Wicked Firsts

by Naughton, Elisabeth

  He continued to massage her outer lips in slow, maddening strokes, then spread her and pushed in, holding his cock. When he was halfway in, he grinned at her. “But I don’t vibrate.”

  Her lids lowered. “You’ve got be kidding.”

  His grin vanished, and he took on a comically serious expression. “I would never joke about a topic as serious as sex toys.”

  She huffed a laugh and checked in with her body. “I could be mistaken—my head is still in the clouds—but I’m pretty sure it’s not vibrating.”

  He released his shaft and reached into his back pocket, withdrawing a small black rectangle, and displayed it between his thumb and first finger.

  Zoe squinted. “Am I supposed to know what that is? After what you’ve done to me?”

  “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

  “Oh no.” She fisted his shirt, and he leaned into her willingly for a tongue-rolling kiss. When she pulled back, she said, “Not a bad thing at all.”

  Taft gathered her into his arms and settled her ass on the edge of the last stool. The movement sent him deeper, and the hard metal at the head of his cock touched something inside her that made her suck in a breath.

  Keeping one arm tight around her, he brought the rectangle forward. “It’s a remote,” he whispered with mischievous glee, then pressed a button with his thumb.

  A burst of gentle, steady vibration filled her pussy, startling Zoe. Her stomach clenched and she gasped, gripping Taft’s arms. “Oh my God.”

  “Uh-huh.” Taft’s lids went heavy. “And there are strengths.”

  He touched another button twice, and the vibration intensified. The shiver rattled every nerve ending her skin, her walls, her clit. Within seconds, she was ready to fly.

  “Taft…” She groaned his name as her body took over. She tried to arch out of his arms, but he wrapped the other arm around her and held her right there, his shimmering gaze on hers.

  “Uh-uh, baby. Don’t go anywhere,” he murmured. “I want to look into your eyes. I want you looking into mine.”

  He kissed her lips, licked against her tongue, bit down on the corner of her mouth, all while Zoe slowly lost her mind.

  “What are you…doing to me?”

  He gripped her hips, slowly, easily thrusting, bathing the length of her inner walls with this luscious vibration.

  “My God.” She tried to focus on his eyes. Those beautiful eyes. But her vision blurred with the intense pleasure. “You’re making me high.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Christ.” She dropped her head all the way back, and her voice came out desperate and throaty. “That’s…insane.”

  When she righted her head again and opened her eyes, his gaze had turned serious and deep, as if he were trying to communicate without words. Taft pushed deeper, and the hard ball of steel vibrated her to the moon like a rocket—boom. But she didn’t climax. This was different. And even as he stayed deep, pulsing against some place deep inside her that made her want to split in half, he kept all friction away from her clit.

  “Taft…” She whimpered his name, part question, part plea, part pleasure. “What…are you doing?”

  His gaze searched hers for a partial second before a grin quirked his mouth. “Working you’re A spot, baby.”

  Her brow pulled tight. Her brain was definitely off track. He had to have misspoken, but that was not where her G-spot resided. “You mean G?”

  He tightened an arm around her hips, moving her in a way that allowed him to penetrate deeper, and air siphoned into her throat before it clamped down on the extreme pleasure.

  “No. I meant A.” He repositioned his hands at her hips.

  Whatever. It didn’t matter.

  “Open your eyes,” he rasped. “Look at me.” When she did, he whispered, “Hold on tight.”

  Taft bit down on his lower lip and hauled her hips toward his at the same time he thrust himself hard. Deep. The bullet hit a wall, and pleasure ripped through her body. Before she’d even recovered, Taft slammed the vibrator against that spot again. And again and again and again. Zoe couldn’t breathe—her throat closed. She couldn’t move—her muscles froze. With each thrust, she clawed for that edge, that release, but each time, he pulled back too quick and left her teetering.

  And Taft knew. She could see it in the burn of his eyes, hungry to push her to the extreme thrill. In the arrogant tip of his smile, knowing he’d all but succeeded. But she also saw emotion. A more personal need. But one she couldn’t define.

  She was ready to cry in frustration when she finally found the desperation to wrap her calves around his ass. On the next thrust, Zoe caught him. Held that thundering cock against whatever spot—G, A, Z, Q, she didn’t give a shit—and exploded. A blast of pleasure so extreme she knew nothing but that. Nothing but the way it swallowed her body from the center out. Made her arch. Made her head fall back. Made her feel every exquisite millimeter of her body as the pleasure pulsed through it. Slam, explode. Slam, explode. Zoe hit a minefield of orgasms, each so intense her muscles cramped and she choked on air.

  “I can’t last any longer, baby.” Taft’s graveled voice sounded distant. “You’re too much. Too fucking much.”

  Taft pulled out and plunged one more. His orgasm mingled with Zoe’s, his muscles contracting hard, sending his body deep. He grappled for traction where he could as the aftershocks racked him—Zoe, the stools, the display case. And Zoe relished his rich, guttural sounds of surprise, pleasure, and satisfaction the way she licked icing from a cupcake, enjoying every last moment.

  As soon as Taft had his mental capabilities back, he turned off the vibration. Zoe was both disappointed and relieved. She loved the sensation, but a woman could only take so much.

  Taft’s chest hitched and rocked chaotically with his heavy, erratic breathing, and he coughed.

  Wiped his forehead on his bicep. Caressed Zoe’s back and trailed kisses over her neck and shoulder.

  “You,” he said, “are un-freaking-believable.”

  “Me?” She laughed softly. “You’ve got that turned around.”

  He lowered his hands to her thighs and eased back. He tried to hike up his jeans. but they kept falling off his ass. Grinning, he put his weapon and his phone on the display case beside them and turned for the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

  Zoe didn’t have the strength to remain upright. She felt drugged and wondered what chemicals her brain had released into her blood from the succession of orgasms. Then whether or not too many orgasms could kill a person as she pulled her skirt over her ass and curled on her side on the trio of stools.

  “I’m crazy about you, Zoe.”

  His words filled her head and her heart, and she smiled.

  Taft’s phone vibrated, making the glass display rattle. Zoe jumped and glanced that way. Then breathed in relief. Then, considering the whole vibration theme of the night, started laughing.

  She pushed up and leaned over to look at the display. Cordova showed on the screen. Zoe sobered. Just like that, her brain cells returned to their pre-orgasmic clusters. On the fourth ring, Zoe glanced toward the bathroom.

  “Taft?” she called. “Your phone.”

  He didn’t answer. So Zoe did—she picked up his phone and hit ANSWER to receive Rio’s call.

  “Hey, Rio,” she said. “Taft’s in the bathroom.”

  “Again? Does he have a problem we need to talk about?”

  The comment took her so completely by surprise, she burst out laughing. “Maybe your timing needs work. Did we get Picasso?”

  “No,” he said, disgruntled. “They lost us within ten fucking minutes. Look, it’s late. Just tell Walker that I’ve talked with Shipman about your situation and we’ve decided to go ahead with it—if you’re willing to go ahead with it. If not, we’re going to have to come up with some criminal background for you two. Infuse the store’s bank account with cash or set up some Ponzi scheme on the side Cantos or Picasso can uncover when they look deeper.
Not taking an offer this lucrative considering the type of store you’re running would throw up red flags. There’s even a chance they made the offer as a test.”

  Okay. Taft had already talked to Rio about Picasso’s offer. She would have liked to have been in on that conversation, but whatever. She wasn’t going to get weird over that.

  “I understand,” she said, then opened her mouth to ask more, but Rio continued.

  “I know Taft doesn’t think you can handle it, but I know more of your work than he does, and I’m impressed with the inroads you’ve made with Cantos and Picasso so quickly. I just need to know whether or not you’re in, Zoe.”

  Taft doesn’t think you can handle it… Her stomach fluttered, but not in a good way. All the heat there gathered and hardened. She was suddenly out of the loop again, missing chunks of information. “Can you just verify what I’m agreeing to? It’s been chaotic here tonight. Taft and I are hit and miss.”

  The beat of silence lasted a millisecond too long. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

  Zoe’s eyes closed. The rock in her stomach bottomed out. She bent to pick up her panties and fisted them. “No.”

  “Who’s that?” Taft’s voice, guarded, suspicious, just a whisper shy of why-are-you-on-my-phone accusatory, made the skin of Zoe’s neck prickle.

  She lowered the phone from her ear, touched the speaker icon, and looked at Taft. His brows were pulled tight in a frown, his gaze a mixture of fear and belligerence. Such a guy look when they were caught doing something wrong.

  “Taft’s back,” Zoe said, trying to steel herself to the welling hurt. “Which one of you wants to tell me what part of this op Taft didn’t think I could handle?”

  GUILT TANGLED BENEATH TAFT’S RIBS, replacing his excitement and contentment. “That’s not what I said.”

  “Really,” Rio drawled over the open line. “I haven’t been drinking, so I don’t know why I would have heard something you didn’t say.”

  He heaved a breath. Perfect. Now he was in hot water with his girl and his boss. Though Zoe wasn’t really his girl and Rio wasn’t really his boss. Too bad he wasn’t really up shit creek.

  “Taft will be handling that, Zoe,” Rio said. “Both of you meet me at Sunrise Café tomorrow morning at seven a.m., regardless of what decision you come to tonight.”

  Rio disconnected, and Taft’s screen dimmed to black before it lit up with application icons. Dread coated his insides. He fought back the automatic anger that rose out of a need to protect himself. Which was ridiculous.

  “That was out of context,” he said, keeping his voice even.

  “Oh, good.” The regular tone of her voice and the way she breathed in relief brought his head up. “Please, put it in context for me.”

  She slid her perfect ass onto one of the stools he’d just made love to her on and crossed those fabulous legs. Her eyes were bright in the light from the display, her attention complete, her expression open. She didn’t look angry or coy or hurt, and Taft experienced a sense of relief.

  “I don’t have a good feeling about Picasso. Something isn’t right upstairs.”

  “I wouldn’t consider anyone who works for people who’d just as soon decapitate them as fire them quite right in the head, but go on.”

  “You know what I mean.” He shifted on his feet and put his hands at his waist. “And we both know that amount of money for nothing but watching sex isn’t right. I don’t feel good about it.”

  She waited, holding his gaze steadily. When he didn’t go on, she narrowed her eyes. Taft had to force himself not to squirm.

  When he didn’t budge, she tilted her head, just barely. “First of all, you can’t tell me you’re not going to go after a guy whose designs allow drugs and weapons and terrorists into our country because you…don’t feel good about it.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, not bitter or accusing. “Second of all, nowhere in there did you address the ‘Zoe can’t handle it’ statement. Don’t bullshit me, Taft.”

  When he’d talked to Rio after her show, it had all made sense. At least in his own head. Now, looking into her eyes…he knew he’d really fucked up.

  “You’re not experienced enough to go into a deep undercover situation with these men, Zoe.”

  “Which does not translate into I can’t handle it. I’ve never done anything like this before either and I’m certainly handling this fine.”

  “It’s evolving to another level. I’ve done dozens of stings like this. They’ll want you to go to a private party, isolate you—”

  “They can’t isolate me if he wants to watch us have sex.”

  “That may be what he says now, but he’s also mentioned getting you alone, and shit turns on a dime in these situations.”

  “What have I done here that’s indicated I wouldn’t be able to handle another situation?”

  He heaved a breath. “Nothing, but you’d be going into a more dangerous situation.”

  “More dangerous than dancing on stage nearly naked?” Her voice finally started to rise, but she remained logical, composed. “Exposing myself—physically and emotionally—while there were six Diablos standing within shooting range who would empty their clips into my head if they discovered I was Border Patrol? Better yet, the Border Patrol responsible for taking billions of dollars in drugs from them?”

  “Yes.” He stepped forward and took her arms firmly. “I can control this setting. I can’t control something I don’t know. If I can’t control it, anything could happen and I can’t keep you safe.”

  “Taft.” She paused as if gaining patience to counsel one of her men. “We’re a team. As a team, we’re working as equals. We’re each responsible for our own safety first. Then our partner’s—if the need arises. You are not my superior, and it’s not your call to say whether I am or am not capable of handling an operation unless you have a cause to claim such a thing. And we both know you don’t.”

  “I do this all the time, Zoe. Day in and day out. I know what kind of experience you need.” Taft clenched his teeth. This was like arguing with Rio, not a freaking girl. “And you don’t have it.”

  “I do have it. I’ve been a cop for eight years. I’ve been chasing Diablos all that time. I have run specials ops and stings against them. I’ve arrested hundreds, talked to thousands. Don’t tell me I don’t have enough exp—”

  “It’s not the same,” he yelled and immediately wished he could take it back. “Zoe,” he started again, taking her arms, gently this time. “Pretending you’re something you’re not is far easier from a distance, like it is here in the store, than it is up close and personal, like it would be if you accepted Picasso’s offer. You don’t have any experience—”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I do.” She pulled out of his hold, ran her hands down his arms, but the look on her face set off a panic button inside Taft’s gut. She looked sad. Disappointed. But resigned. “I’ve spent my life pretending I loved baseball, tools, and root beer, instead of gymnastics, dolls, and Shirley Temples. I’m an expert at being someone else when I need to be. And I am a cop, Taft. A good cop, who’s pretended to be many things to accomplish as much as I have in my career. Most undercover work is taught on the job, and every undercover has to be a first-time undercover sometime.”

  She squeezed his hands and released them, then turned away.

  A desperation he didn’t understand grasped him by the throat, and he reached for her, catching her by the arm. “Zoe. I don’t want you that close to them.”

  She turned toward him, nodding. Even in the face of his overbearing frustration, she didn’t lash out. “I understand.”

  She curled her fingers around his and pried his hand from her arm. She raised his palm to her mouth and kissed it. When she released it, she stepped back, out of easy reach. She met his eyes steadily, but she suddenly seemed very distant, and Taft ached.

  A sad smile tipped her mouth. “This is one of the reasons I don’t mix men and work.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Z
OE SECURED THE LAST CLIP ON HER GARTER and straightened. Her muscles pulled and protested. Between the dancing and Taft, she had certainly gotten the workout of a century last night. But other parts of her hurt too, internal parts-her heart, her gut, her conscience.

  She looked in the mirror as she slipped on the earrings she'd bought earlier in the day along with the dress. When she scanned her reflection, Zoe felt as if she were looking as someone else.

  “Guess that's good,” she murmured, running her fingers through freshly straightened hair. “Because I'm supposed to be someone who'd sell her body.”

  The soft knock on the door made her start.

  “Zoe,” Taft said. “Time to go.”

  The confusion and hurt resurfaced in an instant. “Be right out.”

  She looked hard at her reflection and whispered, “He cares, you idiot.”

  Zoe blew out a breath and pressed her lips together. The justification didn't carry any more weight now that it had any of the other times she'd tried to force it to fit. Caring about someone didn't give anyone the right to hold that person back. She'd had this problem with her father. He'd been all for her going into law enforcement, until she took the job in San Diego. Had been all for her getting into male-dominated sports, had even been the one to push her that direction, until she showed an interest in motocross, which he viewed as too dangerous.

  Now she had Taft, who was all for her working undercover as long as she stayed within a certain circle of safety. And she absolutely could not live with someone's personal viewpoint having influence over her work. Talk about feeling powerless.

  She'd spent all last night tossing and turning, trying to untie the emotional knots surrounding her feelings for Taft, then spent the day working with him in awkwardness. And she was still fighting this inner war.

  “Crap.” She couldn't think about this now.

  Another tap on the door. “Zoe?”

  She pulled it open and found Taft standing sideways, his head tilted toward the door as if he'd been listening for her. He pulled back, lips parted in surprise.