Code Name Ghost (Jameson Force Security 5)

Malik’s head tips slightly, his brow furrowing. “Anna.”

I shake my head, giving him a fierce glare. “Don’t Anna me. I know you want me, Malik. I get you’re troubled, but you take your shot now or you let me go. You either fuck me… or get your hands off me and let me walk out the door.”

It was around the time I told him to take his “shot” now I noticed his expression changed. His chin lifted slightly, and his eyes darkened. When I told him to “fuck me,” his upper lip actually curled slightly. By the time I made it clear if he didn’t fuck me, I was out of here, I could tell he’d also decided to make a stand as well.

This is confirmed when he lunges and picks me up bodily from the floor, his hands under my ass as he mutters, “Christ, you’re bossy.”

I don’t even get a chance to laugh or exclaim in triumph before his mouth is back on mine again. A few moments of sweet bliss as his tongue slipping past my lips makes me go dizzy, then I’m dizzier yet as we go falling to his bed almost perfectly in the middle but at an angle.

Gone is the restraint he had been showing. The minute he has me underneath him, he starts moving his hands everywhere. To my face where they hold me in place so he can plunder my mouth, to my collarbone, sliding down over my chest to an aching breast he hesitantly squeezes. Despite my shirt, bra, and leak pads I have in place, I’m so sensitive there I can’t help but moan from the touch.

“You okay?” he asks, but I like that he does so without removing his hand.

“Good,” I manage to gasp out.

Malik rolls us to our sides, somehow managing to continue to kiss me while working his hands underneath my shirt where he struggles for only a few seconds with the clasp of my bra. When it pops open, he somehow manages to pull my shirt and bra off in one easy glide of material over my head and arms.

The minute my breasts are bare, I have a moment of self-consciousness when a chill of air hits them. I can feel my nipples pucker before Malik’s warm hand comes down on one just as his mouth takes mine again. My breasts feel heavy and aching. Thank God I had the foresight to pump so I hopefully won’t have any embarrassing leaks.

Not that he gives me much time to worry about such things because his hands are once again roaming over my body. Fingers ghosting gently over my ribs and across my stomach, then back around to my ass to spread his big hand out there and pull me closer into him. The hard press of his erection into my hip has me realizing I need to be doing a little more touching myself.

I make a frenzied grab at his t-shirt, lifting it at the hem. Malik breaks our kiss just long enough to get it over his head. I toss it aside but before he can descend on me again, I put both my palms to his chest and hold him back so I can look at him.

I have no clue what his body was like before he left for Syria or when he was rescued. But it’s utterly beautiful right now, with taut skin over corded muscles. His heartbeat feels so strong and true under my palm. It’s hard to believe he’s ever had such struggles.

Leaning forward, I inhale his scent—a woodsy body-wash smell—before pressing a kiss to his breastbone. Malik’s hand comes behind my head, and he holds me there.

But only briefly before his fingers slip into my hair, curl inward, and grip a chunk. He pulls my head back, stares down fiercely, and notes, “I think we need the rest of our clothes off.”

The corners of my mouth curve upward, and I nod. “That we do.”

My hands go to the fly of his jeans while his dive down to the button of my dress pants. At the same time, I manage to kick off my heels. By the time Malik toes his shoes off, I have his zipper all the way down and my hand is plunging inside.

And oh my God… I’d forgotten the simple eroticism of taking a man’s cock in hand and feeling the hard length covered by satin skin, knowing the type of devastation its beauty could wreak upon me. Malik is a big man everywhere, including the—what I’m guessing—is eight inches I’m holding in the palm of my hand. When I give him a light stroke, Malik groans in rapture.

“Do that again, Anna,” he orders.

I do, but I stroke him harder this time. Up and down, feeling the silk and steel move through my grip and forgetting about my need to have him between my legs. Right now, I consider pushing him onto his back and using my hands and mouth to make him feel good.