Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security 3)

I didn’t come here to chat, and I make it clear when I reach down the front of his lounge pants. His cock, thick and ready, is hot in my hand, his mouth pulling away on a groan.

“Remington—”

I press my hand to his lips. “No talking.”

“No,” he snaps as I slide down his body, keeping the momentum after my feet hit the floor.

He pulls me up by the shoulders before I can even make it to my knees.

“No chance of surviving that tonight, baby.”

He lifts me once again, allowing space between our bodies as I rip my shirt off over my head, my bra landing near it on the floor in the next breath.

His mouth is on my heated flesh, tongue lashing against one nipple as he carries me down a darkened hallway. Plush, cool sheets meet my bare back as he lowers me, his mouth never leaving my skin.

“I’ve missed you, missed your smile, the scent of your skin. The taste of this pussy.” His mouth is between my legs the second after he pulls my pants down. They’re tangled around my knees, ass lifted in the air as he consumes me. I hate that I can’t watch him work me over, but the sensation of his mouth makes up for the lack of visual.

“Flynn,” I moan before biting my lip to the point of pain.

I knew what I wanted to happen when I gave the cabbie this address instead of the one to the grocery store, and I’m getting it in spades right now, but I also promised myself that I wouldn’t leave another piece of me behind when I left. The way his mouth is owning me, I know that’s an impossible pledge to keep.

When I come, thrashing wildly like a crazed person, he replaces his mouth with his fingers as he shoves his loungewear down. He shoves inside of me without a warning, a long, painful groan echoing around the room. There’s manic desperation in his eyes when he pulls my jeans off—only one leg—and spreads me wide.

“Goddamn, baby. Like a fucking glove.” His fingers toy with my clit, but even as oversensitized as it is from my orgasm mere moments ago, the damn thing is still throbbing with need, my greedy body offering itself up entirely to this man, practically humming and begging for more, more, more.

His eyelids are half-mast, his mouth open like he can’t believe I’m under him, and it’s that emotion brewing in his stormy blue eyes that makes me look away. His fingers caress my cheek, urging me to look back up at him, but my fragile heart can’t take it. When he turns my cheek, I let my eyes close.

The unrelenting bastard slows his drives, his hips making slow, languid, maddening circles instead of the near-violent thrusts he started out with. Then he lowers his body on top of mine, making sure his hulking frame is supported by his elbows at my head so I’m not crushed. The weight of him nearly kills me. But it’s the closeness, the intimacy that threatens to make the pain bubble from my throat.

“Please don’t,” I beg.

“Remi.” My name is a whisper on his lips, the syllables floating against my sweat-slicked skin like a promise, and it nearly guts me

“Faster. Please fuck me faster.”

He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t go deeper or put more force behind his hips. The bastard maintains his pace, luring an orgasm from my body like someone would persuade a scared kitten out of a corner.

When he groans his own release, I feel no better, no less heartbroken than I did before he opened his door. If anything, coming here only made things worse, refreshing the joy from our other night together. It also doubled the pain I feel when I dress quickly and leave his condo while he’s cleaning up in the bathroom.Chapter 33Flynn

My fingers twitch when I step back into the bedroom, a warm washcloth in hand. I know she’s gone, and not like just left the room. She’s no longer in my condo. The air isn’t charged even though the scent of her is still humid in the air.

I huff a laugh and turn to toss the washcloth back in the sink. I could blame the anticipation of chasing her for the straining erection jutting from my hips, but that bastard was ready for round two before I discovered she escaped.

With a smile wide enough to hurt, I get dressed. Not even bothering with socks, I pull the first things my fingers brush from the closet.

The drive to her hotel doesn’t take long, but I don’t rush inside, opting instead to shoot off a text to Wren to ask if she’s back yet.

Wren: Oh, you’re talking to me now?

I don’t respond, and he plays right into my hand.

Wren: She left in a cab about an hour ago, but I couldn’t track her. Records show she hasn’t checked out of her hotel, though.