by Cat Johnson
I hooked my hands beneath each of her knees and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. “No.”
She twisted her mouth. “Do you even know what I’m talking about?”
“No.” I reached down and slipped one finger beneath the edge of the lace and groaned. “God, you’re wet.”
“I’ve been like that since the party. That’s what I’m talking about. It’s weird, right?”
“If it is, I’m good with it.” I slid one finger inside her and watched her mouth open on a gasp.
Her response to my touch was sheer perfection and I wanted more.
I flipped her over and lifted her hips, putting her on all fours and giving me the perfect view of her lace-covered bum. I rubbed a palm over her and groaned again.
She’d stopped obsessing about the possibility of being weird, which was good, because I was done analyzing our reaction to today’s sex fest.
There were far better things for us to do.
I trailed a finger down and slid inside her again. She leaned back against me.
Enjoying her enthusiasm, I shoved the lace aside. I replaced my finger with my cock and pressed deep.
Being fully seated in this woman should have been enough. It wasn’t.
I reached forward, wrapped my arms around her and pulled her upright. She was on her knees and pressed back against me.
It was an inspired change in position on my part, which gave me access to everything I adored.
I nuzzled her neck while I ran my palm over her stomach, all the way down until I reached her clit. With my other hand I had full access to one of her glorious tits. All while I was sunk deep inside her.
Her breath started to come in gasps as I worked her with my finger and cock.
I knew the moment she started to come I wouldn’t be able to hold on. I was right. I felt the first spasm squeeze me as she cried out and had to grit my teeth and think of the Queen to keep from coming.
I rode out her orgasm for longer than I thought possible. The moment her spasms began to slow I let myself be selfish. I eased her down onto the bed and went to town, plunging inside her from behind until I cried out with my own release.
I pulled out of her still wanting more. Flipping her over onto her back, I crawled on top of her and plunged inside again while I was still hard.
This position proved even better than the last. I got to see her face, flushed as she breathed fast and shallow. I got to kiss her and take her mouth as I stroked inside her body.
It would be impossible to pick just one favorite way to love Chelsea. Fortunately I didn’t have to.
The moments ticked by as I set a leisurely pace and thoroughly enjoyed loving her.
Her breathing began to speed and I felt her hips lift to meet me as tiny noises caught in her throat. I watched her face—beautiful as she came again.
The sight brought on my second release.
I collapsed on top of her, panting and spent—for now.
Chelsea let out a breathy laugh beneath me. “You’re enthusiastic tonight.”
I’d known for a while that with Chelsea once was never enough, but she didn’t know the half of it. I was currently considering if there was a sex shop anywhere nearby that sold those tails we saw today.
The one thing I was avoiding, however, was the fact that sinking myself into Chelsea was the best way to avoid thinking about my impending departure. To make me completely forget that would require even more enthusiasm on both our parts.
EIGHTEEN
“I’m going to jump in the shower.” She pulled an oversized T-shirt over her head.
“Okay, love.”
I watched her walk away, enjoying how just the bottom of her bum cheeks peeked out from beneath the shirt. One day I was going to get a hotel room with a huge shower stall and I’d take that shower with Chelsea.
One day.
I was running out of days. I’d done a fairly good job ignoring the fact I was leaving for London too bloody soon.
Keeping that information from Chelsea, selfish though it might be, had helped keep me in deep denial. But now that we’d found Morgan, and Zane and his D.C. connections were making sure the appropriate authorities were aware of the dodgy dealings of Angel Escort Services, I had no excuse to delay my return to New York.
There was nothing stopping me—except for the fact I simply didn’t want to go.
In past I’d always scoffed at the supposed distinction between fucking and making love. Not anymore. Not with Chelsea. It was an ill-timed discovery I wish I’d never made because with every fiber of my being I did not want to pack up my life here in the States and go back to London.
Even in my misery I recognized I was acting more like a child dragging his feet about having to go to school than an MI6 operational officer who needed to follow orders.
I could take an early shuttle from D.C. to New York in a couple of days instead of tomorrow. I could check on Ivan and pack up my flat in one afternoon and then fly out to London that night. That would extend my time here with Chelsea for another day—and more importantly, for one more night.
With a sigh, I reached for the pile of clothes on the floor to check my phones.
I hadn’t heard any alerts, but then again I hadn’t exactly been listening. Things had gotten loud enough at one point, I wouldn’t have heard anyway. I should check flight times too and see if my daft scheme to squeeze every last minute I could with Chelsea was even feasible.
An email from the New York Public Library showed on the lock screen of my cell.
Ivan.
Heart racing, I navigated to read the contents, not that I needed to. I knew what it would say. The book I’d requested was in and ready for pick-up. At the library. In New York.
I couldn’t ignore it, as much as I wanted to. This meeting with Ivan would make or break the case I’d devoted two years of my life to.
But maybe it wasn’t him confirming the meet at all. Maybe it was him canceling again.
I glanced at the clock on Chelsea’s nightstand—or rather on the folding snack table she used as a nightstand.
Christ, I needed to buy this girl some furniture.
More than that, I needed to get her into a better living situation. I mentally added that to my list of things to discuss with Zane as I opened a browser on my cell and searched for the library’s hours of operation.
It wasn’t that late. Just about half past seven. If the library had evening hours—I held my breath as I scrolled down the page and nearly cheered when I saw the closing time. Eight p.m..
I hit the phone number listed and waited.
“New York Public Library. How may I help you?”
“Hello, yes, I hope you can help me. I have a book being held for me there. The name is Tristan Fairchild.”
“Did you want to confirm it’s here? You should have received an email.”
“I did receive the email. I, um, have what might seem like an odd request, but could you look at the book for me and tell me what color the cover is?”
“The color of the cover?” Her tone told me she thought I was insane.
I didn’t care. Her confirming if that book cover was red would save me having to leave immediately for New York.
“Yes. Please. I’d appreciate it.”
“All right. Hold please.”
As I bided my time on hold and endured the music I was subjected to, I began to truly appreciate the expression waiting on pins and needles.
I stood, ignored the fact I was naked as the day I was born, and began pacing the small room.
The classical music in my ear didn’t soothe my restlessness. Neither did the fact I could cross the tiny room in exactly two and a half strides. It made my attempt to walk off my agitation a literal exercise in frustration.
I glanced at the door, willing Chelsea to take a bit longer in the shower. I needed to wrap up this call before she returned or I’d have questions to answer.
“Hello?” The voice that replaced the sym
phony I hadn’t been enjoying while on hold seemed like music to my ears.
“Yes. I’m here.”
“The book’s title is The Complete Tales of Chaucer.”
“Yes. But what color is the binding? The actual leather cover.”
“It’s like a dark green, I guess.”
I sucked in a breath. Ivan wanted to meet. If he was taking the chance now after canceling last week it had to mean he had something important for me.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
“No. That’s all. Cheers.” I disconnected the call and blew out a breath.
This was good news. Or at least it should have been.
As Chelsea walked back into the room I was reminded why I wasn’t happy about the meet. It meant there was a definite and very near end date to the time I could spend here with her.
The protocol was we’d meet the day after I got notification from the library. I’d have to leave first thing in the morning. Like it or not, tonight was my last night with Chelsea.
NINETEEN
Any chance you’re awake?
I hit send on the text I’d typed, fully aware it was before six a.m..
I was hoping Zane was by some miracle already up for the day. It was a long shot I know. He was married now and no doubt cuddled up with his bride in their king-sized bed.
I could appreciate the desire to stay in bed since I had just shown more fortitude than I knew I had in me when I left Chelsea’s bed as she slept.
The mattress sucked. It was too narrow, with dips and valleys that could swallow a man whole, but she’d been in it, which made the task of forcing myself to leave harder than it should have been.
The text alert startled me out of my reverie as I sat in the car in the parking garage I rented a spot in in Virginia because it was cheaper to keep a car here than in Manhattan, where I didn’t need one anyway.
One glance at the display on the cell told me that my boy hadn’t disappointed me. Zane was awake.
Out for a run. What’s up?
Out for a run at the crack of dawn? I shook my head and smiled. There was that Navy SEAL dedication I’d seen at work firsthand in Kenya.
I started to type in a text but hit to call him instead. He answered after the first ring.
“You’re up early,” Zane said.
“I had to be. I’m flying back to New York in a couple of hours.”
His pause spoke volumes—or maybe it was just my guilty conscience filling in his unspoken words of judgment.
Rather than wait, I said, “I wanted to talk to you about Chelsea.”
Again there was a momentary lag before he said, “All right.”
“I need you to promise you’ll keep her out of trouble while I’m gone.”
“And how long will that be? You being gone?” he asked.
If everything with Ivan went according to our prearranged schedule, I would meet him in the designated spot later today. Unfortunately in my profession, if was always a major factor. Any number of things could happen to alter my plans.
No matter what happened with Ivan, I was still expected to return to London in a few days.
Chelsea wasn’t going to be happy about it. I was far from happy about it myself.
But I had decided something as I held her in the dark last night while she slept—I’d check in with the home office but then I was going to request an extended leave of absence and fly back to the States—and to Chelsea.
They might not be happy, but SIS shouldn’t deny me. I hadn’t asked for personal time off in years. In my opinion, they owed me—though maybe not the full three months I intended to ask for.
All of my plans were contingent on other people so I didn’t have an accurate answer to Zane’s question about how long I’d be gone. I drew in a breath and gave him the only answer I had. “I don’t know.”
Another pause told me he didn’t like that response any more than I did.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he finally agreed.
“I was thinking more like putting a tracking device on her.” I laughed but I wasn’t quite joking.
I suspected if she weren’t happy with the progress the authorities were making regarding Angel, she’d go off on her own again looking for evidence to help them. The thought alone was enough to make me second-guess leaving.
Zane let out a laugh. “Now that would be illegal, wouldn’t it?”
I noticed he didn’t say he wouldn’t—or hadn’t already done it. I liked him more every day.
“Also,” I continued. “Can you arrange to have better locks installed at her flat? The one she’s got is shite. And can you get it wired with a basic security system? I’ll pay whatever it costs.”
“I’ll handle it and I’ll cover the cost. She’s my employee.”
If Zane was so possessive about Chelsea he should pay her enough that she could afford to live someplace better. I kept that to myself since he was doing me this favor.
“She know you’re leaving?” he asked.
“Yes.” Or she would know when she woke up and found my note.
It might not have been the best way to tell her, given our history. I’d taken the coward’s way out, I suppose.
Or the spy’s way—don’t offer up any more information than you had to, and never before it was absolutely necessary.
In my defense, I hadn’t wanted last night to be about my leaving. And I couldn’t explain exactly why it was so critical I go today.
In my sleep deprived state, a note promising to be back as soon as I could be, seemed like the best option.
Hindsight being what it was, I probably should have done things differently.
She would no doubt be livid, even if I did make good on my promise and could return in a week or two. The thought of some more angry sex wasn’t at all unpleasant. I’d certainly enjoyed it with her during our reunion in my car.
“Hey, Tristan.” Zane speaking brought my wandering mind back to the conversation.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know what you want or what you’re planning to do when it comes to Chelsea, but whatever it is, make sure she knows upfront. She deserves that at least.”
He was right. And as soon as I figured out what in the bloody hell I wanted to do about us, and what SIS would allow me to do, she’d be the first to know.
TWENTY
I’d never been one to give in to feelings of guilt.
My mum being married to my father, who’d been part of MI6 for thirty plus years, knew the kind of life I lived and the demands on my time. She never made me feel bad for being away for long stretches of time and she’d been the only woman in my life I’d cared about.
Until now.
I felt guilty today as I watched D.C. grow smaller, more distant, through the window of the plane.
Good thing my cell was in airplane mode because with the way I was feeling, had it not been I would have been sorely tempted to call Chelsea.
That probably wasn’t going to be a conversation I should have by phone or while in public.
Leaving her—again—without a word, with only a note, had to be the stupidest thing I’d ever done in my life. By the light of day I knew that now.
I mouthed a curse and turned away from the window and the view that made me feel worse.
The only saving grace on this flight was that there was no one in the seat beside me. Having to make inane chatter for the whole flight, even with as short as it was, would have thrown me over the edge of insanity.
Lucky me. There was nothing and no one to distract me from thinking about Chelsea for the entire non-stop flight between Washington and New York.
My mind inevitably turned to that other flight I had yet to book—the one from JFK to Heathrow. At just the thought of leaving I felt the weight of dread press against me, as visceral as the G force during take off.
Leaning back against the headrest, I closed my eyes and chastised myself again for being stupid.
I must have f
allen to sleep, which wasn’t a surprise given how little rest I’d gotten the night before. Before I knew it I was awakened by the wheels touching down.
It wasn’t long before we’d landed and I was in a taxi headed for my furnished flat. There I was reminded that I was supposed to be boxing up the contents of my life, everything I’d accumulated the past two years.
Even with my being a minimalist, just the necessities of living would fill a small storage unit. The problem was I didn’t want to spend my final days in the States packing boxes. I wanted to spend them with Chelsea.
Ignoring the packing for now, I tossed my bag on the floor. I needed to change clothes and grab everything I’d need for today’s meet with Ivan.
Preparing completely occupied my time and attention. I became single-mindedly obsessed with making sure this meet went smoothly. I plotted my path to the rendezvous point, and then planned out two alternatives, just in case.
My preparations spanned to the minutia as the smallest of details took on overwhelming importance and I spent more time choosing my clothes than I ever had.
I cleaned my guns and charged all my technology.
Finally, there was nothing more to do. I had no more time anyway. I strapped on my newly cleaned weapon, donned my chosen suit jacket and headed out for my planned route.
An hour later, after stops at the bank, a coffee shop and the post office to see if I had a tail, I made my way to the rendezvous point—the Glockenspiel in Central Park.
I’d seen most, if not all of New York’s landmarks not because I particularly enjoyed sightseeing, but more because they made good meeting spots.
With so many people visiting the spot daily, most of them tourists, no one would notice two more milling around.
I checked my watch, realized what I’d done and laughed at myself. I was standing in front of one of the most famous clocks in Manhattan. I glanced up at the face of the instrument that did so much more than tell time.
We’d set the meet here for noon, when the clock would perform a song and dance that literally stopped the pedestrian traffic walking by.
While everyone in the area stared up to watch the automated animals while the music played, Ivan would be able to pass me whatever he’d obtained. At least I hoped that was why he was meeting me today and that it wasn’t to tell me he was backing out of his promise.