Page 55 of Four Cards Exposed

His hands came onto her hips, hard enough for her to feel them but not hard enough to bruise. It gave her the push she needed to start moving, slowly, against his length. Up and down, exactly where she wanted him.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Yes.”

James’s large hands moved up to her breasts, pulling on her brown nipples, which seemed somehow connected to her core—a highway of pleasure.

She found her rhythm, moved faster now against him, delighted in how he managed to shift his hips to rub against her clit every time he bottomed out inside her.

“Susan …” he gasped. “I’m going to come if you don’t—“

Yes.

James’s hands came back to her hips, pushing harder against her now. She didn’t care. She only cared about one thing.

And then she was off the cliff, soaring, her pussy contracting against his cock. Her eyes met his, saw him frown and blink as he came with a ragged groan, his hips pistoning against her, driving her to another mini-orgasm.

17

* * *

Susan

Susan stole out of James’s place at eleven a.m. This time, there were no children playing outside. The trash cans were still overflowing—the truck clearly hadn’t made its way back yet.

If she hurried, she’d have just enough time to make it to the post office and still get to work on time afterwards.

The thought struck her that, had James not been wearing a condom, she’d still be leaking his come. Instead of a rush of shame, she felt a warm rush of something that could only be desire.

Shit.

She needed to get her thoughts in order. This wasn’t the kind of thing she could share with Lorraine. If she knew what was going on, the federal agent would pull her out, send her straight back to Sharp’s Cove—and rightly so.

Three bored-looking post office employees looked up as Susan stepped inside. She chose a set of beach-themed pre-stamped postcards and paid for them in cash. She didn’t intend to send them. Lorraine had assured her it’d be enough for her to set foot into the post office, that somebody from the FBI would be watching and would get back to her.

She wondered how long it’d take for Lorraine to find her.

The question evaporated in a rush of air as she saw Lorraine sitting on a bench, outside the post office.

Susan sat down and brought out her postcards. While she rifled through her large handbag, a pen materialized in Lorraine’s hand. She held it out to her, as one might to a stranger.

“Thank you,” Susan said, taking the pen.

“I thought you might show up today,” Lorraine said, looking pointedly at her.

Susan felt her cheeks warm.

Does she know James and I are sleeping together?

How did she find out?

“We intercepted an email exchange between Miguel Mendoza and his brother,” Lorraine continued quietly. “They’re planning something.”

An email.

Nothing to do with us.

Balancing the first postcard on her lap, Susan began writing a message to a non-existent friend.

“Do you still have a tracker on the ship? We think something’s going down on Sunday and, whatever it is, Ernesto Mendoza will be there.”