She stiffened beneath him. Her nails dug deeper into his arms, and then she let out a sharp, startled scream.
Fuck, yes.
He lapped up her pleasure, greedy for every single drop. Even as she was still coming, as her body was still shuddering, he yanked the condom from his back pocket and he shoved down his pants and underwear. With fingers that weren’t quite steady because his need was far too overwhelming, he rolled on that condom. Then he was climbing onto the bed with her. Partially on the bed, anyway. Half on, half off again, and her legs were open, and she was wet and ready, and he sank into her.
One long hard thrust.
She gasped.
He fucking lost it.
She was tight. So insanely tight. Hot. Wet. Her scent was on him. Her taste on his tongue. Her body soft against him. When she lifted her legs up and locked them around him, Ryan erupted. Fast, hard, desperate thrusts. Braced on the side of the bed, he yanked her as close to him as he could. Over and over, he pounded into her, and Simone met him every single time. Fast. Hard.
There was no stopping. No slowing. No time for gentleness or careful touches. There was only a basic, driving need that consumed him.
His eyes locked with hers.
Her breath heaved out. Pleasure flashed across her face even as he felt the inner contractions of her muscles along his dick. She was squeezing him, holding him so fucking tightly, and nothing in his whole life had ever felt this good.
Even as she was coming for him again, Ryan knew he could not hold back another moment. The lust was too consuming. He drove deep and let go. His hips surged against her. Again. Again.
The bed hit the wall.
He came within her and, as he choked out her name, Ryan realized he might just be in the worst danger of his life.
Because he wanted more. Because he feared that he might not ever be able to get enough of her. Not. Ever.
“You are not going to believe this, boss.” Hugo crept toward Frederick.
Frederick sat slumped behind the massive, antique desk, with a bottle of scotch open near him. The scent of scotch was heavy in the air, and Frederick’s bleary eyes gazed back at him. Or, tried to gaze back at Hugo. It appeared that Frederick was looking a bit to the side of Hugo’s actual body, so Hugo took one step to the right.
Frederick tilted his head. “I believe that I’m fucked,” Frederick declared, the words coming out very, very slowly. “I believe that you let Simone Sailor vanish and now I have no money. No backing. I don’t have the fucking egg and when the Russian finds out that I lost his precious chip, he is going to flay the skin from my body?—”
“She’s in London.”
Frederick narrowed his eyes.
“Simone Sailor is in London,” Hugo repeated in case Frederick had not heard him clearly. He rattled off the name of the high-end hotel where she was currently staying.
Frederick lurched upright in his chair. His hand swung out and hit the bottle of scotch, sending amber liquid flying across his desk. “You—you can’t be serious!”
“I’m dead serious. She was recently spotted in the hotel’s restaurant.”
Frederick slapped his hands down on top of the desk and shoved to his feet. For a moment, he swayed, but his hands just shoved down all the harder on the desktop, and he maintained his balance. “We’ve been…tearing the…countryside apart…and she’s out for a meal? At the fanciest hotel in London?”
So it would seem. “A waiter there is the one who reported the tip. Edward Reginald is part of the network you’ve been creating.” Careful words. It wasn’t really Frederick’s network, was it? More like it belonged to the Russian, Konstantin. “Edward waited on her in the restaurant. Her and her date.”
“What date?” Frederick’s voice had risen several octaves.
“Ryan Quinn.”
“What. The. Bloody. Hell?”
Hugo nodded. “They’re both in London. I think we can conclude our search in the countryside.”
Frederick’s breath hissed out. “Oh, you think?”
“What’s the order?” Hugo asked. “How do we proceed?”
