Page 120 of Bulletproof

He yawned, and I smiled wide.

He was exhausted and sated, and he had me warm and naked in his arms. It was time to take a nap.

“I should take a shower,” I said into the side of his neck.

He grunted.

I closed my eyes and gave up on the idea of moving.

Sam had ordered room service, and so we were both still naked, no showering had happened, and we were lying on the bed, talking, with platters of food between us. The topics of conversation ranged from me and Dylan making another go at our business to Sam explaining about WITSEC—witness protection—and what that involved.

Since Sam’s old partner, Dominic Kairov, had been placed in the program and given a new identity, I told him I was surprised that they had let him become a deputy. But apparently, the US Marshals Service was happy to have Sam Kage. It wasn’t like the movies, and you couldn’t just look up anybody you wanted to. You had to have a reason and clearance to go rummaging in files for people and cases that weren’t assigned to you.

“You always look so crushed,” he murmured, smiling at me, hand in my hair, thumb smoothing over my eyebrow, “when you find out that things aren’t like they are in the movies and on TV.”

I got to my hands and knees, leaned forward, and kissed him. He opened for me, and I tasted him, his mouth, and sucked on his tongue. When he broke the kiss and crawled up the bed, I followed. He turned over, leaned back against the koa-wood headboard, and reached for me. Grabbing for the lube, flipping open the cap, I was ready as I crawled into his lap, straddling his hips, slicking him quick and dirty before I fumbled behind me for his already-hardened shaft.

“Take me in.”

Lifting up, I lined his cock up with my hole and then slowly lowered myself over him until he was fully seated inside. Impaled on the long, hard, thick length of him, I moaned deeply. The man’s eyes were locked on mine, and as I rose up and eased back down, my muscles contracting around him, rippling, flexing tight and then relaxing, his breath got choppy.

I put my hands on his chest as he gripped my thighs and eased me forward. My head lolled back on my shoulders.

“I love watching you do this.”

I knew that.

“Nothing—oh,” he gasped, and a shiver raced through him that I felt and loved. “Jory,” he moaned as he wrapped his fingers around my cock and stroked me fast.

I came hard, spurting over his carved abdomen, and he bucked up into me, pressing me down at the same time; his grip on my thighs would leave the bruises that I coveted.

“Jory,” he whispered.

His lips were captured, ravaged, and devoured. He kissed me back until he had to pull free to gulp air into his lungs.

“We really gotta take a shower,” I said, chuckling as we panted together.

“You smeared lube all over my chest,” he reminded me.

“I didn’t want to wipe it on the sheets.”

“Why not? The sheets are trashed.”

I started laughing.

“We need water.”

And him drinking—after I poured him a glass, watching it run down his chin, off his jaw, run over his chest—was too much of a treat to leave.

“That was hot.”

“Me having water?”

“Yes,” I moaned.

I was under him seconds later, my appreciation translating to desire, and my legs were wrapped around him as he pressed his body to mine. Infused with happiness because he was there, I kissed his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, and finally his lips. His skin, the smell of him that clung to me, the feel of him in my arms … I told him that I could die happy right then and there.

“No dying.” The sensual growl came again as he pushed his face against the side of my neck. “Just living.”