Page 21 of Hawkeye

Her face burned, but she spread her knees wider over my thigh. “You make it very difficult to be embarrassed.”

“Good.” I pressed harder and controlled the rhythm of her hips with my other hand. “I want you too fucking busy feeling me.”

Josie’s forehead dropped against mine as the pleasure tightened her muscles. I kept her gaze whenever her eyes tried to close, rubbing her clit in steady circles while the heel of my palm pressed into her and my thigh gave her something hard to grind against. Her quiet sounds became breathless cries, each one feeding the pressure in my balls until my cock ached like a wound.

“That’s my pretty girl,” I praised, curling my fingers enough to make her shudder. “Take what you need. Come all over my hand while you look at me.”

Her nails bit through my shirt, and her hips lost their smooth rhythm as the orgasm caught her. Josie cried my name against my mouth, trembling across my thigh while I worked her through every pulse. I kissed her hard, swallowing each broken sound and keeping my hand between her legs until she sagged against me, flushed and beautifully wrecked.

I was contemplating whether the desk or the wall offered the better angle when the timer began chiming in the adjoining room.

Josie froze against my chest. “The ribbon.”

I closed my eyes for one beat, my fingers still buried between her thighs. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. That’s the second interruption in one day.”

“I told you I only had eleven minutes,” she reminded me, although the words came out breathless and weak.

“You spent most of them touching my chest and asking questions.” I withdrew my hand slowly enough to make her twitch, then licked the taste of her from my fingers while she watched. “I assumed you had a better plan.”

Her eyes darkened at the sight, but she slid off my lap on unsteady legs. “That was the plan.”

I looked toward the conservation room while my cock strained painfully beneath my pants. “Then your plan needs a longer fucking timer.”

Josie hurried toward the humidity chamber while fastening her blouse badly enough that one button landed in the wrong hole. I followed, adjusted myself with no hope of comfort, and took the prepared support tray when she held it toward me. Her hands shook through the first movement, but the focused competence returned as she removed the ribbon, recorded the time, and directed me toward the tools she needed.

“Blotting sheet,” she requested, holding one palm out without looking away from the silk.

I passed it over. “Anything else?”

“Small support board, then the narrow weights.”

I followed each instruction precisely and watched her breathing settle as the fragile material became her entire world again. When the ribbon was finally supported and secured, Josie leaned back and let out a careful breath before her gaze dropped toward the unmistakable strain beneath my trousers.

“Are you going to hold this against the ribbon?” she asked, fighting a smile.

“With no end in sight.”

Her laughter filled the room just as my phone vibrated. Nomad’s name appeared on the screen, and I answered while keeping one hand around Josie’s waist. She leaned lightly into me as though the contact had already become natural.

“Dispatch building matches,” Nomad reported. “Paint drip, overhead fixtures, and the damaged edge of the folding table all show in our yard footage.”

“Source photographs were fabricated on estate-company property,” I concluded. I looked toward the locked shadow box and felt the cold edge return beneath the lingering heat. “Put Bishop closer to the dispatch building and cover every secondary property receiving vehicles from that yard. Quiet surveillance only. I want to know where the fuck they move everything before they realize we found the room.”

Nomad acknowledged the order and ended the call. Josie’s expression had sobered, but the color still warmed her cheeks, and her blouse remained incorrectly fastened. I fixed the buttons one at a time, letting my knuckles brush the upper curves of her breasts while she watched me.

“Next time, you set an hour,” I instructed.

“For the restoration treatment?” Her dimple appeared again.

“For anything you plan to start while I’m in the room.”

9

JOSIE

My phone rang while Calder was still fixing the last button on my blouse.

“Josie.” Mr. Smythe’s tone was even more serious than usual, which made me stiffen in concern. “A buyer returned one of the military collections we identified as being suspect. The veteran’s family is coming in this evening to look at it. I need you here.”