Everything he wanted was beneath him, around him.All of it hot.Under his hands, on his tongue, around his cock.Cam roved his hands over ink, so much fucking ink.Over painted skin and hard muscle, over broad shoulders and under Nic’s body, bowing his back.Pulling Nic closer, needing him skin to skin, as their hips ground together, pounding toward the edge.
Nic hitched his knees higher, ankles crossed behind Cam’s back, heels digging into his ass, as he urged him to thrust deeper, whispering, “More, Boston,” in his ear.That unaccented California voice, rough with sex and the screaming Cam had drawn out of him earlier, begged and moaned, “Harder, please.”
Cam angled his face in, chasing the lips he couldn’t get enough of, the taste he’d dreamed about for months.
And woke with a mouth full of pillow.
Groaning, not the good kind, Cam pushed himself out of the mound of pillows and flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling.Gripping either side of the bed, he held himself back from the call of his cock, which had made a fort of its own over his lap.Nic was at least two dozen city blocks from the condo Becca had led them back to last night, and yet he was everywhere inside Cam’s head and body.
Not that he didn’t want or need Nic there, at minimum occupying the spot in his brain stamped Agent Byrne.Cracking the security systems last night had sent adrenaline racing up Cam’s spine, a thrill at putting the forgotten talent back to use.He’d channeled that adrenaline more constructively, more legally, the past two decades, but last night he’d been reminded of its original purpose.Nic’s voice in his head and the card in his wallet had reminded him to connect the two, to make the original purpose constructive.
For the mission.
Rolling his head on the fluffy down pillow, Cam squinted out the floor-to-ceiling windows.Forty-five floors up, nothing blocked his view of the midmorning sun shining over the Bay.It was a beautiful, breathtaking sight, bright sun over glistening water, the suspended span of the Bay Bridge and the busy Embarcadero below.
Hand on the mattress, he shoved himself up and rested back against the padded headboard, surveying the bedroom.The view inside was breathtaking too.Plush white linens, ebony furniture, an ebony wall hanging with the San Francisco cityscape carved in gold flake.All of it was too neat, too much like a hotel room.Not a condo someone actually lived in.And definitely not befitting Becca’s punk rock aesthetic.A rental, then?Whoever was bankrolling this heist had shelled out a pretty penny if this was their base of operations.That said, Cam had been in the Bay Area long enough to hear this building referred to as the Leaning Tower of Frisco, so maybe Deep Pockets got a good deal on it.
The slight lean helped as he reached for his phone on the bedside table.He should check in.Text Lauren at the untraceable number he’d memorized before leaving the office yesterday.He stopped mid-reach, however, catching sight of his jeans on the floor.That’s where he’d left his phone.In his pants pocket with his wallet, not on the table beside the bed.
Someone had checked it.Maybe—probably—also tampered with it.Was his wallet still even in his pants?Had they rifled through it too?Without warning, the door swung open, and Cam retracted his hand, leaving the phone where it lay.Becca sauntered in, Abby tucked under an arm against her side.In the light of day, the coziness between the two gave him greater pause.Same purple dye streaking their dark hair, though Becca’s was long and straight compared to Abby’s curls.Same leather, denim, and lace punk attire.Fresh kiss bruises on each of their necks.He wondered again about their CI, whose eyes were skipping around the room, searching, assessing.She was still playing both sides against the middle, where her sister stood.
Becca perched on the side of the bed, her hip next to his.She propped a booted foot on the bed rail and hauled Abby into the V of her thighs, the both of them angled toward him.“You passed out on us last night, Hot Stuff.”
He’d put on a show after they’d returned.Pretended the multiple Irish car bombs he’d partaken in at the bar downstairs had done him in.Please.He was Irish stock, from Boston.It took a lot more than a few beers and whiskey shots to knock him on his ass, but the lie had kept him out of Becca’s clutches.The multiple days with little sleep were what had actually knocked him out.Hard enough that someone had managed to enter his room and tinker with his phone without him waking.
“Long day and night,” he said, running a hand through his hair.“But profitable.”
Becca’s eyes zeroed in on his chest again, then drifted down to his abs.She traced a similar path with her nail.“At least you lived up to that hype.”Her nail dipped farther, trailing along the top of the sheet bunched around his waist.“Someone seems hyped this morning too.”
Damn Nic-fueled morning wood.And damn dick with a mind of its own, even if Cam’s heart and mind weren’t interested.
“Thought you had a girlfriend,” he said, gaze shifting meaningfully between her and Abby.
Becca paid him no mind, inching the sheet down so she could trace the sex lines on his hips.He fought not to shiver, a potent mix of mental disgust and bodily desire.
“We’re not opposed to a third, and I think my girl likes you.”She dropped the hand on Abby’s waist to her ass, squeezing and tugging her closer.Bringing them closer.“She can’t stop talking about you.”
Cam’s eyes darted back to Abby, worried she’d given too much away, but her eyes weren’t skeptically assessing any longer.She seemed interested for real.He had to put a stop to this seduction now.“We should save it for the victory celebration,” he suggested.
“But we have a day off.”Becca palmed him through the sheet, and Cam dug his teeth into his bottom lip, biting back a curse.“And I’m not a fan of delayed gratification.”
Neither was his dick, apparently.
She lifted her hand, and he could breathe again, but only a moment, until she pried his lip free from his teeth and caught it between her own, drawing him into a kiss.
His insides churned, caught between his body’s wants, his heart’s desires, and his head pulling two different directions.Railing that this was a betrayal while screaming back—in Nic’s voice, of all people’s—that he should use it for his cover.He took a breath, ignored the scent of Becca’s perfume, and separated mind from body, focusing the former on finding an excuse out of this.He caught a lucky break when a knock sounded against the door, giving him a momentary reprieve.
One of the bruisers, Jared, leaned his head in.“Call for you, Bex.”
“I’ll call them back.”She pushed Abby closer to Cam.“Your turn, baby.”
Abby looked ready to take her up on the offer, and if kissing Becca had caused Cam a near white-out of cognitive dissonance, it would be worse with Abby, their CI.This was the job, but it felt like betrayal on a whole other plane.Did Abby really want to do this or was she playing a role, like him?
And if Becca didn’t stop stroking him through the damn sheet, his body was going to put up a louder argument than everyone involved.
Another knock at the door, thank God.“He won’t wait,” Jared said.
Sighing, Becca held out her hand.
