by Nikki Sloane
He drove us back to his studio, and I shouted over the motorcycle’s roar while he parked.
“I thought we’d go to your place.”
“We did.” He turned off the bike and removed his helmet, once again sweeping a hand over his long hair to put it back in place. “My apartment’s upstairs.”
I stared at the building. It looked two stories tall, but the gallery had vaulted ceilings. His apartment was . . . where?
It was like he could read my mind. “It’s in the back.”
He opened the door and ushered me inside the gallery, and the same assistant from before appeared. He gave me a curious smile. “Hello again.”
“Hi,” I said.
“We’re heading upstairs.” Silas nudged me, hurrying me along. “Do you mind, Andre?”
The black man shook his head and flashed a knowing smile. “Not to be disturbed, I guess?”
I grinned. “Unless you want to see his dick in my mouth.”
Andre made a horrible choking sound, like a laugh was jammed in his throat. Silas gripped my elbow and hauled me toward the back. “Fuck, you’re going to give Andre a stroke.”
“Yeah, right,” the assistant quipped as we went down the hallway.
The narrow passage was dark, and we went through a door into what had to be his studio. The large space was industrial and sectioned into various stations. There was a desk full with a computer and camera equipment, and on the other side a table covered with paint splatters. The rolling cart beside it had trays that held jars of paint, brushes, and all the other tools he needed.
“I like your labeling system,” I said. The white labels announced the contents. “Pencils and shit” or “Ink and shit.”
“What?” He clasped my wrist in his firm hand and continued to pull me along, not giving me time to examine the space adequately. He was a man on a mission, and I wasn’t about to argue. I liked his mission very much.
“Everything says and shit.” My voice teased. “It’s so organized.”
There was a tiny staircase on the side, and up we went, our feet shuffling on the creaking wooden risers. The steps were so narrow, he had to turn his shoulders to the side to fit.
When we came to the top, he released his hold of my wrist and strode across the room. The entire space was long, narrow, and low. From this spot, I could see all the way to the other end of the apartment. Kitchen, living area, unmade bed, and the door to what I assumed was the bathroom.
“Good God, how does a giant like you survive in this tiny apartment?” Crap, that was excessively rude. “That didn’t come out right.”
He laughed. “I’m betting it did. If no one’s mentioned it to you before, you’re direct.”
“I am, I’m sorry. Was the dick comment downstairs inappropriate?” I didn’t care what other people thought, but my brashness wasn’t fair to him. Who knew what kind of workplace relationship Silas had with his assistant?
His lips peeled back into a smile. “No, it was fine. You probably made Andre’s day.” His gaze turned up to the sloping ceiling, which had to be only inches from his head in some places. “I’m not up here much. I’m usually downstairs.”
The apartment was man-messy. A few dirty dishes were left in the sink, and opened mail piled on the table, but otherwise it was acceptable. The walls were decorated with some artwork, including a gorgeous picture of a tattoo. It was a lotus flower floating in a pond, surrounded by lily pads. The detail and depth was unbelievable; it was like he’d transferred a photograph directly onto the skin.
“You did that?” I pointed to the frame. When he nodded, I added, “It’s amazing.”
“Thanks.” He took his phone out of his pocket and set it on a speaker system.
Music played and softly filled the cozy space. “Setting the mood?”
He tapped a few times, adjusting the volume. “Something like that. I don’t like the quiet.”
So, he thought it was about to get quiet in this room. I licked my lips, anticipating what was coming. “We could just keep talking.”
He turned, setting the full effect of his stare on me. His expression was pure and carnal. “Not if we’re picking up where we left off.”
“Oh, right. That.” My tone was indifferent, as if I’d forgotten. Like I hadn’t been thinking about it every goddamn second since we left the shop. I knew if we didn’t start fucking in the next ten minutes, I wasn’t going to die, but I felt like I might.
He stalked forward, and I had to fight the instinct to take a defensive stance at his rapid approach. His shadow fell on me until he blocked all of the light, and his hands seized my face, drawing me into his brutal kiss.
His aggressive mouth moved against mine, demanding and serious. I didn’t think I had room for any more desire, but his kiss was another dose that rapidly flooded my senses. We stumbled together, lips locked, until my back was against a wall. My head thumped against it, but neither of us let up.
His hard body pressed into me, flattening me with his heat, and I hiked a leg, wrapping it behind his thigh so our bodies were tight together. The kiss deepened. It flared and burned hotter as one of his hands was on my ass, fingers digging in. The other was on my waist, pinning me in place.
He swallowed my moan when he bent his knees and thrust against me. This teasing with clothes on bullshit had to go. I both loved and hated it. He must have had the same thought. Silas put one palm flat on the wall by my head, and the other slid down the front of my jeans.
“Fuck, yes,” I whispered. I planted both feet back on the ground. My fingers were clumsy as I tore my snap open and unzipped, pushing the fly of my pants open wide so he could get in there.
“Shit, your mouth is hot as hell.”
“When it’s being direct?” I gazed up at him while his fingers burrowed deeper inside my panties. “Or when it’s sucking your cock?”
His hand shifted and the fingers stirred, touching me right on my clit. “Both.”
I clutched at his chest, digging into his solid form, and curled my hands into fists so I could yank him back to me using his t-shirt. I did it so hard, I heard threads ripping. Shit.
“Hope this shirt wasn’t one of your favorites.”
“It’s rapidly becoming that,” he whispered against my mouth.
Then he kissed me so hard my eyes slammed shut, and there was nothing to do but stand there and endure it. I didn’t like to be dominated, but trapped against the wall by this enormous, sexy man . . . wasn’t quite so bad.
When his kiss let up, his fingers buried inside my pants twitched. It was the tiniest of movements, but my whole body shuddered in response. My eyes flew open and I reeled, searching and finding him. I was dizzy with need, and shifted my hips, urging him to move his hand again.
But his thick fingers just sat there, pressed against my damp, aching pussy, not moving. I needed relief. I was desperate for someone to get me off besides myself. His eyes weren’t locked onto mine. His gaze seemed to be studying my mouth and the way I struggled for breath.
He stared at my lips like he wanted to devour them. The hunger in his expression was erotic. I swallowed dryly. The throbbing between my legs was reaching epic meltdown, and both of my hands locked on his wrist to force him to move.
“You like to be in charge?” His voice was low and seductive. “That’s too bad, Regan. So do I.”
In my frenzied state, I was slow. His hand withdrew from me, and before I could form the protest, he caught both of my wrists and shoved them up over my head, pinning them to the wall. His large, strong hands crossed my wrists, and he secured them both in the grip of one hand.
My breath caught. I could escape this hold easily. A knee to the groin, or a foot to his instep which he’d never see coming. There were also several pressure points I had access to that would render him immobile long enough for me to make my escape. But any of those would hurt him, and talk about overkill. My gut said if I wanted him to let me go, all I had to do was ask.
His silver
eyes were rimmed with a darker blue at the outer edge of his irises, and it was hauntingly beautiful. He watched me as his free hand caressed over my belly, and dipped beneath the edge of my panties once more.
Silas was slower this time, as if enjoying me like this. I bit down on my bottom lip to quiet the moan when his fingers found my clit again. I was so wet. What did he think about that? Did he enjoy how much he turned me on?
His knee was between my legs and he kicked my feet further apart so I was more open to his touch. A gasp surged inward at his aggression. Once again, I felt dizzy. Not sure if I liked this, but I was sure I didn’t want him to stop, either.
That fucking hand. It just remained, barely moving and teasing me until I was going to lose my goddamn mind. I flexed my hips, sliding on his fingers, and his perfect mouth bowed into an evil smile.
“Move,” I ordered through my teeth.
He leaned in until his lips were pressed to where my pulse raced on the side of my neck, his warm breath tickling me. “You move.”
Then he drew back and his gaze dropped down to his hand that disappeared inside my pants, as if waiting. I groaned and the sound was a mixture of frustration and excitement. With my arms restrained above my head, it was as if I wasn’t in control, but at the same time, I could move on him any way I wanted.
So I squirmed on his hand. I ground my pussy against his steady fingers. It felt so fucking dirty and hot. My heart thundered in my chest and blood roared in my ears so loudly I could barely hear the rock music that streamed from his radio. If it wasn’t playing, would the only sound in the room be my uneven, hurried breathing?
“I want your fingers inside me.” Thankfully, I kept the whine from my voice.
“Then get on them.”
Oh, the fucker wasn’t playing fair. When I shifted forward, his fingers went with me, staying on my clit like it was their fucking home. Once again I hiked my leg around his back, but this time I practically climbed him to get up on his fingers. His hold on my wrists tightened when I was successful and two of his fingers began to intrude.
“Oh,” I whimpered. “Fuck.”
He positioned his fingers directly in front of his massive bulge in his jeans, and when I began to ride them, it was like we were fucking with our clothes on. Another tease I both loved and hated.
“Do you know how hot this is?” he asked, his gaze mesmerized by my undulating hips. “Watching you fuck my hand?”
I couldn’t focus on that, only on the lust ripping me to shreds. Warmth and tingling grew from where his fingers were, but at this angle, I couldn’t take them as deep as I needed. I pushed against his hold, but he held my wrists. His bicep flexed to keep me in place. When my pace increased, Silas’s control on himself seemed to disintegrate, because he moved to match my tempo. The fingers pushed much further, harder, and deeper.
My head flung back and banged loudly against the wall as I cried out, “Yes.”
I clenched my fists. Pins and needles danced over my arms as the blood began to drain from them, but I allowed it. I was so close to satisfaction, it didn’t matter.
“You’re gonna come on this hand,” he ordered. “Then I’m going to lick my fingers and taste it.”
I convulsed and bucked in pleasure at his dirty mouth. Christ, when had I ever had someone talk like this to me?
“And then you’re going to put them in my mouth.”
His fingers drove hard, thrusting up into a spot so deep my knees shook. “Yeah? You want these fingers in your mouth?”
“I’d rather have your Magnum forty-four.”
He blinked. “My what?”
“Magnum . . .” I tried not to pant it. “Forty-four. Your cock’s too big to refer to as a small pistol.”
“Shit, you sound like my sister.”
What the fuck? I ceased moving and my muscles locked up.
Silas’s expression turned to horror. “Whoa. That came out all kinds of wrong. I meant you sound like a cop.”
Chapter
EIGHT
His fingers were still inside me, but he too had stopped moving. I struggled to recover. “Your sister’s a cop?”
“Yeah. Well, kind of. She’s a U.S. Marshal.”
He’d introduced himself earlier as Silas Getty. I blinked as I evaluated what this meant. I didn’t work with the U.S. Marshals much. I’d helped them with a case in July, but it’d been indirectly. I’d never spoken with her, but I always paid attention when another woman advanced. Even in this day and age, the authoritarian branches of government were still a boys’ club. So it had been big news when Caroline Getty had been promoted to Chief Deputy. I’d heard she was tough as nails, and I’d felt tremendous pride she’d gotten the role.
The woman in charge of the Chicago Marshals was Silas’s sister? I couldn’t imagine she’d like a Fed fucking around with her brother, and she’d be even less thrilled about me being undercover during it.
His fingers began to move, bringing me back to the situation until I was painfully aware. My mind fought against it, but my body screamed for release. I moaned when the heel of his palm ground against my clit, and sparks of pleasure shot from his touch.
“How,” he asked, “does a cop end up working at Joseph’s club? That place isn’t exactly on the up-and-up.”
I was already busy thinking of how to deescalate the situation and couldn’t follow his question. “What?”
“You talk like a cop. You act like a cop.” His hand continued to thrust into me. In, and out, at a pace the illogical side of me thought was so fucking good.
“I’m . . . an accountant.” This wasn’t a lie. I’d gotten my degree in accounting. “Not a cop. What do you mean I act like one?”
He was back to staring at my mouth again, the same lust glazing his eyes. “I grew up in a family of cops, so I notice the little things, same as you.”
He dipped his head down. His cheek was against mine, and he began to drag the sharp edges of his scruff across my skin, making his way toward my lips. I inhaled sharply at the sensation, but all that did was make him harder to resist. He smelled good, like soap and pine.
His voice was soft but confident. “Like how you evaluate the room. I bet you can tell me where all the exits are.” He kissed the corner of my mouth, pumping his fingers inside my panties. “It’s your eyes. They’re always moving.” I shuddered as an orgasm began to threaten. “You’ve got cop eyes.”
“I’m not a cop.” I turned my head away from his and buried it in my arm. It probably made me look guilty, but I didn’t like the idea of coming while he was studying me. I’d shown him enough vulnerability today.
It’s not like I could tell him the full truth. I’d sought Silas on Joseph’s recommendation. Even though Joseph didn’t run the club anymore, it’d take all of a second for my cover to be blown to shit.
I knew I should stop Silas, but my greedy body overruled it. Instead, I moved to match his strokes. I let my pussy bear down on his fingers, trying to pull him deeper inside. I wanted him to yank my pants down, shove his cock inside me, and take me to oblivion. Since I’d turned away, he took to kissing my neck. A line of goosebumps lifted in eager response. Hell, every part of me wanted to be closer to him.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whispered. Oh, how the tables had turned.
His fingers retreated, but only so he could focus them directly on my clit, manipulating it with skill. My legs trembled and his grip on my wrists became support, rather than restraint. I sank my teeth into the soft muscle of my own arm, trying to keep quiet. Struggling not to come. Because if I came, I’d feel obligated to return the favor, and I should end this before it was too late.
Yet I couldn’t form the words.
“You want me to stop?” He asked it, genuinely confused.
“This is a bad idea.”
“That’s not an answer.” His hand withdrew and settled on my hip, right where my jeans sat, his wet fingers brushing over my bare skin above. “Look at me.”
I turned my glare his direction. I was annoyed he’d stopped, annoyed with the situation . . . and so sexually frustrated I could barely breathe. His expression was serious, but no less attractive.
“I’m asking if you want me to stop.”
The correct answer was yes, but I went with the honest one instead. “No.”
He fisted one side of my jeans and tugged them down over a hipbone. I brought my legs closer together as he hurried to the other side to repeat the action until the top of my jeans and panties were pushed down below my ass. Out of his way so I was exposed to him.
I buckled and sagged into his hold when he touched me freely. His unhindered fingers stirred over the bundle of nerves that were throbbing and the orgasm got back on track. My eyelids fluttered shut.
“No,” he growled. “Those cop eyes stay open and on me.”
God, I was dripping wet between my legs and he took full advantage. His fat fingers spread it around, teasing and tormenting me.
“Silas,” I moaned.
His expression was powerful and commanding, and my mouth dropped wide open when three fingers speared inside, so hard I had to lift up onto my toes to stay positioned on them comfortably. Wait, that wasn’t the right word. There was nothing comfortable about it. Sexy, yes. Hot, fuck, yes. But comfortable? No.
He darted a glance down to watch my gyrating body moving on him, then his gaze returned to meet mine. Holy shit, he looked wild and animalistic, and so fucking gorgeous. The trembles in my legs swept upward, consuming all of my body, shaking the last of the air from my lungs.
Could he tell I was about to come? Was this why his expression warmed into a conquering smile? I jerked my wrists, trying to break them free. “I don’t want to—”
“Yes,” he urged, his grip increasing in retaliation. “Yes. I want to watch you come just like this.”
I gave up hope of escaping. My body was locked and loaded, safety off. He just needed to pull the trigger. Even my bottom lip was trembling now. Shit. It was wrong what I was doing, but I convinced myself I needed it. Didn’t I deserve it after sitting for the needle? As long as you don’t fuck him, it’s okay.
