Fiona

Two days we’ve been back in the city and damn Keane, he’d been gone for one and a half of them. Not that I was dying without him or anything, but he’d left me no way to get out of this gilded prison so I was stuck. Never one to sit still, I busied myself with school work, submitting a few assignments through an anonymous IP so it couldn’t be traced. I also did yoga so I wouldn’t tear the luxury apartment to shreds. I cooked. I cleaned. I even watched a few late-night talk shows before digging into reading ahead in my school work.

When it became obvious he had no plans to return, I figured my best option to end this would be to dig into Cerulean Shipping. I sat cross-legged on the floor poring over all the shipping manifests and the tracking program I’d created. I was pretty sure I could prove my father’s innocence, or at the least that he hadn’t been the one to organize the shipment of the drugs across the border. At least in terms of the drugs the Feds found on one of our trucks. There were plenty of other crimes which no law enforcement agency knew about, but those were none of my business. I needed to know what else the Feds wanted my dad for so maybe I could help. In some way.

With nothing else to do, I let my mind wander to Keane and that delicious body. Who would have thought he had so much hard, sculpted muscle under his leather jacket and jeans? In my dreams he’d been ripped and passionate, and just a little bit rough, but in real life he exceeded all expectations. And now it was all over. Thinking about Keane nonstop had my body temperature rising and my thighs clenched tight against the pulse of arousal thoughts of him always produced.

But now I knew how it felt to have him moving between my legs, how he felt thrusting deep inside me. And heaven help me, I could still hear the guttural sound of him yelling my name through his climax. It had been everything I imagined and then some.

Too bad it couldn’t happen again. Not only had I painted myself into a corner by declaring we would stop fucking as soon as we left the cabin, but my brain knew something my heart refused to acknowledge. There was no future for me and Keane. I loved him and he saw me as a child. A nuisance.

Some time late in the evening on the second day, Keane returned. Finally. I stood and stretched, preparing to give him a big piece of my mind for abandoning me in this glass cage for two days straight. Then I saw him. His face was bloody but I felt confident it wasn’t his, but his shirt was torn and bloody and his knuckles were shredded.

Shit. Keane had spent the night in his dark place. Doing whatever needed to be done to protect the organization from all the unforeseen sources looking to bring it down.

“Are you hurt?” I went to him, ghosting my hands over his face and head, his biceps, forearms and finally his bloody hands.

“No.”

Silently I took the jacket from his hands and hung it up before helping him out of his shoes. Without a word, he let me guide him to the room he’d claimed as his own—even though he had yet to sleep here—and undress him. The shock of his acquiescence had thrown me off, but putting his bloody clothes in plastic bag made me freeze momentarily. This scene was so domestic, so loving I wanted to scream. This was the last thing I needed to be doing to myself, but Keane needed me and I couldn’t do nothing. Not tonight.

“Step in,” I told him as I slid open the glass shower door and turned the shower on hot. He did but he just stood there as the water hit him in the face and steam began to fill the room. With a groan I stripped down and stepped in because what the hell else was I supposed to do? After the hell his day had probably been, he’d come here. To me. So I did what any woman in my position—in love with a man who couldn’t love me back—I took care of him. Washing Keane was more sensual than any of the times we made love at the cabin. My hands slick with water and shower gel as they roamed over his wide chest and shoulders, down to his abs and strong thighs, cleaning all traces of what he’d done from his body.

My own body responded, but I pushed that to the back of my mind for many reasons. Tonight it wasn’t what he needed. Turning off the water, I dried him off and ignored the slowly expanding erection right in front of me. Mostly.

“Anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Such as?” His eyes were so dark and cold. Distant. I could have been anyone the way he looked me, which only strengthened my resolve not to sleep with him tonight. But I could make him feel better, or at least sleep better.

I didn’t bother answering since his cock was hard and jerking right at my eye level. I took hold of his length with one hand, admiring how hard and soft it was at once. How long and thick, marveling at how it even fit inside me. Cupping his balls with my other hand, my pussy wept at the growl that sounded above me and I moved in closer and closer, swirling my tongue around the swollen head of his cock. Keane hissed out a breath and I took him deeper, almost to the back of my throat before hollowing out my cheeks.

“Fiona,” he growled and tangled his fingers into my hair, gripping hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

The pain shot straight to my pussy and I looked up at him, taking him as deep as I could. As deep as he needed to go. When Keane took over I felt worried at first, knowing that men often got a little too eager during blow jobs but he was…Keane. Gentle and forceful all at once as he gripped my head and slowly thrust deep into my mouth, down my throat. Trying to swallow around his impressive size only made him harder, more determined and his hips moved faster, deeper into me. The harder and faster he fucked my mouth, the wetter I became and by the time he slid all the way in and streams of his come shot down my throat, my panties were soaked through. I swallowed every drop and brought him back down with slow, soft licks until his hips stilled.

“Fi,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

I stood and wiped the corners of my mouth with a smug smile. “You should get some rest.” I pushed at his chest until he fell on the bed and then I covered him, like some doting girlfriend. Hating that pathetic thought, I gave him one last look. “Good night Keane.” And instead of curling up beside his strong, warm body like I desperately wanted to, I gave him the space his silence indicated he wanted.

I slept alone.

And I fucking hated it.  Too bad I needed to get used to it again.