CHAPTER FOUR - FINN
I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m gonna lose my job. I’m gonna get a black mark I can’t afford to have. I’m gonna…
Fuck it.
Her mouth is delicious. She tastes like dessert and sweet wine. She tastes like Valentine’s Day. I kiss her harder after that thought, threading my fingers into her hair, then grabbing fistfuls to hold her close and keep her from pulling back, because it’s been way too long since I had a date on Valentine’s Day and even though she’s probably a criminal and a liar who’s gonna end up in prison before this is all said and done… I can’t help myself. I just react.
The tie grab was unexpected. Shit, who am I kidding—this whole fucking thing was unexpected. But it was the tie grab that got my full attention. Little fucking wannabe dominatrix, that’s what she is.
Newsflash, Issy Grey. Headline reads: Not Gonna Happen.
I guide her through the open door, making sure she doesn’t trip over the rug, and kick it closed behind me as I continue my punishing kiss.
“Upstairs or on the couch?” she asks, still kissing me.
I don’t answer, just push her up against the foyer wall and drag her coat down her shoulders. She’s wearing a blazer underneath. Something completely professional. It comes off with the coat and they drop to the floor in a heap.
Her hands automatically go to my coat, but I grab her wrists and tilt my head at her.
“What?” she whispers, breathing heavy from the instant passion and heat we’ve created.
“Don’t touch,” I say. It’s not a request, either.
“What?” she asks again. A small chuckle escapes with her question.
“You heard me,” I say, undoing the top button of her white blouse. It’s a feminine blouse, low-cut with a tiny ruffle running down the seams on either side of the small, gemstone buttons sparkling in the light coming in from the windows on either side of the door.
A crooked smile appears on her face. We’re not kissing anymore, but that’s OK. We’ve got time for more of that later. She huffs out another tiny laugh, but this time it’s laced with cynicism. “Is that how you like to play?”
“Sure,” I say. “My time, my game, my rules. You want me to leave, Issy Grey, owner-operator of one Go Fuck Yourself empowerment establishment? Just say the word and I’m out.”
She stares at me, still smiling.
“But if you want me to stay, we do it my way.”
“Fine,” she says. “But it had better be worth it.”
“Had it?” I ask. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll quit,” she says, back up, pressing her body against the wall. “And stop playing. So if you fancy yourself a top, you better know what you’re doing.”
I laugh. Like… I think this might be the truest moment of pure joy I’ve had since my father died. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Good,” she says, bowing her head slightly so she can look up at me through her long, thick eyelashes. Her blue eyes are wide and calm. “Because I do too.”
I rip her fucking blouse open. The tiny fake gemstone buttons go flying, skittering across the hardwood floor. And then I rip her fucking bra open too. The front-closing clasp breaks and Issy lets out a small gasp. “Do you have any idea how much I paid for this fucking bra?”
“I’ll buy you another one,” I say, dragging the blouse and the bra away from her body so she’s forced to present herself to me, naked from the waist up.
My hands grab her tits automatically, taking what is now mine. Her eyes are still wide, but no longer calm. They’re teeming with shock, excitement, and a healthy side of desire as I fondle her, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her close her eyes and hiss out a breath.
“Be careful,” she growls. “I have a very fine line, Agent Murphy. And if you cross it, you’re gonna find out where my boundaries are immediately.”
Yeah. Pure joy. I kiss her mouth again, my tongue pressing against hers, my hands still busy playing with her breasts. “A less experienced man,” I whisper into her mouth, “might take that as a threat, Ms. Grey.”
“It’s a promise,” she whispers back, her words still laced with dessert and wine. “Not a threat.”
“But I take it,” I say, ignoring her, “as a challenge. Fair warning of the rules over with, you will now stop talking and just listen.”
Another small, incredulous laugh escapes.
But it’s cut short when my hand slides up her breast and lands on the side of her neck. I don’t squeeze. She doesn’t need that extra embellishment to understand what that signal means.
Her throat muscles move as she swallows down whatever it is she’s feeling. Fear? Probably not. She’s far too capable in a fight for fear to be her first reaction.
No, that hard swallow was… desire.
My other hand slips into her slacks. They’re not tight around her waist—kinda loose, actually. Riding low, like her hips are the only thing keeping them up. Like these pants might be left over from a time when she was heavier, but she keeps them around to wear on days she wants to be comfortable at work.
Or—and this second thought is far more likely—she wears them loose in case she needs to use one of those kickboxing moves she tried on the cops back at her work tonight.
But who cares?
I find her wet between her legs and decide I was right. Desire.
“I know your type,” I say, leaning in to whisper the words into her ear. She sucks in a breath of air and a chill spreads across her neck, making her skin prickle up. The tiny, soft hairs just below her hairline are standing on end. “You’re a control freak. You took martial arts to maintain that facade. You run that women’s empowerment class to spread your brand of control to others. And to be a leader. You like to lead, don’t you?”
She stays silent, which pleases me immensely, because it means she took my command seriously.
“Don’t you?” I ask again.
And again, she reads me correctly. Because she answers. “I just know my place in the world, that’s all.”
“And what is your place in this world, huh?” I ask, taking my hand away from her neck so I can tenderly stroke her cheek with my fingertips. “The one we live in tonight.”
She stares up at me, her eyes wide again. Still filled with desire, no fear. “To play your game until one of us wins.”
“Really? Are you sure you wanna play? I’m a formidable opponent.”
“Very. Fucking. Sure,” she says. And now her eyes are slitted, almost closed. And it’s not with desire. It’s with clear defiance.
Which almost makes me laugh. Because she gave in and challenged me back in the same breath.
I like that, I realize. I like it a lot.
I have no clue how we got here or why we’re doing this, but whatever. It’s fun. So I don’t really care about the how or the why. I only care about what comes next.
I take both her hands and place them near the button of my pants.
She doesn’t require clarification and she pops the button open without comment, her eyes never leaving mine as she unzips me, reaches inside to grab my cock, and begins to massage it until I feel myself grow under her touch.
I close my eyes. Barely a blink, but I allow myself to enjoy the moment.
She stays quiet. At least with her voice. Her eyes, her expression, the movement of her hands—those all speak to me in a way that doesn’t require speech.
I fondle her tits again, this time gently, and smile at her. There’s no need for dominance and submission roles when partners are playing the same game.
I don’t even need to encourage her further. She lowers herself to her knees, pulling my cock out as she descends, her eyes on mine, and opens her mouth.
I’m fully hard by this time. She’s… I sigh… perfect. Like fucking perfect. Like she’s done this before. Like she knows how to control a man by giving in.
Is she controlling me?
But I don’t have time to think about it, because just as that question pops into my head, she swipes her tongue across the tip of my cock.
I long-blink again, smile as I enjoy one more moment of pleasure, then open my eyes just in time to see her take my cock fully into her mouth.
Words aren’t necessary. It’s something I’ve learned over the years through practice with other women. When two people are living in the same world, playing the same game by the same rules, you only need to react.
Which is what I do next when I grab her by the hair and give her the encouragement she needs to take me deep into her throat. She opens her mouth wide, gags a little, which makes me react again, easing up on my demand. But she doesn’t pull back. Instead she reacts to my submission, sucks in a deep breath of air, grabs my thighs with both her hands, and presses herself up into my groin until my balls are pressing against her chin.
Jesus.
Now that is what I call control.
She pulls back, saliva spilling down her chin, and starts pumping my cock with both hands, using her own spit as lubrication.
Looking up at me, she smiles.
I smile back. “You,” I say, “are not how I saw this day ending, Issy.”
She shrugs, smirking. “It’s a good game. So far.”
“Oh, Ms. Grey. We haven’t even begun yet.”
She stands up, her hands still busy on my cock. But then she pulls away, and her slick hands find her own breasts and begin to massage them. She lifts one breast up towards her mouth, her lips parting, bringing her nipple closer, closer until…
I almost come just watching her tongue sweep across the peaked bit of flesh and swirl around the small, slightly darker circle of skin that surrounds it.
I can’t stop myself. I grab her tits and lift them both to my face, burying myself between them.
Her hands slip behind my neck, her long fingernails scraping against skin, sending a chill through my entire body.
“I think I need you naked,” I say, looking down at her. “Now.”
Her fingertips find the waistband of her trousers and one small jiggle later, they find their way over her curves and drop to the floor. She steps out of them, kicking them aside as she kicks off her shoes. And now she stands before me wearing only thigh-high stockings attached to a sexy garter belt. No panties. Just the belt.
“Jesus.” I say it out loud this time. “What the fuck?”
She smiles. Knowingly. Coyly. “You like? Or not?”
“Oh, I like,” I say. “I like very much. I just…”
“Didn’t expect me to be… what? Seductive underneath all that control?”
“Did you wear this for Jordan?” I ask.
“What?” She looks confused, which is cute on her.
I touch her hair, unable to resist feeling her softness. Such a surprise. “Jordan Wells. I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. And hey”—I throw up my hands—“I’m not usually a guy who takes advantage of a woman after a crushing breakup, especially when said breakup occurs on V-day, ya know? But fuck it. I don’t give a shit. His loss, man.”
“You think I’m dating Jordan?”
“Well, you’re obviously dating someone. And you had dinner with him tonight. At the very sexy little tea room across from your work. So…”
“So what? That means I’m fucking him? He’s my lawyer.”
“OK,” I say, hands in the air. “But if you didn’t wear this for him, then who?”
“Well, I’m with you, aren’t I?”
Avoidance. Which annoys me. So I say, “Hey,” taking her chin in between my thumb and forefinger to tip her head up to me. “No-talking rule is still in effect.”
She shrugs. Which is her silent way of saying, You’re the one who brought it up, asshole.
I forgive her attitude. I mean, obviously she’s lying. She might be willing to play this little game with me tonight, but emotions are off limits. And I’m one hundred percent on board with that.
I started this day with too many emotions, filled with dread and an overwhelming desire to be alone. Wondering if I had any purpose at all. Wondering if coming to Denver was a mistake. Wondering if my whole life was a mistake.
But this woman brings something worth experiencing to the table. Her background is mysterious and seductive. Her small, curvy body is tantalizing. And the things she can do with her mouth… overwhelmingly entertaining.
I say, “Just so you understand. The kind of sexual ride I like to take comes with a dark underbelly. I like to lose control a little. I like to walk the edge. I like to push limits and create havoc.”
She stares up at me, blank. Then a coy smile creeps across her face. A smirk, like she knows things. She says—breaking the rules—“Is that a warning, Special Agent Murphy?”
“Take it any way you want. I’m just letting you know… there’s no point to pleasure without a little panic.”