Page 20 of Jonesing for a Spy

I don’t know whether it’s the authority in my voice or her lust-soaked desire, but she obeys.

“Lift for me.” I pull down and stab up into her as she drops.

Her sound is half-gasp, half-keen, and the look on her face etches itself permanently on my brain.

Her body is stunning, all tan, compact muscle. She’s smart and funny. Her smile is outrageous and what she can do with her mouth could bring a dead man back to life. And her cunt? She’s ruined me forever. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.

“Ride me like you mean it, Freckles. Show me what you’ve got.”

She lifts with a tightening of those inner muscles again and hovers, her eyes challenging me to complain. “Only because I want to, handsome.”

I throw a fist between my teeth and bite down. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

She drops with force.

“Never mind.” My voice is hoarse. “If you do, don’t tell me.”

She lifts with a “Why?”

“I can’t brain, woman.”

Resting her hands on my chest, she rides me like a jockey on a prized steed, her eyes holding mine the whole time.

Words escape me. I’m surrounded by sensation. Mirren above me, her wild, honey-colored hair framing her face. Me inside her tight heat. The sound of our bodies coming together over and over again. The smell of us. Her panting breaths. My ragged ones. The pressure of her nails at my ribs.

Her eyes close in ecstasy, and I lose what little vulnerability I’ve seen. It’s replaced with a different kind of trust. She’s reaching, in it—on me, with me, surrounding me. I find her clit and strum.

“Strider.” The end of my name dissolves on her tongue as she collapses on my chest, pulsing around me, rippling along my cock, coaxing me to come with her.

I thrust. It takes four until electricity rattles down my spine, and I do what I’ve never done—spill into a woman, feeling the heat coat us both—and glide inside our combined orgasms.

The best I’ve ever had.

The best I’ll never not want.

9

pledge allegiance

Strider

I’ve always gotten up and handled the condom. I’ve always had a reason to slide out of bed and have space.

I don’t want space. I want the woman who clings to my sweat-slicked chest, panting while I’m softening inside her. Gliding slowly, I enjoy the feel of her around me, even if it’s not the same.

I stroke her back, from the nape of her neck to just above her plump ass with a wide palm in a slow deliberate path and return, continuing my track as her breathing slows and she practically hums.

“Does this mean you’ll have breakfast with me?”

She stiffens and cranes her neck. “We just had dinner.”

“Right, but that wasn’t our date. That was me bumping into you when you were at your thing.”

Her eyes squint, and she touches the arm of my glasses. “You’re lucky you’re hot in these slutty little glasses.”

I choke, bouncing her every place we’re connected. “Slutty little glasses? I feel dirty.”

“You’re good at dirty.”