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Then he was fucking me fast, his hand in the center of my back, holding me down.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, the words making my pussy clench hard around his cock. “Fuck,” he hissed at the sensation. “You’re taking it so good, mama,” he said as he fucked me harder, deeper, his hand having to shift back up to my shoulder again, holding onto me my head didn’t slam into the wall with each savage curse. “Give it to me,” he demanded as my moans got louder, as my hands clenched the sides of the cabinet, as my walls got tighter and tighter. “There,” he hissed as my walls started to spasm once again. “Fuck, just like that,” he said, slamming deep, coming hard.
And if I wasn’t mistaken, he’d hissed out my name as he did so.
It was all of, oh, point-five seconds afterward before my goddamn common sense came back to me. Like my fucking desire had been holding it back before.
Damnit.
Goddamnit.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Twice?
I gave into this fuckhead twice?
For what? A couple of orgasms?
Big, intense, world-shattering orgasms, sure, but just orgasms nonetheless.
This time, though, I was under no delusions about what this was. About who he was.
Maybe my feelings were conflicted, but I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t going to let myself be conflicted again.
I lurched away, reaching down to yank my panties and pants back into place before whirling around to face him.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I growled, pinning him with my gaze for a moment, feeling a small rush of pleasure at the surprised look on his face in response to the ferocity in my tone.
I was out of the bathroom before he even got a chance to straighten his own clothes.
But I was only halfway through the office, trying like hell to get to the door, to get the fuck away from him before I did or said anything that would let on to how shitty he’d made me feel.
“Get your ass back here,” A called, voice low, yet fierce enough to make me actually stop walking.
Whipping around, I jerked my chin up.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t order me around.”
“Pretty sure I’m your boss right now, so I can.”
So we were still on the case?
What had happened at the port?
“Well, I quit. And I’d wish you luck on your future endeavors, but…” I said, waving an arm out, making it clear I wished him anything but.
“Aw, come on now, mama, we both know it’s fucking killing you not knowing what’s going on with the case.”
“I couldn’t care less, actually,” I claimed, going to the door, unlocking it.
Again, those damn catlike reflexes.
He was behind me before I even knew he’d moved.
His breath was on my ear as his hand reached for the door handle.
“It was a set-up,” he said, lips down near my ear.
Then he was yanking the door open, damn near knocking me with it, and heading outside.
I wanted to call out to him.
And that was the exact reason I didn’t.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A
Fucking torture.
That was the only way I could describe the time between the laundry room, and finally showing up at her office a few days later.
It was every bit as hard staying away as it was telling her to leave after we’d fucked.
I’d been too chickenshit to face her when I’d said it, knowing I wouldn’t like what I’d see there.
Even though I knew it needed to be said, that I had to make her leave, and do it without a fight, without her sticking her nose into the case any further.
I needed some time.
To try to suss shit out on my own.
While she was safe.
Away from it all.
The problem was, I hadn’t sussed out dick.
Whoever was fucking me over was good, better than they had a right to be. Right under my goddamn nose.
Hence why I needed to get Hope’s crew to kick their asses into gear.
But not fucking Hope.
I wasn’t putting her at risk.
Or, at least, any more risk than she was already in.
Did I trust her coworkers as much as I did her? No. But they would just have to do.
I’d sweetened the deal with some extra cash. And they’d been eager to kiss my ass and assure me they would be all over it.
To save Hope the headache of dealing with their asses, I told them that some of my men were suspicious about a new chick around, so I pretended to fire her.
I meant to end it at that.
But she had to be standing there, looking like she looked, all sharp edges that I knew could be softened with a touch.
It didn’t escape me that, as much as she tried to hide it, she looked rough.
The smudges under her eyes said she hadn’t been sleeping much. That was something I was familiar with myself.
