When telling a convincing lie, make sure that it’s partly the truth. I glance at the Dali and, as my skirt slides down my legs, feel more than exposed. My research into Grayson’s past preoccupies my time more than my career.
Nelson makes a sound of acknowledgment. “You’ll bring your sister home,” he assures me. “You’ve sacrificed too much time battling the system. Let it run its course.”
Grayson sweeps my hair over my shoulder, and I close my eyes against the heated brush of his lips across the back of my neck. His hand drifts around my waist, fingers dipping beneath the lace trim of my panties.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice uneven as Grayson touches me intimately, his fingers sliding roughly over my sex. “I really appreciate all your help in this matter, Agent Nelson.”
A lengthy beat, where I’m hyperaware of Grayson’s mouth on my skin, his touch growing rougher, my possessive as he sinks one finger inside me?—
Then Nelson says, “About what happened in?—”
“It was nothing,” I say, cutting him off quickly.
“No, it was inappropriate,” he insists. “My ego was too wounded at the time to admit that, but…London, this isn’t my MO. I want you to know that. This never happens, especially on the job.” He releases a weighted breath. “I apologize.”
Grayson sinks another finger inside me, deeper, curling both with a claiming demand against the tight ache as he settles his mouth near my ear and whispers, “Tomorrow.”
“It’s fine. I understand.” I say, breathless as Grayson’s other hand collars my throat from behind. “In fact, it’s my job to understand. I think we should meet tomorrow, agent. If you’re available.”
“I’d like that.” The relief in his voice is palpable. “When I return, I’ll have a number of things to wrap up in Rockland, then I’ll call you.”
“Perfect. Talk to you then.” I end the call before Grayson somehow maneuvers me right into the crime scenes. With a shiver, I drop my phone on the desk. “Dammit, Grayson.”
I can feel his fucking smirk as he presses his palm hard to my clit, drawing a sharp breath from me. I grip the edge of the desk. “Why am I meeting him?” I demand, my voice shaky as he continues to fuck me with his fingers.
“Because Nelson is your target.” He thrusts deep once more before removing his fingers, his hand grazing up the curve of my inner thigh. “And because the agent is obsessed with you. He’ll find a way to see you, regardless. Better to make it on your terms.”
“He’s not obsessed with me,” I argue. My nails dig at the wood as his fingers slip beneath the elastic of my panties, finding the spot that makes my voice tremble. “He’s obsessed withyou.”
“Hmm.” He makes an amused sound as he releases my throat. Then he lowers to the floor, his hands mapping my body along his descent. The abrasive rub of his callused fingers over the silk of my bra and panties snags the fine material.
He nips my flesh before he takes the elastic trim between his teeth, tugging my panties away from my body and slowly dragging them down. He doesn’t stop until they’re snuggly around my ankles.
“One and the same,” Grayson says, rising to his feet. He flattens his palm over my belly, drawing me against his chest as his other hand clears space on my desk. “We’re a package deal, love.” With sure movements, he turns me around and lifts me onto the desk.
I plant my hands behind my back, bracing for balance, as Grayson hovers above. A predator looming over his prey. My gaze sweeps the diagonal scars along his sculpted chest, the tattoo sleeves reaching up his defined arms. I had fantasies that consisted of a scenario much like this during our sessions…and the realization that I’m here, in my office with Grayson, sends an erotic thrill racing through me.
“You like pinning me to desks,” I say to him, a taunt in my voice.
That slight dimple carves his cheek, his rare, devilish smile making an appearance. “I love pinning you. Period.” He palms my face gently and tilts my head back as he kisses my lips, savoring me. The coarseness of the starchy uniform slacks rubs against my clit, increasing the throbbing ache between my legs to a sharp pain.
I latch on to his neck to drag him closer, craving all of him at once.
My needy response steals over him with a hard shiver of restraint, then he’s grabbing my ass, fusing our bodies together. He hauls me off the desk with hardly any effort, only breaking the kiss to say, “I want you in that fucking chair.”
The guttural rasp of his voice scrapes along my skin like his brusque touch, his Irish accent bleeding through. I wrap my legs around his waist, locked to him the way his inked puzzle pieces link together. Uninhibited. Shameless. I grind against the hardness trapped in coarse pants that ignites my senses, loving the feel of his strained muscles as he carries me to the therapy room to make good on his claim.
He collapses in the patient chair with me straddling him. This is a sacrilege to my profession. I’m spitting in the face of my practice.
And it feels cathartic.
I clutch the headrest, my hair an unruly veil shielding us, as Grayson works my bra off to bare my breasts to him. He’s not gentle, nearly shredding the flimsy material with unfettered need.
And yet, the pressure isn’t enough. We’re too far apart still, and he grips the fleshy curves of my hips and forces me harder against his erection. Like starved and depraved animals, we tear at each other.
Never enough.
We communicate without words, on a carnal level. Whether we’re fighting or connecting. Challenging each other or submitting to our weaknesses. Conversing or fucking. None of it matters on a topical level—we delve deeper, exploring the cavernous abyss of our psyche, what some might call the soul.
