Wicked Firsts

by Naughton, Elisabeth

  The condom wasn't even flush with the base of his penis before he pushed into her. Just a little. Just his head. Just for a taste of relief.

  Oh, but no. It wasn't enough. He needed more. Pushed deeper.

  Zoe laughed deep in her throat. More of breathy moan of pleasure, really. “Soooooo, good.”

  Blood pulsed into Taft's cock. His muscles tensed. His hips lunged. He dug deeper.

  “Yes,” Zoe breathed.

  And deeper.

  “God, yes.”

  And deeper.

  “Christ, Taft, don't stop.”

  But he had to. At least for a second. To clear his head. Find some traction.

  He opened his eyes and found Zoe watching him, her gaze glittering, face flushed, breathing quick. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly. No idea why. He just…needed to. He needed a lot of things out of this sex he knew he wasn't going to get. Things he couldn't name. Things he didn't understand. Things he'd never needed before. Yet…he knew they'd be missing when this was over.

  She kissed him back the same way. Met his eyes with something soft. Ran her hand over his forehead and down the side of his face, before curling her fingers into his hair and lowering her thigh from his shoulder. Then she pulled his head down and kissed him like she wanted to fuck, and lifted her hips, pushing him deep inside her.

  Taft's entire body burst with light and sensation. With her hands on one stair and her feet on another, Zoe used the height difference to move herself over Taft, effectively thrusting for him. The sensation was wildly unique. But soon, he couldn't hold still.

  Braced one stair lower, he watched her expressions as he thrust. Watched the changes in her eyes. Loved witnessing her pleasure layer and build and spiral. As her body coiled tighter, Taft curved an arm around her waist, leaned back until he was kneeling on a step and pulled her into his lap. Here he could let his hands roam, he could kiss her mouth, watch her face, look into her eyes.

  Here he could use his thighs to vary the power and depth of his thrusts to tantalize or accommodate. And wanted to pump a fist in the air when he found Zoe liked it hard and deep, because she made him need to give the same. He kept the rhythm steady and strong, waiting, waiting, waiting for her climax to build on the inside.

  When her teeth clenched and her brow tightened, Taft slid his hand down her flat, taut belly and pressed his thumb to her clit.

  “Oh my God…” Zoe's nails bit into Taft's triceps, intensifying his thrill. Tightening his chest.

  She was burning hot, slick and smooth and tighter than a cock ring. The expressions that passed over her face could hypnotize him. Taft quickened his pace. Zoe made a high sound in her throat that continued and grew in pitch. Her body stiffened, her already tight muscles going hard in his hands. She clenched around him.

  Ah, beautiful.

  He loved this part. This was the very best fucking part.

  Zoe's head fell against Taft's shoulder with a sound of pleasure so deep, it rocked him. Her teeth scraping his skin was the signal that unlocked the gates.

  “Ah, fuck, Zoe…” The blast hit him from two directions-the front, low in the gut, and the back, at the base of his spine-and speared pleasure up through his belly and chest. Down through his legs. He clutched Zoe. Pressed his face into her neck and just held on, thrusting through the climax, wanting to make it last. “Zoe. Zoe.”

  He kept saying her name, but he didn't know why. And he didn't seem to have control over it. But that didn't matter. Neither did Zoe not saying his name.

  He stroked the soft skin of her back and breathed in the sexy-sweet scent of her, reminding himself that none of this meant anything other than a mutual attraction.

  And freaking blistering sex-no toys required.

  Which he wanted again.

  Like…

  Now.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ZOE’S HEART POUNDED. Her body felt like a bottle of champagne, filled with tiny, fizzing bubbles. Her head lolled on Taft’s shoulder. Her arms, limp, slid from around his neck. She needed to move off him. His legs had to be cramping after kneeling on that step for so long.

  But he was twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. Kissing a path down her neck and across her shoulder. The fingertips of his other hand drew patterns on her back, making her skin tingle with gooseflesh.

  She sighed. Smiled. Laughed.

  “What?” His murmur was heavy, his voice thick. It kicked up tingles between her legs, where he still filled her.

  Overfilled her.

  She rolled her face into his neck and kissed him. “That was…” How did she describe something like that in a few words without sounding like an idiot? “Wild.”

  “A-freaking-mazing,” he breathed, making her smile. “And it’s going to get better and better. I just have to figure out how to get you up those stairs to your bed.”

  “Hmm.” His hair was thick and smooth and so soft. “Logistics are always such a pain in the ass. It would probably help if I got off your lap.”

  He made a negative sound in his throat, lifted his head, and kissed her. Zoe sighed into his mouth. His lips were loose against hers, his tongue lazy. Inside her, he grew harder, thicker. Longer. Her sex tingled and heated. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss.

  Taft groaned deep in his throat. Pulled away to murmur, “God, your mouth…”

  “Ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Walker.” The thought made her hungry. “Wait till I get you on your back.”

  A phone rang.

  They both froze—tongues tangled, hands caught in hair. Taft released a breath and pulled out of the kiss first. “Fucking figures, right? I think it’s mine.”

  Zoe grinned. “You don’t have to go far for it.”

  “Where’s your bathroom?” He reached behind him, a lopsided smile tipping his mouth and making the gold flecks in his eyes take over, his gaze warming to dark caramel. He pulled out his phone and nodded when she pointed to the top of the stairs. Hitting a button on the phone, he brought it to his ear. “Walker.”

  The serious, professional tone of his voice sent a thrill through Zoe’s chest. But that thrill turned into a burn as a tangle of realizations hit her. Of what she was doing—screwing her sort-of coworker. Of what she’d done—exposed him to danger. Of what she still had to face—pulling out of this op and working the border again.

  Zoe broke Taft’s gaze and used his shoulders to balance as she carefully eased off him.

  Taft winced but supported her waist with his free hand. When she was standing, he offered her the jeans from the floor beside him.

  As soon as he was off the phone, she was going to suggest a shower together. They could make cleanup pull double duty. May as well get as much of him as she could, while she could.

  Taft circled his hand near the phone in a sign of impatience and shot Zoe a half grin, signaling Rio was still talking. Zoe bit her lip to stifle a laugh. Still kneeling, he closed his eyes and ran a hand over his head.

  Zoe was thinking about undressing him, about getting to see his body, feeling every inch of him as she soaped him up in the shower…

  “Yeah, she’s right here.”

  Zoe’s gaze jerked from his chest to his face. She was standing on one foot, her other sliding into her panties and jeans all at once, and almost tipped over. Taft caught her with a hand. A grin lit his face and silent laughter shook his shoulders. Which, of course, made her want to laugh.

  She pulled her jeans up, telling herself not to get all crazy for this guy. He was a player. A serious player. And Zoe was just another game. Which was fine. She knew the score, and she liked it. She hadn’t done well with any kind of real relationship since Brent. This worked for her.

  “Sure.” Taft pulled the phone away from his ear and said, “He wants to talk to both of us,” before putting it on speaker. “Boss, I’m going to run to the restroom. Be right back.”

  “Hey, Rio,” she said.

  Taft handed Zoe his phone, pushed to his feet, hiking up his
jeans at the same time, and started up the stairs.

  This episode would definitely go down in the memory books.

  “I have good news,” Rio said.

  Taft halted on the top stair, hand on the banister running along the wall, and twisted to look at her. The laughter was gone from his face. Not even a trace left. Light from windows in her loft-style bedroom drifted over the half wall behind him and backlit his dark hair and red shirt. His eyes grabbed Zoe’s and didn’t let go.

  “I have a couple of guys tight with the Diablos in Ensenada,” Rio said. “They’re working with the CI planted deep in Tijuana. The guy knows all about the trouble they’re having getting product to Cantos but says it’s because of a team of agents. There hasn’t been any mention of perra blanca or a female agent. Your name hasn’t come up.”

  Zoe’s gaze broke from Taft’s with a mixture of excitement, relief, and disappointment. A confidential informant, or CI, was usually a solid information source. “That is good news.”

  “Gee, Brooks,” Rio drawled. “I thought you’d be a little more enthusiastic. You sound like I told you your puppy died.”

  His sarcasm, the lightness in his tone, helped Zoe put things in perspective. “Sorry, just thinking. Anything else?”

  “What the hell is taking Walker so long?”

  Taft came down two steps. “I’m here, boss. Didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  Zoe couldn’t tell if that strain in his voice was real or imagined.

  “Let’s stay on track with the plan to manipulate this connection Zoe’s got with Cantos. He’s going to be the key to reaching Picasso when the time comes.”

  An idea that had flitted through her mind the night before tracked across her brain again.

  She shot a sidelong look at Taft. “As long Walker is okay with having me there.”

  “Walker?” Rio asked, directing his question to Taft.

  “You’re confident with your CI?”

  “I’m confident with my guys who are confident with the CI.”

  Taft’s gaze lost some pretty shimmer and darkened. “All right, then.” He turned and climbed the remaining stairs, muttering, “I guess I’ll have to unfire her.”

  “What?” Rio asked.

  Taft turned toward the stairs, one hand on his hip, one in his hair. Jeans still undone. Shirt still unbuttoned.

  Hell, he looked good standing there between her bedroom and her bathroom, damp with sweat, tousled and brooding.

  He could easily make a woman think about wanting to come home to that.

  “Nothing,” Taft said, louder.

  Zoe promised to keep Rio updated and disconnected. She and Taft gazed at each other over the length of the stairs for a long time before she started up slowly.

  “Can you be honest with me?” she asked. “And tell me if you aren’t comfortable with this?”

  “I don’t have a problem with you working the case if you aren’t going to be made.”

  She reached the stair beneath his and paused. There was definitely something still bothering him. “But…?”

  “You aren’t going to—this isn’t going to happen again, is it?”

  Her mind darted back to that moment right after he’d pushed into her for the first time and the look in his eyes when he’d kissed her so tenderly.

  Her heart did some corkscrew-type twist that made her wince.

  He mistook that as her answer and turned for the bathroom. “Thought not.”

  “Taft—”

  “It’s fine.” He stepped into the bathroom and faced her at the door, his mask in place.

  She hesitated. “It…is?”

  “I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

  His indifference didn’t pinch as much as the distance he’d shoved between them again.

  “Okay, then.” She handed him his phone. “I guess I’m going to head into the store.”

  He lowered one brow. “You’re not going to…shower or anything?”

  She smiled, just a little, her gaze on his chest. “I’d rather smell like you all day.”

  Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Disappointment and longing seemed to fill the space. “Okay, then,” he echoed, his voice soft. “I guess I’ll be right behind you.”

  He shut the door while she was standing there. Gently, but still.

  Zoe’s chest compressed as if a rock crushed it. She put her hand to the door and drew a breath to speak. But found she was too confused to say anything and turned for the stairs instead.

  TAFT LEANED AGAINST THE WALL near the store’s counter and crossed his arms, watching the store fill as shoppers drifted in. Outside, the sky was dark, but Zoe still handed out fliers to gather spectators for her bright idea. They’d brought in another agent to pose as a cashier for the “event,” and she busily rang up sales at the register.

  Taft glanced at his watch.

  It was about time for the show to start.

  “Hey, Honcho?” Dalton’s voice came over Taft’s earpiece. The other agent was positioned outside the store near Zoe. “Got some interesting action here.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Our fringe players just showed up,” Dalton said, indicating Cantos and Vasquez. “Brooks is chatting them up now.”

  “And the interesting part?”

  “They’re…not alone.” Dalton hesitated, and Taft waited with clenched teeth and fists. “I’m trying to get a better view, but I’m pretty damned sure they’ve got the target with them.”

  “Fuck.” Taft dropped his arms. His brain immediately searched for alternative plans. They hadn’t expected Picasso tonight. “What kind of security has he got with him?”

  “Three beefy bouncer types. He’s wearing shades and a fedora, but…I’m pretty sure…”

  Taft pushed off the wall. Alarm heated him from the inside out. He focused in on Zoe through the window again, but it was hard to see her with all the people milling around.

  “Call three of the six guys in from the perimeter. And call in for backup.”

  Taft made his way through the store toward two other agents, a man and a woman posing as a couple.

  “Are we taking him now, Honcho?”

  Dalton had dubbed Taft Honcho, short for head honcho. “Not unless it goes to shit. Way too many civilians here. I’ll call the boss, then come out to get her.”

  “Copy that,” Dalton returned.

  Taft paused before he reached the agents where he could see Zoe out the window and dialed Rio on his cell. She stood with her back toward Taft, encircled by men. And even though the body language of the group was loose and easy, even though the men were smiling and chuckling as Zoe spoke and gestured, Taft’s muscles tensed.

  He forced his mind to imagine her as any other female partner. Or another male partner who happened to be small in stature. He couldn’t say the nerves were truly equal. He had to admit there was a personal element to his concern. But he felt better knowing he would still be acting just as cautiously even if it weren’t Zoe. Neither of them could afford to be weak in the heat of things.

  “What’s up?” Rio answered.

  “The target’s here with three bodyguards.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Too fast. We’re not prepared. Zoe’s idea was a little too popular. This place is packed. We don’t have enough men or enough of a plan to take him now. I need a team to follow him when he leaves.”

  “Hold on.”

  Rio got on another phone and ordered an undercover team to rendezvous at the mall with Taft’s agents to tail Picasso, then returned to Taft’s call.

  “You got it,” Rio said. “This could work out even better. If we can follow him to where they’ve got him stashed, we can take him there. Keep your eye on him and hold tight. I’ve alerted SWAT.”

  Taft pocketed his phone, released a long breath, and approached the agents. The woman, Aurora, had discovered a portable vibrator disguised as a tube of lipstick and was checking the vibration strengths aga
inst her palm.

  “This is nifty,” she said to Taft when he stopped.

  “A good seller too,” he said, still searching for a decent view of Zoe. “Listen, the target’s here.” Both agents instantly focused on Taft. “I don’t know if he’s going to come in, but he’s got muscle with him. I’ve called in guys from the perimeter and backup. But we’re in defense mode, got it? Nothing is going down here tonight. Too many people.”

  Both agents nodded.

  “I’m going to bring Brooks in and get this party started.”

  He felt like he was swimming upstream just to reach the door. He pushed into the warm night air and propped the glass door open, then approached Zoe.

  She wore a little slip of a dress—nothing more than a silky, deep-aqua piece of fabric flowing over her slim body and perfect curves, shoulders to high thigh. The sleeveless piece was cut low in the front, low in the back, and Zoe had matched it with spiked black boots that made Taft groan internally every time he looked at them.

  He’d been living with a hard-on since she’d come out of the bathroom in the outfit. One that had taken her all of twenty minutes to find when she’d gone out to get something to eat earlier.

  Taft didn’t know a woman who could shop for a lottery ticket in twenty minutes, let alone a dress and shoes.

  He paused at the center of the pathway where shoppers mingled and addressed the crowd at large. “It’s almost nine o’clock, folks. If you’re staying for the demonstration, now would be the time to find a seat.”

  As people filtered into the store, he walked over to Zoe. She smiled at him over her shoulder, her eyes dancing with that spark of excitement that told him she knew who she was talking to. His ribs cinched down around his chest and lungs—but not because of Picasso. Yes, Taft would enjoy grabbing this guy and wringing information from him, but it was the affection in Zoe’s gaze that touched Taft deep inside. Deeper than he’d been touched by a woman in a very, very long time.

  He slid one arm around her waist and held one out to Cantos. Then Vasquez. He lifted a casual wave to the other men, all between twenty and thirty-five years old, purposely taking little interest.