Under the Rose

by Kathryn Nolan

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I did.”

  “I did too,” he admitted. “All the time.”

  Sam fell to the floor, face directly in front of my cunt. He reached forward and stilled my fingers, licking from my entrance, over my finger, teasing.

  “Sugar,” he groaned. “You smell like sugar and you taste like goddamn sugar.” He slapped my hand away and pinned my knees to the floor, opening me. The lightning crackled outside, making our naked bodies glow. The first swipe of his tongue through my folds was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. The sound he made—a guttural grunt, deep in his throat—had my back arching off the rug.

  “Freya,” he whispered against my clit, “tell me what you like.”

  “What I…what I like?”

  His mouth kissed along my inner thighs until they were shaking. Kiss. Bite. Kiss. Bite. Pleasure, pain. A deep inhale of my sex again. Glancing down between my legs, I could see his broad shoulders prying my legs open. The round, muscular globes of his perfect ass.

  And his perfect face, staring at me.

  “Tell me.”

  “I need to be filled,” I said.

  He slid one finger inside, hooked upward.

  “Goddammit, yes,” I sighed, head falling back momentarily.

  “Look at me.”

  I snapped back up.

  “More?” he asked.

  I nodded. He added another finger. I bit my lip, telegraphed my need.

  He added a third finger.

  Sweet fuck, it felt good being filled like that. His slick digits moved easily as his tongue kept gliding up and down my inner thighs.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. His fingers were moving seamlessly, igniting a fire. “No one’s ever…I’ve never come this way.”

  Sam’s eyes closed briefly. He dipped his head back down and pressed a wet kiss to my clit. My hips surged off the floor. “I’m going to make you come with my mouth,” he said.

  “What if I can’t?”

  He licked my clit in slow, even strokes like he was enjoying the tip of an ice cream cone. The bolt of pleasure made me actually scream.

  His grin was dark and devious. “I don’t think that will be a problem,” he said. And then his mouth descended, and I was lost. It was true—I’d had plenty of boyfriends, and plenty of sex, but none of them had been able to make me come through oral sex. Until this moment I hadn’t known why.

  It was that they hadn’t been Sam Byrne, who went for my clit like he went after everything—with precision and motivation to succeed. Who knew a tongue could move like that? Fast and slow…even, then rapid…in circles and up and down. Sweet, filthy—all while maintaining the perfect rhythm of his fingers. I reached down and grabbed his hair, riding his tongue, and that seemed to turn him on like crazy. I could see his hips, rocking against the floor, like he needed to seek his own release as he was making me come. His gaze locked on mine as his lips latched onto my clit and sucked.

  “Oh,” I gasped, surprised. “Oh…oh, oh, yes, I think…”

  He sucked rhythmically, increasing the pressure, and finger-fucked me fast. Faster. I was yanking his hair out, head back, spine curved. His lips let go of my clit. His tongue flattened against it, swirling in rapid circles, and my orgasm burst forth like radiant light. I wailed, shook, screamed as euphoric sensation lit me up with a surge of pleasure. I crashed down hard, plummeting back to reality, arms and legs splayed on the floor as I panted.

  And when I opened my eyes, it was Sam’s face peering down at me with more vulnerability than I could handle. He brushed my hair from my eyes with his careful fingers. And his mouth met mine in a kiss made of sighs. His thumbs swiped across my cheekbones, body lowering onto mine. And it felt delicious—his bare skin on my bare skin, the glorious weight of his hips pressing between my spread legs, his hands cupping my face. We weren’t moving, just frozen like that, drinking each other in. His back muscles flexed beneath my wandering fingers—so hard, like they’d been carved from stone. When they reached his ass, I gripped him hard and felt him thrust his cock over my still-sensitive clit in response.

  “I retract my statement,” I said, laughing a little as he kissed my neck. He slid against my clit again, and I bit my lip. So good already—how was that possible? “You’re the best at everything, and I’m not even mad about it.”

  His teeth coasted along my jawline. “Don’t doubt your ability to accomplish anything you set your mind to.”

  I hummed a little, delighted.

  “Especially with my head between your legs,” he growled, teeth nipping. He gave me a harder rock of cock-against-clit. “And you should know my new mission in life is to have my tongue on you whenever you demand.”

  “This takes arguing with you to a whole new level,” I said, a little delirious from the thrusting. I was gripping his perfect ass hard, meeting every stroke. We weren’t even fucking, but this tease was too damn amazing.

  His groan vibrated against my ear. “Imagine our sparring sessions,” he whispered. “I’d tap out every time. You’d only need to pin me to the floor and lower that delicious pussy onto my face.”

  “Jesus, Sam,” I panted. “Sam.” His hot mouth landed on my breasts, sucking one, then the other, fully into his mouth. “Then you admit I can take you to the floor?”

  His reaction was to hoist my legs high on his waist and pin my wrists to the floor. My partner knew everything I wanted—always. His lips teased mine.

  “I’d like to see you try, Evandale.”

  44

  Sam

  I’d said it on purpose.

  Freya knew I’d said it on purpose. And instead of resisting the competitive sides of our nature, I felt a shift between the two of us. An opening. And a hard shove from the beautiful naked woman beneath me.

  My back hit the rug, wrists wrenched overhead. Her smirk swam into view, cheeks flushed. I allowed myself an honest grin—which I’d spent years restraining whenever she was in my presence. But now, moments after experiencing the perfection of her cries of orgasm as my tongue licked her clit, how could I deny myself anything? I’d never deny myself unfettered joy ever, ever again.

  “Are you trying to best me?” I teased.

  Her eyebrow lifted. “I demand it.”

  “What?” I asked. I pushed against her hands, loosening her hold. Immediately gripped her slim hips.

  “Your tongue.”

  I yanked her up and over my mouth instantly. Inhaled the scent of her climax, her wet heat. She stared down at me beneath a veil of golden hair, and my light, fluttering tongue had her seizing above me.

  “I can just ask for this?” She sighed, head falling back.

  I licked inside of her sex, knowing she needed the pressure. Tongue-fucked her slowly as she rolled her hips above me. Languorous. Enjoying something she hadn’t known she could.

  “I would never deny you this, Freya,” I promised.

  “I want your cock.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before I’d flipped her again, onto her side. I dragged her right leg over my waist, curled my arm around her back, bringing us face to face. I was still compelled to take it slow, to fully earn her trust before the wild beast of my sexuality was unleashed on her.

  She kissed me, hands on my face, moaning and begging as I teased at her entrance. “Please,” she whispered. “Sam. Please.”

  I gripped her ass and fucked into her once—hitting deep. She bit my lip.

  “You feel good,” I grunted, thrusting again. She practically tore my hair out. “You like it like this?”

  “Like what?” she whispered, another tease.

  I pinned her back to the rug, her legs out wide, and gave her a series of short, brutal strokes that did nothing to satisfy my baser instincts. My hands held down her wrists, and she met me thrust for thrust, crying my name every time.

  “Harder,” she whimpered, and I just about lost my damn mind.

  I slipped her leg
over my shoulder, sliding deeper. Her freed hand came to my back, and she raked her fingernails down my spine.

  “You always push, don’t you?” I said.

  Another shove, and I was flipped back—being ridden by Freya with glorious speed. Propped onto my elbows, I thrust my hips up in time to her actions, allowing her to sink deeper every time she moved.

  “I always push because I love what it does to you,” she gasped.

  I sat up, yanking her hair back as she hissed. We were rocking together, legs around my waist, but the sounds we were making were far from romantic.

  “And what does it do to me?” I growled, biting the curve of her shoulder.

  “Snaps your control. Lets me see the real you.”

  My mouth was on hers a second later—needing to claim this woman who was my greatest challenger and my greatest vulnerability.

  “And who is that?” I whispered against her lips. I held her strong against my chest and stood up, dropping her on the closest table. Fucked her hard as the table legs rattled. She lay back, displaying her gorgeous body as I held her knees and fucked her fast and deep. In between baiting me she was crying, wailing, begging. I bent close, bit her jaw.

  “Who is that?” I asked again.

  “Tongue,” she panted, slapping her hands down. “Tongue, tongue, I need your tongue, Sam.”

  I didn’t need to be asked twice. I dropped to my knees and ate her pussy on her table, her legs pressed to my ears as her hips went wild beneath my mouth. Her climax was one long release of moaning and sighs. It was a beautiful privilege—but I was too greedy to stop at two. Before she’d even come down, I turned her around.

  “Palms on the table,” I whispered at her ear. She complied, and as I watched my cock slide back inside her wet sex—still clenching with ecstasy—I understood the depths of my love for this woman. This coupling was too intense not to mean every damn thing in the world to me. As I fucked Freya, I turned her face toward mine and kissed her breathless.

  “Who is that?” I asked softly, one last time.

  “You’re the man I love,” she replied. We were too overcome with sensation to do anything but kiss and gasp and fall headfirst into climax. My orgasm ripped up my spine, stole my breath, had me whispering her name over and over against her lips. Her final orgasm seemed to light up her face, and she was still shuddering as I held her back to my chest, arm wrapped around her breasts, face pressed to her hair.

  “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you. I love you.”

  Freya turned in my arms and wrapped herself around me. The smile that broke across her face felt like a thousand glittering stars in the sky—it was that brilliant.

  And then she laughed. “Being in love. Finally something the two of us can agree upon.”

  45

  Sam

  I woke up in paradise.

  I blinked one eye open, then the other. Two blankets covered my naked body where we’d fallen asleep, limbs entwined, on Freya’s couch. On the side table, Minerva perched on a stack of paperbacks, whiskers twitching. I stroked her neck, and she purred. Behind her, books were jammed into every available nook and cranny, tumbling out of the built-in shelves. Green leaves scratched against the window as the summer sun peeked through the clouds.

  “Good morning.” It was Freya’s sultry voice, extra-raspy from the early hour. She stood in the doorway, completely naked, holding two mugs of steaming tea. Her blond hair was snarled and wild, lips swollen, face a beam of fucking sunshine.

  “Come here,” I said, holding out the blankets. She giggled, deposited our mugs on the table, and curled up next to me.

  Would I ever get used to the sensation of our bare skin pressed together? With one hand, I pushed the mess of her hair out of her delighted face. Kissed her mouth. Kissed her cheek. Kissed her neck until she giggled. She arranged herself on my lap, dragging the blanket tightly around us.

  “Are you sore from our night of marathon sex, Agent Byrne?” she asked.

  “Never.” I smirked. But I was. In the best way possible. My body ached from the adrenaline, the tension, the fear. And it ached from the hours we’d spent bringing each other to orgasm again and again.

  “Liar.”

  “A little,” I admitted. She bit my ear and growled. Chuckling, I pulled her closer, smelling her hair. Taking in the new, beautiful details of Freya Evandale in the morning.

  Keeping our bodies close, she sat back, found her glasses, and placed them primly on her face. “Now I can see you.”

  “How do I look?”

  “Like an insufferable jackass.”

  I tickled my fingers along her ribcage. “You like my insufferable face.”

  “I do like it.” Biting her lip, she clasped her mug and sipped her tea quietly. Studying me with a look I very much recognized. “I love you, Sam.”

  It was so matter-of-fact, as if the words weren’t the most vital ones I’d ever heard in my life. All night, we’d gasped and panted those same three words to each other. But those moments were fraught and scorching-hot, and the words felt unabashedly simple.

  This—this quiet, domestic morning—felt even more intense. Even more real.

  “I love you, too,” I said, surprised at how easily they spilled from my mouth.

  “Happy to hear it.” Her smile was shy. “When are you leaving to go back to Virginia?”

  I rubbed a hand down my face, deflated by the reminder. I picked up my watch from the floor—I had an hour, max, before I needed to hit the road.

  I looked at the bespectacled goddess watching me.

  More like an hour to decide if I was hitting the road.

  “Should I go?” I asked.

  “That depends,” she said. “Do you want to tell me the truth of what happened before you came to Codex?” Her fingers found mine. She squeezed tight.

  “There isn’t much to say.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “You’re gonna push, aren’t you?” I flashed her a wry smile.

  “Wouldn’t you?” she countered.

  I stared at our entwined fingers. Noticed the corresponding sense of peace her touch evoked.

  “About a month ago, I was called to the Deputy Director’s office for an urgent meeting,” I said. “When I arrived, it wasn’t only my father, but several high-ranking agents from the Office of Professional Responsibility. They wanted to ask me questions about Gregory Lowell, who’d been my partner in the Art Theft department for three years.” The shock of seeing OPR agents was like stumbling into freezing-cold water. Blistering sensation, followed by numbness, and then…

  “There was an incident,” I said. She held my hand even tighter. “I was the incident, actually. The OPR agents informed me they’d opened an investigation into Gregory’s alleged misconduct. He was a veteran agent, had worked Art Theft for a decade, at least.” I cleared my throat. “He, uh…well, Gregory had this side-hustle he’d play. If we were planning on a suspect’s arrest, Gregory would sometimes tip off the suspect that we were on our way. We’d arrive, only to find that the suspect had fled. And Gregory would receive a payout from the suspect.”

  “How often did he do this?” she asked.

  “That’s what the investigation is currently looking into. We had a decent close rate, so he obviously didn’t run this game every time. He spread it out, made it hard to detect a pattern.”

  I was quiet, struggling to beat back the memory of my father’s white-hot fury.

  “I’m guessing your father thought differently,” she said gently.

  “You know how he is,” I muttered. “He thought I’d been too distracted and not doing my damn job. The OPR agents were opening an investigation into whether or not I was complicit in these crimes. I wasn’t, of course. And my father did believe me. But he also believed it was my fault Gregory had gotten away with it.”

  “Not Gregory’s fault?” Freya’s mouth twisted with anger.

  “We were partners,” I explained. “Other agents would ha
ve spotted his transgressions immediately.”

  “That sounds like some Andrew Byrne bullshit right there.” She slid even closer, brushing the hair from my forehead. “What did he expect you to do? Bug your partner’s phone? Tail him on the weekends?”

  “My father believes you should treat everyone in your life like a potential suspect.” I grimaced. “And it felt like a betrayal. It felt like—Jesus, it felt like every damn thing I’d ever worked for had been for nothing. My own partner didn’t even believe in the values of the Bureau. Didn’t believe in honor, in justice, didn’t see our roles as crucial to upholding law and order. Who knows how many criminals slipped through my fingers because my own fucking partner was scheming behind my back?”

  She didn’t respond. Just kept stroking my hair. Finally, she asked, “What was the incident, Sam?”

  “We were sitting at the table in my father’s office,” I said. “They told me about Gregory. Told me I was also being investigated. I stood up, kicked my chair away. Knocked over…” I swallowed. “I knocked over all these mugs of coffee, ruining the files I’d brought with me. Ruining their files. I couldn’t breathe. I left, ran back to my own office. Everyone was staring. Meanwhile I thought I was going to pass out. Thought the walls were going to slam together and kill me. I kept throwing papers around, shoving things off my desk. I broke my computer, cracked a window. I still don’t know why.”

  She pressed my hand between hers. Brought her lips down, kissed my fingers. “I think you had a panic attack.”

  “I think I did too,” I replied after a beat. “My father followed me, demanded I take time to fix myself. Said he’d figure out a place to hide me during the investigation. Didn’t want, well, he didn’t want me to bring more shame to our family. Wanted me out of the FBI’s spotlight.”