by K. Bromberg
He took a very unrushed step towards me. And there was pretty much nothing I was going to do in that moment to dissuade him. His fingers brushed up my thighs when he was back in kissing distance, making their way to the top of my shorts and skimming over the skin that was just right above it.
With one hand, he unfastened the button and tilted his head over to my ear and gave the lobe a quick nip. I felt my chest rise and rapidly fall as he pushed the denim down my legs.
I watched him kneel to the floor only to look back up at me, “You didn’t answer me,” he said.
“Yes.” I quickly replied.
He smiled briefly, and brought his face to my panty-covered pussy. I felt something wet and warm pushing against it from the other side of the material, and my head fell back as my arms braced my body on either side of the counter.
Using his hands to spread my legs a little wider, he began to suck hard on the damp fabric. I moaned when I felt his tongue push as far as it could go, only to retreat back into his mouth in exchange for a set of fingers. The fingernails of his other hand grazed my lower tummy as his talented fingers continued to lightly strum my slit.
“Tease,” I called him, not even knowing whether or not he heard me, being that it was quickly followed by another frustrated moan.
But he must have heard me, because those fingers rubbed a little harder, and I felt the tip of his tongue on my clit through my panties right before he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”
I looked down at him, and he chuckled softly as he took that specific moment to pull my underwear all the way down. Leaving them to pool at my feet, he didn’t waste any time at all before his tongue sank all the way into my wetness.
“Shit,” I whispered to no one in particular.
He pulled back only to take an entire lip into his mouth, nursing on it softly. Jason did the same thing with the other one before French-kissing my pussy for a second time.
My knuckles were completely bleached, as my hands clung to the counter, because I was pretty sure they were the only things holding me up at this point. The only sounds in the room were my hardening intakes of air and the wet noises of his mouth eating me.
My hips were now beginning to grind up against his jaw. I felt his hands cover mine on the edge of the counter, making sure I didn’t lose my grip.
He tongued my clit, and I was so fucking close.
“You have one minute to come,” he told me, licking up my entire slit.
I managed an airless laugh and whimpered as two thick fingers entered me, “Or…?”
“Or I make you come,” he replied quietly.
I loved being under pressure to come. There's just something about having constraints like that put into place that makes that pre-O sensation draw out even longer, which in effect, makes the orgasm blow that much harder when it is released.
This was one of those times.
I closed my eyes, my head tilted up towards the ceiling, and I let myself totally submerge into this pool of pleasure that Jason had created for me with his very talented tongue and his probing, thick fingers, which were giving my sweet spot the 'ol come-hither motion at that very moment.
I felt my core turn to liquid as I melted into the magical thrumming of his tongue and fingers in unison, on both my clit and my sweet spot, ready to give him exactly what he'd ordered just moments before. I moaned loudly, my hips starting to thrust upward to lessen his journey.
"What the hell?" I heard someone shriek…from somewhere.
Immediately, Jason's warmth left me. My eyes simultaneously flew open, the hazy fog of being 'almost there' quickly dissipated as I saw Lindsey's horrified face standing about six or seven feet away, aghast at what she had just viewed.
She had clamped her only free hand over Harper's eyes, her other arm cradled a still-sleeping Jackson against her chest.
"Get out," she hissed, and to be honest, I wasn't sure if she meant Jason, or me, or quite possibly the both of us.
Jason hurriedly stood up, grabbed his tool box and got the hell out as quickly as any man could, his erection still very evident underneath his navy blue work pants.
I slid from the countertop, bending over to pick up my panties and shrug them back on. Lindsey was still glaring at me, evidently too fucking pissed to have the good manners to give me some privacy. Harper was squirming around, trying to move Lindsey's hand away from where it still covered her eyes, but she couldn't budge it.
"Timing," I said, pulling my cutoffs up and fastening the button, "is fucking everything," I finished, brushing past her and going to my room.
chapter 2
It was my sixth week of physical training, but it felt as if it had been years instead of weeks. I stood in the weight room, at five-fifteen in the morning—that's right—five-fucking-fifteen, watching myself in the mirrored wall of the room, doing curls with free weights clutched in both hands.
Fuck, why in the hell did I get assigned this time frame for a personal work-out?
It was punishment, pure and simple. But it was required, and since I'd done a good job of pissing off my instructor, it was what it was.
I glanced around the large, carpeted room. There were only three other people in here, all guys. The thing was, I had to clock in and out, so it wasn't as if I could ditch it without getting busted, and then I'd be in more trouble, if that were even possible.
Neither Trace nor Lindsey were speaking to me and hadn't been for three weeks. I was, as they say, persona non grata at the Trace Matthews residence.
Kicking me out was totally their prerogative, I got that. But why the fuck had I been forced to endure yet another one of Trace's lectures?
He had even asserted that I had no fucking business being in the bureau, and that I had my head stuck so far up my ass, even he couldn't pry it out. That was, if he had a mind to, which he said he clearly didn't.
Oh. What. Ever
I looked at my reflection. As bad as Trace had made me sound, I didn't think that I really resembled the type of loser that he'd accused me of being.
Hell, I was in the best shape that I'd ever been in physically.
My arms and legs were toned nicely; my belly firm and flat. I was taller than Lindsey; that had to count for something, right?
My light brown hair was long and shiny; and my dark brown eyes resembled pools of liquid chocolate, or so some dude had once told me right after we’d shared sex and a blunt.
I wiped some perspiration from my neck with my towel, placed the free weights back into the slots in the rack, and grabbed the next heavier set of weights.
I planted my legs a bit apart just as Darin, my assigned trainer, had instructed. I started once again with the curls, making sure to inhale and exhale the way that he had recommended. It really did work. I used the oxygen to my benefit, just like he said that I should.
Okay, so things at Easton's and Darcy's weren't as bad as they had been at Trace and Lindsey's, but shit, I knew that Lindsey had filled Darcy's head with pre-conceived notions about me.
The good thing was that Darcy didn't give me pink post-it notes with daily chores scribbled on them. She at least had a housekeeper and gardener at her disposal, so that took me off the hook.
Still, it seemed that Darcy didn't want to hang out much, or really converse a lot. Easton was always traveling, but hell, at least I wasn't constantly being lectured.
I was getting an income from my internship, although it was nothing to brag about for sure. Trust me, I wanted nothing more than to be on my own and not accountable to anyone else, but that just wasn't going to happen any time soon. I had to bide my time and save money along the way.
I glanced up at the clock. It was nearly five-thirty. At six I officially had to clock out, take a shower and dress for my office job at the bureau that was part of my internship training.
Once my training was complete, I would have an opportunity to apply for a permanent position with the bureau, and receive a bump in my salary. But hell, that wouldn't be
for another eight months.
I commenced doing squats with the weights, just as my mentor/trainer Darin came bouncing into the weight room.
"There's my girl," he called out, flashing me a smile.
Okay. That's…different.
I'd spent a good deal of time pissing off Darin Murphy. Now for whatever reason, he acted pleased to see me. This immediately put me on alert.
Darin Murphy had been with the bureau for several years. Most recently, he'd completed an assignment in Alaska, of all places. I got the feeling that he hadn't much cared for it. Now his assignment was to torture and humiliate interns, although he liked to refer to it as “coaching.” Though whenever he made said referral, I would always make sure to refer to him as "asscrown" in my head. And smile.
He was a hottie for sure, complete with an Irish temper that, unfortunately, I had been on the receiving end of more than once. He called me a 'slacker' amongst other things, and in all honesty, he was right.
"Cadet Matthews," he said, coming up closer, eyeballing me to make sure that I was in the correct position and really challenging my muscles. "Glad to see you made it in on time this morning. I think you were mistaken when you told me that you weren't a morning person."
He followed that with a sexy wink.
Sweet Jesus - he is flirting . . . kinda . . .
His teasing statement was because I had actually used that lame excuse when he had jumped my ass the previous week about clocking in late for my seven a.m. personal workouts. So, like I said, my punishment was being assigned to an earlier time slot for the next few weeks. Not only that, but it was also now on "my time," meaning I wasn't on the payroll clock like I had been when I was scheduled at seven.
I had to hang with it or get kicked out of the program, and as much as this part of it, and agents like Darin Murphy who loved to bust the chops of newbies for the pure pleasure of it, was clearly not my cup of tea, I was still determined not to fail.
Why?
Because that's what everyone expected me to do, my parents included. I sort of had a history of failure.
"Morning, sir," I addressed him, continuing my repetitions, inhaling and exhaling in timed rhythm.
"Hey, just wanted to let you know that Agent Carpenter said you're doing a good job in learning the database over in the lab. He said you're actually fairly knowledgeable with the analytical instrumentation as well. I have to admit, I'm surprised a little."
I looked over at him, quirking a brow as I finished the last repetition. "I do have a B.S. in Physics from Cal State," I replied, putting the free weights back into their empty slots in the rack.
"So I saw when I reviewed your file," he commented, giving me a boyish grin. "With a 3.87 G.P.A. to boot. Impressive. So, I gotta ask: why did you apply for the Visiting Scientist Program internship? Why not just apply for a job with the bureau and start making real money?"
I wiped the back of my neck with the towel. "Because I'm not twenty-three yet, Agent Murphy. I'm only twenty-two. But, by the time I finish this internship, I will be twenty-three. I guess I figured having the successful completion of the VSP on my resume just might bump me up a notch or three."
He cocked an eyebrow at me, and a devilish grin followed. "The operative words being 'successful' and 'completion,' Cadet Matthews," he retorted, turning and heading back. "That's totally in your court, babe."
And it totally was.
And I knew it.
But why did Darin Murphy care?
chapter 3
Apparently, Memorial Day was some sort of a customary celebration in D.C. I mean, yeah, I can recall growing up and having a long weekend to mark the start of summer. I even remember going to the local Memorial Day parade, but this holiday certainly seemed to be more than that here—at least with my semi-relatives it was.
"Hey Paige," Darcy greeted as I strolled into the kitchen a little after ten a.m. to get my first cup of java. "Want to help me with some of this food? I could use someone to make the deviled eggs."
“Sure,” I said, while adding a generous amount of creamer to my coffee.
I'd been up late, not getting in from Darin's until the wee hours of the morning.
Yeah, that's correct; I'd been doing my coach, which is probably not smart, but hey, there were no official rules against it at the bureau. It was simply that we had both ramped up the flirtations at work, and finally I could think of no good excuse not take Darin up on his invitation to stop by his apartment for beer and pizza one Friday night.
So far, I'd kept this quasi-relationship my own personal business, and thankfully, Darcy wasn't one to pry. But, things with Darin looked to be going from 'quasi' to 'possibly,' so having been apprised of the fact early on that Darin had been in kind of a serious relationship with my host sister-in-law, it was probably smart to clue her in.
My caffeine fix in hand, I made my way to Darcy’s side and watched her torture some tomatoes as she sliced and diced. “So, why are you the one making the food for this barbeque, anyway? I mean, isn’t that why you have Martha Stewart working for you?” I waggled my eyebrows at her.
She laughed good-naturedly. "Her last name isn't Stewart," she replied, "Although, I can understand how you might draw that connection."
"Yeah," I nodded, grabbing an onion that was next to the freshly-washed vegetables next to the cutting board, "Those blueberry scones she makes for the 'Lord of the Manor' are fucking awesome."
Darcy started laughing; wiping a tear from her eye that I was fairly sure was a result of the onion I was currently peeling, and not my reference to my oldest brother Easton.
"I swear Paige," she said, "You freakin' crack me up at times. I can't understand why you and Lindsey seem to rub each other the wrong way. My God, Easton is uber uptight and you seem to hold your own with him."
I was silent for a moment, contemplating what she'd obviously noticed. "It's because Easton has no expectations of me," I replied casually, peeling the next layer of skin from the onion.
"I don't understand," she said, wrinkling her forehead in confusion. "I mean I know the whole deal about him not being a blood relative and all of that, but you still consider him your brother, right?"
“Actually,” I looked over at her and found that I now had her full-blown attention. “To be honest, blood or no, Easton really wasn’t around all that much. And considering the age difference between Trace and me is eleven years, well there you have it. I just don’t share that many memories with Easton, but I mean…it’s more than that, Darcy.”
"Go on," she said, scraping her diced tomatoes into a bowl of drained pasta.
"Well, they both seem like brothers to me as far as that goes, but Trace treats me exactly the same way that my father does—did," I corrected. "I just never seem to make the mark with either of them. Easton? Well he just says what's on his mind, good or bad, regardless of who's in the audience. I mean, I don't think he's harder—or softer—on me than anyone else."
"I get that," Darcy, replied, tossing the pasta salad. "I'm glad you realize that Easton isn't a warm and fuzzy person by nature, and not to take it personally."
“And I hear that,” I replied, smiling. I gestured toward the onions, “Sliced or diced?”
"Hmm? Oh, diced please," she responded with a nod.
I started chopping away at the onions. "Darcy, I need to let you know something and now is probably as good of a time as any…it's kind of, well—uncomfortable."
"Go ahead," she said, watching me.
"Well, the thing is, I'm seeing someone and you actually know this person. I would've said something sooner except that I felt it was just, you know, a purely casual thing?"
She nodded, adding several dollops of mayo to her pasta salad.
"Well, the thing is, I'm thinking now that maybe it's getting to be more than just a casual thing with the two of us, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable with—"
"Say no more," she interrupted, a big grin going. "Lindsey is my best friend, but I'm here
to tell you that I'm not nearly as provincial as she is. I appreciate that you haven't brought guys over—I know she and Trace had issues with it, but what the hell? This place is like a freaking zip code of its own. Easton and I have no issue with you having a steady boyfriend in your life, and having him sleep over here occasionally. So it's cool, okay?"
I looked over to where she was smiling as she tossed the rest of the seasoning into her pasta salad.
Well, that was a piece of cake.
"Wow, thanks," I replied. "But you need to know that the guy I'm talking about is…Darin Murphy."
I turned back to chopping my onions, wincing as I heard the glass bowl that was full of Darcy's pasta salad, hit the kitchen floor and shatter loudly.
chapter 4
Okay, so the Memorial Day barbeque had been just a tad…uncomfy. Once Darcy had regained her ability to speak, she told me in no uncertain terms that it was in Darin Murphy's best interest to never step foot anywhere near their 'zip code.'
She explained that, while she no longer had feelings for him, Easton was a whole different story. She even confided to me that she suspected Easton of having had something to do with Darin getting that sudden assignment in Alaska.
“I mean, I hope he treats you better than he treated me, Paige,” she told me, “But please, be really prepared if he doesn’t.” Darcy gave me a weary look.
I tossed that around in my head for a good second. "So, I guess what you're telling me is that, if I continue to see him, it needs to be kept a secret?" I asked.
She shook her head and reached over to give me the good ol’ friendly arm pat. “Not at all,” she said. “Just from Easton, that’s all. And if you don’t bring him to any family get-togethers, that’d probably be a great idea too.”
The good news about the barbeque was that I was introduced to Darcy's old roommate and still close friend, Eli Chambers and his live-in partner, Cain Maddox.
God!
Those had to be two of the sexiest, drop-fucking-dead gorgeous men that I'd ever laid my chocolate-brown eyes on!