by Natalie Wrye
Javi opens his laptop.
“I don’t have time for this, Delilah.”
I don’t waver. “Well, then we’d better make this quick.”
I approach the desk, sliding a hand across it. He slaps a hand on mine, stilling my movement. I peek downwards into his face. His green eyes narrow with latent warning.
“Del, I’m serious… Don’t do this.”
I feign innocence, sauntering around the desk in front of Javi’s slowly widening eyes.
“This?” I ask. “You mean getting half-naked? You mean coming here? You mean telling you to fuck me?”
Javi inhales sharply, his lower jaw grinding ever so slightly. His nostrils flare.
“All of it, Delilah. This isn’t what you want or need.”
I stop in front of him.
“I’m not Delilah, remember? I’m you. And as Javi Mondello, I can tell you that you’re wrong…this is exactly what I want. And this is more than what I need.”
He leans forward in his chair, seemingly prepared to stand. “Look, if you need to talk…”
I make my move. I interrupt him, sitting abruptly in his lap. But I am not cuddled up like a child; I am straddling him, and the satin and lace of my panties plants itself firmly between his thighs, while each of my bare legs dangles seductively where the arm rests would normally be.
Javi’s eyes grow inflamed.
“I don’t need to talk anymore,” I tell him, gazing straight into his face. “I think you know what I need.” I hesitate a beat. “You… You’re what I need.”
And then I kiss him.
I squeeze my body onto his, attempting to push all of Delilah Castalano’s thoughts out of my head. Tonight, I’m Javier Mondello. I’m stone-cold…and I am going to play this game until my last piece is off the table.
I do a pretty good job of being Javi, too, because the former Javi’s body responds on impact, his cock growing hard and strong between my legs that are aching for his touch. Even fully clothed, he is rock solid, and I rub the top of my slit across his steel-colored slacks, lowering my pussy so it sits on his hard cock while I lick his hardened jaw.
He groans. “I’m not nice enough for this shit.”
My mouth roams lower. “Don’t be nice. Be you.”
His chuckle is low—gruff. “I thought you were me tonight. Besides… ‘me’ is bad for you, Del.”
And don’t I know it.
But I need to put the cards back on my side; I need to even the odds of this twisted little game. I unbutton Javi’s collar and shirtfront, biting his chest until my lips press against the dip above his abdomen. The muscle there is harder than any marble, and the skin above it is smoother than silk, its surface peppered with light brown fuzz, punctuated by small dots of chocolate-colored freckles.
I slide my bottom backwards almost onto his knees so that my tongue can travel.
Lower. Lower. And lower…
It is too much. For me and him. The route is torturous, and I know that it is driving him crazy. He grinds his normally controlled hips towards the center of my pussy.
He wants in. And I am drugged by the control.
It’s intoxicating…to watch Javi lose it, to watch his command slip from his grasp and into mine. I need to push him over this edge. I sink to my knees in front of his chair, and his eyes widen deliciously. I can see the hunger in his irises, and it turns me on like nothing I have ever known.
I unzip the fly of his pants slowly. He stares into my eyes through every second.
“We are going to ruin each other.” His statement is spoken softly with a scary finality.
I can’t respond; he’s right…and the only thing that I can do is nod. I’ve already forgotten the game I was playing and all of a sudden, it doesn’t matter who I am.
Javi. Delilah. Mandi Moore.
Hell, fucking Chewbacca.
Because every piece of me—every centimeter of this foreign body—craves Javi more than my last breath. And if this is what ruin looks like, then wreck the fuck out of me…because, in this moment, I feel literally incapable of wanting anything but him.
I uncover his immaculate cock and before he can properly finish his statement, my mouth is on him. I take complete control of Javi’s body, and I feel a power that I’d forgotten I possessed.
I draw him deeper and deeper, licking and plunging his hardened silk into my mouth that is eager for his taste. With every dip along my tongue, I bring him closer to the brink, and it is only when I know he is begging for it, only when I know his body yearns to be released, that I relinquish my hold over to him.
And Javi is only too happy to receive it.
He grips the back of my head, pressing himself farther into my soaking mouth. It is a slow, firm push—a skilled move that doesn’t force but encourages.
Mmmm. He makes every maneuver somehow ten times better.
I can feel my throat relax around Javi’s cock, and I take him to unachieved depths. There isn’t anything that Javi can’t do well, and like the sex god I’m starting to believe he is, he fucks my mouth like a pro, guiding the length of his dick into the recesses of my open mouth.
It is one fluid motion that slides him far inside, letting my throat accommodate him comfortably before he draws back out again. Already, he can tell my limit and teeters along its fine line.
What a fucking ride.
And in several more instants, Javi grows harder than ever, his cock becoming a brazen brass under a sheath of satin. The taste of him is fucking exquisite, and I quicken my pace, speeding up my tongue’s strokes to push him to the precipice.
Come for me, Javi. Lose control.
But he doesn’t.
Just when I know he’s on the edge, he lifts me from my knees, gripping underneath of my arms to place my back in his lap.
He wants me to fuck him.
And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Kick these panties to the side and ride Javi until he can barely say my name. He clutches the back of my neck, fiercely whispering above my mouth.
“Sit on my dick, baby…and fucking ride me.”
Yes. I want to voice it, maybe even scream it from the rooftop… but my mouth is too needy for his kiss to speak the words. Javi draws me into his greedy mouth, and we consume each other, taking turns teasing the other with open-mouthed caresses and ravenous bites.
His full mouth trails towards my jaw, licking and sucking with fervor, and I rediscover my voice.
“Yesss, Javi,” I hiss between clenched teeth. “Fuck me… Make me forget…”
The second the words leave my lips, I regret them…because Javi’s mouth freezes mid-air and he drops the hands that grip me within an instant. He pulls back to sit straight and closes his fly. He stands without warning, picking me up abruptly—almost roughly. He pivots in his shiny black shoes before plopping me back down in the now-vacated leather seat.
Javi leans over me with a fire in his eyes, an emerald-shaded flame that burns into my stare, singeing the very nerves on the surface.
He looks furious. He reaches down slowly towards me with one hand, and he grips my chin, forcing me to gaze into his molten green blaze.
His voice is menacing.
“Have you told your sister, Penelope, that you’re here?” he growls. I shake my head, gaping as he says the next words. He leans in closer. “And what about your husband?”
My head slams against cotton before I wake up, my eyes flying without hesitation into full-on defensive mode. I’m still in my hospital bed (barely), but the scene lying in front of me is completely different than it was an hour (maybe two?) ago when I was dreaming about a life different than my own. A life with Javi.
He’s long gone, the tubes sticking out of my arm my only reminder that he was never here, never with me. Not like that, anyway.
I ignore my instincts. As usual.
I crawl under the covers again, willing myself to go back to sleep and in my mind, Javi joins. My body still smarts and I’ve probably got a bruise
on my butt from taking that fall, but like always with Javi—even the fictional one, I forget everything. I forget the pain. I forget myself.
Pressed up against me, imaginary Javi’s body is like a bundle of sensation, affecting my senses in a million different ways. His chest is warm against my back. His nose is cool against my temple.
And before I can muse about the feel of any of his other body parts, I am dozing off, dreaming about fantasy places, imagining a reality I’ve never known, a love that was never realized, a life that would’ve been mine.
Unfold
JAVI
Hospitals have always fucked with me. I’m sure they fuck with everybody. Nothing good happens here.
The disease. Sickness. Blood. Anguish.
It’s the worst sides of humanity, everything that you fight not to become. Each tiled hall is a reminder that we are supple, weak and dying with every breath we take.
I stand before Delilah’s hospital room, mustering up more rigidity than I feel, trying to keep my countenance strong so that the cracks in my armor won’t show.
I’m worried.
Worried that she won’t be alright. Worried that her condition is worse than I thought. Worried that she will see…how much I’m worried.
Sucking in a breath that feels full of fire, I stalk into the sterile white room, bracing myself for what is to come. I enter the room, and my eyes find her immediately, her eyes closed, lying on her back in a blue-ish hospital gown, a bandage on her brow.
She’s pale. But then again she always was. Her hair actually seems longer somehow, the strands spread around her face, and I cannot help it.
I’ve fucked up. Badly. I can’t help but think that I’ve made a mistake bringing Del here. I know that getting her to trust me is a gamble—at the very least, a shot in Hell.
Less than seven days ago, if she touched me with a ten-foot pole, I might have died of shock. Her walls fifteen years ago were merely playpen-sized to the Mount Everests that she’s erected since, and on top of that…
I’ve implicated myself. Tampered with a federal witness. All with my goddamned eyes open.
Why did it have to be her? Why did the only witness willing to put the Enforcer away have to be Delilah Castalano? A thorn from my past?
If she were gorgeous and vapid, unattractive or maybe even uninteresting… But no. The universe had to make her stunning and funny and intriguing. Stupid, petty-ass universe. Just my goddamned luck.
Fifteen years ago, Delilah Castalano was supposed to be nothing but another snobby schoolgirl when she fell out of the sky and into my lap. And now I can’t stop thinking of ways to put her there…literally.
I want to lay her down and caress her small, curvy body with my tongue. I want to hear her sweet whispered whimpers in my ear. I want to plant my face between her thighs and dig my fingers into her writhing and rounded hips.
But I can’t. I can’t touch a federal witness. A married federal witness, at that, and despite her separation from her dickhead of a husband… I have to respect her position. And mine.
I’ve just gotten back into the Bureau. Was my “Little Miss Preppy Princess” worth losing out on it again?
And fuck… Was what I had done so goddamned wrong? Acting on the attraction that we both clearly feel? Her little sighs. Those soft moans. They weren’t imagined.
When I kissed Del, she responded…grabbing my body and pulling me into hers. Close enough to feel her breasts against me. Close enough to hear each hollow heartbeat. She wanted the kiss as much as I did.
Despite my earlier self-warnings, I can’t quite…stay away. God help me, I know I need to.
I reach out towards her, tracing my touch along the curves of her face, my fingertips feeling the heat of Delilah’s deceptively silky skin. She’s surprisingly warm. Small scratches litter the surface of her hairline, the blue bruises doing nothing to mar the softness of her delicate face.
A small mole peeks near the corner of her right eye. Almost a beauty mark, caramel brown in color, it seems strategically placed. My fingers descend. They nearly brush over the spot when a voice pipes up.
“Admiring the view?” I hear from behind me. I lower my hand, turning.
Angie strolls into the room, her brown eyes smiling. Mirth lying in her cocoa irises, she doesn’t crack a grin, but the curiosity is coming off her in waves. And when she smiles with her eyes, and I smile back with my lips, folding my arms into myself, almost hiding the hand that touched Delilah.
Angie blinks sweetly as if she’s oblivious to my shame.
“Hi,” I say, laughing shakily. “Thanks for showing up.”
“Of course. It was my pleasure,” she replies, straight-faced, her eyes never leaving my own. “When you call, I come running. What kind of assistant would I be if I didn’t?”
I smile, nudging her shoulder. “A sane one.” I cross my arms, feeling the sting across my own shoulder, the strain of the day hitting me like a ton of bricks, the bruises across my skin sore to the touch. I wince. “Nice work, Agent Ang.”
“Not quite ‘agent’ yet,” she smirks. “But working on it.” She glances down at Delilah, still lying on the hospital bed, her skin as white as the sheets. “How is she?”
“Concussed.” I gaze down at Delilah’s diminutive form. “They nearly trampled the life out of her.”
Ang nods. “And the rest of the crowd?”
“Minor injuries. Surprisingly. Nothing serious.” I circle the white-washed hospital bed. “Seems someone thought sending off warning shots in the air was a good idea.” I squeeze a fist. “The only feat it was good for was pissing me the hell off.”
Ang takes a quick peek outside of the door. “Let’s take this in the hallway, huh? Delilah doesn’t need to wake up to a murderous rampage.”
A smirk draws on her lips, the corners quivering. But the second she reaches for the door, the sounds of a news report on the overhead TV screen catch my attention. I watch Angie’s eyes go wide and when I turn to see what she is looking at, I feel my own eyes bulge, my breath quickening as a slew of images go scattering across the screen. I point to the remote control laying at the edge of Delilah’s bedspread.
“Turn this up,” I say to Ang, not recognizing my own voice. A shiver runs down my arms and stays.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
“In local news today,” the reporter on the television comments, “the search is still on for the person responsible for the pandemonium started at a public speech given by New York Senator Robert Fletcher today. Fletcher, fresh from an assassination attempt that left the renowned statesman comatose, was announcing his bid for the upcoming presidential election when shots rang out amongst the crowd, leaving several hospitalized, and even more injured.
“Police authorities are in desperate search of the person or persons responsible for the damaging scares and are taking critical measures to get in contact with any and all witnesses to the incident. If you have any information, please give authorities a call at…”
“1-800-you-blue-boys-freaking-suck-at-this?”
I hear a groan from the bed. I look downwards. Del. Awake. And aware.
Her eyes open slowly and she moves to sit up. She winces as her back straightens up in the hospital bed, her lips pressed into a thin line, her stare flitting from me to Angie as her eyes blink slowly.
The nervous pout on her pretty lips is obvious, and I see the hints of curiosity shining in her eyes, the unasked questions shimmering in their watery depths. But me? I can’t stop staring at her, almost forgetting that Angie is in the room as soon as Delilah casts those acute blue eyes in my direction, her fingertips tapping the button to call the nurse.
And I realize…that it’s her lips, their color that distracts me so fucking much.
I stared at her cherry mouth this afternoon. All afternoon. Wondering why I was so turned on by it. I didn’t register it until now.
It’s her nervous habit, the one I’d met in the nearly empty school hallway.
She doesn’t bite her lip. She gnaws it. She tucks her bottom lip inside of her mouth, rolling it between her teeth, and when she does it, the motion is less like chewing, nothing like gnashing…and more erotic than anything I’ve ever known. She’s more playing with it than anything. It turns her lips a bright red. And they’re constantly flushed.
And in that instant, despite everything, I know I want them.
In my mouth, on my tongue. On my cock.
The funny thing is…more than I want her to put her lips on me, I am suddenly craving to put my mouth on her, to place my tongue on that porcelain skin of hers that begs to be touched. Smooth and milky. Like porcelain.
And like the delicate material, it’s difficult to handle—hard on the outside, but fragile. So deceivingly fragile. There aren’t many items on Earth I wouldn’t give for just a touch, maybe a taste.
And I automatically know I’m in deeper shit than I thought. Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?
I reach for her, but she pulls away from my touch, the tension rolling off her petite body in damning waves. She’s beautiful, even with a frown on her face. I’m dying to touch her still, but she doesn’t let me, and we wait in silence until a nurse finally comes in, checking her blood pressure, rebandaging her body while Angie slowly slinks out of the room to give us some space, her blonde brows raising as she exits without another word, her worry evident as she squeezes my arm with her touch.
And still I can’t keep my eyes off Del.
Del, the princess. Del, the indomitable.
I’ve never seen someone try to convince everyone that she can handle herself more than her, but I don’t buy it. She doesn’t want me to know. Know how fragile she really is. And with the way she talks, the way she walks, I know it’s just a façade to keep people at bay… Nothing more than a badly built cover. To hide her vulnerability. Especially from me.
She doesn’t trust me.
And it’s hard to blame her. When you’ve built a career on lies, when you tell untruths almost every time you open your mouth, it’s hard to go out of your way to convince people that you’re worthy of their trust.