by Christa Wick
Her ass lifts higher, plummets, lifts again. The way she's holding me, as wild as her movements are, she is in danger of impaling herself.
I break the kiss, bite at her ear.
"You need more," I say, my tight throat bruising the words.
She doesn't answer, just whimpers and moans.
I slide down the bed, stopping only when my broad shoulders and cuffed hands keep me from reaching her hot center. I press hard kisses against the inside of her thighs.
"Lift."
This time, I'm ordering.
Maddy grabs the top of the bed frame, raising her torso despite widening the gap between her thighs. I wiggle until my chin is sliding against her thick folds.
I part the plump lips with my tongue. She groans, her upper body whipping while the bottom stays frozen but for its trembling.
When I touch my tongue to her clit for the very first time, she turns electric.
I suck the swollen dangle into my mouth, my lips pinching at the fragile flesh.
I can give her harder than she ever dared dream—if that's what she needs.
Her weight pushes down. I press upward, the strong muscles of my neck forcing my head to bob up and down, my tongue stroking her clit with a merciless pressure.
She starts to squeak and gasp.
An earthquake threatens.
She pulls back before it can break free.
"Maddy…baby—"
She cuts me off before I can ask what I did wrong.
"Are you clean?"
My face, scrunched with need and purpose seconds before, stretches wide.
"The surgeries," she explains, knowing I had transfusions. "Other women…"
I don't tell her there have been no other women, at least not since I met her.
"Blood's clean," I say. "Doctor tested me at six and twelve months out."
"Good."
She exhales the word as her hand moves between her legs. Strong fingers seize my cock, hold it steady and then Maddy slams onto it.
Balls about to burst, my toes curl.
When I manage to force my eyes open, I look up at a red-haired goddess, her body whipping around my shaft with the same wildness of the hair whipping around her pale shoulders.
One hand presses against her clit as the other wraps around the jut of my hip as she drives up and down, up and down.
The muscles in my chest freeze. My thighs and glutes still work. I slam upwards as she flings herself down. We grind and grunt. The handcuffs bang against the headboard's metal railing.
Maddy gasps, gasps again. Her breasts jiggle as a tremor vibrates through her. All around my cock, I feel her tight muscles milking my length, pulling me deeper and deeper until I am butting up against her cervix.
There is another opening there, yawning in reception of what I am about to unleash.
It's that thought, the idea of my seed spilling into her, that is my undoing.
My climax jerks through me, twisting my spine along the mattress with each sticky jet that shoots into her.
She arches at the same time and sinks onto me, her bottom against my thighs, two of her fingers V'd to stroke at the base of my cock as her sweet pussy continues to suck the length of my shaft and coax from me the longest climax of my life.
When there is no more of me to fill her, she collapses. Her breasts, slick with sweat, press against my chest. She buries her damp face against my sweaty neck.
But the muscles that hold me won't relent. Strong contractions run through her, massaging my cock as they draw my sperm past that second gate.
I want out of the handcuffs. I want to flip Madigan on her back, push a couple of pillows beneath that deliciously plump ass and keep her tilted while I thrust my fingers into her and feast on her engorged clit until she climaxes again.
"Thank you," she says, sliding to the side and standing up.
Just like that, my beautiful, wild Maddy is gone. The raspy sighs and needy moans are vanquished. The woman getting dressed alongside the bed while I remain naked and wet with our juices is Agent Armstrong.
Only once she is completely clothed does she grab the key off the nightstand and remove the cuffs.
"That was great," she says even as she side-eyes the door to the hallway.
Her hand gestures at the bed, swooping in a wide circle.
"I don't need the other stuff," she tells me.
It takes me a few seconds and a cough before I find my voice.
"You mean cuddling?"
Agent Armstrong lifts a shoulder.
"We can do that first part again—if it was satisfactory for you."
Satisfactory?
It blew my fucking mind.
But this…this "conversation" is blowing my mind, too. In a completely different, anxiety-inducing, way.
"It was," I manage to croak. "But, if we do it again, no handcuffs."
She takes a few tormenting seconds to consider the proposed arrangement, then bobs her head.
"We can proceed on those terms," she agrees as she walks out of my room without bothering to glance back.
Chapter Ten
Alone, I leave the bed and walk down the hall naked, my dick as deflated as my emotions. Beyond the physical aspects, I have no idea what the hell happened.
She used you like a piece of meat.
I brush with irritation at my shoulder, as if there really is some sly devil perched there giving me bad advice. I knew well before shucking off my jeans and climbing onto the bed that Madigan doesn't interact the way most people do. If she used me like a piece of meat, it was only because I offered myself up as such.
After locking the front door, I go into the kitchen and pour a big glass of juice for some much-needed rehydration. Then I head for the bathroom. A long piss relieves only a little of the pressure inside me—just the physical. I turn the water on, wait for it to get as hot as my flesh will tolerate, then step inside.
Water blasts me, both the pressure and heat feeling like they are peeling away a layer of skin. Soaping up, I try not to think about Madigan as my hands move briskly around my body.
But all I want to think about is Madigan.
What the hell did I walk into?
Will things be any different the second time? The tenth?
Jerking on the shower handle, I cut the stream of water. I grab a towel, dry my face first. I'm working on autopilot, my mind disconnected from the actions of my hands.
Discovering exactly how bad I have it for Maddy was a kick in the balls. Having her just up and go after screwing my brains out was like she dropped a cinder block on them.
Out in the hallway, I stop. My gaze travels between two doors. One opens onto the bedroom, the other onto my home gym. It's past midnight. And, no matter what I told Sherrilynn, I have to be at the ranch tomorrow, setting up in the morning, making sure things run smoothly, then tearing down.
Spreading my arms out, I open both doors and flick on the lights in the workout room. The space is orderly and sterile. It demands no distractions, just unrelenting effort.
A faint odor drifts from the bedroom. The scent of passion—it will fade soon. I look at my wrists. As much as I strained against the cuffs, there's no evidence on my skin that I ever wore them.
The feminine musk Maddy left behind, the mix of her juices and my cum on the sheets, draw me out of the hall and into the bedroom. I sit on the edge of the mattress, senses reeling as my erection returns.
Breathing becomes an exercise in willpower.
I am in love with Madigan Armstrong—a woman who may never demonstrate that she loves me back, no matter what her true feelings are.
What would it be like living with the constant uncertainty whether the most important person in your world loves you back?
Gasping for air, I snatch a pillow from the floor and spend the rest of the night on the couch.
Chapter Eleven
"Pacing again?" Delia's Boston accent turns the question into something closer to an accusation than the
good-natured teasing her expression communicates.
"You have the orientation this afternoon," I offer as both a deflection and as a possible reason for why I am adding a new wear pattern to the living room carpet.
"It won't be like last time."
Her soft, forceful words can't hide the hint of uncertainty detectible to my practiced ears.
"Sutton is arriving early," she continues. "That way we can ease a path to the school and offer a bribe for after."
Delia pops down the hall and looks in on Caiden. The side of her mouth lifts in a smile. When she turns to face me, I can see the threat of happy tears. As my sister scurries excitedly toward me, I brace for impact.
Wrapping her arms around my shoulders, Delia squeezes for all she's worth.
"He's still Skyping with Dotty," she whisper-squeals. "She's such a treasure! She showed Caiden pictures of her homestead. The ground is practically littered with arrowheads. Sutton is taking us this weekend."
I bob my head. This is the first I've heard of weekend plans between my sister and the man I slept with Saturday night.
"You think you'll be free?"
My mouth pops open. I snap it shut before I say something so wrong as the truth that I thankfully have work to do.
"Wiretap duty," I say after a few more seconds. "I'll be freezing my ass off in an over-air-conditioned FBI surveillance van."
"Someone needs to talk to your boss," she huffs, heading into the kitchen.
I watch her walk away. The hem of her dress twirls when she spins away from me. The rest of the fabric hugs her curvy frame. White georgette over a polyester sheath, the outfit is almost bridal in appearance.
She looks nothing like a widow. Then again, she hasn't had the luxury of grieving, not with Caiden to look after. Even if the boy often appears oblivious to those around them, he is sensitive to the moods of those he cares about the most. She stays upbeat for his sake.
And for mine.
I clear my throat. "No one joins the FBI so they can work nine-to-five."
"Or, apparently, Monday through Friday," she adds with an eye roll.
The flash of snark disappears as she picks up a cup and her first taste of morning coffee rolls across her tongue.
"Do you think I should keep my hair up or wear it down?"
"Up," I answer without hesitation. She's too beautiful as it is. With the hair down and the gauzy fabric clinging to her curves, Sutton might…
I shake my head.
A wrinkle of confusion settles into Delia's forehead.
"Down?"
"Up," I repeat.
"Then what was that look and shake for?" Her hands smooth nervously over her outfit.
"I'm allowed parallel lines of thought," I answer, attempting, and failing, to make my words sound like a sisterly tease.
Her laugh erases the worry line.
"Baby girl, you are way beyond parallel."
Cupping my face, she plants a firm kiss on my cheek. Right now, her lips are free of cosmetics. Familiar with Delia's penchant for dressing up, I know they will be killer red when Sutton arrives.
"Wear it how you're comfortable," I say. "Your hair, I mean. Up or down, whatever feels right to you. It was up last time and you were stiffer."
Her face widens with a smile. Reaching up, she pulls out the pins that keep the thick tresses bound up in a tidy bun. Bright gold sunshine spills around her shoulders.
Grabbing the lapels of my black dress jacket, she gives them a tug.
"I wish you didn't have to go in every day looking ready to chase down a bad guy," she laments. "Especially since you go in almost every day."
My right shoulder begins to lift. Delia cocks a brow in its direction then pushes down until I yield and relax the muscle.
"Of course, I also wish you would tell me what happened after you left here Saturday night and didn't get home until past midnight. That wasn't work."
In a way, it was work. Not what happened in the bedroom, but in all the conversation leading up to it.
Conversation? That's a crazy word for it. Sutton did almost all the talking and had to read my mind to keep things going.
"I spoke to Sutton," I confess before glancing at the clock.
"In person?"
Bulldozing past the question, I reach into my pocket and remove my keys. "Told him I have Asperger's…well, he had figured it out already."
Delia makes a play for my keys, like she's going to keep me here talking.
"I can't be late."
She gives a little stamp of her foot. "You worked all day yesterday! Don't make me talk to that stuck-up boss of yours."
Imagining Emerson and Delia squaring off births a soft chuckle that escapes me. He's dark and broody, she's light and airy despite having more than enough reasons to be drowning in sorrow.
"Don't think I will?" she challenges, her hands finding her full hips.
I laugh a little harder. "I know you would. By the time he was halfway through brushing you off, you would be red and burning with the need to kick him in the balls."
Her mouth turns down for an instant, but then she coaxes it back into her usual merry smile.
"Today, I'm getting my son settled," she announces, this time with a tone of pure conviction.
I nod, glad she's refocusing.
The relief is short lived. With a firm pat to my cheek, she gives me her big sister smile and drops a frag-grenade in my lap.
"I'll deal with your toxic boss, tomorrow."
Chapter Twelve
I arrive at Madigan's apartment at a quarter to ten. It's the first time I've stepped foot in the place and she's not here to greet me.
Instead, it is Delia who wraps me in a bear hug.
"Sorry," she says when I can breathe again. "I didn't used to hug so hard."
"No need to apologize," I tell her.
"Good," she laughs and squeezes another liter of air out of me. "I'm so dang nervous about orientation!"
"Funny, you don't look it."
I am joking, of course, but it takes her a couple of seconds to realize it. When she does, she wags a finger at me.
"How's Sarge doing?"
"Great!" she answers, eyes shining with an almost religious fervor. "He Skyped with your Aunt Dotty this morning and now he's reading a Dune comic on his iPad."
"Done," Caiden says, coming into the living room. With a faint tilt of his head, he gestures at the hall. "Want to see my stuff?"
"Sounds cool," I answer.
In his room, I'm surprised at how tidy everything is. The books on his shelf run from tallest to shortest, none of them pushed in more than the others. Precisely assembled models of tanks, dinosaurs and one spaceship fill the gaps. There's a Dune movie poster on the back door that looks like it's fresh from the wrapper. Taped to the ceiling is an oversized poster of the solar system. The bed is made with military corners, the blanket and sheets so tightly tucked I could bounce a quarter on them.
"Good job squaring things away, Sarge," I say as I sit on the edge of the bed.
Caiden shrugs but his cheeks flush the littlest bit, like he's glad I noticed.
"Ken would always inspect Caiden's quarters when he got home from being away," Delia explains, her gaze nervously darting to measure the boy's reaction to the mention of his dead father.
He nods thoughtfully.
"I brought something for you." Opening my backpack, I pull out a map folded in quarters. I lay it flat on Caiden's bed. "This is Aunt Dotty's homestead."
Grinning, he leans over the map, head and shoulders swinging side to side as he peers closely at the areas I marked off. A legend explains where my siblings and I have discovered geodes and arrowheads, as well as where the creek runs and a flock of Greater Sage Grouse nest.
"This weekend, yes?" he asks, his gaze excited when he looks up.
"Yep, we just have to get through today's stuff, then it's smooth sailing into the weekend."
"Mom said they have a science lab there," Caiden te
lls me.
"And a chess club," Delia chirps.
His mouth shrugs and he exhales a long sigh.
I give his shoulder a friendly squeeze, the pressure just hard enough that I don't make him uneasy.
"Think of it as a new mission, Sarge. Observe and report."
His head bobs and a grin appears.
"I can do that!"
Four hours later, with a good visit to the school behind us, I park my truck behind the Federal building where Emerson and Madigan work. I go to the front passenger side, open the door and offer my hand to Delia. She climbs down and then I open the door for Caiden. The boy hops onto the ground.
Still buzzing with excitement over the school's summer program, he high-fives me.
"Chill a little," Delia laughs. "We still have to get the paperwork returned by four-thirty today."
He looks at his watch then gives her a thumbs up.
"Let's pray Special Agent Turk doesn't have Maddy still stuck in the surveillance van."
"You can always use me for the emergency contact," I say, grabbing her bag from the backseat and handing it to her. "Change it to Maddy later or have both of us on it."
I get another tight hug from her and then her arms are around Caiden as she plants hard kisses all over his face.
"I'm so proud of you, sweetie."
"Okay, okay," the boy says, shrinking slightly. "Don't get weird, Mom. They won't let you into the building if you're acting weird."
Delia salutes her son then practically skips toward the entry.
Inside, we go through security and then a junior agent escorts us to a small room with a glass wall to wait. Delia remains giddy and chatty as she organizes the paperwork from the school and pulls out the forms Madigan will need to sign as the boy's legal guardian in case Delia is incapacitated.
A few minutes tick by and then there's a tap at the window. I look over to find my brother scowling at me.
"Hostiles at three o'clock," I tell Caiden with a wink. "I got this one."
I slide out of the room and into the hall.