I grunt in response. That’s all I’ve got.
“The case I’m working on is the reason Vance got the call.” Her hand moves. Up. Down. “A senator is charged with child sexual abuse. Multiple victims.”
I’m listening. I am. The words are entering my ears, and I’m processing them and filing them into the part of my brain that handles intel, but that part of my brain is at war with the part that’s tracking the pressure of her thumb against the ridge below the head, the warmth of her palm, the way her wrist rotates at the top of each stroke. I try to hold the image of a senator in my mind, a middle-aged predator, but the picture dissolves every time she slides down.
I am not a man who loses control, but she is destroying my focus while my cock is weeping in her grip.
“He wants bail. They always want bail for men in his tax bracket.” Another stroke. Slow. “I’m pushing for no bail. He’s a flight risk and a danger.”
Her hair smells faintly of citrus. Every time she reaches the tip, I inhale and I catch it. This clean, bright note cuts through the heavier smell in the room, the musk of my own sweat and the sharp, bitter scent of the fluid leaking steadily from me. The wet noise of her hand on my cock, it fills my skull, while her voice pours in the other side. The two streams clash right behind my eyes, and I can’t sort the mess.
“That’s made me unpopular with some very connected people.” She twists her wrist on the upstroke. “People who would prefer the senator make bail, disappear to a country with no extradition treaty, and take the story with him.”
I should respond. I should tell her that we have security protocols because that’s what a bodyguard would do, but my legs are concrete. My hands are fists at my sides. I’m standing in front of this woman, completely naked, and she’s jacking me off while briefing me on a case, and my mind is a hurricane that can’t find its eye.
I understand what I can. Senator. Child abuse. No bail. Death threat. Her. Her hand.
The stroke picks up.Fucking hell,it’s getting faster, firmer. She adds a second hand, cupping underneath, her fingertips pressing into the sensitive skin below, and the pressure builds at the base of my spine, winding tighter with each pass. My thighs start to shake. I feel the orgasm building. I try to push it down, but she tilts her palm over the head and squeezes, and the pressure intensifies. My sac draws tight, aching, and she feels that too because her fingers are already brushing the tightened skin with a stroke that makes me want to groan.
I don’t groan. I hold it in. The restraint is a full-body effort that has my calves cramping.
She’s still talking, and I’m starting to sweat more and more.
“…whoever..” “the call made…” “which means they’re” “someone they’re.”
I nod. But I’m not comprehending anything. My body wants to do things now. My hips want to push forward into her grip, to chase the friction with mindless need, but I’m locking every muscle in my core to keep them still. My breathing is controlled. In through the nose, out through the mouth, but the intervals are getting shorter.
It’s tightening. I can feel the orgasm a few more strokes away, but I’m fighting it with all my might because I refuse to come this fast in front of her. I refuse to—
She twists again, and my pulse hammers in my ears. Her thumb presses into the slit and drags more liquid down the shaft. I grit my molars harder. I think of dead puppies, tax returns… Up and down, up and down she goes. Faster and faster and—
Ah, damn it.
I spurt a fountain between our bodies.
My abs lock, my vision goes white. The cum jets hard, stripes my stomach, my chest, drips down her knuckles. My hands stay at my sides. My face stays neutral, I think. But inside I’mdetonating, every muscle firing at once, and she’s still holding me, still jacking me off, milking every last spasm out of me with that rhythm she never broke.
“Wow.” She glances at her hand, then at the floor and the sticky mess sprayed everywhere. “That didn’t take very long.”
I fix on a point on the wall above her head. My chest is moving too fast, and no amount of willpower is bringing it under control. She’s still holding me. Half-hard now, softening in her grip, but the aftershocks keep coming. These smaller, duller pulses that wring out what’s left, dripping into her palm.
She didn’t take long either, for the record. But she’s not the one standing here naked with a stranger’s cum splattered on her hand. She’s the one who’s going to remember the bodyguard who blew in under two minutes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
4
Diana
THE SUV ROLLS through the other side of Halo City. I don’t need a map to know where we are. The group of teenagers sitting on the hood of a car that hasn’t moved in weeks, judging by the sun-bleached parking ticket plastered to the windshield, does a lot of the explaining.
I don’t say anything about it.
There’s nothing to say. I grew up in a place not much different from this one.
Kai parks the SUV at the curb and kills the engine. I let him drive my car. He hasn’t spoken much since we left the HQ. His jaw is set, his eyes forward, and I know he’s been replaying what happened. I smile in my head. I want it replaying. His cum on my hand, the look on his face when his body folded before he gave it permission. I want it on a loop in his head so he understands the terrain we’re walking on now.
He gestures to the three-story red brick building. His apartment. It’s no different from every other one on the block. A laundromat occupies the ground floor, and next to it, a narrow door leads upstairs.
