“Fuck,” I grunt out when our kiss ends.
“Shit, now we both have to fix ourselves. Maybe I should quit wearing lipstick when you’re around,” she jokes, grabbing a paper towel, wetting it, and wiping the lipstick off of my lips.
“It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll still take your lips every chance I can get.” My thumb comes up to take care of the mess I made of her. It’s the truth. It doesn’t matter if Kellie has makeup on or is fresh faced, clothed to the nines or wearing worn-out clothes—I’ll always want her.
“Okay.” When her voice comes out breathless, it has my dick lengthening in my jeans.
“Alright.” I nod my head, grab my cup of black coffee, swallow the rest before rinsing my cup out and placing it in the dishwasher.
“There’s something to be said about a man who doles out orgasms, cooks, and cleans.” I turn around, catching Kellie staring at my body. I’m in my standard uniform of dark jeans, black polo with our Nighthawks logo on it, and boots. It’s nothing to write home about, but when my woman gives me those eyes, I feel like I’m ten feet tall.
“I’ll show you just how many orgasms I can wring out of you tonight.”
“Does that mean I get to return the favor?” she asks while we pick up what we need to head out the door.
“Fuck yes, you do.” I pat Legend’s head, then we both head out the door. I need to get Easton out here and fast. I know he pulled away from Nighthawk to create his own business, but sometimes it’s nice to have his set of eyes to see what needs to be placed where.
I lock Kellie’s front door before guiding her out to her car. “I’ll be right behind you. See you at work, sunshine.” I kiss her forehead knowing if I don’t get in my own vehicle, neither one of us will make it.
“I’ll see you there.” She kisses my chest, right on top of my heart, something I’ve noticed she’s done since we solidified our relationship. I nod waiting for her to slide in and start her car before heading to my vehicle. This woman has my heart. Fuck, if I’m being honest, she owns every damn piece of me.
Thirteen
Kellie
This has been the slowest day at work ever. Finally, after an hour of literally twiddling my thumbs, I stand up and see what the guys’ offices look like and if I can tidy them up. If there’s nothing left for me to do, I’ll text Taylor and Raelynn. Maybe we can meet here for lunch or something. I swear we haven’t been this slow in forever.
The ringing of my desk phone stops me from standing up. “Nighthawk Security, how may I help you?” I answer the phone, waiting to hear who’s on the other end, praying it’s something work related yet having that eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach all the same.
“Hello,” I say after not hearing anyone answer. The heavy breathing and grunting on the other end of the line lets me know someone’s there; they just aren’t answering. I keep trying to get the person to respond while texting Bridger to come up to the front.
“Is anyone there?” I ask to hopefully get someone to answer. This has Liam written all over it. Bridger makes an appearance along with Drake.
“I can’t hear you. Can you tell me how I can help you?” I point at the phone, cluing them in.
Drake mouths to put the phone on speaker. I do that, trying to make sure I’m as quiet as I can be while doing what he asks.
The heavy breathing doesn’t stop, and now the moaning is picking up. There’s no way someone is doing that on the other end. No freaking way.
“Hello?” I say again, and that’s when the person on the other end hangs up.
I place the phone back in its cradle and turn to Bridger, who’s standing with his hands placed on his hips, fuming fucking mad, and Drake, who looks like he’s about to lunge through my phone he’s staring at.
“I guess we’ll be monitoring and recording all phone calls from this moment on,” Drake grouses.
“No shit. That vile piece of shit.” Bridger is pissed, and I don’t think I’ve seen him this upset, well, ever.
“Maybe it wasn’t Liam?” I throw out there, trying to calm the raging storm that’s building inside him.
“And the Pope isn’t catholic,” Drake interjects. I side-eye him, letting him know he isn’t freaking helping.
“Come on, we’re calling it quits today. There’s nothing going on. We may as well pick up Legend and head to my place,” Bridger states, not even allowing me to answer. Something tells me he needs me to follow his lead this time around.
“Sure, I was already going to see if the offices needed to be cleaned, and if not, see about leaving early anyway.” I start logging out of my computer, switch the phone to my cell phone like I do for the weekends, not that I expect it to ring very much, and grab my purse.