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Chapter 32
On Friday the week following the final grand jury meeting, Ingram steps off a prison bus as free a man as he’ll ever be, at least for a few decades. They let him out in Times Square amid a sea of tourists. He doesn’t spot me at first in my giant sunglasses and floppy hat — the same I wore on the day I was first rescued from Anton.
Sitting on a bench, ignoring the city’s flashing lights and garish billboards, I enjoy the sight of Ingram. He wears a sharp, gray bespoke suit with a blue striped tie, and he’s been given a haircut, judging by his neat, short trim. Something tells me this all came out of the sizable bank accounts the government seized. He may no longer be a Master or run an entire intelligence and espionage firm, but he is an agent of sorts — he has an appearance to maintain.
When he notices me, his face lights up and he runs over. I’m barely on my feet in time to be scooped up into his embrace. I’ve seen videos of his depositions and hearings, but this has to be the first he’s seen me in nearly seven months.
“Hi,” he says, hugging me tightly against his hard body.
“Hi.”
“I’ve missed you.”
I laugh, already feeling a hardness in his crotch, at the same time as my warmth clenches with need.
“I missed you too,” I say, biting my lip. “Want to go home?”
“Yeah.”
He looks around, then chuckles.
“No limo.”
“We could hail a cab,” I suggest, smirking at his expense. This is going to be an adjustment, not having a team there to back him up at any given moment. Eyal, Stanislaw and Henrik are out there somewhere, but they haven’t made contact with us.
“How about we take the subway?” Ingram asks.
“When was the last time you did that?”
“Oh, within a few years — but I was tailing someone.”
“Of course,” I say, shaking my head. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.” He reaches down and clutches my ass through my tight jeans. “Want to order in?”
“Definitely.”
—
We kiss on my bed until our stomachs rumble so hard we can’t stop giggling from the sound. Me in my white, cotton panties lying atop him in his tight, black briefs. We clutch each other tightly. We don’t even let go as I call in an order for sushi, udon noodles and gyoza.
“You know what I’d like you to do?” he asks, gently caressing my swollen pussy.
“What’s that?”
“Before you get dressed to go down and pick up our food, I want you to put on something special.”
Uh oh.
“Or, put in, to be more accurate.”
He sets me down and heads for my toy chest; he needs only a moment to find a black, rubber buttplug and a tube of oil.
“Get on all fours, pet,” he says.
I reach to pull down my panties, but he barks, “Stop!”
His sharp tone sends a shiver of anticipation through my core; wetness soaks through the warming cotton.
