She marked the notch of his throat. The check came out a little wonky. She didn’t apologize.
“The rest of the test requires the bed.” She let him back her to the mattress until it pressed behind her knees. “Shoes stay.”
“Yes, Investigator.” His grin did indecent things. He slid a hand behind her thigh and traced the satin line of the garter strap, thumb catching the clip for a light, teasing snap that went straight through her. She settled onto the mattress and stretched out on her back, heels biting the quilt, while he knelt between her legs like focus made flesh.
“A man can’t please a woman if he isn’t aware of her pleasure points,” Frankie said. “There are many. Prove your knowledge by placing kisses on eight of them.”
He began at her mouth, slow taste that opened her. “One.” The corner of her smile. “Two.” The tender spot behind her ear. “Three.” A lazy sweep along her hairline, his fingertips combing her scalp. “Four.” The delicate ridge of her collarbone. “Five.” The front of her shoulder. “Six.” Her wrist, the pulse under his mouth. “Seven.” The inside of her thigh, kissed until her breath broke. “Eight.”
He paused, hovering, eyes asking the next question without words.
She nodded.
His lips skimmed upward to her vulva, nudging aside the thin strip of satin that had never stood a chance. “Twelve.”
He stayed there, mouth and tongue working with unholy focus, adjusting to every breath she couldn’t contain.
“Time’s up,” she managed, reclaiming her voice.
“Damn. I really like this test.”
“Next is edge control. Your job is to bring me close to orgasm, then stop for a slow count of ten. A man in tune with a woman’s body will know she’s on the edge without asking and knows exactly when to back off. A man who doesn’t understand a woman’s body will fail.”
“Which body part am I allowed to use in this test?”
“Hands only.”
He went low, breath rough against her skin, and opened her with confident fingers, working a focused rhythm that hauled her to the ledge before she could be dignified about it.
He sensed the shift and went still, keeping warm contact everywhere except the place that would tip her. He matched her breathing while she rode the edge down—one, two, three slow exhales—until her grip loosened.
“Again?” he asked, voice barely there.
She nodded.
Hewound her back up with the same ruthless patience, found the rhythm she’d liked best, and when her spine arched he eased off once more, kissing the inside of her thigh while she steadied. A third time followed—build, hold, breathe—until she realized he was proving it, that he could keep her right there as long as she wanted.
“Nicely done,” she said, pushing up to sit and drawing a lipstick check just above his waistband, dead center. “The next test may be the most challenging yet.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“I’m going to see how long you can go before you tap out.”
His brows drew together.
“And because I’m fair, you may choose whether it’s my mouth, my hands, or both, that test your staying power.”
He groaned, rough and helpless, and the leash on his patience gave way. He closed his hand around her ankle, sliding her down the bed; his knee nudged between hers, the garter strap pinging a warning as he came over her. He touched a finger to her lips. “Frankie, I get hard when you say my name. I’d like to skip the rest of your planned tests and prove myself free form. Think of it as the essay portion.”
She shoved the notebook away. “Yes.” Heat crashed as his mouth found hers and the mattress caught her back. He nudged her knee higher, anchored herjaw with his palm, and the plan melted. Not her show now. His.
Much later, after many orgasms and one blow job that she wasn’t allowed to finish, with dawn lifting pale light across the ceiling, she reached for the lipstick and drew a final, generous check over his heart. Then she capped the tube like a gavel. “Verification complete,” she said. “Retraction drafted: Marcus D Grant finishes what he starts.”
“Print it,” he said, voice wrecked and satisfied.
She wrote RETRACTION FILED in the notebook and flipped it shut. His focus snapped to the lipstick, desire written all over him.
“Follow-up interview?” he asked.
