Chapter Ten
April crossedher arms over her chest. "On the table," she said, her pointed glare sliding between me and the sheet-draped surface.
We were several rounds into this standoff, but I wasn't interested in April the Acupuncturist tonight. I was tense, and I didn't want to explain to her how a sunny Saturday had me wound tighter than the Hulk. Not when I'd left her place light and loose only twelve hours ago.
Will and I'd racked up six miles of ocean swimming, and then I'd dedicated some time to sandcastle construction (and immediate destruction) with Abby. But when the baby went down for a nap, Will and I retreated to my cottage to get some work done. First, we reviewed expenditures for additional encryption and anti-hacking measures. That shit wasn't cheap, and I had a serious thought about sending a bill to Jocelyn.
Then we combed through the data gathered from her devices and the surveillance detail I'd ordered. For her part, she wasn't leading the life of a double agent. No extensive contact with Renner as far as we could tell, no contact with burner phones or dead-end email accounts, no unusual financial activity, no movements that indicated anything beyond ordinary lobbyist life. It was more than likely that she was a pawn in all of this, and that only made me hate Renner more. Joss wasn't perfect and she'd made some shitty decisions in recent days, but no one deserved to be used.
After that, we dug into a new report about the events in Venezuela. We'd been contracted to shut down a human trafficking ring and rescue the hundreds of women and children held captive there, but the mission had gone off the rails. We hadn't succeeded in getting anyone out, and while our team hadn't been compromised in the process, we couldn't risk sending the same one in for another attempt. It would be too easy to tip our hand. That equated to three months of preparation down the drain, and that didn't even account for the people left in extraordinary peril.
So, I was too addled for April's massage table. I didn't want the rocks or the pins or her soft words. I wanted my hands on her body, my mouth on her skin, my cock driving into her. And I wanted her to beg for it.
"On. The. Table," April repeated, her words offering no room for argument.
I stifled a laugh. That assertive tone was real cute, but it wasn't working on me tonight.
"April, honey, it's fine. I'm fine." I held out my hands, reaching for her, but she shook her head.
"Listen to me—"
"No, you listen to me," I interrupted. "You've had a long day, and you don't need to spend another hour tenderizing my leg."
She stabbed a finger in my direction. "Don't do that," she warned. "Don't tell me what kind of day I've had. I'm not a delicate flower."
"I don't know about that," I said, moving closer until her folded arms pressed against my chest. I skimmed my hand down her braid, settling on the small of her back. "I've seen some delicate spots on you. Tasted them, too."
I inched up her tank top and trailed my knuckles over the soft skin at her waist until I reached her belly button.
"Your leg needs some attention," she said, her words faltering as my fingers dipped underneath her leggings.
"Your pussy needs more attention," I said. Her forehead dropped to my chest as I found her clit, and a swift exhale followed. "How about a rain check on the treatment, huh? Let's finish talking about that book and drink some wine and see if I can take care of you tonight."
She shook her head as I took her hand and led her to the living room area, murmuring something I couldn't decipher as we walked. If I knew April—and I was almost arrogant enough to say that I did—I knew she was going to advocate for tending to my aches.
"Treatments are only effective if done consistently," she said when I stopped in front of the slouchy white sofa. "Follow-through is important."
"When was the last time someone looked after you?" I asked, resting my hands on her shoulders. "When are you on the receiving end of the massages?"
"I don't—ah." She purred when my fingers kneaded the strength along her spine. "I don't remember."
"It sounds likeyouneed some attention," I replied. "Let me give it to you."
We were rooted there, her forehead bowed to my chest and my hands stroking her skin, and nothing about this resembled my life. I didn't give back rubs or make cheesy eggs or spend the night. But here I was, offering up things I hadn't realized I was capable of sharing, and muddling through emotions I couldn't identify.
I dropped down on the sofa and tugged her between my bent legs. "Let's get you out of this," I said, edging her leggings over her hips.
"Jordan, I want—"
I squeezed her hips as I smiled up at her. "Yes. Please tell me what you want."
Instead of waiting for her response, I leaned forward and stamped open-mouthed kisses down her belly and across her hips. She was delicious, and her curves could bring me to my knees.
"Don't stop," she panted. Her hands found my hair, gliding through the strands and fisting as I kissed closer to her center.
"This?" I asked, sliding my tongue through her folds. She was wet and warm there, and her scent was heaven. Her head lolled to the side as her eyes fluttered shut, and she hummed in response. "You have the most perfect pussy in the world."
"Really?" she asked, laughing. Her eyes were still closed. "What makes it so perfect?"
