by RC Boldt
I whisper back suspiciously, “How do you know I was thinking about having fun with you?’
“Because you licked your lips and eyed my cock.”
Oh. Well, then. “Good point.” I reach up to grasp his strong hand; he pulls me to my feet with a smirk. Ignoring him, I mutter to myself under my breath as I hurriedly wipe down and roll up my mat. “I swear, it’s like you sprinkled crack on your freaking penis. Makes me crazy.”
As soon as my mat is ready, he nods to the exit, a smug look on his face. “Ready to get your crack fix, Davis?”
I don’t even want to admit how fast I manage to exit the gym. All because of Foster Kavanaugh and his freaking magical cock.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Foster
Noelle feels so good, so snug, her pussy so slick around my cock. I didn’t even make it to the shower with her, had to have her as soon as we got inside her place and locked the door. I’ll probably feel bad about it later, but right now, I can’t feel bad about anything that feels this good.
Pushing into her, the way I have her lifted—propped—against the wall, my piercing is hitting her just right. The way her pussy tightens around me like a vise, making my balls ache, I feel the telltale tingling begin, telling me I’m close.
“Foster,” she gasps, her head thrown back against the door, eyes closed, those lips I can’t get enough of are parted. Moving a hand between us, my thumb goes to her clit, applying just enough pressure and circling. It doesn’t take but a moment before I hear her let out a harsh gasp before her body starts contracting, pulsing around my cock.
“Fuck.” My hands fly to grip her hips as I move in frantic, forceful thrusts through her release just as I reach my own. Coming with a low grunt, I give one final thrust and feel shivers run down my spine at the intensity of my orgasm.
My palms braced against the door with my body against hers, I realize, for the first time, I feel weak in the knees. That’s never happened before with any woman. Ever. Before I can give it a thought, she tips her head to look at me with a sated expression, and I feel a sense of pride run through me at the fact that I put that look on her face. With an internal laugh, I know if I voiced this, she’d call me a Neanderthal.
What’s even stranger is the fact that we’ve been doing this—whatever this is—for a while now and I haven’t had the least desire to end it. It’s like I can’t get enough of her and that’s scary as hell.
“Hey,” her voice is soft, gentle, her palm coming to rest along the side of my face. “You okay?”
Avoiding her gaze, I give a curt nod. “Yeah. Just feel like an ass about not letting you shower first.” Slowly untangling us, I set her back down on her feet. We both tug our pants back on.
“Oh. Sorry about that.” My eyes jerk up to find her looking at me apologetically. “I’m sure I smell awful.” Before she can step past me on her way down the hall, I snag her wrist, tugging her back to me, waiting for her eyes to meet mine again.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” I press a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m the one who had to have you against the door, after all.”
Her eyes dart away briefly, a flush rising on her cheeks. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”
I stand there, watching her in those little black yoga pants, the way her ass looks in them already making me hard all over again. Making me want to slide deep inside of her once again, to feel her inner walls contract around me and—
Oh, fuck. It hits me—what we just did.
“Noelle.” She stops dead in her tracks at my tone, cautiously, turning at the end of the hallway. Probably because I sound frantic as shit.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t—I fucked up and didn’t use a condom.” Running a hand over my face, I shake my head. “I’m clean, I promise. I’ve never not used one before. But I don’t want you to think I don’t respect you, that I did this—”
“Foster.” Her look is understanding, her voice calm, yet hushed. “I get it. And I’m on the pill and clean. It’s okay, but …” she pauses and glances away briefly before finishing, “we definitely don’t need to have a repeat of that ever again.”
At her words, I’m momentarily blinded by panic. “You don’t want a repeat of that? Like ever?” Shit. This is it? I really thought I’d end up having more time with her.
Staring at me for a beat, she speaks slowly. “I don’t want a repeat of the no-condom thing, Foster.” Spinning around, she calls out over her shoulder, “I’m going to jump in the shower. If you hurry up and join me, I’ll do that fun thing you like with my tongue,” singsonging the final word.
My breath whooshes out in relief. That was fucking close. I really thought I was going to have to put on a brave face and act like I was cool with things ending.
Wait, what the hell is wrong with me?
Hearing the shower turn on, I lean back against the door with my eyes closed, attempting to regain some sense about things—about myself. The waters are getting muddy with what Noelle and I are doing.
I’m feeling thrown off, like back in Survival Evasion Resistance Escape school—where we were dropped off, individually, in the middle of nowhere, and hunted by the “enemy.” It sucked balls but it was necessary; the point being to understand what it might resemble to end up somewhere, alone, and only reliant on yourself for survival in unfamiliar enemy territory. Right now, I’m navigating lands unknown, doing things I’ve never done before and I’ve got to figure out how to survive without getting my ass handed to me. Which means only one thing.
I need to end this now.
Walking toward the bathroom where I hear Noelle humming softly while she showers, something tightens in my chest. Pushing open the door to the bathroom, I step in and watch her through the glass shower door, the water running slickly down her curves. This is it. This is the last time I’ll see her like this.
The shower door slides open. I need to remember this—the way she looks, her lashes wet, hair against her scalp—so beautiful and perfect.
She crooks her finger at me with that sparkle of naughtiness in her blue eyes along with a mischievous grin and I make the firm choice right then.
I’ll need a little longer with her. Just a little longer.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Noelle
We’re lying on my couch, his hard, firm body beneath mine as I lie atop him, my head against his chest with the soothing sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear while we watch television. One of his arms is wrapped around me—not too tight, but just tight enough—and I really like this. If I could press record for any moments in my life, this would be one of them. The comforting way he holds me feels like it heads straight to my heart. When he presses his lips against my hair, it takes everything in my power to resist letting out what I know would be a long, girly sigh.
“I didn’t realize you were so adept at cuddling,” I remark quietly.
“I’ll have you know, I’m well-trained at cuddling. It’s taken me years to perfect this.”
“I’ll bet.”
He draws back in mock dismay. “You have complaints about my cuddling?”
Shaking my head, I murmur, “No. It’s pretty nice.” Then, I teasingly continue, “Could be addictive, Kavanaugh.”
“Then I’ll just have to be your supplier,” comes his husky reply. Wait a minute. Did he—? Oh, holy shit. He did.
Well, kind of. He kind of admitted he likes this, too. Enough to be my snuggling “supplier.”
“Don’t overthink it, Davis.”
His quick mind-reading comment makes me smile against his shirt, closing my eyes for a brief moment and just let myself imagine. Imagine what it would be like if this could be a constant in my life. If my life included some sense of normalcy, no crazy people popping up, a guy who actually cared for me and wasn’t opposed to being in a relationship. Imagine coming home from a crazy day at work to let out one of those tired sighs and curl up with Foster like this in front of the television. Simple. No frills.
&
nbsp; Perfect.
Swallowing tightly with regret at all the possibilities that couldn’t actually be, I turn my focus back to the show we’re watching. This is plenty. It’s good enough for me.
Right?
* * *
“Hey, Cottonmouth,” Foster calls out and I can barely refrain from rolling my eyes at his Kill Bill movie reference. “Where is the file with the renewal for the—”
“You mean the renewal for the Jacksonville International Airport?” I suggest sweetly. “You mean the one I laid on your desk not five minutes ago and told you—specifically—I was setting it there?”
His eyes narrow. “That’s enough lip from you.”
That’s not what you’ve said before. Especially not the other night, I think smugly to myself.
“You two kids need to be put in time-out?” Miller offers, amused.
“No,” Foster and I both answer in unison, our eyes darting over to stare at each other in surprise.
“Whatever,” Miller mumbles before rising from his desk while grabbing his keys. “I’m off, boss,” he says to Foster. “Probably won’t get finished with this site’s training until much later so I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’ve got to meet up with the head of security at the Port Authority in an hour, and then I’ll be heading down to assist Kane with the class he’s teaching on unarmed combative skills.”
“Roger that. See you two later.” Once Miller exits, the door falls closed behind him. With only me and Foster remaining, it feels like there’s an electrical charge in the room.
In an attempt to calm my out of control hormonal urges whenever I’m near Foster, I rise from my desk and walk over to enter the small conference room where we keep kitchen supplies, including the sacred coffee maker. I set down my empty coffee thermos on the small counter top to refill it, but before I can reach for the coffee pot, two firm hands suddenly grip my hips, pulling my ass back into an impressively hard cock.
My eyes fall closed, and I barely manage to stifle a moan as one hand drifts upward to graze over my breast, toying with my nipple while his lips find my bare neck, teeth grazing it and sending shivers through my body.
“I like it when you wear your hair up.” His voice is gravelly and low. “Makes it easy to do this.” His tongue darts out to taste my skin while he rocks his hardness into me. “What I wouldn’t give to lift up this skirt of yours and slide my cock inside you right here, right now.”
His words send a rush of arousal through me and I feel myself getting wetter. As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, I can’t withhold a moan at his next words, spoken softly against my neck. “You’re wet right now, aren’t you? If I slide my fingers inside your sweet pussy, you’d soak them, wouldn’t you?”
His hand slides down my body and beneath my skirt, skimming my underwear before slipping beneath it, two fingers diving right inside of me.
“Foster,” I gasp, already so close to release. The moment he slides a third finger inside, thrusting, his other hand still gripping my hip, I know I’m going to come. As wrong as this is, as much as we had made it a point to try and remain the same at work—to try and keep that line firmly drawn—it all goes up in flames.
When he commands in his hoarse tone, “Kiss me,” I turn my head, our lips meeting, feeling the prodding of his hard cock against my ass and I come apart. My moans are swallowed by his kiss, his tongue twining with mine, his fingers slowing their thrusting as my orgasm recedes.
Only to hear the door to the office open.
Frantically tugging my skirt back down and attempting to fix my appearance, I hear Miller call out, “Hey, I forgot my thumb drive that has my master copies on it in case they’d like any more.” There’s a brief pause. “You two getting coffee at the same time, huh?”
Shit. So much for trying to fly under the radar.
“Jafar here is arguing with me over needing more of the unbleached coffee filters.” I turn, my eyes flashing a warning at Foster as I step toward the door to exit the conference room. And I swear I hear Miller mumble, “Is that what you’re calling it these days?” before, “Gotta run. Leaving for real, this time.”
Laying my forehead against the doorframe, my eyes fall closed, shoulders sagging in relief. “That was way too close.” When Foster doesn’t respond, I add, “We shouldn’t have done that. Especially not here. If he would have come in seconds earlier…”
“He did.”
My head whips around to stare at him. “What?”
His lips press thin. “He did. He stepped back out and waited a moment before he came back in the office.”
“Oh, my God.” I cover my face with my hands. “I can’t ever show my face around him again.” Frantically, I throw out my arms to the sides. “Foster, we can’t do this here. I don’t want to be seen as the office floozy who’s sleeping with the boss!”
He closes the distance between us and takes my face in his hands, gazing deeply into my eyes. “No one thinks that—nor could they ever think that about you—Noelle. You’re not a floozy. You’re the furthest thing from a floozy. Miller knows that, trust me.”
“But he just—”
“Miller isn’t going to say a word to anyone. Aside from his wife, Tate, of course.” He pauses to dust a soft kiss on my lips. “It’s okay. I promise.”
I feel myself soften at the sincerity of his words. “No more finger shenanigans in the conference room, Kavanaugh,” I warn.
The grin he gives me is smug as hell. “Maybe not in the conference room…” With a quick kiss, he leaves the room to head to his desk.
Leaning my head against the doorframe, I close my eyes because one thing is certain. When it comes to Foster Kavanaugh, I’m screwed.
In more ways than one.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Foster
We’re holding an event in the karaoke bar section of Shenanigans to benefit the local charity foundation supporting wounded combat veterans and their transition to civilian life. There’s a large sign posted next to the karaoke DJ’s station, just as it read on the Facebook page where the event was announced:
Have some karaoke fun while supporting our combat veterans!
Sing your song of choice for $1.00 or five songs for $4.00
Spotlight someone else to sing your favorite song for $5.00 or have them sing five songs for $15.00
If you want to sit back and enjoy the night, buy yourself immunity for $25.00
I recently got involved with this foundation after being approached on the Naval base just barely over the Florida-Georgia border in Kings Bay, Georgia. One of the guys knew I was big on hiring former military for my security consulting firm and had asked if I’d be interested in getting involved. There was really no hesitation on my part and I knew my friends would want to be involved.
Timing this to coincide near the time my sister and her fellow coworkers’ are due to kick off their celebration of the school year ending was perfect. As my sister, Laney, and Zach arrive with a few others trailing behind them, my eyes scan for Noelle, deflating slightly when I don’t catch sight of her.
She’s still spooked from what happened earlier at the office and refused to let me pick her up tonight, saying it would seem too obvious. The entire time I was getting dressed to head over here, I thought of her and can’t deny it wasn’t as much fun getting ready by myself. It was far more fun when she was over, playfully hip-checking each other when we were brushing our teeth in the bathroom or I was shaving while she was putting on her makeup.
“Don’t look so thrilled to see me,” Laney draws me from my musings, her tone full of dry sarcasm.
I reach out and tug her into a hug. “Good to see you, Laney McBrainy.”
“Ugh.” She pushes away with a playful glare. “That nickname needs to die, already.”
Before I can respond, Lawson and Lee approach and, of course, Laws has a wide grin on his face. “Good to see you, Fos.” We shake hands and he makes a show of looking around the place before
his eyes come to rest on me again.
“Where’s your boo?”
“Oh, dear God,” Lee mutters, shoving Lawson’s shoulder playfully. “No fiancé of mine will say the word ‘boo.’
“What?” His face is a mask of innocence which is usually—actually, always—an indication of the opposite. “It’s a term of endearment. And I know for a fact that he has a boo. Right, Fos?”
I give my best death glare but the thing about Lawson? Nothing fazes this dude. He’s pretty much unflappable and I end up receiving a wider, shit-eating grin in return.
Before anything else can be said, I’m greeted by other guys I’ve gotten to know through the foundation. I don’t know them well, but they seem like pretty good guys—aside from one guy’s friend who’s tagging along. He comes off as a jackass. We’re chatting, just shooting the shit, when this particular guy stops and lets out a low whistle.
“I think I’ve found the person I’ll be singing to tonight,” he says. When I turn to see who he’s gawking at, my spine stiffens, fists clenching.
Noelle.
Damn it, the dress she’s wearing is unbelievable on her. Knee length, black, strapless with a narrow V-shaped cutout between her breasts, the dress flares slightly at the waist and ends just above her knees. Her blond hair is twisted up in a messy bun. She’s so breathtaking it makes my chest uncomfortably tight.
“She’s off-limits, guys.” My tone conveys my seriousness, leaving no room for arguments.
“Damn, man,” one of them grumbles. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
I don’t respond, unable to tear my eyes away from her, waiting for her to find me. Watching as her eyes scan the crowd, I wonder if she’s looking for Laney and the others, but when she waves at one of the others and continues to let her eyes drift over the crowd of people it becomes clear. My breath catches in my throat the moment her eyes find mine, and when she gives me that smile—that smile, the one reserved only for me—I’m faced with a fact I can no longer ignore.
