by Mel Gough
To distract herself, and move them on from the silly topic, she tugged on his shirt. Cute. Honestly. This wasn’t about being cute. This was about skin on skin, sweat and a tussle in the sheets. She had no plans for it to be anything else. Had she forgotten how to hook up casually? It was a possibility, it had been a while.
“Hey, wait.” He stilled her hands. “Easy, babe. We’ve got time.”
She forced down her impatience, but when he kissed her again she really went for it, pulling him close. He responded to that, his hand traveling down her back, and he kissed her harder, slipping fingers under her shirt. Goose bumps erupted as they made contact with her skin. Callouses covered the sides of his fingers. They scratched along her spine deliciously. Do all drummers get those?
Her annoyance with him for drawing this out melted away. He pressed against her, and she molded herself into the contours of his body, the fit as natural as if they’d done this a thousand times. Her belly flip-flopped.
His erection dug into her hip. She rolled her pelvis, and he groaned. “God,” he whispered against her mouth. She grinned, and did it again.
“The FBI teach seduction classes?” His breath came rapidly, his face and groin radiating heat.
“Not exactly.” Carrie tilted her hips the other way. “But we learn about all the things you can do with your body.”
He whirled her around and pushed her against the door. His kisses traveled down from her lips to her chin, her neck. He got busy with the buttons on her blouse. When his hands brushed her chest, calluses scraping ever so lightly over her belly, she shuddered.
“You like that?” His voice had taken on a husky quality, and something deep inside her awakened. She spread her legs and his knee slotted between them like it belonged there. Even barefoot, he was tall enough for his lower thigh to grind against her crotch. She leaned into it, rubbing herself on the muscular tautness. Another sound escaped her, this time definitely not a purr.
“Like this, huh?” He was panting, pressing against her hard enough to start a throbbing sensation. His breath was hot against her face.
She trailed his chest, stroking his abs through the thin T-shirt. His body felt as taut and muscular as it looked from a distance. Mirroring him, she reached around and pushed her hands under his shirt. The dip at the small of his back was warm. Touching his skin was electrifying.
“Let’s get rid of this.” He stepped back far enough to strip off his T-shirt. She gave a shudder at the sudden loss of contact. To speed up the process, she got the rest of her buttons open with fumbling fingers.
Before she could discard her jacket and top, he’d stepped close again. With a quick sweep, he pushed both off her shoulders. “Your skin glows,” he murmured.
There was a poet in him, apparently. Wonder if he writes any of the lyrics. Two could play that game. “Your muscles feel like steel.” She placed her hand on his chest. It was covered in soft hair the color of spun gold.
Now that her shirt was off, the protruding case of her hip holster couldn’t be ignored. He glanced at it. She undid the holster’s clip and took it off. The handcuffs attached behind the gun jingled. She half expected him to make a wisecrack about them, but he remained silent. Carrie looked around. The desk by the window, which was the same as in her room, had a lockable drawer. She went and slipped the holster inside. She turned the key and put it into her pocket.
“Better than nothing.” She turned around. He was still looking at the drawer. “Does it bother you?”
He chewed his lip, then shrugged. “A bit.” His face cleared. “Hey, it’s who you are. Don’t change nothing.” He motioned her close. “Where were we?”
She stepped into his arms and they kissed. With one hand she reached between their torsos, flicking his nipple. Her own daring surprised her, but she wanted him to not think of the gun. Leaning down, she closed her lips around the little nub. He exhaled sharply.
He tasted of musk and sweat, and smelled faintly of expensive aftershave. His hand carded through her hair, and she trailed her tongue around the nipple. Then she closed her teeth on it. He gasped, the hand in her hair tightening. She let go.
“That what you want, huh?” His face was flushed, his golden eyes a lightning bolt.
She pushed her lower body into him again “This is what I want.”
“We’ll get to it.” He stepped out of reach.
Carrie huffed. At first, she’d had wanted to move fast because she felt awkward. Now, she just really needed him to fuck her.
Instead, he returned his attention to her chest. With a lazy flick of one hand he opened her bra and discarded it with a move that was almost comical in its skillfulness. When he closed his hands over her breasts, his expression grew hungry. “You’re fucking perfect,” he breathed, brushing his fingers over both her areolas. He sighed. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”
“Is that so?” It wasn’t easy to keep the amusement from her voice. She leaned into his hands, and he tightened his grip.
“Yep.” He was matter of fact. “These are the one thing I miss when I fuck guys.”
Carrie’s smile slipped momentarily. So the entire band was less than straight. She regarded Corey with renewed interest. Did the three of them ever get it on with each other? The mental image filled her with a warm throbbing.
With intensified anticipation she stroked his chest. She was grateful that her breasts had stood the test of time. They were pert, rather than voluptuous like Susan’s. But then, her partner’s sex appeal was on a totally different level. Carrie’s had stayed in good shape, despite the pregnancy. One of the good things about having a baby early. And she liked it when guys fondled them. It had been too long.
And now she really needed Corey to pay attention to the rest.
Her fingers went to his fly, and this time he didn’t stop her. She unbuttoned his 501s and slipped her hand inside. That galvanized him into action. He let go of her breasts, but she didn’t have time to mourn the loss. The next moment, he’d unzipped her and his hands were cupping her ass inside her panties.
They stood for a moment, pressed close together, her hand wedged between them. His silken length in her fingers throbbed. A small tattoo had become visible just below the waistline of his boxers. It was a tiny cartoon man with a surfboard. Carrie stroked it with her thumb. “Just the one?”
“Yeah. I was young and stupid. I’m not into them as much as I should be.” He grinned. “Don’t report me to the rock-and-roll police.”
“Not my department.” She slipped her hand around and cupped his ass. “Enough chit chat now, let’s get to it.”
They both moved at once, stripping off pants and underwear, keen to minimize the time until skin could reunite with skin. His dick sprang free, long and hard, bobbing before him as he moved close again. He pushed her backward across the room, which held a sofa and armchair as well as a king-size bed. Still, it was nothing like the suite that Lou and Jay shared.
“Why’d you get just a room, and they got that whole palace up there?” It wasn’t the best time for an interrogation, but the investigator in her rarely switched off.
He shrugged. “We usually hang out there.” He grinned. “Believe it or not, but you’re the first overnight guest I’ve had since we got to Austin.”
Carrie bit back more questions, but the fact that he hadn’t taken any fans back to his room gave her a tingling feeling. A part of her preened at the thought. He might flirt with a lot of people, but it was her who had it made all the way.
They got to the bed, and Carrie grabbed Corey by the bicep and pulled him on top of her. She needed to feel his weight. For a minute or two, he was happy to oblige, kissing her deeply, stroking her and playing with her nipples. His dick in her hand grew harder and hotter, the head soon sticky with precome.
Then he scooted down, spreading her knees as he went. Her belly clenched. She’d never allowed a man she’d just met to do this to her. She didn’t want him to stop, though. If he was as good
at this as he was with everything else, she was in for a treat.
He seemed to sense her hesitation. Sitting back on his haunches he gave her an inquisitive look. His dick lay against his thigh, and Carrie couldn’t help admire the length. It almost reached the halfway point to his knee. She fought the urge to sit and touch the nest of ginger hair at its base.
“This okay?”
God, he was gorgeous. And he wanted to eat her out. After a moment, Carrie nodded.
Previous lovers who had had a go at this had been skilled to varying degrees. Unsurprisingly, Corey was magnificent. His tongue on her, then inside of her, was as versatile at this as it was at verbal seduction. As her arousal climbed to new heights, the small voice questioning her adventurousness was finally silenced. While his mouth was occupied below, his hands continued to roam her body, stroking her flank, then the soft flesh between ass and thigh, kneading, caressing and igniting her with a barrage of intense sensations.
After a while, Carrie looped her fingers through his short hair, panting. “Hey…uh. You better stop, or I’m gonna come.” It wasn’t the worst prospect, but she really wanted to see his face when she got there.
Corey surfaced, grinning from ear to ear. He scooted up the bed and leaned across her, rooting around in the bedside drawer. His dick lay heavy against Carrie’s leg, a pearl of precome glistening at its tip. Heat pooled rapidly in her groin.
He dropped a condom on the mattress by her side, then gathered some tissues from a box and wiped his mouth. A giggle rose in Carrie’s throat. “Did you watch Sex and the City, by any chance?”
“Hm?” He ripped the condom wrapper with his teeth.
“There’s an episode, Miranda has sex with this guy—” She stopped herself, coloring. Was she really about to recount a TV show episode about a guy who gave head so enthusiastically, he looked like he’d been eating a glazed donut? Corey might be an unusual guy, but he hadn’t been the target audience for that show.
“Sex and the City, huh?” He laughed. “Special Agent McDonald, there’s a lot more going on under that icy shell than I’d imagined.”
Deciding to go along with the teasing, she looked at him wide-eyed. “I’m practicing my interrogation technique on you, sir, and you’re not being exactly cooperative.” She was amazed at her own daring. Kidding around with him came so natural. She looped her leg over his waist and nudged his dick with her thigh. “Now, show me what you can do with that.”
With a few, deft movements, the condom was on, and he rolled on top of her. She tilted her pelvis. Fortunately this was like riding a bike. The sensation of his dick sliding into her was incredible. He was large, but not uncomfortably so, and his girth, together with the work he’d already done on her made her arousal reach a new high within seconds.
He pushed in farther. She gasped. He held still. “That okay?” His voice was husky and solicitous.
She nodded. “It’s good.”
“Yeah?”
Carrie hooked her legs around his back. She pulled him down until he lay on top of her, his weight adding the last missing piece to make this moment perfect. “Fuck me,” she gasped. “As deep as you can.”
He didn’t need telling twice. As he moved inside her, Carrie had the sudden sensation of floating away from her body. Was she really doing this?
She shook off the doubt that wouldn’t quit. Yes, she was. So what? She wasn’t a greenhorn, she could handle this. It was just a bit of fun, a distraction from the stress of a case she shouldn’t even be working.
And it was incredible. Corey knew exactly how to drive her to distraction. One deft hand reached down between their bodies and he found her clit. He put the broad pad of his thumb on it, and as if on cue, she hit the point of no return. She cried out.
“Oh god, Corey.” Threading her hand into his hair she tightened around him, and from deep within his chest he gave a growl. He pressed down on her clit and she yelled again as the heat exploded from her body and she came in sharp, powerful bursts. He grunted, and followed her over the cliff.
When their orgasms echoed into the distance, he collapsed onto the mattress next to her and, sticky and sweaty, pulled her into an embrace. “I needed that,” he murmured into her neck. “Amazing.”
“It was,” she agreed, moving to align her body with his. It was a surprisingly effortless fit, like they’d done this many times. “Maybe I won’t regret it.”
He chuckled sleepily. “You’re a weirdo.” He hugged her close. “Cute, though.”
“Will you cut that shit?” she growled without heat. “I’m not cute.” She thought for a moment, her brain sluggish with endorphins. “I’m fierce.”
“Whatever you say, Agent McDonald,” he yawned, half-asleep.
She snuggled in and closed her eyes. She should get up, go to her room and go to bed. They had their work cut out for them tomorrow. But she ignored the stern voice reminding her of her duty. This was where she wanted to be, nowhere else.
7
Carrie awoke to the sun streaming into the room, the smell of coffee and the sound of a running shower.
She turned over, squinting. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, her brain came online, and the previous night flashed before her. She stretched in the soft sheets, then lay frozen. She was naked.
A tray sitting on a trolley by the bed held a large coffeepot, two plates, toast, danish and orange juice. One of the glasses was half empty, and one of the plates smudged with jam. From the bathroom, the first chords of a song drowned out the sound of water. Corey had a beautiful singing voice.
Carrie pushed herself up, clutching the sheets around her. Had she really done this? She remembered every moment from the night with a brilliant clarity. They’d made love, and it had been amazing. Yet the memories might as well have been planted into her brain, they were totally unreal.
This is bad. You’re so fucked. She shouldn’t have done it. She had compromised the case, and herself as a federal agent. People had been fired by the Bureau for less.
“Wish I was with you…” The voice floating through the half-closed bathroom door was deep and smooth. Corey sounded happy. Deep inside, it stirred something in Carrie.
No! Determined to put an end to this—too late, you idiot—Carrie struggled out from under the sheets and began snatching up items of clothing. Her bra seemed to be missing from the piles of shirts and pants strewn around the floor. She scanned the room frantically and after a moment spotted it hanging off a table lamp. A maniacal giggle threatened to erupt and she forced it down.
She slipped on her underpants, noticing too late that they were inside out. She desperately needed coffee, but she resisted the pull of the breakfast tray. She pulled up her jeans and stepped into her boots at the same time.
He seemed a good guy. He might keep quiet about this if she told him to. But even if he did, it wouldn’t change what they’d done. It wasn’t his fault—it had been her decision to go to his room. And part of her refused to regret that decision. The sex had been amazing.
The room morphed back to what it had been the night before, bathed in golden light and shadows. The feeling of his fingers as he’d peeled off her clothes, the calluses along their sides scraping her hot skin…
The shower stopped. Carrie raced to pull her shirt on, struggling to get the buttons aligned.
“Morning.” Corey wore a towel around his waist, his smooth chest glinting with droplets. Carrie wrenched her eyes away from the treasure trail disappearing into the terrycloth. She badly wanted to run her hands over the taut, ripped plain of his belly. Her fingers tingled and she nearly dropped her notebook and key card.
Corey motioned at the breakfast tray. “Come on, have a bite to eat.”
She shook her head. “I gotta go. See you at the arena.” She was halfway to the door when she remembered her gun. Without looking at him she hurried to the desk and fumbled the key out of her pocket. Face burning, she snatched up the holster and was out of the door in seconds.
Carrie hurried down the silent hotel corridor, eyes to the floor. But she encountered nobody. A glance at her watch told her that it wasn’t even eight yet. So much for rock stars sleeping until noon. If she hurried, she had just enough time to check her mail and for a shower before heading to the police station.
A one-line email popped up on her laptop screen as soon as she woke it from sleep: Call me. It was from Flick and had arrived at three a.m.
As she pulled her phone from her back pocket, Carrie caught a waft of Corey’s aftershave. She sniffed her shirt. His smell surrounded her and her heart ached. He was a nice guy. He wouldn’t cause trouble for her. Still, she couldn’t believe she’d done this.
She needed that shower, pronto. But she had a missed call from Flick, too, from about five minutes after she’d gone to Corey’s room. Best to first see what he’d found out.
“Hey, boss.” He sounded chirpy. Carrie had had occasion before now to wonder when the guy slept. At least it was one hour later in Baltimore.
“Morning. You got news for me?”
“Of sorts. Without the vic’s computer there’s only so much I can do. Any idea what happened to the laptop, by the way?”
“I’ll look for it today at the arena.”
“All right. Let me know if you find it. I’ve sent you what I got so far.”
Carrie scrolled through her emails. The latest from Flick had a bunch of attachments. “Can you give me the CliffsNotes for now? I haven’t got time to read the documents before I have to leave for the day.”
“Sure, darling.” He tapped some keys. “I sent you summaries about the band members. Nothing at all came up on priors, complaints or anything. The only police file I found related to them is from way back when their fourth original member committed suicide.”
“Oh?” Carrie’s attention was piqued. “When was that?”
“Looks like it was before they made it big. Only a summary of the file has been digitized. I sent it to you with the rest of the stuff. Do you want me to request details?”
