by Logan Chance
I push myself over to her using my toes. She is not amused, which only makes me want to get closer to her. And I do, again, obviously.
Her scent finds me, all coconut and womanly...god damn. I want her even when she’s ruining my life. I lean over and she tries to pull away, but here’s the thing about Addison—she’s actually fighting herself, not me. This is why you don’t get involved on the job. This is why being head up the ass in love with her is a bad idea. We aren’t seeing clearly.
Hence my very capable Agent ass being handcuffed to my desk like a little kid who pissed his pants in class and is waiting for his mommy to come pick him up.
“Buckley,” I say, “this is a tad extreme, babe, even for you.”
“That’s Agent Buckley, to you, Agent Mills.”
“I am starving. Uncuff me so I can get a sandwich.”
She pulls open the drawer on her desk and holy shit she actually has an entire sub waiting in there. She unwraps the damn thing and then holds it out for me to take a bite.
“Is this magical summoning of desires limited to food? I should have tried for something a lot more Buckley and a lot less clothed.”
“Do you want this sandwich or not, Mills?”
“A little bite. . .sure why the fuck not.” I lean in and take a small bite trying to not get mayo all over my face. Addison watches me and I talk around my food. “Wha—?”
She blinks rapidly and then roughly wipes my face with a napkin. “There, you won’t die, now.”
She plops the sandwich back down and goes back to typing.
I swallow. “A drink to wash it down, please, Buckley.”
She huffs, pausing for a moment before she resumes typing.
“You’re the one who locked me up here. You could just let me go and I won’t be around to bother you anymore, Addison.”
“Agent Buckley,” she reminds. “We’re on the job.”
“Mhm. And I’m fucking Santa. Come on, Buckley . . . just unlock the cuffs. I’m losing the feeling in my fingers and you benefit greatly from my fingers, so if you would please just—” My mouth is silenced with a sub pushing between my lips.
She smiles, annoyed with me. “Can’t have you dying. Eat up, Agent Mills.”
I shoot it out from my mouth and the little ball of ham and cheese goes rolling across her desk.
She kicks my chair around to face her. “What exactly is wrong with you?”
I shrug around the cuffs. “You tell me. One second I’m getting much needed info about a main person in the cartel and the next you’re tackling me. Normally a non issue for me, as I prefer you kicking my ass over most people, but shit, Buckley. Imagine if that sitch was reversed.”
“What the heck do you mean? You were butting into my case, Vin.” She blinks at me, her pretty blonde hair fanning around her scrunched up, pissed off face like spun gold. I feel oddly aroused. Meat and cheese. Cuffs. Buckley all flustered and angry. It’s quite the combo.
“Your case was without me.” I could punch myself. Did I really just blurt that shit out? Ugh. I breathe out hard.
“You know why we can’t do this, Vin.” Her voice softens. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Is that all?” I ask. “Because it seems like you’re more about keeping me out of harm's way.” I wiggle around in my cuffs to further prove my point.
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“I could think of much better situations wherein which I’m cuffed and held captive by you, Buckley. Fuck yeah.”
“Be serious, Vin.”
“I am. But you want me to get real?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Real-real?”
“Please, Vin.”
“I’m warning you, it might hurt, baby.”
“I’m a grown woman, Agent Mills.”
“Fine. Addison our relationship cannot come between what we do.”
She scoffs. “Which is exactly what is happening, Vin. Because of you.” She takes a deep breath and for a moment stares back at her screen before rifling for her keys. She swivels my chair and unlocks the cuffs. I pull my wrists free and rub at the soreness from being locked in them. “Vin . . .”
“We can’t worry about what might happen,” I say. “Because we have no idea, Buckley. But splitting up is not the answer. We are not stronger divided up—that much I’m sure of.”
She pushes away from her desk and walks off. Shit.
I try not to pay attention to the eyes on us from around the room, the suits and badges that probably have some kind of low-key bet going on about Buckley and I. I know I fucking would if I were them. But I guess the real question is—where would I put my money if I were a betting man?
Currently … hmm …
I find her in the locker room. I find my locker next to hers and tug the door open before ripping off my stifling dress shirt to change, feeling grimy after the day we’ve had.
“Here’s the thing Addison,” I begin, “We can choose to work together and use our relationship as a strength or we can allow our fears to win and choose a new partner, but that won’t make us any more likely to go home after a case. Because even if I’m hooked up with a badass agent, Addy, I won’t have that thing—that spark, that fucking underlying something that only you bring out in me that leaves me no choice but to do everything in my power to make it home with you.” I slam my locker door and face her. “Not make it home to you, but with you, babe. Because the whole goddamn time I’m out there, Buckley, alone, all I’m doing is wondering where the fuck is Addison and am I gonna see her at the end of the day? As opposed to having you at my side and knowing there is no fucking way I am not going home with you—there is nothing that is going to stop me from making sure you come home with me, babe.”
Addision’s eyes blink like she’s caught off guard—and goddamn, ok, so am I . . . but it’s the truth.
“Vin,” she whispers.
“Baby, don’t deny it. You know it’s true.”
“It’s hard for me to see you in some of our cases. I don’t want to be the reason we don’t go home together. Do you understand? Maybe you feel stronger. But I feel like everyone can read everything I feel when I know how dangerous this is for us to do together, Vin.”
“You’re so fucking good at your job, Addison. You make me do a double-take.”
She flushes and smiles lightly.
“Come on, Addy,” I say, trying to convince her, “don’t make me have to worry about you working with some deadass like Fonta.”
“You just don’t like that he brings me coffee.”
“I don’t like a single fucking thing about it,” I say, grinning.
And like that she smiles back. “I’m just scared, Vin.”
I take her hands into mine and hold them to my bare chest. She shivers under my touch and I kiss her fingers. “Yeah, same. Fucking same. But I love you, and I swear, we’re never not going home together, Addison. That’s my vow. That’s my promise to you.” I lean down and kiss her softly, tasting her and fucking loving how she kisses me back with just as much fervor. It turns me on, and I lift her up, slamming her back against the lockers. Her legs fly around my waist and I’m gone.
“Addison,” I whisper. “Fuck, Addison.”
“That sounds a lot better,” she whispers back, deepening our kiss.
“Better?”
She holds me tighter to her and distracts me with her kiss. I file it away for later . . . not honestly giving a shit right now about anything other than the fact that I have the hottest, smartest most badass woman on the planet wrapped around me, wanting me and needing me.
One kiss turns into two, and then I’m lost in her, praying no one fucking comes in here. Matter of fact, if someone does I’m going to shoot first ask questions later.
Ever start to fall asleep and then catch yourself just before you go under? Feels like you’re falling, right? That’s also how love feels, too. That’s what it feels like with her. My world just feels so fucking right.
&
nbsp; “So fucking beautiful, Addison,” I whisper against her lips as I claim her mouth. “I need you so bad it hurts.”
“Vin . . .” she whispers, crashing into me with just as much need. “I love you.”
“Love you, baby. So fucking much.”
I press her against me until I know it’s impossible for her to not feel how deep this shit runs inside of me.
I gaze into her sexy blue eyes. My heart beats faster than when I was dealing with the Russian Mafia pricks.
“Addison.” I breathe her in for a moment. “I love you so fucking much. And I never want another partner but you. For anything, ever.”
“Oh, Vin . . .” We fall into a kiss. She tastes of strawberries and vanilla as I claim her mouth more savagely, trying to press my devotion for her into her skin, into my kiss, into the way my arms surround her tightly and hold her firmly against me with everything I have to offer. All my strength and need.
“Agent Mills, I need you.”
We kiss like a hurricane blowing through the Atlantic at full speed, no sign of slowing down when it makes landfall.
I’m a second away from stripping Buckley from her pants and underwear when the door swings wide. I tear myself away just long enough to see who it is.
Fonta.
Fucker with issues that likes to give my woman free coffee. Ok, I get it, it’s honestly not a big deal and I should be happy he’s decent to her on the job. God knows I’ve been more of an asshole to Buckley at the beginning of our working relationship ...but no one gives Buckley “coffee” but me. You know what I’m saying?
“Fonta, get your touchy-feely coffee giving ass outta here.”
“Ten four.” He nods and ducks out as quickly as he entered. At least he understands a firm warning when he hears one. Even turns off the light, leaving us with the dim yellow hue of the emergency flood lights to set the scene a bit better. I take it back. Fonta needs a raise.
Where was I?
Right. Buckley. Underwear and the need to be freed of such horrid confines.
I strip her slowly of her clothes and roughly lift her on my hips, flushing her back to the lockers again. One swift moment and I have my cock free and searching for that sweet spot between her thighs that is slick and welcoming. The resistance of her is what I live for, that first moment just before I’m fully inside of her sweet pussy and I can push through her tightness. Fuck. It kills me everytime. And the times be plenty.
“Mm, Vin.”
“So fucking good, Addison. Shit, baby.” I pull out and push back in quicker and deeper, greedily working myself up into a frenzied state of pounding into the hottest girl I’ve ever fucked or loved. I want her to know and feel both sides of that. It seems important. Against her neck I brush my lips in a circuit that spells out how much she means to me, how far I’d go to keep her, all while steadily fucking her so good.
She fists the hair at the back of my head. “I’m . . . I’m coming . . . Vin,” I work my hips harder until I feel the magic happen and then pull away as I follow.
“Holy shit, baby.” I breathe hard. “Fuck the mafia. You, my sweet Addision Buckley, will be the death of me.”
“Don’t say that,” she whispers, bringing my mouth to hers. “I can’t live without you.”
I kiss her fervently.
And you know what? I lied. I do know there is a pool of how long our relationship will last. I know because I started it. And I’ve got five hundred on us making it. I’ve got wedding vows and gold bands on us making it. I’ve got everything on my side telling me I picked her as a fake wife, and a real wife for the exact same reasons. That’s why I got down on one knee and proposed, and now we just need to make it official. She’s got that magic you can’t describe. Addison is the one you don’t see coming because she’s an agent from head to toe, even when she means it. Even when she tries to deny it.
We’re liars.
But we’re also partners in crime.
In life.
And in love.
Forever.
Want More Vin And Addison? Stay tuned as these two try to take down the Russian mob. An all-new mini-series featuring Vin Mills will be coming soon. Be sure you’re signed up for Logan Chance’s newsletter by clicking HERE, to stay up-to-date on the release of The NewlyFEDS series.
GRAHAM
Graham Steele is the owner of the Mountain Goat Resort and Zoe would love nothing more than to get her handmade soaps in every room. "It was only supposed to be one night of bliss before my big meeting. But, I never expected to run into my one-night stand the next morning as I pitched my proposal. And I never expected his counter proposal...a fake engagement.”
Chapter 1
Zoe
Hell on earth is the twelve days before Christmas. It’s a hodgepodge of demonic last-minute shoppers on a quest to find the must have special something that sold out months ago, tired and cranky workers, and Satan’s own special lair smack dab in the center of Pineview Mall—Santa’s Winter Wonderland.
It’s sad I feel this way. Christmas is my thing. Rudolph is my spirit animal. I’m that person. The one whose tree goes up at midnight on Thanksgiving. The one who has a gingerbread man counting down the days until I can give perfectly wrapped gifts with exquisite bows. Christmas music all day, check. Holiday movies, hot chocolate with homemade whipped cream, and Christmas pjs, check, check, and check in green and gold glitter. I last minute shop just to be a part of the excitement. It’s a holidaygasm. Or was, rather, until I got fired from my marketing job a month ago. You’d think they’d have the decency to downsize after the holidays, but apparently, decency doesn’t fit into the new business model. And neither did I.
Instead of moping, I took that big lump of coal I’d been given, and applied for a position with the most powerful man on the planet—Santa.
Not until I started working as head elf and picture taker for the bearded man himself, did I realize that Satan and Santa are synonymous, just change the letters around.
Ornery people have sucked away my Christmas spirit, but I’ve got one last chance to hold onto it. In a few minutes, I’ll escape this sea of snarled faces and drive to the mountains where my future awaits. Marketing is all about hashtags, so I’ll hashtag this moment #seeya.
“Zoe, you tell them,” Jenna, one of my fellow elves, urges.
Impatient parental eyes in the mile-long line filtering past the twinkling ten-foot Christmas tree throw daggers at me. There will be no crying and screaming in Santa’s lap today, because, thanks to an unexpected bout of stomach flu, Santa has left the building.
A jingle wafts from the bells on my green felt shoes as I walk to the red velvet rope holding the rambunctious crowd at bay and latch the lock into place.
“Santa had a sleigh malfunction,” I tell the mob of people. “Unfortunately, he won’t be here today.”
A groan rumbles like a wave down the crowd, before they disperse in a murmur of disapproval.
“Can you let Santa know I want an Xbox?” the towheaded boy, who was first in line, asks.
“I sure will,” I tell him with a smile. “The elves are in short supply this year, though,” I add as a disclaimer, just in case he doesn’t get one. I’m not sure how I feel about this almost satanic ritual of lying to little kids. He gives me a thumb up before darting away with his mom.
“Where is Santa?” a deep voice demands. I turn and am accosted by frosty chocolate eyes set in a face so ruggedly beautiful the tips of my shoes would curl, if they weren’t already. He runs a hand through his jet-black hair, leaving it in perfect disarray. Broad shoulders square off with me and my lies.
“He’s not here,” I answer, glancing down at the dark-haired girl, whose hand he holds.
“Yes, you mentioned his sleigh troubles.” His eyes glide over the red hat covering my brown hair. “But I’m sure he could Uber to fulfill his obligations. So, where is he?”
Does he really think I’m going to tell the truth in front of little ears? Tall, dark, and handsom
e arches a brow, waiting for my answer.
“How old are you?” I ask, losing my last bit of Christmas spirit.
“He’s thirty-two,” the little girl answers.
“So you’re old enough to know how this works.” I place my hands on my hips. “There is no Uber at the North Pole. There’s a giant sleigh with reindeer, that’s how it works. If your daughter—“
“Niece,” he corrects.
“If your niece would like to leave a letter, you can pop it in the mailbox by the candy cane.”
I point to the massive postal setup a few feet away.
“Can I?” the little girl implores, full of glee. He gives permission with a nod, and she rushes over to the table to write a letter that will never be sent. This is all just wrong.
“Where is Santa, really?” the stranger asks, sliding his hands into his jean pockets. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to stand in that line and keep a six-year-old occupied? I don’t like wasting time.”
“Let’s be real here, half these kids don’t even want to do it. They’re terrified. Do you have any idea what it’s like to get your hopes up, and ask the one man you’re told will answer all your dreams for something, and then be disappointed on Christmas day?”
His eyes drift down my red felt mini dress and green tights to my curled shoes, and back up again. “You’re very jaded for an elf.”
“Listen, I don’t know how to break this to you. So, I’m going to rip the band aid off.” I step closer to whisper, “Santa isn’t real; we’re all big liars.”
He looks taken aback for a moment, before he chuckles. “Thanks for enlightening me,” he says, amused. The carefree transformation to his chiseled face is so startling I step back, because he smells like everything I ever wanted and didn’t get.
“You’re welcome,” I tell him before I’m called away to deal with a disgruntled mother wrestling a toddler. Five minutes later, when she’s finally appeased with a free cookie coupon, the handsome stranger is gone.