by Amy Faye
His lips don't go near my womanhood. Right as I start to think I'll go crazy, he moves to the other leg, pressing his soft lips into my thigh, inside my knee, then tracing his way back up.
The cycle begins again, the building up. I don't know how long I can keep going like this. He's giving me too much, asking me to feel too much. I can't do it, not any more. Not if it's going to be like this.
And then, right when I think I'm about to lose it, he stops teasing me altogether. His mouth presses into me, his lips pulling my button into his mouth. He presses his tongue against my womanhood and gives it a swirl.
My entire body convulses with the pleasure, threatening to slip me further down the bar. I barely manage to hold myself up, but he's not done yet.
Where his tongue had swirled a moment ago, he replaces it with a finger, using his tongue to taste me in other places, in other ways.
His hands move lower, exploring the depths of my folds, invading my womanhood and probing. His tongue returns to exploring the hard, pleasurable nub at the top of my slit. Just as his tongue settles into a rhythm, the constant shocks of pleasure shooting through me like lightning bolts, his fingers find the right spot.
I let out a moan loud enough that anyone outside might have heard, and he seems to get the message. His hands move around in that spot, finding places to press that I didn't even realize existed. Finding new pleasures I hadn't known I could ever want until Ryan was already giving them to me.
My body goes tense, every fiber in me bunching up together at once, and then the world around me goes dark. I can't open my eyes any more, the pleasure is too much. My body's on autopilot, now.
I can feel my hands digging into Ryan's hair, pressing him into me more, as if there is more pleasure to be found if he just gets closer to the source. His tongue continues to explore, continues to shoot waves of pleasure through me. Pleasure my body has no more place to hold.
His fingers have found the right place, now, as well, and he's only moving enough to send me spiraling further out of control. My hands tighten in his hair, pulling and pushing.
My body knows it wants something, but it doesn't know how to get it. I want more. I try to get my hands to act the way I want them to, try to get my eyes to open. I get a brief glimpse of the bar around me, my eyes unable to focus, before my eyelids, too heavy to keep open, press shut again.
My hips, however, have none of the problems of my hands. They know exactly what they want, pressing in more, taking every ounce of pleasure I can get for as long as I can get it.
I can feel Ryan smile appreciatively into my pussy, lips and tongue and teeth all attacking my clit, drawing out pleasure long after I lost control of whatever the difference is between pleasure and pain.
I don't know how much longer I can keep going, and I certainly don't know how much longer I can stay standing. Still, somehow my weak knees manage to keep me upright, even if it's only barely. Even if it's only to keep the pleasure coming for another second longer.
Ryan seems to sense my distress and speeds up his ministrations. Orgasm after orgasm crashes into me, until I can't tell when one ends and the next begins. Perhaps they don't end, just building up, one orgasm on top of another in layers.
I can't move my body any more, except for my hips, which continue to move on their own, grinding in against Ryan's face. The man continues to lick and probe, supplying me with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of pleasure.
With a shout, my body finally gives out completely, leaving me barely able to hang on to the bar. My hips fall away, and with it, the magic stops for a moment. I force my eyes open. Ryan's arms are wrapped around me, and he's pulling me back to my unsteady feet.
For a moment I think I'm going to have time to catch my breath. Then he turns me around and leans me forward, pressing my weight onto the seat of a raised booth. My feet can almost reach the floor. I could move myself away, if I had to, but as I feel him line his hardness up with my waiting pussy, I don't think I want to.
Chapter Twenty
RYAN
I can't help myself, looking down at Maguire's body beneath me. I can feel the heat, where we're pressed together. The way that she trembles, I can feel the need that she's feeling, need reflected in my own hardness.
I put a hand down on her back, pressing her body into the seat, and rub the head of my cock up and down her wet pussy. I push inside slowly, her arousal slick enough that I don't find much resistance against my invading cock.
Maguire groans out her pleasure, a pleasure that threatens even after so little to overwhelm me. Her pussy pressed in against my unprotected cock clutches at every part of it, fighting to stop me from pulling back out.
The sensation is almost too much as I pull back. When I slam forward again into her waiting pussy, Maguire lets out a loud groan of pleasure. I can't help but join her.
"Oh, fuck," I groan, starting to settle into a rhythm. With each pull out, I feel her pussy trying to pull me back in, and with each thrust in I feel as if I'm already impossibly close to orgasm.
I take a grip of her hips and use them as a handle to push into her harder, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh starting to echo through the bar around us. I don't care, and as far as I can tell, Maguire doesn't care, either. Not that she seems like she's in any state to worry about anything.
She shudders with pleasure as I pound my cock into her again, my grip starting to slip where her body is slick with sweat from the heat of the room mixing with the heat of arousal.
I can feel myself hitting her deepest parts, her body giving up its pleasure to me. I don't need to be given, though. I take what I want, forcing myself into her again and again.
Maguire is moaning out her pleasure again, unable to contain her voice even for a moment, now. Her voice rises with each thrust, and her lamentations as I pull out are given voice almost as loudly.
I push into her again, some primal instinct driving me to take a fist-full of her hair and pull her head back. Her back arches away from the bench, but she still cries out in pleasure beneath me.
"Don't stop." The words can barely make it out of her mouth between her moans and her ragged breath, but I don't need to be told.
I move her leg, forcing it up onto the raised floor under the booth, opening her hips more for my movements between them. I didn't think it was possible to drive into her any deeper, but I find the space.
My body cries out with need, every thrust driving me closer and closer to orgasm, bringing me closer to the edge. I drive into her, each thrust seeming to take me deeper than the last, to mark her as mine so that nobody else will ever be able to have her.
A dangerous part of me likes that idea. Likes the idea that nobody after this will ever be able to measure up to me. I take my grip on her hips again and use it to thrust as hard as I can, forcing her body to remember my shape with the power of each thrust.
Her hips stopped moving, but I can still see her hands, ineffectually scrabbling for something to get a grip on, something that will give her some sort of control or context on her surroundings.
I reach down and take that hand in my own, pulling her shoulders back tight. She arches away from the cushion again, her hips pressing back against my invading cock now, a new dimension that I hadn't even considered or imagined.
I can feel her tightening down on me for what feels like the third or fourth time, and where I had thought that Maguire was out of energy and couldn't muster the strength to keep fucking the way we had been, she seemed to find something more.
Her body seemed to sense my approaching orgasm, and she seemed to know that any minute now, I would be letting loose an orgasm inside her waiting, fertile womb.
That thought drives me to thrust into her with renewed vigor, and her body seems to be matching my intensity, meeting each thrust with her hips pushing back, letting a loud 'slap' of flesh-on-flesh ring out every time I take her.
I can feel my body tensing, can feel myself losing the control that lets me keep
a steady rhythm. Need begins to overtake my control, forcing me to take each thrust as I can get it.
The rhythm breaks, and now I have nothing more than desire and the sensation that any moment I'll pass over the crest and finally fulfill the nagging need inside me.
One last push inside and my vision goes dark, my eyes forcing themselves shut as a powerful orgasm rips through my body, the two of us still joined as I cum hard, one long potent strand of cum after another shooting into her.
Maybe I shouldn't have done it. I don't care. My body starts to relax, the fire that had taken over my body starting to ebb away. I lean forward to press a kiss against the nape of Maguire's neck, laying still there for a moment before pulling out of her.
A drop of cum follows with me, spilling out and onto the floor, just something else I'm going to have to clean up when all this is over.
Maguire lays there for a long minute, panting and trying to catch her breath, before turning herself over in the bench.
"That was—"
I smile at her, lazily palming one of her breasts as it pools on her chest. A woman always looks her best on her back, like that. Something stirs deep inside me, a renewed interest that I haven't decided yet whether or not to refuse.
"Yes, it was," I agree. My thumb passes over her nipple, and it hardens immediately, already trained to follow my orders. Maguire's body is more honest than she is, at least.
"We shouldn't have done it, though."
"Shut up," I tell her, my voice lacking even the edge of a threat.
She shuts up, and I smile down at her. She smiles back, a rare moment of tranquility and acquiescence. Maguire doesn't make any move for her clothing, and neither do I.
Something inside me says that I should take her again. There's always the chance, the animal part of my brain tells me, that it didn't take. I shut it out.
I lean down again, still undecided about what I'll do next, except that I want to taste her nipples again. I pull the neglected nipple into my mouth and let my tongue trace a circle around it.
Maguire's hands start tracing their way through my hair again, lazily twirling rings around her fingers and idly pulling at it, letting me take things at my own pace.
I can feel myself growing hard again already. It's not something that I've generally had a problem with, not since high school. With this voluptuous beauty beneath me, though, I'm not sure that once will be enough. I take her nipple between my teeth and bite down, hard enough to force her to draw a breath.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, though neither of us can possibly be sure whether it's to encourage me or to try to stop me. She doesn't stop me, either way.
The phone ringing, on the other hand, does.
Chapter Twenty-One
MAGUIRE
I pick up the phone only an instant before my phone goes to voicemail, and part of me would rather not answer. "Maguire."
Donaldsen's voice on the other end growls. He sounds as if he hasn't slept, and I can't bring myself to feel bad about it. "Maguire? Give me a status update."
I look over my shoulder. Ryan's buckling his jeans, and when he looks up I put my finger over my lips. He gets the message. "Nothing to say, sir. We haven't been able to get in touch with our man in the field since a couple of nights ago."
I hope I sound convincing, and not just for Donaldsen's sake.
"That's not what Agent Ball had to say earlier. He said—"
"Danny's full of shit." I don't like throwing him under the bus, and I like cutting Donaldsen off less. I can hear the way he seethes at the interruption. He can't stand to be interrupted. I know that, and I usually let him go. I can't afford that luxury right now.
Donaldsen boils in a unique way. Most people, you can see it right on their faces. The ones you can't, and it's rare, you can hear it. But not Donaldsen, not the way you'd expect. His voice gets real sweet.
"Agent Maguire, what have you been doing with your day?"
"Sir, I've been out getting our man in. Just as you ordered."
I turn and watch Beauchamp, who's watching me talk. I suddenly realize exactly how naked I am, standing there. The odds that anyone might come in seem to be slim, but the fact that it could happen at any second suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks.
"What's taking you so long? Do you know where Beauchamp is, or don't you?"
"It's more complicated than that, sir. I'll have him—"
I try to communicate with Ryan as best I can without saying anything, without giving any sign away to the Inspector on the other end of the line.
"You said you already had him when we spoke this morning, Maguire."
"You don't understand, sir, I have to—"
"I'm sure that I don't Maguire. I'm not going to come down there unless I have to, and if I have to come down and get you, I'll be bringing the entire cavalry with me. You'll be riding a desk for the rest of your very pitiable career. Am I making myself sufficiently clear, here, Agent?"
I take a deep breath, let my eyes drift shut for a moment and try to get control of myself. I can't let him get to me. I can't afford that kind of attention.
"Yes, sir."
"Two days. If things are so complicated, get them wrapped up. You have two days, but if I don't have an invoice for plane tickets on my desk by Monday morning, then you're not going to like what happens next."
"Yes, sir." Part of me bristles at having to bow and scrape to him.
Another long look to Ryan. He raises his eyebrows, as if he's commiserating with me. I shrug.
"Get this mess cleaned up, Agent. And get your man back to Washington yesterday. Am I being sufficiently clear here?"
"Crystal clear, sir. I'm sorry for any confusion."
"Good. Be sure that everything stays crystal clear, Agent."
He must have clicked the phone off, because before I can hang up, the line goes dead in my ear. I set the phone down on the counter and start reaching for my clothes.
I don't hear Ryan come up behind me, but I feel it when he puts his powerful arms around my waist, turning me around and pulling my still-nude body in close to him. He looks serious, and for a moment I'm afraid that things are going to get ugly.
Instead he presses a kiss against my lips. It's almost surprising, the tenderness in the kiss.
"Everything alright, babe?"
"I can't discuss it," I tell him. Part of me wants to see if he can figure out some kind of solution to my little problem. Another part of me is fairly certain that he can't, and so I don't bother to ask him to try.
He presses another kiss against my lips, then starts tracing the line of my jaw. Part of me wants to let him continue. Even through the exhaustion, my body aches for more.
I push him away. "I can't. We've got to hurry now."
"So something is wrong, then."
"I've got until Monday morning."
"Monday morning? That's going to be a challenge."
I don't tell him that he doesn't know the half of it. I certainly don't tell him that the two-day limit isn't to get McCallister. It's to get him. I have to hope that if I turn up McCallister in that time, and get rid of Beauchamp, that my insubordination will be buried under my success.
It's a fragile and fleeting hope. I pull my trousers back up. I catch Beauchamp watching as the waist catches on my ass. I lean over a little to give him a show. It's the least I can do. Even still, I pull the pants up and button them, then reach down for my bra.
"Two days, then," he says, moving back to sit down on one of the bench-seats. "That's a damn fine time crunch."
I can excuse him repeating himself. People have been looking for McCallister for years. No pictures of him in the last three years. For all we know, he could be dead of throat cancer, or buried in an unmarked grave.
Finding the leader of the Crazy Horses is a job for a task force, and it's a job that takes years to do. I had hoped for months to get Beauchamp to turn him over. Now we have a handful of trusted people, and all of two days.
&nb
sp; Calling it a time crunch doesn't begin to describe what we're going to have to do. 'Impossible' is more appropriate. Nobody could do what I'm hoping for. But there's no other choice, because there's no way in hell that Donaldsen is going to give me the chance to prove myself.
I have to take what I want. Of all the reasons I've learned to hate Donaldsen, I have to thank him for teaching me that. If there's something I want, then I have to take it or I'm not going to get it.
I want to sit in his office, I want to sit in his chair, and I want to be the one who has interns kneeling between her knees, hoping for the chance at a fucking job.
I cut that thought off as quickly as I can. I don't have time to let myself get upset. I have to plan, and it has to be a good God damned plan. I finish buttoning my shirt and turn back toward the bar to grab my phone and slip it into my pocket.
"I'll call you tomorrow and let you know what the plan is."
"You don't have a plan, then?" Beauchamp's voice seems to imply something that I don't pick up on.
"I'd better have one, if we're hoping to get something done in two days."
"That's about right," Beauchamp agrees. I have to stop myself snapping at him. I don't.
"What's your fucking point?"
"Sit down, Agent Maguire. If I'm going to get my ass off the hook, then we need to plan, and you're not going to get anywhere sitting in a room full of cops."
I give him a long look and sit down on the other side of the booth.
Chapter Twenty-Two
RYAN
I swallow hard. I don't like anything about this plan, but my least favorite parts are all coming right at the beginning. Part of me would rather go back with her, get the prison time and be done with it.
At least in that case, I know the Feds won't just kill me right off. There's a certain amount of respect between criminals. A knowledge that the other guy is doing the same shit you're doing.
That tends to go out the window when you kill a half-dozen guys and blow up their truck.
