There was nothing normal about my reaction. Logically, I knew it. Didn’t mean I could do one god damn thing about it. Nor did I want to, not when she felt this good with her hot, wet pussy wrapped like a fist around my sensitive dick. The sounds she made were going to be my end. God, the fucking whimpers and soft, feminine moans that left her throat. The way her lips parted when she gasped, when I stretched her open. Pushed balls deep.
I never once wondered if I was pushing her too far, asking for too much. Every time she was right there with me, losing her mind, coming all over my fingers or my tongue or my dick, begging for more.
She was insatiable. Needy. Sensual. So soft and responsive and wild. She didn’t play games, didn’t make me guess what she needed. She told me. Showed me. Begged me.
“I need—” She stopped talking when I grabbed both her breasts and squeezed, gently pinched the taut peaks.
“Tell me.” I whispered the command in her ear. The walls of her pussy quivered around my hard length.
“Cuffs. My arms.” As she spoke, she ran her hands up and down the couch cushions as if unsure where to put her hands. Unable to be still.
I didn’t have my handcuffs. Damn. They were in the other room. But I could give her what she needed. I released her breasts and grabbed one wrist in each hand before bringing them together over her head. My grip was large enough to hold both of her wrists in one hand, so I did. Gently, slowly, I pulled her chest off the couch until her back was pressed against my chest. I moved her arms up and backward, bent over her head until her hands were buried in my hair. Her spine arched, her breasts thrust forward, and her hot pussy settled over me, took every inch.
Perfect. I had a free hand and my woman’s body spread out in front of me like an instrument I would never get tired of playing.
I held her arms locked over her head and fucked her from behind. Played with her breasts. Squeezed her nipples, just hard enough to make her moan. When she was panting, shaking, begging, I rubbed her clit with my free hand and increased my pace. Fucked her just a little faster. Harder. Kept pumping into her wet heat until she went rigid, then soft, her keening cries like a jolt of electricity straight to my balls.
My release was like fire and ice in my veins. Powerful. Consuming. Nothing existed but her skin on mine. Her wet pussy wrapped around me. The sounds leaving her throat as Imade her come. It was like being in an alternate reality, another universe, a world where all the bad shit that had happened in my life didn’t exist.
Only she existed. And pleasure. Satisfaction that I was the one making her fall apart. I was the man making her gasp and sigh and whimper. She gave herself to me, no one else. Surrendered to me. Let me inside her body to become part of her.
When I was inside her, I wasn’t alone.
She made me feel whole.
My orgasm was pleasure and pain in one. Body? Pure pleasure.
Mind?
Fuck the mind. All that asshole wanted was to ruin everything with rules, doubt, and guilt. God damn mind wondering what the hell I was doing having sex with a total stranger instead of doing my job tracking down the thugs who murdered Doc Pearson. Why was I fucking a CIA officer who was probably a liar, a decoy, or a honeypot designed to seduce me?
If that was the case, she was fucking brilliant at her job. I was cooked. Had no will to resist as my balls tightened up and squeezed, filled her with my cum, my mark, my claim. A primitive part of me wanted to pound my chest and decree to the world that she was mine. Real caveman shit.
Except she wasn’t. I knew that. Understood. Tried to accept the reality of our situation. My body, however, just wanted more.
And my heart? Fuck him. I wasn’t talking to him about her. Not yet. My heart was beat to hell and not into games, not even when the games felt this good. We’d made an agreement a long fucking time ago never to fall in love with a woman who could leave us or be murdered by the kinds of assholes I hunted. Falling in love wasn’t in the cards for me.
Lyra leaned her head back on my shoulder and went limp in my arms. Let me hold her. No words. No demands. Just silence and acceptance.
Liar,my heart whispered.It’s too late.
No. I’d known her less than a day.
Doesn’t matter. It’s done. We’re fucked.
Well, shit. Didn’t mean I was going to act on my feelings. There was nothing to be done but enjoy the time I would have with her and then let her go.
I released her wrists. She lowered them and wrapped her arms around mine, holding my forearms against her body, just below her breasts so I couldn’t pull back, my hard length still inside her.
I wondered if my cum was dripping onto Clyde and Melissa Hanover’s carpeting. If it ran down the inside of Lyra’s thighs. If her skin would smell like me tomorrow. The next day. A week from now.
Caveman mentality took over, and I realized I wanted her to smell like me for as long as possible, didn’t want her to shower.
Yeah,I told my heart.We’re fucked, old boy.
I was officially out of my mind. Over a woman. I never wanted any woman like this. Not even my first wife, the sweet twenty-two-year-old who couldn’t handle being married to a cop. I’d loved her, the way a young man loved, worried about making all the right gestures and saying all the right things to keep her happy. Failed. Blamed myself.
This felt different. Dangerous.
