by JA Huss
“I just wanted to lose control, not be controlled. I wanted to feel out of my element. Like… I might have a problem.”
“Nah, I think that’s normal. Everyone wants an adventure, right?” I finish unlacing the first boot and grab her foot to slide the boot off. It makes a sexy whooshing sound as her leg comes free from the latex. “And actually, this fantasy game makes a lot of sense. This Jordan guy, he takes away your control and assumes it himself. So you know it’s all planned, you feel safe, and yet it’s still enough to get your heart racing, right?”
“Yeah,” she says, as I take my attention back to the boots. I’m oddly familiar with them for only having met them a couple hours ago. “I guess so. But this is a disaster. And if you’re really not playing—”
“I’m not, I swear to God, I’m not.”
“Then that’s even worse. You probably think I’m a freak.”
“Because of these boots?” I ask. “I love these fucking boots.”
“Yeah,” she says, looking down at me from over her shoulder. “They are pretty hot. I’ve had them for years. First time I’ve put them on though.”
I finish unlacing boot number two and pull it off, then look up at her. See her. Not her tits, popping out of the lingerie. Or her pussy, which is visible, since I’m sitting down and she’s standing in front of me and I forgot her crotchless panties. But her.
“Was it everything you thought it’d be?”
She smiles, then nods her head. “Yeah. Maybe better.”
My hand finds the back of her soft upper thigh. I can’t help myself. “Why better?” I ask, caressing her leg as we stare at each other. I like her face, I realize. She’s not one of those runway-model beauties. She’s… very cute. Soft, almost round cheeks. Full lips, but small mouth. Wide eyes and perky nose.
She places her hands on my bare shoulders, kneeling on the couch, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of mine. “Because if this is real—if it’s not a game—then I think I just found someone cool.”
I smile. I can’t help myself. “Who the fuck are you? And why would you trust me, after what I just told you?”
“You… we… people”—she finally finds the words she needs—“people do things. Sometimes they’re not proud of those things, but they refuse to be stuck on the same track, doing the same shit, repeating the same mistakes over and over and over again. So if you are telling the truth, then I get your story.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why… what… how?”
“I just do. I mean, I have a ton of other questions for you, Agent Murphy. I do. And I’ll need answers to them eventually. But right now…” She sighs deeply, looks away from me, but then her eyes dart back. “I’ve had enough. That’s why. I’ve just had enough. If it’s all just fantasy, fine. Because I kinda need one.”
“The missing spaces in your past,” I say.
She bites her lip. But unlike all the other seductive stuff she’s done tonight, I’m convinced she’s not even trying to be sexy right now. She’s just… her. Then she shrugs. “That, Agent Murphy, is a very long story. And we’re too tired to bare our souls to each other right now. But”—she leans her face into my neck, inhaling deeply, like she’s trying to capture my scent—“we can still end this properly.”
End it?
I dunno if I want to end it. But her soft breathing, her body positioned over mine—her pussy, I realize—her bare breasts right in front of me, just begging to be touched—that’s a very, very good way to keep the night alive.
My hands find her small waist, gripping it, urging her to sit down on my lap. Which she does. And then she starts moving back and forth across my cock. I’m still semi-hard from when she almost took me into her mouth, but that doesn’t last long. It only takes seconds for me to grow long and thick for her.
She bows her head, pressing her forehead into mine. I gaze up at her, my hands on her ass now. “Like you said, there’s pleasure in panic or something like that.”
Did I say that? I don’t remember and I don’t care either. I want to be inside her. Right now.
She lifts her hips up, reading my mind, and then her hand is between her legs. I look down in time to see her bring my cock out from my sweats and place it near her opening.
She flicks it back and forth, the wetness of her desire coating the tip of my head. And then she sits down, I slide inside her like we’re meant to fit together this way, and we both moan.
It’s different than the last time we fucked. Completely. It’s slow, and easy, and there’s nothing fast and hard about it at all.
Her breathing keeps pace with mine. It’s labored, and heavy, and intoxicating.
I let my fingers find her asshole, which makes her panic for a moment, but only a moment. She relaxes because I’m gentle. My probing is safe. And my intent isn’t to penetrate her, but pleasure her.
Maybe that’s what I meant. The pleasure of panic.
She’s still gripping my shoulders, but now she lets her back arch as her head falls back, her hips leaning into mine so I’m deep inside her belly. And then she begins to grind in earnest. Her eyes open. My eyes open. Meeting in the middle as she fucks me, and I finger her, and then my free hand drops to her clit and I begin to massage it. Every time she thrusts forward, I pinch it, which makes her wince, but not in pain.
The thought of spankings, and riding crops, and fuck-me boots are far behind us now. As far away as yesterday morning is.
I study her like she’s a precious piece of art. I watch her face as her expressions change. I see every emotion she’s feeling. I see lust, I see longing, I see the sensual satisfaction I’m bestowing on her.
She takes it. All of it, and all of me, and then I’ve got my arms wrapped around her back, and she’s got her arms wrapped around my neck. And our thrusting—our fucking—becomes stillness. The moment freezes, my cock buried so deep inside her, I feel nothing but her wet pussy gripping me. Welcoming me. Begging me to—
It’s one of those silent orgasms. There’s no yelling, there’s no grunting, there’s no sweat. It’s just stillness until I explode, and she explodes, and we mix together, creating something new. Something perfect.
Breathing hard, she sinks into my chest. I hug her so tight, I start to worry about cutting off her breathing. But when I loosen my grip, she says, “No.”
And I obey her command. Because it’s the right thing to do .
We stay like that for several minutes. Silent. I feel my cock relax and then slip out of her. My come spills out with it, coating my legs, which makes her sigh.
Her mind must be in the same place as mine, because she whispers, “I’m on the pill,”
Which is great, because I lost all fucking control and didn’t even think about it.
Then she says, “This was way better.”
And even though she doesn’t explain, I know. I get it. I understand her.
“So much better, “ I say. And then I stand up, bringing her with me. She wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her to the bathroom and set her down on the counter. Which makes her gasp, because it’s granite and cold.
I find that adorable, so I smile the whole time I’m turning on the shower and slipping my sweats down my legs. And then I lift the negligee over her head, throw it into the corner of the bathroom, lift her up, and carry her into the shower, pressing her back up against the tile wall.
We say nothing as we fuck again. This time I pin her in place the way she captured me out there on the couch. She goes limp as I fuck her hard, one hand under each of her knees, holding her up. Her arms are wrapped tightly around my neck like she’ll never let go as she grinds her clit against the top of my shaft until she can’t take it anymore.
She bites my shoulder as she comes.
And this time, I don’t come inside her pussy.
I drop her legs. She plants her feet on the floor and descends to her knees without even being told. She looks at me as I come inside her mouth, taking me deep, but not all the way
into her throat. My fat cock fills her up, her lips wrapped tightly around it, with water running down her face. Her cheeks pink from the steam and the sex.
After, I wash her hair as she washes mine. It’s weird. She’s a stranger, yet she feels like she’s always been in my life. Like this is just what we do. We fuck on the couch, then we fuck in the shower, and then we wash each other’s hair. Like this is how it’s always been and always will be.
When we’re done, I dry her off, she dries me off, and we say… nothing.
I lead her into my bedroom, hand her a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. She puts them on, like she’s done this a million times before.
I put on a new pair of cut-off sweats and pull the covers aside, watching her ass wiggle inside my boxers as she crawls over to the other side.
Her side.
Then I flick off the lights and join her.
My arm stretches out and she automatically makes my shoulder her pillow as I wrap her up against me.
It’s insane.
Fucking insane.
Because even though we just met ten hours ago, she has always been here. That side of the bed, which has been empty since I moved into this apartment, has always belonged to her.
“Tomorrow,” she says, the word thick with sleep. “You’ll still be here, right?”
I can’t stop the smile. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to. “I’m not going anywhere, babe. At least not without you.”
I don’t see it, but I feel it. Her lips curving upward against my chest.
She falls asleep immediately but I… I’m afraid to fall asleep. I’m afraid this is just a game. She’s just a dream and if I close my eyes she’s gonna disappear.
But I lose that battle.
Slowly. Surely. It finds me. It controls me. It reminds me why I’m here, what I’m doing, and that Issy Grey has nothing to do with any of it.
And then I fade into the darkness that I’ve been accustomed to.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - ISSY
I wake to the sound of the TV in another room and for a few confusing seconds, I have no idea where I’m at. But then I smell him—the shampoo we used last night in his shower—and the whole thing comes back to me.
Not like a nightmare though. Which I have to ponder for a moment before I let my thoughts wander down the inevitable path.
Like a dream. And even though most of it has the potential to be—well, let’s be honest here since I’m only talking to myself—scary as fuck, I’m decidedly pleased with last night.
The sex. Was. Fantastic.
And I’m not even talking about the wall sex at my house, or the kink-play we did when we got here to his place. I’m talking about the stuff we did after that. The slow stuff. The seductive stuff.
“Oh, you’re awake?” Finn is standing in the doorway, leaning up against the wall. His head is cocked to one side, like he’s not sure what kind of mood I’m gonna be in, and his expression is something between fear and excitement.
The pleasure of panic, I realize.
It’s sexy as fuck. And he’s looking hotter now—wearing nothing but those same cut-off sweat shorts—than he did last night in his black Fed suit.
“I’m awake. What time is it?”
“Nine am. I should probably take you home.”
“Oh.” Well, that deflates me.
“So you can change, ya know. And get ready for your seminar.”
“Oh. So… what are you doing today?” I’m trying to feel him out, which is what he’s doing to me.
“What do you think I’m doing?” He grins. Wide. “I’m your bodyguard, Ms. Grey. I’m following you around, playing chauffeur, and generally being your muscle.”
I smile. Pretty wide.
“Not that you need muscle,” he continues, walking slowly towards the bed.
I can’t take my eyes off him. The planes of his stomach are perfect. His unshaven jaw just makes me want to picture him between my legs. And his shoulders. Damn. They are so wide. Wide enough to be the perfect pillow for my head last night.
I cuddled with him.
The thought is startling. Mostly because I’m not really a cuddly person, but also because I might want to turn into a cuddly person. With him.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, sitting on the bed near me. He sinks into the mattress and I let my body roll towards him a little, until my face is right next to his thigh.
I lift my head, scoot closer, and rest it right on his leg.
Yup. He makes me want to cuddle.
“Do you want some breakfast before we go?”
“What are you making?” I ask, looking up at his hazel eyes.
“Cereal,” he whispers.
“Sounds great,” I whisper back.
“OK,” he says, throwing the covers off me and slapping my thigh. “Get up. And come as you are.”
He leaves without looking back so I get up and follow. Just like I am.
Boxers and t-shirt. Both his.
Maybe I’m his too?
I don’t know why I’m thinking this shit. This really isn’t me. I’m not usually this girl. Not with men, at least. Yeah, I put on a good front for the business. And yeah, I’ve been through some major shit. I’ve done things. Things I’d call courageous.
But this is something else. It’s… vulnerability.
I hate being vulnerable. It’s why I crave control. It’s why I’m always the one in charge. It’s why… it’s why I needed this game.
It’s not a game, Issy Grey. This shit is real and that should scare you so bad. Because what he told you last night is information you didn’t need to know.
“Dayum,” he says, when I appear in the main room. He’s got one of those open-concept places where the kitchen, dining, and living rooms all run into each other. “Your bedhead is pretty fucking sexy.”
I sigh. Because he’s saying all the right things. And man, I really hope this isn’t a game, because I like him. He’s done so much right since we were forced together last night. And men who still say all the right things the next morning have potential, right?
Even if they did kill their—
“Here,” he says, handing me a bowl of cereal. It’s got multicolored mini-marshmallows in it, which only makes me like him more.
I take it and climb up into a bar stool at the island. He pours some milk into his bowl, then starts eating it with a giant spoon.
I look down at my bowl. I’ve got a giant spoon too. Which makes me chuckle. Because I’m not even sure it’ll fit in my mouth.
“It’ll fit,” Finn says, winking at me. “I got that demonstration last night about the volume capacity of your mouth, so I know things.” He taps his head with his spoon to illustrate his point.
“You’re dirty,” I say, scooping up some cereal and shoving it in my mouth.
He watches me. And I’m thinking, who makes eating cereal sexy?
“Dayum,” he says again.
“What’s that mean, anyway?” I ask, chewing slowly. I haven’t had sugar cereal in like a decade. It’s delicious. Why don’t I eat this crap daily?
“Just…” He shakes his head. “I was thinking about you all morning.”
“How long have you been up?”
“Hours,” he says. “Many, agonizing hours.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I wanted to enjoy the fact that you were sleeping in my bed for a little longer.” He grins around his spoon and I have to look away because I think… I think I blush.
“Anyway,” he says. “I was thinking about you all morning. Wondering if you’d be mad at me when you woke up. Wondering if you’d try to ditch me. Wondering if it was just gonna be a one-night thing, or…”
“Or?” I ask, when he doesn’t finish.
He shrugs. “I don’t wanna be that guy.”
“What guy?”
“The one who falls for the girl and she’s just… being casual, ya know? So she gets spooked and ghosts on him. I don’t want t
hat. So I’m just gonna put it out there. I know what’s happening is kinda weird, but I like you. And I hope you don’t ghost on me.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I take another bite of sugar and chew slowly to think about it.
I was gonna say, I’m not a ghoster. But it’s a lie. And I don’t want to lie to him. I am a ghoster. I’m the fuckin’ queen of ghosting on people. I’ve done it so many times, in so many places, I just can’t deny it with a straight face. And I don’t really want to start this conversation unless I can finish it.
I’m not ready for that. At all.
Finn takes the hint and reaches for the TV remote, turning up the volume.
I swivel around in my chair to stare at it, for lack of anything better to do, and that’s the moment that makes my heart skip.
Makes my hand freeze halfway to my mouth.
Makes me gasp with surprise.
Makes me question every thought, every action, every choice I’ve made over the past eight years.
Because that’s when my past catches up with me.
The room goes dark everywhere except the TV. It’s like I’m in a tunnel and there’s a spotlight on the screen.
Two faces.
“Holy shit,” Finn says. “That’s Declan.”
But that’s not the face I see. It’s the face of the man standing beside Declan.
It’s Caleb.
“And he’s with…” Finn continues. “What the fuck?”
And isn’t it ironic that I was just thinking about how well I ghost and there he is? The man I walked out on eight years ago. The man I ran from.
The only man who knows who, and what, I really am.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - FINN
“Issy?” I ask. Because while I was talking about Declan being on TV with Caleb, she zoned out or something. “Issy?” I say again. But it’s like she doesn’t even hear me. She gets up, walks over to the big screen mounted above the fireplace, and just stares at the interview going on in front of the Capitol building.
“Issy?” I ask, walking over to her. “Are you OK?”
“What is this?” she asks, turning to look up at me.