He slips two fingers inside me and I cry out. I’m panting. I’m writhing. He doesn’t slow his pace and pumps his fingers in rhythm with his tongue against my clit. The pressure of his mouth increases, as does the beating of my heart. I curl my fingers in his hair and rock my hips against him. He flicks his tongue one final time and I scream as my orgasm explodes inside me.
“Jesus!” I let go of his hair and grab the sheets for purchase. I thrash my head back and forth on the pillow, speaking gibberish, unable to make sense of anything as wave after wave of my climax holds me prisoner. And Ryan, the wicked, fast learner, won’t ease up on my clit. I arch my back and cry out over and over.
When, finally, my orgasm ebbs, I collapse to the bed, my bones gone, my blood now syrup. Sweet Jesus on roller skates. “Where,” I pant, “did you learn to do that?”
“I guess some things just come naturally.”
“No shit.” Like me, whenever he touches me. “Your turn.”
He stiffens. “For what?”
“I’m going to return the favor. Lay back.”
I’ve never seen a guy shake his head when being offered a blowjob. “Emma, I don’t know.”
“Trust me, Ryan. You’re going to like it.” I easily push him onto his back. The hard, swollen head of his cock is almost purple. I fist his erection and swipe my tongue over the tip. The taste of his salty pre-cum activates my saliva glands as I slowly sink his flesh between my lips.
He literally picks me up and centers my wet center over his mouth, my knees on either side of his head. “I’ll never get enough of you, Emma.” He licks at my juices. “You’re delicious.”
He laps at the fresh liquid his words draw from me. When he sucks my clit between his lips, I cry and suck on his flesh faster.
“Emma,” he groans. “Yes. Just like that. Oh, sweet Jesus. I’m going to come.”
He attacks my clit and I shatter, swallowing his cock as I scream. My soul leaves my body and floats above me as my orgasm consumes me. Ryan stiffens and erupts down my throat. I swallow and continue my assault as he refuses to slow his tongue. Only after I slow does he follow my pace, until we both collapse. I roll off him and face the ceiling.
I’ve never had two orgasms in the same session, let alone in a matter of minutes. Ryan clearly has the magic touch. He’s going to be very popular. I can’t help but hate that a little. I want to keep him all to myself.
“Did you swallow?” His tone is hesitant, like he doesn’t want the answer but can’t stop himself from asking.
“Spitting is for quitters.” I wipe my mouth and sit up to face him. “And this girl is no quitter. Now, we need to finish.”
He sits up as well. “Didn’t we just do that?”
“I’m talking about your transformation.” I force myself back into my damp clothes as Ryan slips into a pair of shorts. I hate that it’s so easy for guys to dress after sex. Women have to get back into our layers and even fix our hair and makeup. A guy has to slip into shorts. Stupid, sexist clothes.
He pulls me to him. “Can’t we take a shower first?”
“Are you seriously ready for another round?”
“You said we’d have to double up on my lessons.” He gives me a wink and I’m a goner. He’s already getting too good at this. How does the guy I met at the bar turn into the unbelievably sexy guy now staring at me like he wants to lick me again? I’m either one hell of a groomer, or he’s playing me.
And I’m not that good of a groomer.
27
[Ryan]
We thought it’d be fun to spend our one-week fake anniversary doing exactly what we did this time last week. And it was fun. It really, really was. This is the first time Emma has stayed over since last Thursday. We’ve done stuff this past week, a lot of great stuff, but she hasn’t slept over since our first night together.
I stare at the ceiling and wiggle my fingers to bring feeling back. She fell asleep curled against me, which is awesome. I love the feel of her body against mine, the feel of her warm breath tickling my chest, the absolute peace I feel holding her. It’s everything I’d ever imagined it’d be sleeping with someone. Actually sleeping.
It’s the part no one tells you about, like your arm falling asleep from the lack of circulation thanks to the position of her head. It’s the fact that, no matter how uncomfortable you are, you won’t move and risk disturbing her peaceful slumber. It’s also the lack of sleep because you just want to watch her.
I’m scared to close my eyes. If I do, I just might wake up from this dream and Emma won’t be by my side. It’s only been a week, but she’s quickly becoming more to me than a fake girlfriend. I wonder if she regrets coming home with me. She doesn’t act like she has any regrets. About me. About anything. She jumps in with both feet and never looks back. It’s one of the many things that drive me wild about her.
I sigh as I adjust my shoulder to loosen it up. She stirs, and I freeze. After muttering something incomprehensible, she rolls to her side, releasing my arm from its prison. Thank God. I ease up and turn to rest my feet on the floor. There’s no use attempting to get any sleep. I have to be at work in a couple hours and want to get in a run before I’m chained to a desk for the next six hours.
As I silently stumble through the dark in search of my running gear, I contemplate my situation. It was my choice to go into computer science as my degree. I shouldn’t already hate it when I still have another year after this one before I graduate. Then I’ll be chained to a desk eight hours a day instead of six—if I’m lucky enough to find a job right away.
Not for the first time, I question the reason I went with computer science instead of getting a business degree like my brother. And my father. And his father. I think about TREX and wonder how being a part of that agency may change everything. I hope it does. I didn’t realize how much I wanted something more than a computer engineering degree until I had that something more dangled in front of me.
I dress quickly and grab my shoes before leaving the room, silently closing the door behind me. If I stay in the room, I’m too tempted to strip and climb back into bed, pull her against me, and never leave.
As I pass by the kitchen island, I glance at the laptop and my heart stops. Shit. With Emma over, I forgot to log in last night and send the search results of my data retrieval to Bailey. I’m not even in the program one week and I’m already late on an assignment. I open the laptop and sit. This shouldn’t take long. I saved the results on the desktop for easy access.
Except they’re not there.
I dig through the folders. Maybe I saved the files somewhere else in my haste to finish before Emma came over. When my search comes up empty, I run a scan on the entire hard drive. Still nothing. Have I been hacked?
I eye the chat program that will put me into contact with TREX. I haven’t used it and wonder if opening it to find a few files would automatically disqualify me. I’m supposed to be IT. I’m not very good at my job if I can’t find a few misplaced files.
After spending another twenty minutes searching and failing to find the files, I finally open the chat and rest my fingers on the keys. What do I say? It’s not like I’m going to come out and admit to losing what may be classified information.
A new chat window pops up. Hello, Cadet Ryan. How can I help you?
Cadet Ryan. I grin. That’s kind of catchy. I need help locating yesterday’s data retrieval files.
I remoted into your machine last night to retrieve them.
“You did what?” I blow out a breath as my nerves tighten. It must be Bailey. Why’d you do that?
You missed a deadline.
Sorry. I debate telling her why and decide against it. It won’t happen again.
No, it won’t.
What’s that mean? I’ll be kicked out of an internship program I’m not even in? TREX will swoop in and take the super laptop from me? I don’t want any of that. It’s best if I just take it like a man and move on. What are my next orders?
I’ll be in touch once I analyze your results. Also, place the data retrievals in the encrypted folder as instructed. Do not save them to the desktop.
The chat window closes, leaving me blinking at a blank screen. I just got my ass chewed via chat for missing a deadline. TREX doesn’t allow for any missteps.
I still have time to get in a small run and leave the mod before there are any other distractions to stop me, like a beautiful, crazy redhead lying naked in my bed. The sun hasn’t yet risen, and I smile. I love running in the dark. Nothing but the streetlights to keep me company. It’s so peaceful.
Until Jason appears, falling into step next to me. He doesn’t say a word, just keeps pace. We’re two miles in before he turns to me. “Morning.”
“Where’s Jackson?”
“Probably still in bed. It’s o’dark thirty, dude.”
“Why’re you here, then?”
He grins. “Cuz you showed me up last weekend. I’m not about to let some rookie get the upper hand. Besides, as a rule, TREX agents don’t run alone.”
“That’s a rule?”
“A guideline,” he amends. “But you get up so damn early. Today is the first day I’ve been able to drag my ass out of bed early enough to run with you. Having you IM Bails this early helped. She kicked my ass out of the room to talk to you. Can you believe that? She said something about having to nip this in the bud. Any idea what bud she’s nipping?”
I don’t miss the jealous undertone in his question and want to put his suspicion to rest. “She reprimanded me for missing a deadline.”
“Dude, you haven’t even been in the program a week and you already missed a deadline? What the hell?”
“I had company.”
“I don’t care if you had the president over for cocktails. Agents don’t miss deadlines. If sideline agents can’t deliver timely intel, frontline agents go in without all the facts. That’s how agents get hurt. Or worse.”
Jesus. His ass-chewing is way worse than Bailey’s. I repeat what I told her. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t.”
“I already got this from Bailey. I don’t need it from you, too.”
“Look, I don’t mean to harp on this. Like, seriously. It’s what my brother Jeremy does. He just won’t let shit go. That’s not what this is. I’m trying to help you understand how important your role is in the big picture. Frontline agents may be the movers and shakers of the agency, but the sideline agents are the ones running the show.”
Jason surprises me at times. One minute he talks like a throwback from the 80s. The next, he’s giving me vocational advice—valuable advice, at that—that helps put things into perspective. “Do you have firsthand experience on that?”
“You bet your ass. I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
I lose feeling in my knees. “Really?”
“No.” He snickers and I’m ready to take him out at the ankles. “But it is classified.”
We run in silence for another half mile before I ask, “Does the running partner have to be TREX? Or can it be anyone?”
I think about Emma and how badly I want to get her running with me. She’s so out of shape. I mean, she’s got great shape, but she gets winded running from the sidewalk to the mod to avoid being hit with water balloons from the Deltas in the house. Brad put a hit out on us. If either of us are spotted in the yard, Deltas have orders to strike on sight.
Jason’s grin widened. “You really think you can get her running?”
“I, uh…”
“Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. Your girl isn’t a runner.”
I slow and look at him. “How do you know that?”
“It’s my job to know.”
This time I stop. “Is TREX keeping tabs on me?”
“Of course we are. Every rookie is under tight scrutiny the first year.” He keeps running. “See you tomorrow, dude.”
“What if I’m running with Emma?”
He laughs. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.” I really am. I’m going to get her running.
He turns and runs backward to regard me. “If I see you running with your girl, you won’t see me.” He laughs louder as he disappears into the darkness of the morning.
28
{Emma}
I run my fingers through my hair, debating whether to leave it down or pile it high on my head. It’s frizzing out after too many days of washing it with crappy shampoo. I really need to splurge for something better than what I find at the dollar store and make a mental note. Next paycheck will go toward making my hair a little more hair dye commercial and a less what it looks like right now.
We’re in for the night so I don’t care how I look. I have my makeup in my bag but decide, since Ryan has already seen me without it, I don’t need to put on my face for him. Besides, it’s not like I need to impress him. I love that I can just be myself around him. No need for makeup or nice clothes. I don’t have to try and come up with something witty to make up for the fact I’m not Britt.
Despite me wanting to do nothing more than veg in front of a TV with something alcoholic in my hand, we have too much work to do to even take a Friday night off. The DASH is a little over two weeks away. “How much money do you have?”
He throws a shirt over his head. I watch his abs until they disappear under the cover of the fabric, sad to see them go. I glance at the shirt and shake my head, vetoing his choice. He pulls it back off. “I’m a starving college student. What do you think?”
“Then we’ll have to make do with what we have before us. Let’s see what we’re up against.” I slide his closet door open to assess the damage and frown at the empty hangers. “Where are all your clothes?”
He nods at the floor. I’m shocked that’s everything he owns. I have more shoes than all of his shirts and pants combined.
“Do you have anything clean?”
“That’s all clean-ish.”
I rub my temples. It’s definitely time for a drink. My God, I feel like I’m turning into an alcoholic dealing with turning this guy into a tool. “Show me a T-shirt aside from the one you just had on.” He does, a white one that’s not so white anymore and has gross stains around the collar and in the pits. “Okay, that’s disgusting.”
“What? I wear it all the time.”
“Obviously. New rule. You aren’t allowed to wear white again. Like ever. Besides, it’s like three sizes too big.”
“I like baggy shirts.”
I knock the clothing out of his hands and thrust a darker shirt into them. “Put this on. Let me have a look.”
He lifts his arm to pull the shirt on and I bite my bottom lip at that magnificent torso. Sweet baby Jesus with a pillow, does this guy have a perfect body. If only he could walk around naked so the rest of the world paid witness to the power of his muscles. All his muscles.
Another wicked, brilliant idea plants itself into my brain. If we shrink his shirts to actually fit him and show off his God-like physique, we’d have a real winner. “Do you have a big pot?”
“I’m a bachelor. I don’t even have a regular-sized pot.”
“Then we buy one. Besides, we need some new jeans for you. I can’t do anything with high waters.” I throw out my vow to stay in for the night. It’s all for a higher purpose. We can’t waste even a single night of grooming. “Time to hit the mall.”
He gives me a look and shakes his head. “I don’t do the mall.”
“Don’t tell me you shop at, like, Target and Walmart.” When his ears turn red and he sets his jaw, I groan. “You go to those stores for TVs, not clothes. We’ll swing by one of them on the way home to buy a big pot.”
“Why do we need a pot?”
“To shrink your shirts.”
He drops his chin to examine the shirts on the floor. “What’s wrong with the size of my shirts?”
“They aren’t tight enough in the shoulders. You have great shoulders. Show
them off and you’ll get every girl on campus panting.” God knows his body has me panting, as well as what he can do with his body. Well, certain parts of his body.
“Every girl?”
I know better than to trust that wicked look glimmering in his eyes. “You already got this girl.”
“Then why would I want anyone else?” Ryan curls his lips into that lopsided grin that always makes me smile.
“Don’t make this weird.” I turn from him before he sees the truth in my eyes. I can barely breathe after his compliment and both love and hate my reaction to something as simple as a line. Yet, somehow, with Ryan, I know it’s more than that.
“Let me get my wallet.”
I pile my hair on top of my head and decide a little mascara goes a long way. I don’t have the energy to make myself any more presentable than that. As long as I don’t end up on that website that shows all the embarrassing images of the people who shop at Walmart, I’m good.
We double check to make sure the coast is clear before we leave the mod and hurry to the street. Since I don’t have a car, I have no choice but to climb aboard the Vespa and grab the extra helmet he brought. I’m not worried about helmet hair. I already look like a homeless person, and it shocks me I’m not racing back to my dorm to fix me before going out in public. I’m too excited to finish Ryan’s makeover, so I sacrifice my appearance for the greater good. I pull my hair out of the sports bun and plop the helmet down. “Let’s go, James Dean.”
It takes us all of ten minutes to get to the mall and pull into the parking lot. The nice thing about being on a scooter is the rock star parking. He locks the helmets to the bike and we head to the front entrance. I wrap my hair up and tie it back. He watches me and smiles when I catch him. I let out a breath and pretend it doesn’t excite me that I finally catch him gawking.
Reluctant Hero (TREX Rookies Book 1) Page 20
