Page 231 of Chameleon Killer

His touch grew bolder, his fingers circling one nipple, which pebbled instantly at his touch. He leaned down, his mouth replacing his hand, and I cried out as he closed his lips over the sensitive peak. He wasn't gentle. He used his teeth, scraping them lightly against my skin before soothing the sting with his tongue. He lavished the same attention on its twin, until I was writhing beneath him, my hands fisting in his sheets.

"Flint, please," I begged, not sure what I was asking for.

He seemed to know. He kissed his way down my body, his tongue tracing a path over my stomach, his hands gripping my hips, holding me still. He settled between my thighs, and I held my breath, anticipation coiling tight in my belly. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with intent, and then he lowered his head and buried his face in my pussy.

His tongue was a revelation. He licked me with long, slow strokes, lapping at my release, tasting me. It was filthy and intimate and so incredibly hot I thought I might combust. He found my clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. The pleasure was sharp, almost painful, and I came with a cry, my back arching off the bed.

He didn't stop. He worked me through it, his tongue and fingers driving me higher, until I was a mindless, whimpering mess, begging him for more, for less, for something, anything. When I couldn't take it anymore, I reached down, my hands tangling in his hair, trying to pull him up.

He lifted his head, his chin glistening with my arousal, and flashed me a wicked, triumphant grin. "Oh, I appreciate your enthusiasm," he said, his voice raspy, "but it takes me a bit to come back."

I stared at him, my chest heaving, and a slow, answering grin spread across my face. "Challenge accepted."

I pushed him onto his back and straddled his thighs, taking a moment to admire the view. He was magnificent, all lean muscle and raw masculinity, his cock resting against his stomach, not yet fully erect but thick and heavy. I leaned down, my hair brushing against his skin, and began my own exploration.

I kissed my way across his chest, my tongue tracing the lines of his abs, my hands stroking his thighs, his hips, everywhere but where he wanted me most. I could feel his tension, his barely restrained desire, and it was a heady, powerful feeling. I took my time, learning his body, memorizing the spots that made him gasp, the ones that made him groan.

When I finally wrapped my hand around his cock, he hissed, his hips bucking. I stroked him slowly, my thumb teasing the head, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there. I leaned down and took him in my mouth, my tongue swirling around the tip. He tasted salty, clean, uniquely Flint.

It definitely took time. I worked him with my hand and my mouth, my own arousal building as I felt him grow harder, thicker, filling my fist. When he was finally fully erect, we were both panting, a frantic, desperate energy crackling between us.

"Condom," he gritted out, fumbling for the drawer in his bedside table.

I took it from him, my fingers shaking as I sheathed him. Then I was straddling him again, sinking down onto his cock in one smooth, fluid motion. We both groaned as he filled me, the sensation even more intense this time, now that the frantic edge had been replaced by a slower, deeper need.

I began to move, rocking my hips, setting a languid, teasing rhythm. He let me take the lead, his hands gripping my waist, his eyes locked on mine. I rode him, my breasts bouncing, my head thrown back, lost in the pleasure, in the power, in the sheer, unadulterated joy of finally having him.

And then there was a buzz from the building intercom. It was a sharp, insistent sound that cut through the haze of our passion. I froze, my eyes flying to Flint's.

"Don't stop," he growled, his hands tightening on my hips.

But the buzz came again, louder this time, followed in rapid succession like someone kept hitting it over and over. I hesitated, my body tensing. This was it. The real world, intruding.

Flint just grinned, a feral, predatory gleam in his eyes. He flipped us in one smooth, powerful motion, his cock never leaving my body. Suddenly, he was on top of me, his weight pinning me down, his hips driving into mine with a force that stole my breath.

The sound continued, a frantic, meaningless if jarring noise ripping through the living room. But I didn't hear it. All I could hear was the sound of our bodies slapping together, Flint's harsh breathing in my ear, the blood roaring in my veins. He was fucking me now, hard and fast, his thrusts deep and punishing, and I met him, my legs wrapping around his waist, my nails digging into his back, urging him on.

"Let them wait," he gritted out, his teeth nipping at my earlobe.

And I did. I let them wait. I let the whole damn world wait. Because in this bed, with this man, nothing else mattered.

There would be other jobs, other cases, other dangers. But there would only ever be one him. And one me. And finally, we were on the same page.

At some point, the irritating intercom noise stopped leaving me and Flint to just bask in the closeness.

Right here, right now, in this moment, I had no problems. None.

I was sweaty, boneless, and sprawled half across Flint with my cheek against his chest and one leg tangled between his. His breathing hadn't quite returned to normal. Neither had mine.

The sheets were a disaster.

So was my hair.

I didn't care.

Flint's fingers moved lazily against my spine, tracing patterns that didn't seem to have a purpose beyond keeping his hand on me.

That was totally fine.