G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  Shit Darcy! Get hold of yourself, girl.

  I clapped my hand over my own mouth to keep myself quiet as the storm continued its rampage outside. Just then, I did hear the squeak of the doorknob. I saw it turn slowly as the door creaked open. I let loose with another blood-curdling scream, not giving a damn who in the hell heard me!

  “Darcy,” Easton said softly, swiftly crossing the distance to my bed, looking pretty damn fine in his low slung P.J. bottoms and white tee. “I heard you scream from down the hall. Are you alright?”

  “I’m sorry,” I gasped, shaking my head. “I guess those movies we watched and these thunderstorms rattling outside set me off. I didn’t mean to wake you, Easton.”

  “You didn’t,” he said smiling. “I was still up reading. Storms like this make it tough for anyone to sleep. Just keep telling yourself it will pass over; they always do, right?”

  He was trying to ease my mind. It was actually kind of sweet. Another flash of lightning streaked through the windows and what sounded like a dynamite explosion, complete with a popping sound followed. The light from the hallway flickered a couple of times and then went out, along with the lamp I’d left on in the sitting room. I muffled another scream, diving under the covers.

  “It’s alright, love,” his soft voice was closer. I felt the bed dip with his weight beside me. “A transformer blew, that’s all. Would you like me to stay in here until we get power back?”

  “Would you?” I asked timidly, not proud of the fact I was probably feeding into the “macho” he wore around his neck like a medallion.

  “Certainly,” he said, stretching out beside me on the bed. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close against his chest.

  I could hear hail pelting against the windows in torrents, more thunder rattled off in the distance.

  “You know,” he whispered against the back of my neck, “they say you can know how close you are to the centre of the storm by counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder.”

  “Well, I’d say we’re there what with it being on top of us and all,” I replied, snuggling deeper into him. I felt his amused chuckle more than I heard it. Another bolt of lightning flashed and I tensed up against him, poising myself for the thunder that would follow.

  “Count, Darcy,” he commanded softly. I felt Easton’s hand sift through my hair, running his fingers through the strands gently. It was calming and electrifying at the same time. It was as if he and I had this magnetic force field between us that continually drew us together, regardless whether we wanted it to or not.

  The thunder rolled out, making the room echo in reverberation. Another flash lit up the room, as Easton’s lips lightly suckled the skin at the nape of my neck, causing me to shiver.

  “Cold, love?” he asked, my skin felt the movements of his lips. I felt a whimper coming from the bottom of my throat.

  “Count,” he ordered again, his lips now making their way to my jawline as one of his hands idly played with the thin hem of my cotton shirt…

  I rolled over so that my face was to his. Even in the darkness, I could see his face; his eyes were searching mine for something.

  “Did you fuck me because I looked like her?” I asked quietly.

  “Yes,” he whispered, not taking his eyes from mine.

  I sighed, somehow relieved that at least he had enough respect not to lie about it.

  “Are you holding me now because I look like her?” I felt the adrenaline catch fire in my veins, afraid of his answer, but needing to know the truth.

  “No.”

  He lowered his face to mine, his tongue tracing a pattern against my lips. He was gentle, taking his time, his hands now lightly massaging my back and hips. God! Was this another lesson for me? It was impossible for me to remain unresponsive to his touch. I melted against him, my lips now moving with his in a slow, sensual kiss, his tongue gently exploring my mouth, his teeth nipping, tugging ever-so-lightly at my lower lip.

  His hands. His glorious hands were searching beneath my clothes for skin. He pulled the covers back exposing me fully to his eyes, hands and lips. I rolled my head back and forth on the pillow, allowing him to free me of my shirt and panties; all the while, his lips traveled a slow and deliberate path down the column of my throat, licking, nipping, and kissing me into more soft whimpers.

  I felt his hand grasp mine, moving it to rest on his erection. I didn’t hesitate in springing his cock free; allowing my fingers to curl around the thick expanse of it, fingering the soft skin around the head. I heard a soft moan escape his lips as my hand traveled his length, sliding up and down slowly, bringing his erection fuller and harder.

  It was as if the storm outside ceased to exist for us. I heard no more thunder, no more wind or rain pelting against the windows. All I was aware of at this moment was Easton: how he looked, how he felt, how he smelled and how he tasted.

  His lips pulled away from my breasts momentarily, as he looked deeply into my eyes.

  Oh God!

  “Are you sure you really want this? Nothing’s changed from my perspective.”

  “Yes,” I whispered, huskily. “I want you to fuck me, Easton. And I want you to know that it’s me that you’re fucking.”

  He rose up, his lips capturing mine once again for a long, sweet kiss before he once again traveled to my breasts, his hands grasping and cupping them roughly, while his mouth sucked each rosy peak. I moved both hands to his cock, increasing the pressure and tempo of stroking, hearing his moans coming louder as his hips thrust forward.

  “I need to taste your sweet cunt,” he murmured, moving lower where his fingers gently plied the tender folds of my flesh. His tongue swirled over my clit again and again, licking, lapping and gently nipping as I swelled for him.

  “Oh God,” I moaned, my hips flexing against him as he thrust a finger inside of me, his mouth still sucking hungrily from my core. Another one of his long fingers entered me, and his tongue was now thrusting slowly and deliberately in and out of my pussy.

  “God, you’re dripping wet, love,” he said, licking my essence, as if he couldn’t get enough of it. “And your pussy tastes so fucking sweet.” His tongue and lips continued working their electric magic on my soft folds. My hips moved in response.

  “Mmmm,” was all I could manage, as my breathing quickened along with my pulse rate.

  Easton lifted me up, rolling underneath me. I instinctively straddled his hips as he lowered me just above his swollen cock. He dipped me down just a bit, just enough so that I could feel the rounded ball studs swirl around my clit, as he moved my hips back and forth, teasing his piercing against my slit. I drew in a sharp breath, allowing my orgasm to release from there. I whimpered loudly as the surges of pleasure enveloped me, knowing the best was still yet to come.

  His fullness was inside of me now, as I leaned forward just a bit to find the perfect angle. I rode his cock from root to tip, pivoting myself up and down slowly, going full depth onto him and grinding against him each time. His hands were fondling my breasts, roughly now. His tongue flickered over his lips and his eyes darkened with passion as he watched me fucking him. I rocked forward to back, up then down and, as I continued, I could feel my sweet spot swell against his cock piercing that was hitting it just right with each downward stroke. I could feel myself squeezing him, and his breathing was coming faster, as was mine.

  “Darcy,” he rasped, “your cunt’s squeezing me like a greedy bitch. Are you ready for it, baby?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I whispered hoarsely. “I want it, Easton. Fuck me hard.”

  His hands immediately braced my hips, lifting me up and pushing me back down on his cock over and over again as our orgasms crashed around us. Easton groaned my name over and over again, as his cock throbbed and then emptied his climax inside of me, leaving no doubt as to whom he was fucking tonight.

  chapter 27

  When I awoke the following morning, Easton was still wrapped aro
und me securely. I glanced at the clock, noticing it was after 10:00 a.m. What happened to his morning ritual of getting up at 4:30 and working out? As the low thunder still rumbled outside, I realized he’d stayed here for me. We’d fucked throughout the night, oblivious to the storms raging outside. They were nothing in comparison to the storms that had raged in this very room. Over and over again. I felt a smile form on my lips.

  I rolled over to face him, my hand stroking his unkempt hair, my fingers tracing his unshaven face. His eyes opened and he smiled at me warmly.

  “Morning,” he said. “I see you survived the storm no worse for the wear.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I replied, yawning. “Some British cad took advantage of the situation and ravaged me throughout the night.”

  “Is that right?” he asked, smiling. “Maybe it was a figment of your imagination.”

  “Think so?” I asked coquettishly. “Some figment. I can still feel the remnants dripping out of me,” I teased.

  “You are a crude colonial,” he remarked dryly. “Come, let’s hit the gym together and start our day off right.”

  Easton and I worked out together and then showered—separately. He insisted on making breakfast for us: fried eggs, bacon and toast. I busied myself with checking my e-mails, making a few calls back to the U.S., then went to hunt him down. He was on the phone in his study, barking angrily at someone. I stayed out in the hall, polite enough not to intrude, yet nosy enough to want to listen.

  “I don’t understand that at all, Devon, this should’ve been handled weeks ago and now you’re fucking telling me you and your staff dropped the ball?”

  He paused; obviously Devon on the other end was likely tossing out some excuse for whatever he and his staff had failed to do.

  “That’s no goddamn excuse. Women have babies all the time. Some of them have them out in the rice fields while working, stopping long enough to whelp, and then get back to their bloody harvesting. You took a six-week leave, which was sufficient time for your recovery and to stay on track with this project.”

  Holy shit! Devon’s a ‘she?’

  “I’ll fly out on Monday morning to handle this. Be prepared to update me on the status by 1:00 p.m. your time. Make no mistake; I’m prepared to clean house over this.”

  (Pause)

  “I think you know what I mean. It’s time for you to decide whether you really want a high-level career with Baronton, or are better suited to motherhood. Despite what feminist propagandists may preach, you really can’t have it all, Devon.”

  Jesus, dude. Harsh much?

  I guess the comforting and comfortable Easton from last night was gone. But that really wasn’t what bothered me the most…it was the fact that this was a woman he was speaking to, whose job he was threatening to take because…what? She went off and had a baby and had the audacity to try and work through that for her employer and fell a little short on some things?

  What the hell did he expect from the girl?!

  “Excuse me, doc? Do you think it’d be okay if you just e-mail me when it’s time to push? I have to make some deadlines and you’re tripping up my Wi-Fi every time you come within three feet. ‘Kay, thanks.”

  We nearly collided as I resumed my entrance to his study as he was starting to exit.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, backing away from him. I wasn’t sure whether he was still angry over the thing with Devon and one of his companies. If so, I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it.

  “Is there something you need, Darcy?” he asked tersely.

  “Uh, well I was wondering if maybe I could get to a mall or something today. I wanted to do a little shopping while I’m here. I noticed there were several boutiques near the salon I went to yesterday, I mean if it’s not a problem,” I said, twisting my hair around a finger.

  “Of course, that’s not a problem,” he replied. “I can take you or if you’d prefer, I’ll have my driver take you; it’s up to you.”

  I didn’t want him going along while I shopped for something sexy and skimpy to wear tonight. After the whole deal yesterday with my hair and make-up, I preferred shopping without his input.

  “If your driver’s available, that’d be great.”

  “I’ll arrange it then. He’ll be ready and waiting in ten minutes,” he replied, turning away from me and proceeding down the hall.

  “Great. Thank you, Easton,” I called after him meekly.

  I was enjoying a bubble bath in the lovely, claw foot tub. I’d die to have a tub like this back home. My hair was piled high on top as I relaxed against the sloped back and rested my head on the rolled edge of the tub. It was so soothing after the three hours I had spent shopping. Dennis, Easton’s driver, had been a great sport. I didn’t find anything I liked at the boutiques that were nearby, so he’d driven me to some other upscale shops he knew about until I found just the right cocktail dress for my night out on the town.

  I’d taken my time shopping, since Dennis was in no hurry. During my little British excursion, I kept thinking about the conversation I maybe not-so-accidentally overheard earlier when Easton was speaking to Devon over the phone. I knew a man with his power and status hadn’t gotten to where he was without having to be ruthless now and then, but for crying out loud, I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for poor Devon, getting her ass chewed like that.

  I thought about the angry comments Easton had made regarding babies and motherhood. Something Lacee had said to me that day in the conference room came to mind, something about his mother having no use for him. Maybe that had soured his view of women, mothers in particular. I couldn’t imagine any mother turning her back on a child, no matter what the circumstances. I wasn’t about to pry into Easton’s private affairs—well any more than I already had, courtesy of Taz, that is.

  I finished my bath, stepping into the shower long enough to wash my hair. After I finished, I was in my robe, blow drying my hair when someone knocked on the door to my suite.

  “Come in!” I hollered out from the bathroom.

  Easton sauntered in, our eyes connecting through the bathroom mirror. I watched him lean up against the wall by the tub, no more than six feet away from where I was drying my hair. He seemed fascinated by the way I held the blow dryer in one hand and a round brush in the other, using them expertly from years of experience.

  Finished, I shut the dryer off, placed both items down on the counter and looked at him looking at me using our reflection.

  “Secret bathroom rendezvous already, eh?” I asked.

  He tilted his head, studying my reflection. “Hardly,” he replied softly. Stepping away from the wall, he slowly walked over to where I was standing.

  “How was shopping?” he asked, standing right behind me now.

  “It was fine. I found something for tonight.”

  “Did you?” His hands found their way to my hair.

  Even after mulling over his conversation with Devon most of the afternoon, I had to admit that I secretly loved Easton’s minor obsession with my hair and the way he could never quite stop himself from running his hands through it.

  “I hope you had lunch. I apologise for not asking you before you left what time you’d be back.”

  “I had Dennis stop on the way back and got a little something to tide me over,” I replied.

  His hands stilled. “You’re upset about something.” Easton’s eyes met mine again in the mirror.

  “No,” I replied, realizing I’d been a tad curt with him. “Everything’s good,” I reassured him. “What time are we leaving?”

  Finally, looking over at him, I saw him glance at his watch. “In about an hour. I’m going to grab a shower and get ready. It’s nothing fancy tonight, so don’t feel like you have to over-dress,” he said, giving me ‘the look.’

  “I’ve got it handled,” I replied, finally finding what I was looking for. Grabbing my heavy make-up bag, I made my way back into the bathroom.
r />   Forty-five minutes later, my hair and make-up were finished, and I was slipping into the cute little cocktail dress I’d purchased earlier. It was a London fashion brand called ‘Lipsy’ that specialized in party-wear. I’d selected a short, black stretch, poly-blend dress with a ruched panel in the front and lace shoulder panels. The low-cut sweetheart neckline allowed for ample cleavage to show. The back was open with a zip fastening. I’d found a cute faux (and very fuzzy) lamb’s wool bolero jacket in black to wear with it after the evening chill set in. The shoes I’d bought to go with my ensemble were black, low-cut vamp 4-inch high-heels. Smoking hot was my first thought when I caught a glimpse of them in the storefront window.

  I’d pulled my hair up on top of my head, allowing curly tendrils to cascade down around my face and neck for a messy, yet playful look. I’d just fastened my dangly earrings when Easton tapped on my door.

  “The car’s waiting. Are you ready?”

  “Be right there,” I called out, grabbing my clutch and jacket, heading out the door. He was waiting for me in the hall, dressed impeccably in black trousers with a matching black, loose-fitting sport jacket. He had a white tee shirt on underneath the sports jacket and wore black pointy boots.

  “Hmm,” I said, giving him the onceover. “You’re quite the London boy tonight, I see.”

  He was perusing my outfit, a slight frown creasing his otherwise perfect forehead. “I’m not sure about your outfit,” he said, scratching his chin.

  “What? You don’t like it?” I asked, disappointed, turning my back to him so that he could finish zipping me up.

  “It’s not that,” he continued, pulling the zipper up as far as it would go. “It worries me is all.”