kitchen. The hem of her dress twirls when she spins away from me. The rest of the fabric hugs her curvy frame. White georgette over a polyester sheath, the outfit is almost bridal in appearance.

  She looks nothing like a widow. Then again, she hasn't had the luxury of grieving, not with Caiden to look after. Even if the boy often appears oblivious to those around them, he is sensitive to the moods of those he cares about the most. She stays upbeat for his sake.

  And for mine.

  I clear my throat. "No one joins the FBI so they can work nine-to-five."

  "Or, apparently, Monday through Friday," she adds with an eye roll.

  The flash of snark disappears as she picks up a cup and her first taste of morning coffee rolls across her tongue.

  "Do you think I should keep my hair up or wear it down?"

  "Up," I answer without hesitation. She's too beautiful as it is. With the hair down and the gauzy fabric clinging to her curves, Sutton might…

  I shake my head.

  A wrinkle of confusion settles into Delia's forehead.

  "Down?"

  "Up," I repeat.

  "Then what was that look and shake for?" Her hands smooth nervously over her outfit.

  "I'm allowed parallel lines of thought," I answer, attempting, and failing, to make my words sound like a sisterly tease.

  Her laugh erases the worry line.

  "Baby girl, you are way beyond parallel."

  Cupping my face, she plants a firm kiss on my cheek. Right now, her lips are free of cosmetics. Familiar with Delia's penchant for dressing up, I know they will be killer red when Sutton arrives.

  "Wear it how you're comfortable," I say. "Your hair, I mean. Up or down, whatever feels right to you. It was up last time and you were stiffer."

  Her face widens with a smile. Reaching up, she pulls out the pins that keep the thick tresses bound up in a tidy bun. Bright gold sunshine spills around her shoulders.

  Grabbing the lapels of my black dress jacket, she gives them a tug.

  "I wish you didn't have to go in every day looking ready to chase down a bad guy," she laments. "Especially since you go in almost every day."

  My right shoulder begins to lift. Delia cocks a brow in its direction then pushes down until I yield and relax the muscle.

  "Of course, I also wish you would tell me what hap
pened after you left here Saturday night and didn't get home until past midnight. That wasn't work."

  In a way, it was work. Not what happened in the bedroom, but in all the conversation leading up to it.

  Conversation? That's a crazy word for it. Sutton did almost all the talking and had to read my mind to keep things going.

  "I spoke to Sutton," I confess before glancing at the clock.

  "In person?"

  Bulldozing past the question, I reach into my pocket and remove my keys. "Told him I have Asperger's…well, he had figured it out already."

  Delia makes a play for my keys, like she's going to keep me here talking.

  "I can't be late."

  Her foot offers a small stamp. "You worked all day yesterday! Don't make me talk to that stuck-up boss of yours."

  Imagining Emerson and Delia squaring off births a soft chuckle that escapes me. He's dark and broody, she's light and airy despite having more than enough reasons to be drowning in sorrow.

  "Don't think I will?" she challenges, her hands finding her full hips.

  I laugh a little harder. "I know you would. By the time he was halfway through brushing you off, you would be red and burning with the need to kick him in the balls."

  Her mouth turns down for an instant, but then she coaxes it back into her usual merry smile.

  "Today, I'm getting my son settled," she announces, this time with a tone of pure conviction.

  I nod, glad she's refocusing.

  The relief is short lived. With a firm pat to my cheek, she gives me her big sister smile and drops a frag-grenade in my lap.

  "I'll deal with your toxic boss, tomorrow."

  13

  Sutton

  I arrive at Madigan's apartment at a quarter to ten. It's the first time I've stepped foot in the place and she's not here to greet me.

  Delia wraps me in a bear hug instead.

  "Sorry," she says when I can breathe again. "I didn't used to hug so hard."