“Not sure you can handle that.”
Oh, what a taunting bastard. And maybe, like, two minutes ago, she hadn’t been sure herself. But now… “Give. Me. Everything.”
He pulled back.
“Cass!”
He drove deep. Not inch by inch. Not this time. There was a barely controlled savagery in his thrust this time, and she loved it. Her own control seemed to snap as her hips began to buck wildly. He withdrew, only to pound hard into her. Again and again.
A second orgasm hit her. A fast and consuming avalanche that was the strongest blast of pleasure she’d ever felt in her entire life. Agnes opened her mouth to cry out, but she couldn’t. The pleasure—the release was too strong. All she could do was gasp and shudder, and she could feel her inner muscles clamping and contracting around the long length of his dick.
“Oh, fuck, yes.” He thrust into her again and again. “Fuck, yes.”
Then his hands were flying over hers. Holding tight. The whole bed was rocking and shaking, and the headboard hit the wall again and again. Thud. Thud. Thud. His thrusts were merciless. So strong. So hard. So consuming. And she loved it. This was what it was like to be fucked. To have pleasure wipe away everything else.
The release battered at her. The same one? Another climax? Agnes could not tell. She was just holding on for the fabulous ride.
Then he stiffened behind her. And Cass roared her name.
He’d just fucked an FBI agent. Probably—nope, definitely, definitely a colossal mistake.
So why was he holding so tightly to her hands and thinking that had been the best fuck of his life?
She was soft and warm in front of him. All silky skin. Tousled hair. His dick was still inside of her. She is so freaking tight. And as he tried to get his racing heart under control, his cock decided it wanted to start swelling.
Again.
Because he wanted to fuck her again.
That would be a colossal mistake. Just like the first fucking.
He didn’t give a shit.
I want to fuck her again.
And why not take what he wanted? Why not take her?
Her head turned. She glanced over her shoulder at him. The lamp light fell on part of her. He’d really prefer to have full, blasting overhead lights on them because he would love to see every single inch of her.
She was staring at him all solemnly. Her face very, very serious. He should say something profound. Deep. Not just have her thinking he was some menacing jerk who— “Years, huh? Why the hell did I get to be the lucky bastard tonight?”
Okay, shit. That had not been profound. Or deep. It had been very assholery. But the question had just slammed out of him because he damn well wanted to know why she’d picked him.
Cass had never been particularly lucky a day in his life.
So, he’d typically followed the mantra of…Screw luck. Live hard. Take what you want.
He had just taken what he wanted. And he’d do it again, too.
But, first, he needed to ditch this condom and grab another one.
She was also not responding to his question, so he took that moment to carefully pull out of her.
A soft gasp came from her lips, and he froze. “Did I hurt you?” Gruff. Hurting her had never been on his agenda. He made it a habit not to hurt delicate things in this world.
Despite the fact that she routinely carried a gun and could toss a mean bottle in a bar fight, Cass still considered FBI Agent Agnes Quinn to be one of the delicate things in the world.
“No, you didn’t hurt me. Though I wasn’t quite sure there for a minute. Things were a little, um, tight.”
