“Come,” I commanded. “Now.”
Her body locked up, her thighs squeezing my waist, and she shattered. She came with a silent scream, her mouth open in aperfect O, her pussy pulsing around me, rippling and milking my cock.
It dragged me over the edge with her. I buried myself deep, grinding my hips against hers as I let go, pouring myself into her with a groan that felt like it was ripped from my soul.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing, ragged and loud in the quiet kitchen. The hum of the refrigerator. The distant tick of a clock.
I slumped against her, my forehead resting on her shoulder, my hand still gripping her hip. I could feel the sweat cooling on my skin. I could feel the tremors running through her.
I didn't move. I didn't want to.
This was a mistake. I knew it. She knew it.
But as I lifted my head and looked at her—disheveled, satisfied, and utterly unrepentant—I also knew one other thing.
I’d do it again.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
MALLORY
Iwoke up sore.
A deeper ache that settled into muscle and bone and seemed to leave a dull echo behind. It was a reminder that my body still had to pay the check my bad decisions had written the night before. The hot moments spent on the counter had left bruises and wet heat between my thighs.
We’d leaned into each other, Brewster’s harsh exhales feathered against my shoulder while he dug his fingers into my hips. The race of his heart and speed of his panting confirmed he’d been every bit as swept away as I had. Then without a word, he’d pulled out and back. A moment later, he dragged his pants up before saying, “Shift change is coming.”
That was his only warning before he left the kitchen. The man hadn’t even lost his shirt, just yanked open his pants to get his cock out and slam it into me. My clothes—however—were a wreck. His words still ringing in my head, I shoved off the counter and gathered up my discarded clothing. Well, as much of it as I could find.
The shirt was a loss with every single button gone. At least the pants were intact, as were my panties. However, they were a tangle together, so I just gathered it all up and strode throughthe safe house to my room. I made it just in time to privacy just as the front door opened and new agent voices filtered down the hall.
With a grunt, I leaned against the door for a moment, then dumped my damaged clothes into the can before slipping in to shower away the evidence. We hadn’t used a condom.
Sinking dread gave way.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, I was hardly a horny teenager. With a shake of my head, I made a mental note to verify his health status and make an appointment with my own doctor—just in case. Fortunately, shots to keep my cycle in check protected me from pregnancy.
So, yay me.
All of those thoughts rolled through my head as I lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Then I began cataloging the sensation with the same detachment I used when assessing damage after a long assignment. Hips. Lower back. Thighs. A faint protest when I shifted my weight, like my body was filing a formal complaint.
I acknowledged it. Then I buried it.
The bed was empty. Cold on the other side. That part didn’t surprise me. Brewsterhadn’tfollowed me into my room and he’d definitelynotslept in my bed. The agent proved time and again he didn’t linger or explain. If anything, we’d gotten it out of our system and he’d gone back to work. Probably labeled what happened between us as an operational hazard and filed it away.
Done.
Over.
In all honesty, that was probably the better decision. Desire brought on by forced proximity was definitely hot and the sex—well, that had beengood. It might have been fast, but he got me off before he blew his load. There was that. Returning to status quo like it hadn’t happened was probably not a bad idea.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood carefully, testing balance, ignoring the way my knees protested just enough to be annoying. The room was quiet in that particular safe house way—controlled, artificial, the hum of systems doing their jobs without comment.
The shower the night before meant I only had to splash water on my face, dress, and apply the lightest of cosmetics. I needed to be well-armed today.
Ten minutes later, I left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen following the scent of coffee. The closer I got, the more my nose itched. It was thewrongcoffee.
