by Anne Conley
She shrugged as she got shot glasses down from the cabinet in the kitchenette. “Two weeks, or three. Not sure. Had a double today, that’s why I’m so tired.” The house had been busted into four tiny apartments, each one a small living room with an attached kitchen. So when Mia turned around, Jordan was there, bumping into her.
“Then let me wait on you for a change,” he whispered. He watched the pulse on her neck pound rapidly and her breasts heave with heavier breaths. That was good. So she wouldn’t be opposed to sex. He hadn’t thought so, but affirmation was nice. “Salt?”
She nodded, reached behind her to grab the shaker, and handed it to him, wordless, enormous brown eyes tracking his movements. Mia’s shoulder and neck were calling out to him; that smooth expanse of bronzed skin was so beautiful. Just to test something, Jordan lowered his head and suckled there, leaving a small kiss behind.
Her sharp inhale was accompanied by her fingers immediately clamping down on the countertop. Good.
Swiping his tongue across her shoulder, Jordan left a long, wet trail as he sprinkled salt across it. “I like you, Mia,” he began. He needed to get everything out up front. “I think we could have some fun, don’t you?” She nodded, looking at him from half-closed eyes. Sexy fucking eyes. Eyes which told him to fuck her right now. But he wasn’t going to do it like that. Not tonight. “Good. Because neither of us has time for strings, right?” He was looking at her, really close, but he wasn’t touching her, just looking.
“You want to have sex, right? No relationships?” she breathed. “I’m totally down with that.” She gasped the words out at him, and he mentally high-fived himself before swiping his tongue across the line of salt, tasting her shoulder with relish before swigging straight from the bottle of tequila.
When he went in for a kiss, she stopped him with a finger on his lips. “You did it wrong, hot shot.”
That was one of the things Jordan really liked about Mia. She was cool. Almost like one of the guys, only she had tits, a pussy, and an ass men would die for. Jordan had an erection that would jackhammer concrete, and she was telling him he was doing it wrong?
Yeah, she was golden at getting his mind off his shitty job.
Smirking now, he took a step back, hands up. “Teach it, oh mighty one.”
She answered with a smirk of her own before turning to the fridge. “Take your shirt off and I will.”
Jordan got an eyeful of her luscious ass as she bent over to get something off the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Her shorts were short enough to show the cheeks of her butt and a hint of more. Jordan’s mouth watered immediately, and he anxiously yanked off his jacket and pulled his t-shirt over his head. By the time Mia turned around, he was shirtless, eagerly awaiting her instruction.
“This is the best lesson I’ve ever had.”
She took a step forward, a small bowl of limes in her hand. “I haven’t even done anything yet.” Grabbing a slice of lime, she shoved it between his lips before he could say anything. He breathed hard through his nose, trying to will his body back under control.
Putting the bowl down on the counter, she splayed her hands across his chest and made a grunt of appreciation. “I’ve been dying to see this shit since I met you. I wish it wasn’t so cold when you moved in… I would love to watch you wash your bike.”
When Jordan went to say something back, his mumbles came out a garbled mess around the lime shoved in his mouth, then turned to hisses when Mia wrapped her mouth around the curve of his pectoral muscle. The blood in his veins turned to lust and flowed freely through his body as her warm tongue flicked across his skin.
“Holnee Fugg,” sounded around the lime as she swirled her tongue over him, flicking the nipple until it was hard as a fucking rock. She treated it like a popsicle on a hundred-degree day. No woman had ever paid attention to him like this before, and holy fuck, was it good. When she nipped with her teeth, he nearly spit the lime out and hauled her to the bedroom. But she stepped back and grabbed the salt shaker, looking at him mischievously.
Mia hummed a little tune to herself as she sprinkled salt on his pec and set the shaker down before grabbing the bottle. As she lowered her head to his chest again, Jordan couldn’t help himself and fisted her hair in his grip while she worked her tongue over his nipple. She’d gotten the salt—had to be down there just having fun now—and Jordan’s shot was coursing through his bloodstream because, holy hell, this was good.
When she came up, she was grinning big when she took a huge pull from the bottle of tequila. Two slugs, then three. That was something else he really liked about Mia—the girl could hold her liquor. He was in awe.
Rising up on tiptoes and resting a delicate hand on his shoulder, her plump lips met his as she squeezed the lime between her teeth and sucked.
Jordan turned his head and spit out the lime, taking her lips fully with his mouth. His hands found a home, tangling in the thin cotton of her pajamas, and hauled her sweet curves against his body with a grunt.
Mia opened to him eagerly, her tongue dancing wildly in his mouth. Jordan was lost to the sensations of Mia surrounding him, her smell washed over him—sweet cherries, something in her shower wash, and something musky, purely female—a thick rope of lust tugging at his groin.
Without warning, she broke away from him with a whimper, her ragged breaths fanning across his face. Tequila and toothpaste.
“What?” he gasped at her.
“You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?” Mia flashed a sexy smile at him as she took a step back, waggling her eyebrows. How did she have the presence of mind to do that? Jordan was a pile of horny goo.
Jordan groaned and swiped at the back of his neck. “Well, yeah, I sort of hoped so.”
Okay, Mia was under no illusions this was about anything except sex for Jordan, and she was of the same mind but still reluctant to just jump into it with him. Aside from some lingering looks at various parts of her body or a few smirks and lewd comments, which she reciprocated, he hadn’t given her any indication he was attracted to her—until now. But she’d never in her wildest dreams thought things would get to this point so quickly. And it was a little fast, even though she’d known him for weeks.
But as he stood there, three feet away, looking her up and down with a finger rubbing thoughtfully across that bottom lip she’d just sucked into her mouth, she wanted to rip off her clothes and jump into his arms. Or run screaming out of the room, totally terrified. Because there was no doubt in her mind that two hours between the sheets with this guy would ruin her for other men.
Absently grabbing the bottle of tequila, Mia took a swig while she thought frantically. She’d just cock-blocked a sex god, who could easily go elsewhere for what he wanted.
“Just because I’m okay with this being about sex, doesn’t mean I’m easy.” And that was the truth. She didn’t want flowers and chocolates, but she wasn’t ready to just give it up after one shot of tequila.
Mia watched Jordan struggle for a minute, and it was almost enough to make her laugh. His facial expressions morphed from frustration, to disbelief, to resignation, while his eyes quickly crawled all over her, over and over, weighing his options.
“Okay, what do you need?” A capitulation. That was nice. He was going to work with her. “Please don’t tell me you just want to talk. We’ve been talking for weeks.” The desperate expression on his face was hilarious, and Mia laughed at him.
“No, I don’t need talking. But some foreplay would be nice. Let’s build up the anticipation.” Mia was playing with fire, and she knew it. She wanted him badly but wouldn’t be a warm hole for him to stick his dick in. She was going to get something out of the experience, too. She’d never had an orgasm with a man before and was determined to change things with Jordan. If she was going to have sex with this Adonis, she was going to be treated like Aphrodite. “Maybe a couple of days of this before we actually bump uglies.”
His bark of laughter released some of the tension
in the room. When Jordan reached for the bottle of tequila she’d been sucking on, Mia relinquished it, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he turned it up and swallowed.
Lowering the bottle, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving her, while his beautiful lips curved into a smirk with an edge of danger in it.
“You want to play that way? I can do that.” Jordan adjusted a sizeable bulge in his jeans, pointing it upward, and Mia was under no illusions he was horny, probably painfully so. A pang of regret struck her. Why was she just prolonging this? Why not give in to what he wanted? It was just sex, after all.
Because she wanted it to be good sex, not just fucking and leaving. She wanted something out of it. An orgasm would be great. Something to make it all worthwhile. Steeling herself, she stood in front of Jordan, who obviously had something on his mind.
When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse and nearly dropped her to her knees. It was liquid sex, pouring over her, pooling in her panties.
“Lose the shirt, Mia.” He grabbed the salt and limes and stalked toward her.
Oh, shit.
This gym is such a fucking joke. Jordan’s mood was not improved by his encounter with Mia last night. They’d played a game of body shot wars, and as far as he was concerned, she had conquered. It was nothing but a big fucking tease. He’d done body shots off her tits, her thigh, her ass—seen most of her naked—but still didn’t get sex out of the deal.
He’d been into it, Jordan was beyond lying to himself. But when it was all said and done, he’d kissed her on the forehead, said goodnight, and stumbled across the hall to his own apartment to rub one off.
Mia was just as worked up as he’d been. They’d both been down to their underwear but absolutely nothing had happened, beyond a lot of licking and some serious groaning and moaning. That woman was torture, pure and simple.
He’d liked it, though—seeing how far he could take things, testing his limits of control, making her absolutely fucking crazy. It wasn’t something he’d done before. With other women, he’d had a little bit of foreplay and then gotten down to business. This whole ‘drawing out the foreplay’ was crazy, but it only made him want more.
And it would be better for the anticipation of it. He knew this.
Clanging of weights pounded at his head, reawakening the dull throb he’d woken up with. Joining in, Jordan sat astride a bench and lifted some hand weights, silently. He would never admit to anyone how much it still hurt to curl his left hand around the grip and lift it. He only gritted his teeth through the pain.
“Quinten, your protection detail starts tomorrow, when the Saudi royalty gets in.” Yeah, the boss’s brother gets all the good shit. Jordan could do a protection detail. That’s the sort of thing that would utilize his qualifications. As it had been explained to him, though, Pierce Securities was sub-contracted on this job, and they wanted to put their best guy in for it, to look good while they built up their reputation. To Jordan, it sounded like playing favorites.
“Jordan, did you get the photos?” Simon asked him.
“Yeah. I emailed them to you before I came in here.” Jordan sounded sullen but didn’t really care much. This was total bullshit. He’d been rejected from the military for a bogus injury, and now he got the shit jobs at the firm.
“I’ll go check. It’ll be nice to have that case wrapped up and billed.” Simon swiped a towel across his neck and tossed it into the hamper before leaving the gym. That left Jordan, Evan, Ryan, and Zack in the gym.
“Dude, that attitude won’t get you any favors,” Evan grunted out through his reps on the chin bar.
“Yeah, well, you said this was a good job, fucktard. I’ve spent a month alternating between sitting in an office filling out paperwork and sitting in a car watching assholes.” He paused, then flapped his triceps with one hand for effect. “I’m getting jiggly.”
Ryan was benching, letting the blind guy spot him—the blind guy who got better jobs than Jordan. Ryan sat up and looked squarely at Jordan. “Sarge is weird sometimes, especially about the reputation of the firm. Just give him some time, he’s a good guy. But Evan’s right. He won’t give you anything until you prove yourself. And if you prove yourself to be a dick, he’s liable to keep giving you the shit jobs.”
“I have proven myself! That’s the point.” Jordan had served his country for eight years, six of those in Special Ops, before he’d busted up his hand in the Middle East. He’d saved countless lives before he’d been benched. He was way overqualified for this picture-taking bullshit.
“Jordan!” Simon bellowed from his office down the hall. Gritting his teeth together so hard his jaw hurt, Jordan got up and went to figure out what the hell he wanted.
“Yes, Sir?” Knocking at the doorframe, Jordan went in and sat across the massive desk from his boss, who looked incongruous sitting in his leather seat wearing gym clothes and a dark expression.
He turned the monitor toward him. “Are these good pictures? Would you accuse your husband of cheating on you if this was your evidence?” Simon’s face was etched with barely-restrained anger, ready to blow.
Looking at the pictures, Jordan shrugged. He could see the clothes, but admittedly, they were shitty pictures. Feeling a bit sheepish for his arrogance not thirty seconds ago, he muttered, “No, Sir. I wouldn’t.” He’d cut the fucking heads off. You couldn’t tell shit from the pictures.
Simon laced his fingers behind his head, and leaning back in his chair, his face softened. “I know you don’t want to be doing this, but I can’t give you another job until you finish this one satisfactorily. You’ve got to get this picture for this client first. She wants undeniable proof. It’s a legal thing, you must understand.”
“Yes, Sir. I understand.” He understood he was stuck for at least another week. Fuck.
“In the meantime, I need you to help Ryan with this one.” Tossing a file across his desk to Jordan, Simon sat up in his chair with a squeak. “Now, get the hell out of here.”
“Yes, Sir.” Jordan grabbed the file and went into the office he shared with Ryan. At his desk shoved in a corner, he glanced through the file, feeling his excitement build. This was closer to what he wanted.
It was a missing girl, whose father had hired Pierce Securities. He was working with Ryan on this one, which was fine. Ryan was cool. The police had run into a whole bunch of nothing, and the case had come to a stand-still.
The girl, Misty Walker, was taken from her apartment—a lousy one like his own—in the middle of the night two weeks ago. Her door had been forced open, and there were signs of a struggle, but the assailant had worn gloves. No prints. No blood. It happened on a Friday night, so the neighbors hadn’t heard anything unusual or they were all passed out. That was all the cops had.
It was Jordan’s and Ryan’s now. As far as he was concerned, he had a week before he had to go watch the asshole outside his motel again on Wednesday, so Jordan had until then to find Misty.
He would do this. He would prove himself.
Mia woke up to an annoying buzz in her ear and the worst case of cotton mouth she’d ever had. She tried to swallow, but her tongue had gained twenty pounds overnight, and the bile rising in the back of her throat tasted like limes. Bring on the memory of Jordan’s tongue.
And his hands.
And the heat in his eyes as they’d teased each other into oblivion.
The buzzing of her phone brought her back to the present with a groan. It was a good thing her phone was by her ear; she had to go to work in two hours, and all she wanted to do was ignore this call and go back to sleep.
But when she looked at the number, she knew she needed to wake up.
“Hey, Mom,” she gritted out as she swung her legs over the side of her bed.
“Did you work late last night?”
“Double.” Her mom didn’t need to know about all the drinking she’d done afterward. “How’s Rose?” Her sister was fifteen and the reason Mia worked so much. She di
dn’t need double shifts to afford this hell hole of a room. She needed them so her sister could come live with her instead of all the hovels of the world. A summer in a third world country to see how the other half lived was one thing, living there so her mom could get laid was another.
Her mother sighed—a long, drawn out, put-upon sigh. “She’s miserable here. I just don’t know what to do.” Well, Mia’s answer was obvious, but she didn’t say anything to her mom. They’d already had that fight.
“Where’s here? Where are you now?”
“Haiti. Paul wanted to see if we could help the earthquake victims.”
Mia didn’t think Haiti was the place for Rose. It was fine if her mother wanted to go follow another man around the world to help the world’s downtrodden, but for her to drag Rose around with her was unconscionable. She wasn’t even in school. Diane was ‘homeschooling’ her, but Mia knew as much as anyone Diane was not the best person to handle a child’s education. She hadn’t even been available enough for Mia to make sure she went to school, much less teach a child what she needed to know for an adequate education.
So Mia was trying to bring Rose home to live with her. She almost had enough money saved up for a bigger apartment and was trying not to think about all the other expenses involved with taking care of her sister. Her only saving thought was her mother wouldn’t be in Haiti long. Soon enough, they’d be on the road to someplace else, or Diane would be finished with this man.
Mia’s mom was a serial bride. That’s what Mia called her. She had been married seven times. When the last husband hadn’t worked out, Diane had turned to church, for some reason, and become ‘saved,’ whatever the hell that meant. She met a man who supposedly traveled the world, looking for ways to do God’s work, and Diane had been following him ever since, dragging Rose along beside her.
Mia had tried to stop it then, but Diane was insistent, and they’d fought. It wasn’t pretty, but it was done. Diane saw her error now that it was too late, and she seemed just as eager for Mia to take Rose as anybody.
