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Knowing he was on the verge of coming, and wanting to be inside of her when he did, he gently grasped her under the arms and pulled her onto her back with a twist of his body with a low, needy growl.
Her eyes widened in surprise at his powerful, dominant move, and before she could object, he dropped his mouth over hers and thrust his tongue deep. In response, she slid her hands up his chest to his shoulders, tracing the sinewy contours of his arms, the biceps that were taut from strain.
Her beautiful face was flushed, her eyes a dark, enticing shade of whiskey, her expression showing her fierce desire.
A sense of urgency spurred him on. Still kissing her, he pressed his hands to her knees, and shoved her legs wide apart, skimming his hand up her supple thigh.
He wanted to make sure she was ready for him. Wanted to make sure she was just as ramped up as he was. But as he reached the core of her, he found her slick, already turned on from going down on him and that thought inflamed him even more.
Without hesitation, he pushed a finger deep inside her and stroked his thumb over her clit, and she moaned against his mouth. A second finger followed, and her hips arched against his hand and her legs curled around the back of his thighs in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. He increased the friction of his fingers—sliding, gliding, stroking, inside and out, letting the pleasure build until her entire body tensed, then shuddered as she climaxed.
He lifted his mouth from hers, breathing hard and fast. “Goddamn, Bree. I’m dying for you.”
“Callen, please,” she whispered, reaching out and clasping his dick, guiding him to her. “Please.”
Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, he shoved into her until he was buried inside of her to the hilt. She grabbed onto his forearms, arching into him. Her eyes closed on an aching groan of pleasure.
A ragged breath sighed out of him at the sight of her contorted face. The fit of his dick inside her was tight and deep. He pressed his mouth to her neck, scattering damp kisses along her throat, finding her nipple before sucking it deep inside his mouth. She clutched his head and arched, offering herself up to him while meeting his pistoning hips, harder, faster.
Desperate to come, he lifted his head and fitted his mouth to hers, his tongue claiming hers in a deep, wet kiss. He gripped her hips, using the powerful muscles in his hips, thighs, and butt as leverage while he thrust into her harder, pumped faster, deeper. The heat inside grew unbearable.
Her inner muscles tightened spasmodically around his thick, aching cock as she climaxed hard, crying out against his mouth, allowing him to finally let go of his restraint. His own scalding release rolled over him with blinding pleasure.
When the tremors subsided, he rolled and wrapped her into his arms and buried his face against her damp neck, his emotions in a tangled mess. “Bree,” he whispered, her name soft and the essence of her filling him to bursting.
She wound her fingers into his hair and settled her body against his. “Say my name like that again,” she murmured, pressing her mouth to his.
“Bree,” he whispered again against the sweet press of her lips on his.
* * *
Harley walkedinto Isabelle’s office, trying with all her might to forget about what happened between Aleksei and her last night. It was over. It was playacting, she told herself, and couldn’t be repeated. She had expected to feel a certain amount of turmoil concerning her night of lovemaking with Aleksei. Yet she could find no regrets, no recriminations.It had been wonderful.
Isabelle was behind her desk and her expression told Harley immediately that whatever news she’d received wasn’t good. In fact, it looked about as bad as it could get. Gator stood next to her, his hand on her shoulder squeezing.
“Izzy?” Harley said, breaking into their intimate moment.
Isabelle bit her lip and sighed. She bent her head and dragged her hand across her eyes, then inhaled raggedly. “Regina Brathwaite was murdered last night at the MI6 safehouse.”
Harley’s breath suddenly wouldn’t come. “Oh, God. Her family?”
“Spared,” Isabelle said, bitterly, swallowing hard.
Gator crouched down and took her hand, his eyes sad. “That’s not all,” he said.
“Daan Jensen.” It wasn’t a leap. Of course, they got to him, too.
“Yeah, he hung himself in his cell, but we know it wasn’t suicide.”
“It was a hit.”Aleksei.His warning came too late.He will be devastated.She wished she could spare him this news.
Isabelle’s phone rang, but she didn’t reach for it. Gator rose and grabbed the receiver. He listened and his face went blank. He hung up the phone slowly.
“What is it?” Harley asked. Isabelle gripped his forearm.
“Aleksei Volkov—”
“Oh, God,” she blurted, unable to control her sudden fear. Her stomach knotted with dread. “Don’t tell me he’s dead, too.” Her dread turned to panic.
