I wanted to touch him, all of him. My hands roamed his back and shoulders and arms, gliding over the hot, flexing muscles of his ass when he drove the thick bulge in his jeans against my aching pussy. I begged for more, whispering, asking him to please, please keep going. Take me higher. Touch me, lick me, taste me. Fuck me. Who was I? What was I saying? It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. I only knew that the only thing that made sense was what my body needed.
He unbuttoned my shorts without looking, still kissing his way over my body, everywhere, while I rolled my head back and forth and touched everything I could reach. I lifted my hips so he could slide them off, along with my panties, and seconds later his fingers found my wet heat.
“Yes!” I screamed, clawing at him as he pumped his thick fingers in and out of me. His thumb circled my clit and I thought I might die if he didn’t stop. I might die if he did.
My hips jerked wildly up, up, as I held his head tight to my breasts. He flicked his tongue over one, then the other. It was too much. Every impulse in my body was tuned toward the accomplishment of one goal.
“Yes! Brett!” I screamed it—a long, hoarse cry. Then I settled back against the mattress, my body trembling, as I gasped for air. I lowered my hips and sighed, quivering all over. I hoped he didn’t think I was too loud or too much of anything. Funny how even after something as earth-shattering as that, I could question myself.
But I didn’t have to. He smiled down at me once I was calm, and the pressure of his dick against my thigh hadn’t lessened even a little bit. He still wanted me—maybe more than he had before.
My hands traveled over his arms and shoulders, chest and abs as he revealed more of himself to me with every piece of clothing he took off and threw to the floor. He was perfect, all toned and muscled and strong. And all mine, at least for that night. I Finally, he slid out of his shorts and sprang free, twitching and straining. I closed my hand over him and he groaned, eyes closing. He was hot in my palm and hard, and I felt him twitch again when I stroked down, then up. Watching him, hearing him, was the sexiest thing I had never known.
“I need you. Now.” His eyes opened, locking onto mine as he growled, and I shivered in anticipation. I squeezed him gently, listening as he groaned again. Would he be too big for me? He was bigger than anybody I’d ever been with. And he said he couldn’t be gentle, too. As nervous as I felt while he unrolled a condom, I couldn’t help feeling delicious wicked.
He lowered himself over me, between my legs, and I rested my hands against his shoulders. I held my breath as he positioned himself against me, and the pressure of his thick head against my sensitive entrance sent shudders of pleasure through my body until my toes curled. He was so heavy and hard in my hand, I could only imagine how it would feel when he took me. And I wanted him to. I wanted him to take me as hard as he wanted, as deep, as fast.
All at once he pressed forward, burying himself in me with a deep, satisfied groan. I gasped, clenching all around him, surprise and pleasure mixing together. I cried out, shocked, as my body started to convulse around him while he stroked in and out, in and out, almost ignoring my orgasm. I screamed and twisted the sheets in my hands, pulling them free of the corners of the mattress.
“Yes, baby. More…more!” I closed my eyes and let him ride me, tightening the grip of my legs around his waist, holding him closer. His butt bounced up and down as he drove himself deeper with each thrust. I couldn’t stand it, it was all too much, it never stopped—the quivering, fluttering, wave after wave of bliss feeling never stopped. It was like getting hit by a wall of excruciatingly sweet pleasure.
He sat up on his calves and lifted my hips, still inside me. As he thrusted he pulled me to him, doubling the intensity with each stroke. I pressed my feet to the bed, one on either side of him and used the traction to ride him the way he rode me. I took from him the way he took from me, and we used each other for our pleasure as our grunts with each slamming of our bodies together got louder, louder, the longer we went. He hit me at just the right angle and filled me so completely that I thought I might lose my mind. How could I ever be with anybody else when he was so damn good?
The tightening started again, stronger than before. It built and built, getting bigger all the time, tighter, until my entire world consisted of the spot where our bodies joined and the fact that I was about to come again. When it happened, my voice broke from screaming his name. Just like he told me it would. All I could manage after a while were throaty croaks, but still, I said his name over and over.
His strokes changed, got faster, more erratic. He was ready to let go. I could only brace myself for what was coming as he went faster, like a jackhammer, in and out in a frenzied blur. “Ohhhh…fuck….” Then he threw his head back with a roar and shook all over as he found his release. I watched, awed, as he let out his breath in a satisfied sigh before withdrawing, then falling onto his side next to me.
It felt like I had just been smacked by a freight train. Every muscle ached, but it was a good ache—a warm, pulsing, comfortable ache. I was wrung out, body and soul. I could hardly believe we had done it. And it was so, so good.
“You okay?” he panted. His skin glistened with sweat even in the faint light from the hall streaming into the room. Otherwise, there was no moonlight outside the window—because there was no window.
“I’m more than okay,” I whispered. “I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he whispered with a chuckle.
“That’s how I meant it.” I rolled onto my side, facing him, and stared at his perfect body, his perfect face. Perfect everything. I wanted to hold that moment forever, to freeze it in place so it would never change. I wanted to always be there with him, smiling, feeling better than I knew I could feel. I wanted him to be smiling at me the way he was, even with his eyes closed. He was still smiling. I had still pleased him. And he had shown me a whole new world.
I just wished it didn’t have to end, but I could almost hear a clock ticking somewhere, signaling the end of our time together. I only hoped he didn’t regret when we had just done, because I never would.
Chapter Twelve – Brett
“I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight,” she whispered. The bedroom was dark and she was in my arms. We whispered because it seemed like anything more than that would ruin something. A sort of delicate balance where neither of us knew exactly what had happened and what it meant.
“So I kept you up, instead.” My arm tightened around her.
She giggled softly. “What I meant was, now I’m exhausted. Congratulations, sir.”
I laughed. “Don’t think that doesn’t still appeal to my over-inflated male ego, because it totally does.” What man didn’t want to hear that he had exhausted the woman he was with? I had lost count of all the times she came. I only knew that she had a satisfied look on her face by the time we finished.
She pushed herself up on one elbow to look down at me. “If ever an ego deserved it, it’s yours. That was, to use an overused word, amazing.”
“Huh. Now that you mention it, it is a little overused, isn’t it? Like, everything’s amazing. People are amazing, things are amazing. Find another word. Stop being lazy.”
“I know. It’s like we’ve dumbed down to the point where we can only think of one word to use as a superlative.”
My eyes widened. “Wow. Check you out with the big SAT words.”
She was on a roll. “And while we’re at it, can we discuss girls who pose for pictures with their hand on their waist and their elbow out to the side? Like, what’s that supposed to be, anyway? I get it, you’re trying to look thinner, but when everybody does it, it’s just stupid. I can’t tell you how many events I’ve shot where every single woman put her hand on her waist before I took a picture.”
“Wow, we’ve hit a sore spot.”
“Don’t even get me started on girls who think it’s appropriate to take their shoes off halfway throug
h a party. It’s not my fault you went with a completely illogical pair of shoes, sweetie. Don’t make me look at your janky feet.”
“Janky feet?” I lost it at that. She laughed with me, and it turned into one of those things where we’d stop and think it was over, but then one or the other would start laughing and the whole thing would kick off again. By the time we really finished, my ribs hurt from laughing and from her leaning against me as she laughed.
“You’re tough,” I said when we both quieted down. “You have pretty high standards for people, don’t you?” Was she really that hard to please? I never thought of her that way until just then.
She snorted. “I guess it’s because I was never really popular. So I make fun of the things the popular girls do.”
“You? You weren’t popular?” I craned my neck to pull my head back and get a better look at her. Even in the darkness, she was a total knockout. “How did you not have guys banging down your door all day long? And the girls must have all wanted to be your friend, as beautiful as you are.”
“I had a very popular brother who tended to overshadow me,” she murmured, “although you’re very sweet.” With one hand, she absently traced patterns across my bare chest. “I faded into the background, trust me. I was never sure who really wanted to be my friend—did they only make friends with me to get close to him?”
“You’re sure that’s not just a little bit paranoid?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“No way. I can name maybe ten girls off the top of my head who asked before the end of the first time we ever hung out if they could come over and meet my brother. It was kinda pathetic.” I heard the sarcasm in her voice, and maybe a little bit of resentment. It wasn’t easy, being a kid when you felt like you didn’t fit in.
“It sounds pathetic. You’re right.”
“It was easier to keep to myself after a while. It sounds stupid as a grown-up, but back then it seemed like the only thing I could do. I couldn’t stand feeling like there was no real reason for people to be my friend.”
“How do you feel about yourself now?” I asked. Who was I, asking a woman about her feelings? Not like I was a dick, but I wasn’t one for hashing out emotions. There was something about her that made me want to know.
“I don’t know. I guess I don’t think about it very much. I’m too busy working.”
“Nothing wrong with work. I work a lot, too.”
“So you get it. Like, my work is my life.”
“My work is literally my life, most of the time.” I grinned. “Case in point. I spend nights with my clients and guard them during the day. I can’t tell you the last time I spent more than one night in my own bed. By the next night, I’m always somewhere else. That’s just the way it goes.”
“Do you do this with all your female clients?” she asked with a playful tone in her voice.
“No. But I don’t get a lot of female clients, anyway.” She smacked me with the flat of her hand and I laughed as I tried to fend her off. “I’m kidding. No, I’ve never slept with a girl client before.”
“I guess I’m honored or something.” I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
“A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t be so sarcastic. And if you keep rolling your eyes, they’ll freeze that way. That was one of my grandmother’s favorite lines.”
She snickered. “Whenever we had a party at my favorite aunt’s house, I would always beg to spend the night. I think my parents let me stay over once, or it was a pre-arranged thing. I don’t know, but it put the idea in my head. Anyway, I used to cry and cry and when it was winter, Dad would warn me that my tears would freeze into icicles.”
It should’ve seemed silly, talking about the sort of things we were talking about. I never would have with anybody else—it would’ve been childish and weird. And my pillow talk game didn’t usually get too far beyond “Was that good for you?”.
But with Molly, I laid there with her in my arms for at least a couple of hours. We talked about everything, the smallest things and the big things. What we wanted to do with our lives. What we liked to do on a Sunday afternoon. All the things in between.
Eventually, her head rested on my chest and she stopped asking questions. Her breathing went slow and steady. I stayed where I was and let her sleep. She deserved it. Still, it couldn’t last forever—I wanted to check in with the police and our surveillance team to see if they had an idea of who had tried to break in. No sooner did I slide out from underneath her and pulled my jeans halfway up my legs than my phone rang. I wished I could get away with turning it off and leaving it that way sometimes. Pax would go ballistic if I did. I was still buttoning my jeans as I hurried out of the room before Molly woke up. It was Ricardo’s office. I hoped he had good news for once—that would be the perfect way to end the night.
“Hey. What’s up? Did you find out who tried to break in?”
“Not yet—no fingerprints, nothing. But that’s not why I’m calling. We have a big problem.”
His voice was almost a bark. I had heard him sound like that before. One time, when we were protecting a woman from her abusive husband—he wanted to kill that bastard when he showed up at the house, looking for his punching bag. He wasn’t the only one.
So he pretty much wanted to kill somebody just then.
“What’s going on?” I asked. I took the phone with me into the living room so Molly wouldn’t have to hear what was happening. We had just had a great time—she deserved a little peace.
“Remember how I told you I was pretty confident the tech guys would be able to unlock that memory card?”
My pulse quickened. “They did it? That’s incredible!” So why did he sound so pissed off?
I found out fast. “There’s nothing on it, Brett.”
“Wait—what? How do you know? Maybe it really got destroyed. Like the files got wiped or something.” And just when I was so excited for her, too. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing was, it seemed.
“That’s not what I meant. There are plenty of pictures on the card, but none of them were taken the day of the murder. Hell, none of them were taken this year.”
My mind raced. No, that wasn’t possible. Unless…
“She switched them out,” he spat. “It’s the only explanation. Unless she didn’t really take pictures and only thought she did, or deleted the ones she took before she dropped the camera. So two out of the three of those theories have to do with her deliberately keeping the pictures from us.”
I couldn’t make it work out in my head—or maybe I just refused to let it make sense. Everything spun in circles around me until I felt dizzy. Did she do it on purpose? Didn’t she? What was she playing at? No, I couldn’t believe it. Not after the way she’d cried in my arms, not after the nightmare she had just the day before. “That makes no sense, though. She’s terrified of what she saw. She’s scared to death that somebody might find her.”
“Or maybe she’s terrified because of who she saw. Not what.”
And just like that, a ton of bricks fell on me. How had I not seen it before that? She kept asking why he would try to break in. Over and over. Not why somebody would, but why he would. Who was he?
There was no other argument to make. Ricardo was right, and I had been so wrong. How could I have let myself be so wrong? It was all there, right in front of me the entire time. But I had let myself miss it because I’d wanted to. I had set out telling myself I wouldn’t let her make a fool of me, but I had done it anyway. “I’m gonna talk to her right now.”
“You’d better. And when you do, tell her to stop pulling our fucking chain and wasting our fucking time on this case.” He was talking on his desk phone, which meant he could slam it down. And he did, right in my ear.
I put the phone down, my hand shaking with rage and the sharp sting of betrayal. I told myself this had nothing to do with my ego and it was nothing personal. She would’ve lied to anybody, and she had. She had lied to every single one of us, over an
d over. All the double talk she had used, all the excuses about how scared she was. That was her reason for not remembering what the shooter looked like, or so she’d said. What a crock of shit.
There was no way to explain why there were no pictures from the murder on the card that didn’t have to do with her withholding them. “That’s why she smashed the camera,” I whispered as my head sank into my hands. It was on purpose—hadn’t I asked myself how hard the thing must’ve hit the ground to get smashed up the way it did? I was so blind. It was all right there.
Everything we had just done, especially all the talking…it seemed so empty, knowing it was all based on a lie.
“Who was that?” The sound of her voice coming from the hall startled me, but I didn’t pick my head up. I just sat there, frozen in place. It was easier than looking at her just then.
“Ricardo.” I wanted to draw it out. I wanted her to realize I knew and I wanted her to be afraid. I wanted her to feel like shit, the way I felt like shit just then. I wanted her to hurt.
“What did he want?” No wonder she had been in the mood she was in. No wonder she wasn’t glad when I told her they got the card out of the camera. That was exactly what she hadn’t wanted, wasn’t it? She had counted on the card being permanently jammed inside. That was her ace in the hole. She could pretend to forget what she saw, and there was no evidence to back her up.
“What do you think? He wanted to tell me they found they pictures on the card.” I looked across the room, into her eyes. “How long did you think you were going to get away with it?”
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