I slip on a pair of panties, careful to pull the elastic out and away from the scrape on my hip, and then sit down on the bench to tend to my elbow first. That cut is actually small and looks pretty clean from the shower, so I skip straight toward bandaging. One regular size Band-Aid later, that wound is handled.
Turning my attention to my hip, that one is a little bigger, a little deeper, and I figure that needs a good splash of peroxide. Holding the towel under the wound, I douse it good with the foaming liquid and grit my teeth through the burn. I pat it dry as best I can but the towel hurts too much, so I settle for blowing air over my sensitive skin for a bit.
A knock sounds at the locker room door, and there's only one person it can be.
The field office is cleared for the night except for the agent on duty, so I call out. "Just a minute, Wyatt."
Grabbing a white, button-down shirt--an important piece to any basic, FBI ensemble--I slip it on over my shoulders and button it up. I don't bother with pants... because, well... I can't put them on until I bandage my wound, and besides... Wyatt's seen way more of my body than is showing right now.
"Alright... I'm decent," I call out, and Wyatt is immediately striding through the door.
He looks around in interest... cream-colored walls and shiny tiled flooring, one row of wooden lockers, stained and polished a nice walnut coloring, and a long, padded bench.
"Damn... your digs are much nicer than our police department back home," he says as he looks at me.
I bend over, pick up a large bandage and some tape, and walk to the end of the locker where a full-length mirror is mounted. "Yeah, that's federal dollars hard at work for you," I quip.
Turning to face the mirror, I pull up the hem of my shirt so I can see my hip clearly, which also exposes my panties. They aren't sexy by any means... plain white cotton, but they sit high on my hips and low on my belly, so they aren't horrible by any means.
"Damn... that looks like it hurts," Wyatt says, and I give him a brief glance while I tuck the bandage under my arm and attempt to pull off a strip of medical tape. His eyes are on my hip, and they are warm with sympathy.
"Not so bad," I say, and his eyes come to mine. I smile and then turn my attention to my wound. Holding the bandage out in front of me, I apply the strip of tape along the top. Stepping closer to the mirror, I turn slightly so I can get a better angle on what I'm doing.
There's not an ounce of self-conscious feeling that Wyatt is standing here while I'm half dressed, staring at me. In fact, he leans lazily against the corner of the wooden locker with his arms crossed over his chest.
The hem of my shirt starts sliding down so I make haste to get the wound dressed. Lining the bandage up with the scrape, I start to press it on when Wyatt says, "You did an amazing job tonight, Andrea. You are one hell of a partner."
I make the mistake of looking up at him in surprise, while trying to press the bandage on my wound, and miss by about a mile. The tape goes right onto my raw flesh, and I curse, "Fuck... fuck... fuck."
Wyatt grins and pushes off the locker. "Here... let me do that for you."
My hand falls away from the bandage, and I breathe out. "Okay... sure, that would be good."
Kneeling on the floor, Wyatt crouches a bit lower to bring his face eye level with my hip. He pushes the hem of my shirt up again. His knuckles drag against my skin until he reaches the bottom of my rib cage, and he says gruffly. "Here... hold your shirt up."
My hand clutches onto the material, and I look down at him while he carefully pulls the tape off me. I grit my teeth but don't say a word.
Wyatt efficiently pulls the tape away from the gauze, balls it up, and drops it to the floor. "You should have put the bandage on first, then the tape," he says idly, and then does just that.
From above him, I watch as he works... gently pressing the gauze back to the actual wound, which sticks because it's still weeping with a little blood. He pulls off strip after strip of tape, pressing it to bandage and skin, and then runs his forefinger along the edge to make sure it sticks.
He takes his time... his breath fanning out over my thigh, and while there's nothing sexual at all in his ministrations, I cannot help the goose bumps that break out all over me every time his skin touches mine. I hope to God he doesn't notice that, and I most certainly hope he doesn't notice how hard my nipples have become and--yup, glancing down--poking hard against my shirt.
Shit.
Wyatt smoothes the last piece of tape over my skin as he looks up at me.
"There. All better," he murmurs.
The tone of his voice... husky.
His eyes... warm. No, hot. Definitely hot.
I am spellbound by the intensity of his gaze, and I wait for it to be broken any moment now when he pulls his hands away from me.
But he doesn't... just stares at me, and with just his look... I start to get damp between my legs.
I feel like I'm in a totally dreamlike state when I watch as Wyatt... slowly... ever so slowly, leans in toward me and his lips graze my skin, right beside the elastic of my panty line where leg meets hip.
I jerk slightly from the contact as warm lips part and his tongue flicks out briefly to touch me.
A slight whimper pops out of me, and Wyatt's eyes snap to mine. He looks hesitant for a moment, but whatever he sees on my face causes that to dissolve and then his eyes go practically nuclear.
Raising one hand, Wyatt takes his fingertip and traces it along the edge of my panties... starting just under my hipbone and traveling downward. His eyes slide from mine and turn to watch his own hand as it gently strokes my skin.
I hold my breath and watch, mesmerized, as he touches me languidly, his eyelids heavy and his lips slightly parted. Just before his finger reaches that spot that will put him just an inch away from my core, he stops his progress and looks back up at me.
He doesn't say anything, and I couldn't if I wanted to. Words would break the spell. Words could bring reason back into the equation.
Instead, Wyatt's hands are suddenly behind me, spread wide and cupping my ass. He gives a sharp tug... turns my hips, and suddenly, I'm directly in front of him. He never hesitates a second, and my knees almost buckle when he pulls on my body... causing my hips to flex forward just as he leans in toward me.
His nose goes right into the center of me and he presses me hard against his face, only the thin material of my panties separating our skin. Then he breathes in hard... his fingers clenching into the muscles of my ass.
He inhales so very deeply... sucking my scent deep into his lungs, and then letting out a hot breath that seeps into the cotton, heating my skin below it.
"Oh God," I moan, my hands flying up to fist in his hair.
"Want my mouth on this," Wyatt mutters into me, and I pull him in harder... biting my tongue so I don't start grinding against him.
He doesn't wait for me to respond, and I don't think he was waiting for my assent anyway. Instead, his hands are pulling at my underwear, roughly on one side, but gently on the side with the wound. When he gets them down my legs, he grabs one of my ankles, raising it to pull my panties free. He doesn't bother with the other leg, preferring to leave them pooled around that ankle.
He doesn't lower my one leg either, instead pushing it up higher and draping it right over his shoulder. Hands back at my ass, he gives me a sharp pull and then his mouth is fastened on me. He first gives me one long swipe with his tongue, straight up my center, and a warbled sound bubbles up from my throat.
"So fucking sweet," he says with his lips fluttering over my skin. "Fantasized about this."
Then he's pulling me back to his face. He's diving in... his lips and tongue pushing straight through to my center.
Wyatt doesn't just eat me... he devours me.
I'm mashed against him so hard that he doesn't even need his fingers to help find the way. He uses pure pressure of hot tongue against skin to burrow his way in.
My eyes slide down to look at him. His golde
n-brown hair with my fists clenching it tight. His back rising and falling with hot and heavy breathing. I let my eyes continue to wander, straight to the floor-length mirror that is behind Wyatt, and my eyes flare wide at the sensual image projected back at me.
Wyatt on his knees in front of me.
One strong, tanned arm wrapped around the leg that is supporting me, the other bicep supporting my leg up on his shoulder with his hand wrapped over the top of my thigh. One hand flexes his fingers into the muscles of my ass and the other into the top of my leg.
The back of his head moving... tilting... plunging in and out as he consumes me.
I raise my gaze up and look at how my leg is hanging over his shoulder, my knuckles white as they grip his head and my own chest laboring along with this.
It's the most erotic thing I've ever seen or done in my entire life.
Wyatt plunges his tongue deep inside me, pulls it out, and then flutters it hard against me. Out of nowhere, my orgasm crashes over me, and the one leg I'm standing on buckles in weakness as I start to collapse. Wyatt never misses a heartbeat, merely shifts his face under me for support, and lets me sag against his mouth while he continues to draw my climax out with continued assault.
The spasms of pleasure go on and on and on.
"Fuck yeah," Wyatt groans against me, continuing to lick and suck. My standing leg finds a bit of strength, locks, and then I'm grinding against him to draw every bit of ecstasy out of this experience.
Then I'm drifting away.
Eyes closed, my fingers now gently rub at Wyatt's scalp.
He pulls my leg off his shoulder... gives a soft kiss to the inside of my thigh.
My eyes open slowly. I gaze down as Wyatt maneuvers my one foot back into my underwear and pulls them up my legs, careful to avoid the bandage. Just before he covers me completely, he leans in, plants a sweet kiss on my bare mound, and then pulls my panties all the way up.
His lifts his face to look at me, and his eyes are dark... thoughtful.
I reach a shaky hand out to cup his cheek. He leans into me for just a second, lets his eyes close so I can see the long lashes for a brief moment against his skin, and then they open.
With a resolute look, he stands from the floor, which causes my hand to fall away from him. He takes a step back from me, glances down at the floor once, and then back up to me.
"I'll wait outside while you finished getting dressed," he says.
I open my mouth to say... to say... what? I have no clue. What do I say to something that was taboo, erotic, fulfilling, dirty, and absolutely mind blowing?
He gives me a short nod and turns on his boot, giving me his back and leaving me behind.
Chapter 13
Wyatt
One week later...
"This is how you're spending your last day of vacation?" Hunter asks from behind me. I push up from the deck... lean back on my haunches.
Wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my glove-covered hand, I shrug my shoulders. "Sure, why not? Not like I have anything else better to do."
Hunter makes a sound deep in his throat and squats down. Running his fingertips over the wood boards of my deck, he gives a nod of approval. "Very smooth. Gabby would be impressed."
Of course, she would. Gabby lived, ate, and breathed all things wood.
I look around at the back deck of my cottage, which sits on stilts just thirty feet off of the beach. I had been meaning to re-stain my deck for going on oh... about four years now, and I finally decided to do it. Didn't matter that I was undertaking this backbreaking chore at the end of July when temperatures cruised in the nineties. I had a week off from work following my return from Raleigh, and I was bound and determined to be productive.
I was bound and determined to be productive, because I learned very quickly that my idle mind over the last week kept turning over and over again to Andrea. Living in the Outer Banks, it's almost an art form to learn how to sit on the beach with a cooler of beer and bake away your stress under the sun. I've had twenty-eight years of practice doing it.
I figured it would be easy... like riding a bike.
Except, when I was down on the beach... my feet sunk deep into the wet sand and a cold Budweiser in my hands, I found that I just couldn't fucking relax.
Because I kept thinking of Andrea.
Andrea dancing.
Andrea smiling.
Andrea's mouth on my cock.
Andrea tackling Simon.
Andrea's pussy in my mouth.
Andrea, Andrea, Andrea.
After three days of torture, I gave up and started sanding my deck by hand. The muscles in my back and neck were on constant fire and my skin had turned dark brown from the hot sun. I went to bed each night exhausted and slept dreamlessly.
Throwing the block of wood with sandpaper wrapped around it, I take off my gloves and drop them to the deck. Standing up, I swivel my head and arch my back to work out the kinks.
"Want a beer?" I ask Hunter as I head into the house.
"Sure," he says as he follows me in.
The icy blast of air conditioning is a welcome relief, the coolness of the beer bottle in my hand even better. After our bottles are opened, Hunter cocks a hip against my kitchen counter and levels his gaze at me. "So, what's wrong?"
My eyebrows rise in surprise. "What do you mean 'what's wrong'?"
He just stares at me, not saying a word. He holds his beer casually in his hand, but I can tell he's on high alert.
High alert to call bullshit on me if I choose to dick him around.
Snorting in frustration, I take a long pull on my beer, and then point it at him as I swallow. "I hate it you know me so well."
Hunter shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. "There's no one I know better than you, except for Brody, of course, and that's to be expected since we're identical twins. But I know you very well, my friend, so tell me what's eatin' at you."
"Nothing really," I say evasively. "It was just a really tough undercover operation. I'm a little drained from it."
"No," Hunter says firmly. "There's more to it than that."
"What do you know?" I fire back.
"Well, outside of coming to Last Call your first night back--for just one beer, I might remind you--you've basically been avoiding everyone since you returned."
"I've been working," I say as I point out of the kitchen window to my back deck.
"What the fuck ever, dude. Quit pussy-footin' around and just tell me what the problem is," Hunter growls. He punctuates that by walking over to my kitchen table, kicking one of the chairs back, and dropping down into it. "I'm not leaving until you lay it all out."
"Asshole," I mutter, but I decide it's easier to get this over with than fight with him. I know this man as well as he knows me. He'll sit at that table and won't move until I unload.
I guess that's what best friends are for.
Sitting down in the chair, I pick at the label on the beer. "I guess I better fill you in on the operation first."
This I needed to do before I unloaded about Andrea, because Hunter needed to understand the dynamics of our relationship.
"I can't tell you everything because the case is still open, but I went undercover to work at a strip club in Raleigh. The owner was suspected of selling off his dancers as sex slaves."
"That is sick," Hunter says under his breath.
"Yeah, and you don't even want to know the depths to which I had to sink to work there. But anyway... I got in good with the owner and eventually he brought me in on the operation."
Hunter sits a little straighter in his chair. "You helped to sell women to slavers?"
"No, by the time the first sale went down that I was in on, we had an undercover FBI agent posing as one of the dancers."
"Seriously?" Hunter asks, his face awash in suspicion. "FBI agents know how to strip?"
"This one did," I said, images of Andrea's naked and gyrating body filtering through my mind. "Her name's Andrea."
/> "So how did it all work out?" Hunter asks cautiously.
"Worked out great. Andrea and I made the bust after money changed hands and the ring has been taken down."
Hunter heaves a sigh of relief, and I'm sure he was thinking something dire happened to Andrea, which was causing my funk. "So, what's the problem?"
I hesitate a moment, wondering just how much I should share, then I decide to just lay it out. Hunter won't judge and he may have some good advice. "The problem is that we sort of crossed a line with each other... twice."
I let that sort of float out there and watch as understanding creeps over Hunter's face. "Sexual line, you mean?"
"Good deduction, Einstein," I say drily and take another sip of beer. "The first time... it was part of the undercover act. At least, I think it was. The second time... was after the bust had been made. No act."
"So, what's the problem?" Hunter asks with utter gullibility.
"The problem is that regardless of what happened or when, we were law enforcement partners. You don't fuck around with your coworkers."
"You most certainly do fuck around with your coworkers," Hunter says adamantly. "Gabby was working at my bar. I fucked her. Brody was working with Alyssa at The Haven. He fucked her. Savannah was working for Gavin as his housekeeper. He fucked her. I'm sensing a pattern here," he ends with a grin. "Aren't you?"
"Not the same," I grumble, but it kind of is.
"How did you leave it with her?" Hunter asks.
How did I leave it with her?
Not very well, I'll have to admit.
After I lost myself to eating out her sweet pussy, I took my aching dick and stepped away from her. When she finished getting dressed and got in the unmarked car that had been loaned to me, I didn't even know what to say. The taste of her was still thick on my tongue and my balls throbbed.
"Can you take me to the closest hotel?" she asked quietly.
"Sure," I said and proceeded to do just that. Luckily, there was a nice one just a few blocks down.
I pulled up to the curb and then because it was just fucking awkward, I turned to look at her. "Listen... about what just happened--"
"It was amazing," she said as she stared at me with those clear, blue eyes.
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