Page 40 of Wild (Chicago Underground 4)
I discovered that he swore during sex. I clenched every time, and God help me, he noticed, using it to bring me closer. “So fucking wet,” he muttered. “This can’t be fake. You didn’t lube yourself up before coming to see me, did you?”
That gave me pause, but then his finger reached a spot inside me, and I cried out.
“Shh.” He stood up, though his fingers stayed inside me, pressing right there, pushing and pulsing and oh Jesus, right there. His hand covered my mouth, muffling my cries and catching a pool of tears on my cheeks.
“Let go, let go,” he muttered against my ear, and I didn’t understand. I had come. What more did he want? He explained with his hands, massaging my clit through the aftershocks until suddenly lights burst behind my eyes, and I came again weakly against his palm.
It wasn’t the first time a man had made me come. Some clients knew their way around a woman’s body, demanding a real orgasm.
Limp, I waited for him to push me to my knees, to bend me over the table in the corner, anything. He didn’t move except for the bellow of his chest, in-out, in-out, and the occasional twitch of his cock at my hip.
“How do you want me?” I asked, my voice husky.
“I don’t.”
“Nice words.” I slid against his hard length. “But your body calls you a liar.”
“I want you to come with me.”
“What, you think I can’t come from anal?” I taunted. “Want me to put on a teddy bear costume? I assure you, if it turns you on, I can do it. If you can think of it, I’ve probably already done it. Or is that what bothers you? Do you want someone pure, a little innocent for the pristine cop?”
“Jesus. For a girl who’s seen everything, you can be really blind sometimes.”
“So let me see.” I found the thick bulge in the dark. One stroke, and he sucked in a breath. Two, and he jerked against me, his body hot, burning. I had him to hold, to touch, to finally see what it would be like, if he could be different from a hundred other men. Already I felt more than flesh, heard more than low animal sounds from him. Already I wanted this, and that made it new.
A knock came at the door; then Chase hissed, “Time’s up.”
Luke froze, his body taut with arousal and indecision.
“Let me finish you,” I whispered.
He pulled my hand away, groaning. “We can’t. You can’t be caught. I couldn’t protect you here.”
I let my head fall back against the wall, clearing my head, finding my footing. “No? Well, we can make our last stand here. The star-crossed lovers have to die together, you know. That’s how the story goes.”
“Is that what we are?” he murmured.
“The hooker and the cop,” I said. “We’re from opposing families. Fated to tragedy.”
His green eyes flashed in the dark, like a cat. “We’ll call that plan B.”
“Then what’s plan A?”
“Let me take you somewhere safe.”
At his very first words, let me, my body tautened, leaned forward as if to follow him. Yes, anything, take me. Like the Pied Piper, he could lead me into the sea. Already I was enthralled, tethered to him by an invisible string of yearning. I waded through the shark-infested waters of headquarters, going deeper and deeper just to hear his voice.
I couldn’t breathe, the dust or the tension filling my lungs. “I can’t.”
“You still don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.
My head tilted back, letting me draw in air from the surface. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t trust men.”
“I’m not men,” he said, his voice low. “I’m Luke, the man who’s been fucking torn over you since I first met you. The man who’s almost throwing away his whole career for you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
It meant everything to me, but gratitude was a long way from trust. I was thankful for him, undeserving of him, but I couldn’t make myself go with him. I couldn’t make myself weak.
“Not enough,” I whispered.
