His Best Mistake (Shillings Agency 6)

She crawled between his thighs, closing her lips over him. The second she took him inside his mouth, he was a goner. He arched his hips up and buried his hands in her hair, not giving a damn if she’d told him to move or not. Her tongue moved over him and she sucked with the perfect amount of pressure to drive a man insane.

When she rolled her tongue over him, sucking harder until he saw stars, he growled, “My turn.”

Before she could argue, he rolled her over on her back like she had done to him, and he was kissing her. He traced the gentle curves of her body, every inch of her smooth skin driving him more and more insane. By the time he slid his hand between her thighs, she was writhing beneath

him, neck arched. He took a second to appreciate her beauty.

How she tensed in anticipation.

The way her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

How soft her lips looked when they parted on a sigh.

She was fucking beautiful.

He thrust two fingers inside of her, and she arched her hips. He twisted his hand, pressing his thumb against her as he closed his mouth over her nipple, scraping his teeth against it. He brought her to the edge of orgasm, teasing her, dragging it out, and right as she was about to come, he pulled back, grinning when she cursed him out.

He rolled the condom on, ignoring her.

“You son of a bitch, I’ll—”

He slammed his mouth down on hers, and thrust inside her fully.

Her threats died and ended on a groan as she came, her body squeezing his until he almost joined her. But he held himself back, reaching between them to rub her clit as he continued moving his hips harder and faster, until she was crying and trembling, and his back bled.

When she came one more time, he let himself go, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass, fucking her with a wild abandon he’d never been able to fully let go of. As he came he groaned her name and dropped his head to the pillow beside hers, taking a long, drawn out breath at the same time. She skimmed her fingers down his back, rubbing it, and he closed his eyes, taking a second to enjoy this feeling.

Daisy underneath him naked.

Her touching him.

Not pushing him away.

Then he rolled off her, giving her breathing room. He flopped onto his back, his mind racing a million miles a minute. He looked at her room. It was the first bit of personal detail he’d been privy to besides her almost admission that her childhood had been less than ideal. The bedspread underneath them was a quilt, with hues of pink, green, and blue. She had four pillows on her bed, and it had been made neatly, with military grade corners.

His was, too.

They had that in common.

She had a dresser with a few bottles of perfume and some pictures of herself with various people, some men, some not. Was one of them her dead fiancé? Perhaps the one kissing her cheek as she stared at the camera with a smile that was so bright and happy that it was blinding?

Her closet stood open, with all her clothes hung up neatly, and there didn’t seem to be a personal item out of place. Next to all the floral and pastel dresses he could make out the sleeves of her cop uniform in the right corner of the closet, a reminder of why he shouldn’t be here with her. Swallowing, he rubbed his forehead and took a breath. He wasn’t sure why he kept coming to her, or what it meant, but he’d do it again if she let him. “Daisy—”

“You don’t have to talk to me with that apologetic tone in your voice,” she interrupted, sitting up and hugging her bare legs. She turned her head toward him, resting her cheek on her knees, her face relaxed. “I don’t think you’ve changed your mind about being with me because you’re here, just like I didn’t change my mind about you. We had sex. It was fun. That’s all this is.”

She was right. Sex was all it was and all it could ever be. And yet… “Was your father in the military? Is he the reason you don’t want to date a vet?”

Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she tucked her hair behind her ear. His fingers ached to touch its softness. “You put two and two together, huh? Guess you should’ve been a cop, too.”

“Did he…hurt you…?”

“Nah.” She scratched her nose, her cheek still resting on her knees. She looked so fragile sitting there hugging herself, but she was stronger than steel, and just as unwilling to bend under pressure. “He just pretended I didn’t exist, and prefers to spend the rest of his life burying himself in booze. He left me to raise myself and hoped for the best. Or didn’t. Not sure which. I never asked, since it really doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Yes. Every once in a while, he gets himself in to trouble, and I have to bail him out of jail. When it’s convenient to him, he remembers I exist. Mainly when he needs money, or when he’s so drunk someone threatens to call the cops.” She scrunched her nose up adorably. “He was a drunk before she died, though. Said he needed to drink to drown out the crying of the dead he’d heard on the battlefield. It was the only way he could sleep.”

He winced, knowing that feeling all too well. He’d seen a lot of men cope with the pain of their losses that way. You never forgot what it felt like to watch your buddy, the one who had been in the same boot camp as you, bleed out on the earth until nothing was left but an empty shell of a body. You never forgot the terrified look in their eyes, or the whispered pleas they gave as they died. Things like “tell my mom I love her,” or “kiss my baby girl for me one last time.”