"It shouldn't have happened," I told her as I scrubbed a hand through my hair. "I crossed a line... couldn't fucking help myself, and I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" she demanded as her eyes narrowed, and I could tell by the tone of her voice she was pissed. "For giving me an orgasm? Well, gee, Wyatt... guess that makes us even now."
She lunged for the door handle, but I grabbed her arm and turned her back toward me. "I didn't do that to make us even," I gritted out. "I did that because I wanted to... because I fucking needed it. But Christ, Andrea... you were injured, worn out... I took advantage of the situation. Didn't give you a chance to say 'no'--"
"I wouldn't have said 'no'," she blurted out.
"Maybe you would have under different circumstances," I said gently and then released her arm. "Look... go get checked in and get some sleep. We can talk about this more tomorrow, okay?"
She stared back at me and tentatively said, "Do you... um... want to come up with me?"
A sharp pain stabbed me in the center of my chest while my balls started tingling just thinking about going up to her room. But I shook my head and gently let her down. "Probably not a good idea. I'll see you tomorrow."
Her smile was sad, but she nodded her head and opened the door. "Goodnight, Wyatt."
She was out and closing the door on me before I could tell her goodnight in return.
The next day at the station, we never did talk about it. We were both busy being interviewed by Mike Gomez and then typing our statements. It was around 4 PM when Andrea glanced down at her watch, stood from the table we were working at, and said, "Damn... I didn't realize it's so late. I need to get to the airport."
I looked up in surprise from the report I was reading over for the second time, completely taken aback that she was leaving. She hadn't mentioned to me once throughout the day that she was flying back to Pittsburgh that night.
Andrea bent over and hastily scrawled her signature on her report. Throwing the pen down, she gave a quick glance at Mike, who had also stood from the table and was putting on his suit jacket. "I'm going to go get my suitcase. Meet you outside."
Mike nodded and said, "I'll go get the car and pull it up to the front door."
Andrea never looked at me once... just turned and headed back to the female locker room as Mike walked out. I sat there dumbly for a minute, my mind trying to process that she was actually leaving and there were probably things that should have been said between us.
When she returned, pulling her rolling carry-on behind her, I stood up from the table and our eyes locked. She gave me the tiniest of smiles.
"I'll walk you out," I said, motioning with my hand for her to precede me down the hallway to the front lobby.
When we stepped outside into the hot, Carolina afternoon, I immediately reached into the breast pocket of my dress shirt and pulled my sunglasses out. Affixing them to my face, I turned toward her even as I saw Mike pulling up in the car.
"So, are you heading back to Nags Head this evening?" Andrea asked with a warm, interested smile on her face. Clearly, she had no hurt feelings over my refusal to come to her room last night.
A move which may go down as one of the stupidest things I've ever done in my life.
"Yeah... I guess so."
She gave a warm chuckle. "Well, relax. Sit on that beach and drink a few cold beers. You deserve it."
"I will," I said lamely. "Nothing like the Outer Banks in the summertime."
"It sounds lovely."
"It's a great place to visit," I muttered... even more lamely.
"I'm sure it is," she responded quietly... distantly. Then... because Mike was waiting, she said, "Well, good luck to you, Wyatt. It was an honor to work with you on this case."
Her eyes were cool, and she fucking stuck her hand out for me to shake.
She couldn't see the movement of my eyes behind my dark shades, but they glanced down and narrowed at her proffered hand. Fuck no, I wasn't shaking her hand.
Couldn't kiss her either... not the deep and personally invading way I wanted to.
Instead, I ignored her hand and bent down to kiss her on the cheek.
"Take care of yourself," I murmured.
She gasped slightly and gave a small sigh. When I pulled away, her eyes were closed but they immediately fluttered open.
Her face was awash with confused sadness, but she put on a firm smile. "You take care, too."
And that was that.
She left Raleigh and so did I, and here I sit now with Hunter in my kitchen, baring my soul about this woman that I can't get out of my mind.
"So, that's how it ended, and now it's driving me crazy," I mutter. "I feel like there's unfinished business or something. It's hard to describe."
"So get on a plane and go see her," Hunter says with a proud smile on his face, like he just solved the problem of world peace or something.
Oh, poor schmuck. If it were only that easy.
"And do what?" I exclaim as I slam my bottle down on the table. A splash of beer and foam shoots out the top. "What exactly would I be going there for? To fuck her? To start a relationship? Christ, Hunter... you know a long-distance relationship couldn't work. She's not leaving the FBI to move here, and I'm sure as hell not leaving my home. So why would I go see her?"
Hunter looks amused over my outburst. He merely tilts his beer back and takes four long swallows to finish it off. Standing from my table, he stares down at me. "You go and see her because you can't stop thinking about her. What other reason do you need?"
I snort in frustration. "But we could never have--"
"Oh, stop with the fucking excuses," Hunter says as he leans over me and pokes me in the chest. "Just go see her... fuck her. Start there and decide where to go after that. Maybe that's all you need... a closure fuck."
Yeah... I so don't need a closure fuck. I know, without a doubt, that if I fuck Andrea, things are going to get way more complicated and sticky. She and I were intimately acquainted orally, and the things that we did to each other usually come later in a relationship. The mere fact that she had no problem latching onto my dick with that mouth, and I was starved to eat her out, tells me that we had forged some type of connection prior to that all occurring. That meant to me that fucking her was not going to cure the problem--it was going to increase it.
"Sound like a plan?" Hunter asks as he turns away from me and sets the empty bottle down in my recycle bin.
"Yeah, maybe," I say distractedly, but deep down in my heart, I know I'm not going to pursue her. Just like time healed the wounds of her parents' death, and just as I told her that time was the wisest counselor of all, I decided to let things be and hoped that as the days wore on, her memory would just fade away from me, and I could move on with my life in peace.
Chapter 14
Andrea
Two days later...
Oh, this was such a bad idea.
Bad, bad idea.
I glance down at my watch for the fourth time in about four minutes, and admit to myself that every minute that goes by, worry and self-doubt are taking over my psyche.
I tap my foot against the wood flooring of Wyatt's front porch, thankful he has two comfortable wicker chairs with plush cushions decorated in blue and yellow stripes. My ass has been parked in one of them for the last hour and a half.
I'm sitting on Wyatt's front porch because I had made the split-second decision yesterday to fly to North Carolina so I could see him. This came on the heels of me deciding to take a vacation.
When I had flown back to Pittsburgh last week, I was back at work the following day, much to my SAC's surprise. He tried to talk me into taking some time off, as he had read my report and knew just what I had been through during this operation. I declined, telling him that I wanted to get back into the thick of things.
He didn't argue and much to my surprised delight, even amended his written recommendation to my application at the BRIU, updating them with everything I did on this operation. I could
n't help but get my hopes renewed all over again that I might get accepted into that division of the FBI.
I went straight back to work because I needed to keep my mind busy. Busy with important stuff like catching criminals and doing federal background checks. As always, some of it scintillating and some of it downright boring.
Regardless, being back to work didn't help occupy my mind at all. Several times throughout the day, my mind would drift off and I would think about Wyatt. I'd think mostly about what he did to me in the locker room the evening before I left Raleigh, but that would lead me to think about him saying it was a mistake, and him declining to take it further. Honestly, it was a bit of a blow to my self-esteem, which had already been knocked down a few pegs when David broke off our engagement. I got down and low, wondering what was wrong with me. Why did men kept leaving me?
I had a pity party one night with two pints of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, drank four beers, then made the mistake of calling my brother Kyle and unloading on him.
In typical Kyle fashion, he told me I was a dumbass. I had told him all about the operation, and while I did not tell him specifically that there was anything sexual between Wyatt and me, I did tell him that I had some feelings involved that felt unresolved.
The most important thing he reminded me of is that I am one badass chick and that I was not one to piss and moan over my fate. He reminded me that yes... while it was sad that David broke off our engagement, I had actually bounced back pretty well. He reminded me that I helped to take down a sex-slave ring. He reminded me that once, while I was in the FBI Academy, I took one of my sparring partners down to the mat, and he outweighed me by almost eighty pounds.
He didn't need to remind me that I had tackled and brought down a fleeing Simon Keyes, a memory that had me puffing my chest out a bit and demanding my bruised ego to get its act together.
The next morning at work, I asked Dale Lambert if I could have that vacation he had suggested to me a few days prior, and he gladly granted my request.
And so, here I am... sitting on Wyatt's front porch, waiting for him to get home.
Bad idea, I tell myself again.
And for so many reasons.
First, Wyatt has done nothing to ever lead me to believe he would want to see me again. He flat out refused to come to my room that last night, knowing I was offering sex. Yes, that bruised my ego a bit, but since Kyle bucked me back up, I choose to believe it's not because I'm not attractive to Wyatt, but rather that he has some misplaced sense of duty or morals that he believed were conflicting.
Fine... good enough reason I should stay away, but another very important reason why this is a bad idea swarms me with unease.
What if Wyatt is involved with someone? I'm sitting on his porch, waiting for him to get home from wherever he is--work, I assume--but the next person to pull into his driveway could be his girlfriend. Or worse yet, his wife.
While my gut tells me that Wyatt isn't the type of guy that would have made me come with his mouth in the locker room of the Raleigh FBI field office if he was involved with someone, I can't discount that it's a slight possibility.
Finally... and probably the best reason of all, is that I'm not even sure what I'm hoping to accomplish by being here. Is he my rebound from David? Is this just sexual tension at its finest that needs to be popped and then we go our separate ways? Or are the feelings and connection I've imagined with this man real and need to be explored?
Yes, this is a bad, bad, bad idea and finally, my cowardice breaks through.
I stand up from the wicker chair and take one step away from it when I hear the crunch of car tires on gravel. My eyes raise and I see a champagne-colored Chevrolet Suburban pulling into the driveway. The windows are slightly tinted, but I can see through them clear enough to make out Wyatt's handsome face semi-covered by his mirrored aviators.
This is it... do or die. No running now.
Wyatt pulls his vehicle up to the base of the long staircase that leads up to his front porch, which sits up high on the stilts that are typical of the beach cottages here on the Atlantic. He puts it in park and the engine shuts off, and for several painfully long moments, he just stares up at me.
I can't see his eyes, but I feel the weight of his gaze on me behind those sunglasses. Nervously shoving my hands into the side pockets of the pale, blue sundress I'm wearing, I carefully rub them on the material at my thighs because they are nervously sweating.
Wyatt finally opens the driver's door and steps out. He removes his sunglasses and tosses them on the front seat, now staring up at me with those clear, hazel eyes. I can't read a damn thing on his face, but then again, he's always been skilled at masking his emotions. He's dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a light blue, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He's more tan than when I saw him last, and he clearly just got off work as he's still wearing his gun holster over his shoulders and his police badge is pinned to his hip.
So. Fucking. Gorgeous.
My mind starts spinning on what will be the first thing I should say. I can't believe I've been sitting on his freakin' porch for this long and don't even have my speech planned out.
Panic flows through me as Wyatt starts walking to the staircase.
No, wait... stalking toward the staircase. Well... more of a prowl.
The minute his foot hits the bottom step, he starts bounding up them two at a time, his eyes pinning me in place.
He nears the top, and I take a step backward, but he keeps barreling at me. I try to take another step back when he reaches the porch, but then his hands are on my face. I catch the briefest glimpse of his eyes, which are blazing with heat, and then his mouth is on me.
Pushing me back, slamming his lips harder against me, he walks me right back into his front door. My momentum is halted, but his isn't as he presses in closer to me and his tongue shoves its way into my mouth.
A feral groan tears out of his chest, and my arms go around his back in an unnecessary attempt to pull him closer to me.
Unnecessary because he pushes me hard into the door, while his hands continue to grip onto the sides of my head. His hips flex in and then grind against me... his cock already hard in his pants, and hot, molten lust almost brings me to my knees.
A guttural moan rumbles out of me as I tear my lips away from his. This only causes him to fist my hair and tug my head to the side so his mouth can move down my neck.
I moan again... harder, and one hand drops to the front of his pants so I can rub his erection.
Wyatt hisses against the skin on my neck and grinds his cock against my hand.
Then he's kissing me again... one hand gone from my hair and fumbling inside the pocket of his pants for his keys. He never misses a beat, his tongue working me hard, his hips moving against me, and yet he still manages to unlock his door.
A quick twist of his knob and we're practically falling through the door. Wyatt pushes me a few steps in, wraps his arm around my waist, kicks the door closed with his foot, and then lowers me right to carpeted living room floor.
I realize I have no clue what his cottage looks like because my eyes have been closed, and they flutter open during our downward descent. I briefly see the back of a navy blue couch with beige throw pillows and taupe paneled walls.
Then my back is resting against plush, cream-colored carpet, and Wyatt's body is covering me with his mouth, still working mine hard. My hands yank at his shirt, trying to get it pulled free of his pants, but I can't work my way around his leather shoulder holster so I start clawing at.
Pushing up off me slightly and balancing on one forearm, Wyatt starts rolling his shoulder to help me work the holster loose. All the while, he continues to feast on my mouth. It's the hottest, longest, most desperate kiss I've ever had in my life.
Once the holster comes free of one shoulder, I do nothing more than toss it over his back, where it still hangs from the opposite shoulder. I don't care though... it's
out of my way, and it reminds me much of the same way he left my panties dangling around one ankle the last time we were together.
Tugging hard, I get Wyatt's shirt up, only to be met with a white t-shirt underneath, so I just plunge my hands up underneath of it until I'm able to run my hands over his skin. My entire body spasms when Wyatt drags the hem of my dress up and plunges his hand down the front of my panties.
Then it's really on.
Both of us claw and battle our way to try to touch each other. We're both fueled by lust and desperation, and an almost terror that we may come to our senses at any moment. My hands fumble at his belt and Wyatt thrusts two fingers up inside of me, which causes my back to arch up, my head to throw back, and his lips to leave mine as I groan over the contact.
Wyatt pumps his fingers in and out of me, hitting something inside that makes tremors race up and down my spine, and causing my hips rotate viciously against him. His mouth goes to my neck, where he sucks and bites at me and finally... finally I get his belt undone, his zipper down, and his underwear and pants pushed down. His erection is hot and silky in my hands, wet around the tip, and I squeeze and pump at him, causing his hips to thrust against me.
Our breathing is heavy and hot, and oxygen feels like a precious commodity. I ache... I can't stand the tension he's creating within me.
Wyatt feels it too, overwhelmed with the same desperation that I'm feeling. The same raw need.
Batting my hands away from his shaft, he rears up, pulls my panties to the side so I'm bare to him, and with one hand, guides his cock to my entrance. He brushes through my wetness once... twice... then he lunges forward and slams his way inside, and oh, God... that feels fucking amazing.
His entire body stills for just a second, his head dropping to my shoulder where his breath comes out in large bursts against my collarbone. My arms wrap around him, and I dig my fingers into the muscles at his back.
Wyatt lifts his head... stares down at me with the most intense, wild look I've ever seen on a man's face before. It's at this moment I realize we've haven't said a word to each other, instead choosing to communicate through touch and action.
We stare at each other for the briefest of moments, and then he's moving within me. Sliding an arm under one leg, he pushes it up and out, causing the elastic of my underwear that's stretched to the side to bite into my opposite hip. It's a good sting though because it reminds me that we are succumbing to our baser instincts right now, and I wouldn't want it any other way.
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