I had to bend and taste him. A flick of my tongue over that clear bead first, tasting its salty heat. Then I drew him into my mouth, suckling until he moaned. I cupped his balls, stroking softly, savoring the warm, furry softness. Widening my mouth, I started working his shaft in deeper, seeing how much of him I could take. Loving the silken texture of his skin, the pure musk of Feral’s masculine scent, the taste of him, dark and raw and tempting.
His hands stroked through my hair. “If you keep that up, I’m going to come. And that’s not what I’ve got in mind at all.”
“So get naked,” I told him, “and show me.”
He started thumbing the releases on his remaining armor, and I helped him pull it off.
At last we sat back on our knees and just looked at each other, drinking in the sight of bare skin and hungry eyes.
God, I’ll remember Jim Feral silhouetted against the New York skyline until they put me in the ground. His skin was damp with sweat, and it caught the jeweled light, the curving contours of muscle gleaming with a sheen like antique satin. His strong chest narrowed to a lean, tight waist, and his cock jutted at me in lusty demand over those powerful warrior’s thighs.
“God, I love your tits,” he told me with that blunt Marine honesty. “They’re so damn pretty and pale, and I love the way they fill my hands.” He reached out a hand, and a rough thumb brushed back and forth across one nipple. I let my head fall back and savored each tiny flick.
He bent his sable head and sucked my nipple into his mouth. The creamy pleasure dragged a ragged moan out of me. He laughed, a low rumble of triumph, and pushed me down on the grass again. The cool green blades caressed my hot skin like the brush of feathers.
As I panted, the scent of soil, flowers, and green growing life flooded my head, overcoming New York’s normal reek.
Over it all, I smelled the dizzying musk of Feral’s skin. I wrapped my arms around his chest and dug my fingers between his shoulder blades in a silent message. You’re not going anywhere.
He didn’t seem to want to, too busy laving my nipple like a cat licking a newborn kitten, slow and thorough. One big hand stroked the length of my torso to slide between my thighs. The pump of a finger between my lower lips made me jolt in raw delight.
“Oh, God,” he moaned. “You’re so tight, so wet…”
“You do that to me.” I ran my hands slowly down his broad back to his powerful ass, then raked it gently with my blunt nails. “Hell, just thinking about you does that to me. Always has.” Always would. But I didn’t say that, afraid of the words. Afraid of his answer.
Another finger joined the one in my slick core, pumping slowly enough to make me squirm.
He got very busy with my nipples, suckling followed by soft little nips and flickering laps of his tongue. Every last thing he did made me hotter. I could feel my clit throbbing in time to my heart.
Even as he played with my breasts, Feral pushed his fingers in and out between my clinging pussy lips, his thumb delicately circling my jutting clit. Pleasure stabbed me in delicious jolts, driving me to new heights of need.
I wormed my hand under him and groped for his cock. When I curled my fingers around the hot shaft, we both moaned. He felt so thick, so solid. I explored him by feel, loving the way his breath grew rough as I traced my fingers from broad base to plump glans. Its tip was wet with pre-cum, and I smeared the moisture over the plump head.
“I love the way you touch me.” His breath gusted over my breast as he spoke, and I closed my eyes and shivered. If such tiny pleasures maddened me, what was I going to do when he finally drove all that cock inside me?
God, I couldn’t wait to find out.
“You feel so good,” I panted. Damn, that sounded lame, but I was too turned on to care.
He started nibbling his way down my torso. As he paused to rim my navel with his tongue -- who knew that could drive me crazy? -- I managed actual English. More or less. “Sixty-nine!” I was begging, but again, I didn’t give a shit.
He growled something almost as incoherent and rearranged himself until he knelt on elbows and knees, head down between my legs.
I contemplated the view over my head and grinned like a starlet in Tiffany’s. His abdomen flexed as he bent closer to my pussy, his knees on either side of my shoulders. His cock bobbed just out of reach. Getting at it was going to be tricky.
I just looove a challenge.
I captured the dancing shaft in my fingers. His skin felt incredibly soft and delicate as it lay over the heated steel of that long cock. “What a nice playtoy you’ve got here.”
“Same to you,” he purred, and licked the entire length of my pussy with the flat of his tongue. I damned near catapulted off the building.
Then he slid a finger in my ass to go with the two in my cunt. Holy God and all the angels… The sensation was so red hot and startling, I almost lost my grip on his cock. “Damn, Feral!”
“Is there a problem?”
“Only if you stop.”
He chuckled and licked my clit and did things with his fingers that made my eyes cross.
So I decided to see what I could do to Feral’s incredible bouncing cock. I pulled the long shaft down toward my mouth and angled my head around, managing somehow to work the glans between my lips.
I loved the rough silk texture of his cock. Its fat mushroom head had a soft nubbiness, like the nap of fine velvet. The angle was too awkward to deep throat him -- as I badly wanted to do -- so instead I pulled back and began licking. I ran my tongue around the rim of his cock head, then started tracing the ruddy underside with long laps. There’s a very sensitive nerve running there, and I wasn’t surprised to feel him shudder.
I also wasn’t surprised when he retaliated by sealing his lips over my clit and sucking, flicking his tongue back and forth across it with wicked skill.
The climax hit me out of nowhere in blazing pulses that arrowed from the depths of my belly right up into the base of my skull.
I drowned in flame.
When I could see again, Feral was still doing things to my pussy and ass that were going to tip me back into another orgasm. Probably in less than a minute and a half.
And I still hadn’t made him scream.
Oh, no. That won’t do at all. I grabbed him by his broad shoulders, planted one foot, and threw him onto his back with my Desert Warrior strength. His fingers pulled from my juicy body, which protested the loss bitterly. I ignored it and pounced on his cock, now in prime sucking position.
“Hey!” he protested. “Trying to work, here.”
“So am I. Come to Mamma.” I engulfed his cock in one long swoop, halfway to his balls.
He yelped. “Mamma never did that.”
I wrinkled my nose and pulled off him. “I’m relieved to hear it.” His cock went back into my mouth, and I concentrated on making him swallow his tongue.
He had other ideas, plying that tongue in lazy spirals, teasing my clit and fingering my ass and pussy.
All of which was one hell of a distraction, but I was determined. I cupped his furry balls in one hand, stroking them gently and sucking him, my head bobbing slowly.
Both of us stood it as long as we could. Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that long.
“I’ve got to have you.” Feral said in a low wolf growl. “Right now.” He withdrew tongue and fingers, and I barely had time to get him out of my mouth before he tumbled me onto my back.
When he rose over me, his eyes shone in the city lights with a fevered gleam. He scooped my ass up in his hands, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
That first thrust was like sucking star fire, a searing flight into blind pleasure. His big shaft burned as he slid it into my pussy, so thick and long he had to push hard, working it between my slick, swollen lips. I gasped and grabbed his shoulders with both hands.
He froze. “Am I hurting you?”
“God, no!” I gritted the next words between clenched teeth. “Fuck me now.”
So he d
id, lifting my ass in both hands, pulling me into an arch, shafting deep, so deep I swore I could feel him in the back of my throat. It should have hurt, but I was so damned hot it was just what I needed. I shifted my grip to his spread thighs and tightened my knees, grinding up at him as he ground down on me, fucking hard, furiously, losing myself in wild heat.
He’d balanced me right on the edge with his mouth, so it wasn’t long until I flew right over the edge, soaring into fire. The gripping pulses made me writhe in his arms, clawing at his legs. I didn’t bother to muffle my screams.
His hips ground hard against my clit, sending me shooting even higher, hotter. Raw pleasure seared every sense I had, burning and glorious. He threw his head back, the cords of his neck standing in stark relief. Ramming to the balls, he froze, pulsing hot, liquid jets of cum into my depths. His roar echoed between the skyscrapers as I yowled a note I didn’t even know I could hit.
Finally we collapsed into the grass, limp with exhaustion and exhilaration.
Feral rolled over and pulled me against his side. I wrapped my arms around him and lay there, limp as a rag, listening to both of us pant.
“God,” he moaned finally.
“Um. Yeah.” I’d manage something more eloquent after the blood returned to my brain.
I could hear his heartbeat, the furious thunder slowing as his breathing regulated. I watched a bead of sweat roll down his ribs and lifted my head to lick it away.
He chuckled. “Tickles.”
Ooooh. He’s ticklish. I stored that little tidbit away to use later, preferably when he least expected it.
At the moment, I needed a nap.
* * *
I was dozing when I heard the familiar thump of rotors in the distance. Career paranoid that I am, I opened one eye to see a police helicopter flying toward us, a searchlight dancing over the rooftops. Judging by the flight path, he’d be over us in about four minutes.
“Shit!” I jumped up and started looking for my armor.
“Wha --” Feral asked sleepily, then spotted the copter and rolled to his feet, cursing under his breath.
Putting on armor is a complicated process that can take a newbie fifteen minutes. We had it down to an art, slapping on sections and snapping them together, click, click, click, as quickly and easily as putting together an M-30. When people make a habit of shooting at you, you get good at armoring up.
So by the time the helicopter’s searchlight splashed over us, we were both dressed and standing around looking innocent. “Agents Fox and Feral?” the copter pilot called via his copter’s bullhorn.
I clicked my throat mic. “Agent Fox responding.”
“Report in, please,” the pilot said, this time using the radio. “The brass is wondering where the hell you flew off to.”
Turns out NYPD Dispatch had been trying to contact us on our com frequency for the better part of an hour, since the FBI Special Agent in Charge was really insistent that he wanted to debrief us. Which, translated from FBI speak, meant he wanted to chew us out.
I put in a call to the SAC, who told us to get to headquarters -- now.
Yeah, we were definitely in deep shit.
* * *
The FBI’s New York HQ had been built in 2028, so it was a relatively new facility, all soaring architectural spaces and gleaming marble floors, at least in the areas the public saw.
We went in the back door, where the walls were stark cement block and the floor was covered in cheap blue carpet. At the end of a twisting rats’ maze of halls lay the combination locker room and exercise facility they’d set up especially for us.
Being what we were, we couldn’t use the equipment un-enhanced agents used. I’d broken more than one weight machine that way.
For privacy reasons we’d been assigned separate combo locker rooms/showers. Feral ducked into his while I slipped into my own to undress and store my gear.
I spent a long time in the shower with the massage heads on high, letting hot water pound my sore muscles while I thought about the disaster the day had been. Not only had I gone berserk -- something I was supposed to be immune to -- I’d had sex with Feral. My career was totally fucked if the brass found out about either event.
Nor could I hide the fact that I’d lost it. A cover up would only make things worse. It would also be utterly irresponsible. A berserk agent was dangerous. What if Feral and I went nuts at the same time and there was nobody to snap us out of it? We could kill people. Admittedly, any asshole we’d kack probably needed killing. But still.
Besides, assholes always seemed to have sweet, gray-haired mothers who’d find a camera and sob for poor dead Timmy. Everybody would ignore the fact that Switchblade Tim was a sociopath who’d killed six people and robbed fifteen banks. All they’d care about was that one of us had lost his shit and beaten ol’ Tim into strawberry jam.
The talking vidheads on the tube would accuse the FBI of hiring thugs, and our superiors would lose their jobs. And we’d go to jail, despite all the medals we’d won bleeding for the U.S. of A.
I was still bitterly contemplating how fucked I was when I walked out of the locker room to find Feral waiting for me. He’d dressed in one of those nondescript suits that were practically a uniform at FBI headquarters. It was off the rack, and the gray pinstripe fabric strained around his massive shoulders. I wore the female version in dark blue, with the addition of low black heels and a cream silk blouse.
He looked determined, but scared out of his mind.
“What?” I demanded, stiffening in alarm. Not much this side of a great white shark scares Feral.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, three little words which in my experience always mean trouble. “And it’s not just because of tonight either, because I’ve felt this way for a long time.”
Oh, fuck, he wants to end it, I thought, cold with panic. He wants a new partner, because now I go berserk, too, and we’re so screwed.
“I think we should get married,” he said.
My jaw dropped. It took an effort to close it. “What?” I actually squeaked. “I thought you wanted me out of your system!”
“I lied.” He shrugged. “Hey, I knew it would piss you off, and I figured it would get us talking.”
“We did a hell of a lot more than talk.”
Feral muttered a curse under his breath and raked his hand through his shower-damp hair. “This isn’t the way I planned it, Candace. I was going to propose over the veal scaloppini at Andre’s, but after today…” He shook his head. “I figured I’d better ask you now.” Then he pulled something small and dark blue out of his pocket and went to one knee. “Candace Fox, will you marry me?”
He flicked open the little velvet box to reveal a ring that must have cost him three months’ salary. The ruby was at least two carats, and it was surrounded by a swirling diamond-studded filigree on a platinum band.
Holy hell, he was serious. “God, Feral,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you are.” His blue eyes were utterly steady as he looked up at me. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you. The question is, do you love me?”
I couldn’t look in those eyes and lie. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”
Chapter Four
“Jim. The Bureau… Once we’re married, there’s no way they’d let me be your control.”
His jaw worked. “I’d give up the FBI before I’d give you up.”
And we’d probably have to. Ordinary agents could be married and still serve together, but the rules were different for Special Service personnel. They consider us too dangerous. “What the hell would we do? We’re not regular humans, Feral. You can’t exactly become a stockbroker.”
“I don’t care if I have to flip burgers,” he told me. The fear that had been in his eyes had vanished, and his gaze had that determined glint it held when he was getting ready to charge a machine gun nest. “That’s just a job. What’s important is whether we’ll be together. Are you going to m
arry me or not?”
My mouth was as dry as a sand dune. “Give me twenty-four hours. Let me think. I have to think.”
Feral’s eyes went stark with betrayal. Without another word, he got up off the floor, closed the ring box, and tucked it back in his pocket. “The SAC called. He wants to see us.”
“Now?” I thought I’d have until morning to figure out what the hell to tell the brass.
“Now.”
“Shit.”
He didn’t answer. He just led the way from the room, his shoulders squared, radiating cold like six feet four inches of dry ice.
Double shit.
* * *
When we walked into his office, SAC Terrence Corley was watching VNN. He didn’t even glance away from the wall-width vid screen when we entered.
It didn’t take me long to realize what so fascinated him -- and feel my stomach clench into a knot the size of a volleyball.
The news crew had caught a great angle of me hustling the hostage across the parking lot. Right up until the bullets slammed into my side. The impact spun me around and dropped me like a dead ox.
The camera zoomed in on Feral’s helmeted head. You couldn’t see his expression behind the polarized faceplate, but the rage in the set of his shoulders said plenty. So did the way he slammed into the bank robbers and took every one of them out with a few more-than-human blows.
Especially the jerk who’d shot me. That one he beat so hard and fast his fist was a blur.
Christ, I thought, sick, it all looks so much worse on vid.
The vid image showed me staggering upright and running over to grab his arm, only to get tossed back and forth as I clung like a bull rider trying to wait out eight seconds.
He finally stopped pounding the robber, only to get to his feet, jerk me into an obviously possessive hold, and leap skyward, swinging away like some kind of vid superhero.
A silence fell, so thick I could hear the faint gritty rasp of Jim’s teeth as he ground them.
Corley swiveled his chair to face us and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the screen. “What the fuck was that?”
Oh, he was pissed. The SAC was normally such a stick-up-the-ass, I’d never heard him swear.
Protect and Serve: Fox and Feral Page 3