by Shandi Boyes
“You taste like vanilla frosting,” I groan before my tongue completes a second long lick of her pussy.
When I suck her clit into my mouth, I expect her thighs to sweep open. Instead, I get them clamped around my head. “About the frosting. . .” Regan waits, huffs, then continues. “Last night was. . .”
“Fan-fucking-tastic. The best sex I’ve ever had,” I fill in when she pauses for the second time.
The honesty in my tone weakens her thighs grip on my head. “Yes, all of that, and. . .”
I peer up at her, catching a glimpse of her lustful eyes over the bountiful swell of her breasts. “And. . .?”
She seems torn. She’s clamped my head to ensure I can’t budge an inch from her intoxicatingly delicious pussy, but she also appears as if she doesn’t want me to touch her with a six-foot pole. How do I know this? She’s giving the same look I tried to force on my face the night I took her to my apartment. I can’t believe that was only last week. If feels like a lifetime has passed since then.
After a deep inhalation that inflates her chest, Regan pushes out, “Why do you have multiple tubs of frosting at your apartment? For how many tubs you have, you clearly have a purpose for them.”
I smile. It is a dick move for me to make, but you can’t hear the jealousy in her tone. She’s riled up, ready to pounce on any woman who dares get within an inch of me, and I fucking love it.
I use my shoulders to break through the firm hold she has on my head before slipping two fingers inside her. Her pussy rallies against the intrusion, equally torn on whether to accept my advance or reject me. They clamp around my thrusting digits as well as her pussy milked my cock last night. The glistening of her arousal on my fingers increases with every pump they make, undermining her efforts.
When my thumb presses her clit, all protests vanish. Her thighs sweep as her lips part, the moan rumbling in her chest the most seductive of them all. I continue my campaign to remove the groove deep between her eyes for the next several minutes.
Once I’m satisfied it’s gone, I say, “The cans in my pantry are empty.”
Regan’s eyes snap to mine in an instant. As her lips harden into a straight line, the color on her cheeks changes from blooming in ecstasy to fuming with anger. It takes me a few seconds to comprehend her fury, but when I do, it thickens my cock even more than her snug pussy hugging my fingers. Her sights aren’t just locked on any future women in my life but my past companions as well.
After a quick shuffle to ensure she can see the effect her ownership has on me, I advise, “They aren’t empty because I used them on anyone. They’re good at hiding things. Stuff you don’t want anyone to see or have stolen.”
“Like?” The huskiness in her voice makes my chest balloon. She’s angry, but more than anything, she’s trusting. She has no reason to believe me, yet she does.
“Driver’s license. Keys. Pretty much anything.” The glide of my fingers eases with each syllable I utter. “Thieves aren’t known for their smarts. They only look in suspect places. If you want to keep your valuables, hide them in plain sight because safes are the first thing criminals hit.”
“Hmm.” I feel her hum vibrate the tips of my fingers. “That’s smart. My boss has said that before too.”
The jealousy on her face earlier morphs onto mine. What could Isaac have to hide? He’s the reason honest men like me need to stay on our toes.
Not liking how slowly I’m grinding my fingers, Regan lifts her back off the bed. After slinging her arms around my neck, she bridges the small distance between us. My teeth grit when her change in position makes my fingers slip from her snug canal. I’m not mad she’s stopped me; it is the warmth of her pussy responsible for my grinding teeth. It’s hovering a mere inch from my cock, and her magnificent tits are splayed across my pecs. I’m in pure fucking heaven, which means I’m also fighting with all my might not to come like a fool who can’t control himself.
The chances of shaming myself double when Regan slowly lowers herself down my cock. She takes it slow, relishing every inch as she goes. By the time she has my cock swallowed inside of her, the energy bristling between us is rampant, hot and sticky, as damp as her slit.
“I’ve never had sex before breakfast. Did I die and go to heaven?”
I flex my cock, voicing my appreciation of her praise without words. Her pussy is so snug, she feels every vein pulsating through me. She gasps at my cock’s frantic throbs as her head falls forward. Precum squirts from my crest when her tongue glides up my nape to gather a bead of sweat there. Although she was the one lathered with whipped sugar, our entanglement in the hour that followed transferred some of the residue to me.
“Mmm. I’ll never eat frosting again without thinking about you.”
Her comment annoys me more than it pleases me. She’s talking as if last night will soon be a memory. I don’t mind that she’ll never consume a sugary treat without me entering her thoughts; I just hope she’s not seeing us as a temporary thing. I have too much at stake for this to be a few casual weeks twisted between the sheets. And I’m not solely referring to my job.
I tug on her hair, bringing her eyes back to mine. The walls of her pussy clench around me as she cries my name. I jerk my hips up, meeting her pumps grind for grind. She starts chanting “yes” on repeat as her pussy grows slicker, but not once do her eyes leave mine. This. . .this is where the magic is. The pull. The connection. The unbelievably crazy sensation that has me wanting to claim the world as surely as I’m claiming her.
I fight her for control, begging to steal the reins from her grasps, but when she hands them to me, I only take half. I want us to be even. One complete unit.
Her head falls forward when I release my firm grip on her hair, giving her back some of the power she awarded me. She rewards my gallantry by adding a squeeze to every descent she makes. Her pussy worships my cock as her eyes reveal she appreciates my ability to share. I’m not talking about other people. She does a good job of pretending she’s not as deeply invested in our relationship as me, but I know she’s as opposed to sharing as I am when it comes to anyone outside of this room. That’s why her hackles were raised over the frosting. She wants our dining experience to be solely ours. No interference. No outsider influence. Just us.
The closer she gets to orgasm, the closer her eyelids become. Just before she rides the wave of euphoria, they fully close. I watch the expression on her face change from possessive to claimed as her lips part and the flush descends from her neck to above her thrusting chest before I succumb to the sensation gripping my sack.
My breathing levels as a tingling sensation races up my shaft. Feeling the heat of my cum shooting inside of her, Regan buries her head between my pecs. Her hot breaths fanning my chest keep spawn pumping out of my cock for the next several long seconds. I give her every drop, loving that my scent isn’t just imbedded on her skin. I’m also inside of her.
Usually, the thought of having unprotected sex would give me hives. I’ve never once forgone protection, but just like every aspect of my life, nothing is as it was before Regan entered the picture. I trust her. But even if I didn’t, I’m not scared about being tied to her for life. If anyone should be panicked by that notion, it should be Regan, not me.
I’ll do anything to keep her in my life. Nothing is above me. Not a lifetime commitment. Not the chance of losing my coveted position.
Not even the murmur of three little words way too early to say in our relationship.
“I love you.”
14
I fucked up.
Regan didn’t freak at my declaration of love as I had anticipated. She didn’t have anything to say. Not a single fucking thing. At first, I wondered if she heard me. I was so close to saying it again when her eyes met mine. One glance, and I knew she heard what I said. She was stunned, a little taken back, and, I think, remorseful.
The last one pissed me off. I didn’t expect her to say it back, but remorse? That was the last thing I expect
ed to see when I imagined her response. I’ve never said those words to another woman before. I’ve never been in love, so there was no reason for a heartfelt declaration. Still, I anticipated more than I got from Regan.
She wasn’t cruel. We’ve spent the last half hour in the shower removing the icing my tongue failed to lap up last night, but the out-of-control energy that generally bristles between us isn’t as palpable. Don’t get me wrong, our mutual attraction is as strong as ever, my fuck up just weakened it a little.
You can be assured it won’t happen again.
Leaving Regan in the shower to shampoo her hair, I make my way back to the main area of our room. I whip off my towel, dump it halfway across the room before throwing on a pair of jeans and a casual shirt. I don’t know why I’m in such a hurry to get dressed. Anyone would swear she hacked up my ego instead of my heart. I guess to some people they are one and the same? Unfortunately, I am not one of those men. I’m confident enough to proclaim that I rock her world between the sheets. Outside of them. . . clearly I need to up the ante.
When I throw open my bedside drawer to gather some socks, my eyes drop to Regan’s cell phone sitting on top. It is flashing the same alerts it had earlier this morning. She has six unread messages and four unanswered calls. Although I’m highly suspicious all the messages are from Isaac or someone on his team who can’t stay the fuck out of Regan’s life, I pretend they’re for me. It makes it less guilty this way.
The text messages are as I anticipated. They’re all from Isaac. The first three are requesting an update on how she is. The last is approval for Regan to have a support beam installed in her bedroom as per her request earlier this week. Although my inquisitiveness piques from her request for a load-bearing beam, I set it aside for a time when I’m not confused. I’m swimming in so much confusion right now, I feel like I’ve drunk a gallon of whiskey. Considering I haven’t drunk a drop of alcohol in over six years, you can be assured that isn’t the case.
After switching Isaac’s messages back to being unread, I dial Regan’s voicemail. A slight trickle of deceit seeps into my veins when my eyes stray to the bathroom door to ensure Regan is still in the shower. She hasn’t done anything to grant my distrust. It’s just habit.
The first three voice messages follow a similar path as her text messages. They are Isaac—again. Checking in—again. I delete his messages, more to cover my ass than the jealousy burning in my veins. I don’t know how to make voicemail messages appear unheard, so I’ll tell Regan he called before suggesting she call him back.
The tightness in my jaw firms when the final message plays. Although the person isn’t speaking, I recognize his heavy wheezing.
“Fuck. . .” A long delay ensues before Brandon adds on, “You need to get a new phone. Preferably one without trackable content installed.” His voice is snarky, clearly unimpressed he can still only reach me via Regan’s cell.
I hear him take several steps before a door shutting bellows down the line. “Call me on this number as soon as you get my message.” He rattles off a New York cellphone number before disconnecting our call.
Although I don’t have a piece of paper or pen at my disposal, I don’t need one. The panic in Brandon’s tone ensures I don’t miss a single cryptic clue in his message, much less the number he requested me to use. He was climbing the stairs of our dungeon-like office. How do I know this? The faint chime that squeaked down the line just before he slammed the door. I set up tripwires on the back entrance of our office during the first week of my placement. The bell’s chime is extremely faint, but for an officer trained to assess every noise, it doesn’t need to be loud.
That’s another reason I’m stumped on how someone snuck up on me. The janitor couldn’t have entered HQ without me hearing him because I have every entrance wired with barely audible alarms. There is only one way he could have snuck up on me unaware. . . he was already in the building.
Fuck.
Before my notions can run wild, Brandon answers his ringing cell. Just like every time he’s taken my calls, his greeting isn’t what you’d expect. “Where are you?”
Not a peep escapes my lips before he quickly adds on, “Actually, don’t tell me that. I can’t guarantee there aren’t any ears in this room.”
I hear a chair scrape down the line before Brandon starts walking again. This time, he doesn’t exit the back entrance of HQ, he escapes via the front door. The humming of heavy traffic and the squawk of hundreds of pedestrians assure I can’t be mistaken.
Once the droning noises kick up to an ear-piercing level, Brandon says, “I followed Isaac’s head of security through a back entrance last night. He was seeking the same time frame of data I was.”
My teeth grit. “Regan mentioned something about him having her followed home. For safety or something. . .” More like Isaac’s inability to cut the cords he strangles all his staff with. “Did he find anything?”
“Yeah. There’s a CTV camera in a building across the street. He found footage of Regan and you exiting the alley.”
“Isaac has footage of us. . . together?” My eyes stray to the bathroom door as my heart rate picks up speed. My ruse is coming undone more quickly than I’d like.
“Had,” Brandon corrects. “It took a bit of work, but I got two steps in front of his hacker. Anything he got is either unreadable or old footage.”
“Old footage?” Confusion rings in my tone.
“Yeah. Last night wasn’t the first late night walk Regan has taken through Ravenshoe.”
I swear I’ll have no teeth left by the end of today with how hard they keep clashing together. “So what’s with the urgency? Your demand for secrecy made it seem like you had more than a desire to fan your peacock feathers.”
Brandon takes my dis in stride. “I do.” Another succession of footsteps bellow down the line. “I wasn’t the only one piggybacking off government servers last night. There was another source. I followed the trail they left behind. It took me straight to. . .”
“HQ,” we say in harmony.
“Yes. How did you know that?”
I smirk, fond of the shock in his tone. “When listening to your message, I heard the bell above the back door of HQ ding. That didn’t happen the night I was jumped.”
“You boobytrapped HQ.”
Since Brandon isn’t asking a question, I don’t answer him.
My swollen chest grows when he faintly murmurs, “Fucking brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”
I could give him a few pointers, but there is no time for that. I just heard the conditioner lid crack open. We’ve got five, ten minutes tops.
“Did you follow the source back to anyone unusual?”
I can’t see Brandon, but I can picture him shaking his head when a whooshing sound trickles down the line. “That’s the issue. There is no source. That station is empty.”
“So someone took up residence in a vacant cubicle for the night; that’s not a big deal.”
Brandon laughs a mocking chuckle. “It is when they don’t sign in to the Bureau’s mainframe while doing it.”
His reply stumps me for all of a second. “What about the surveillance from the alley? Did you conduct searches for anyone exiting or entering in the timeframe I gave you?”
“Yes.” His swift reply relays his eagerness. “It hasn’t found a match. Yet. I uploaded the footage to a shared server in case you want to view it. Might trigger something.”
I drag Regan’s phone from my ear before the entire sentence leaves his mouth. With my mind hazy from a lack of sleep and perhaps fewer brain cells since I fried many while climaxing the hardest I’ve ever come—before fucking things up as I’ve never done—it takes attempting to log in four times before I remember the FBI database is still in the stone ages. If you aren’t on a PC, you won’t be granted access.
“Hold on,” I say to Brandon before tossing Regan’s cell onto the mattress to fire up her laptop.
My lips twist when it requests a code.
Remembering her lack of security, I hit the zero button four times. Rejected. I go through the standard password hack every agent uses before calling in a techie for help. Target’s birthday. Fail. Their mom’s birthday. Fail. Pet name. Fail. I punch the keys a little harder when I input my fifth attempt: Isaac Holt. Fail.
Fuck yeah!
Allowing my ego to get the better of me, I type in my name. Fail.
Fuck it.
The cusses keep coming when reality smacks into me.
I type my last try slowly, more out of respect than anything: Luca. Bingo!
In a few more keystrokes, I’m logged into the Bureau’s main network. May as well not be; I have no fucking clue where to go from here. After reattaching Regan’s phone to my ear, Brandon directs me on what to do.
Before a minute has passed, the video surveillance from across the street of the alley streams from Regan’s laptop.
“How do I rewind it?” I ask Brandon when the footage rolls past Regan and me entering an idling cab.
“I downloaded stills onto your hard drive—”
“That wasn’t what I asked,” I cut Brandon off. “I asked how do I rewind the footage? I’m not interested in what you’ve seen. I’ve got my own set of eyes, which means I have an entirely different perspective.”
I run a hand along my scruffy jaw, recognizing that I’m taking my frustration out on the wrong person. “Can you show me how to work this thing? Please. There’s a reflection in the cab window I want to take a closer look at.”
“Alright.”
Thirty seconds after agreeing with my request, Brandon somehow takes control of Regan’s computer. I don’t know how, and in all honesty, I don’t fucking care, because within seconds of him taking over the reins, I’m peering at the man I saw in the back quarter panel of the taxi’s window.
I stare a long, penetrating glare. I’ve seen him before; I swear I have. “Can you run his face through facial recognition?”
