CHAPTER 23
The handouts from the classes Cecily was sampling before committing to a study track were cool. But not as cool as she expected them to be. Or maybe as she wanted them to be.
Missy sat at the desk next to her, working on a blueprint for the next piece of surveillance to bring down a Russian sleeper agent.
Cecily’s school material was about how to layer a picture of a customer service agent, complete with headset and irritating smile, into a photo of an office desk chair.
The Hudson Kings were also trying to locate James, who had gone quiet since Shane’s little talk. Rothgar wasn’t too happy about that, but Cecily got the idea he accepted it was the better of two bad outcomes. She didn’t like to think what the worst outcome was in their mind, because she suspected it had something to do with the fact that James had been carrying a gun when he came to see her at the school.
Cecily lay on the twin bed thinking about how her classes were becoming something that just gave her an excuse to leave the Armory. Maybe she didn’t want to leave as much as she thought she did. They only had one girl on the team, and, obviously, sometimes they needed a girl just to be a girl, regardless of her other skills.
She looked over at Missy, who was enthusiastically pounding spy-catching plans into the keyboard. “Why didn’t you go with Shane or Chase to the restaurant to take pictures that night?” Cecily asked.
Missy looked up.
“How come no one ever suggested you go with one of the guys?”
Missy blinked.
“They know you’re the shit. So, why didn’t your name come up?” Cecily rolled over onto her side and leaned on her elbow. “Don’t tell me Rothgar thinks you aren’t good enough to go out in the field because you’re a girl.”
“Rothgar knows I’m good enough,” Missy snapped.
Cecily sat up. “I’m sorry. Did I just push a button?”
Missy visibly forced herself to stand down. “He had a bad experience.”
He did? Or you did? Cecily waited for her to continue. She didn’t. And then Cecily recalled that she’d never seen or heard about Missy actually leaving the Armory.
“Shit! What time is it?” Missy asked, looking relieved to have an excuse to divert the conversation. She answered her own question with a flick of her phone. “If we’re gonna cheer you up, we need to get going.”
“I’m not sad!” Cecily said, laughing.
“I’m not either, but believe me, we’re gonna be a helluva lot happier if we make it to the garage on time.”
“On time for what?” Cecily asked.
“Car wash, my friend. Car wash.”
Cecily should have had more faith.
The garage was as amazing in the day as it had been on their date night, but nothing Cecily could see trumped the spectacle of Shane and Chase standing half-naked and dripping on the garage floor next to a bucket of soapy water, and a table holding a mess of beer empties.
They were wearing nothing but jeans.
Cecily knew this was going to be good for more than one reason, but certainly because from what she’d heard from Dex and gleaned from observation, Chase was a prankster, seemed to have few inhibitions, and liked to . . . perform.
This was also going to be good because Chase was used to building things, lifting things, making things, and moving things, which did very productive things to the region above his waistband, at least.
This was also going to be good because, well, Shane.
Music blasted from speakers. Missy put her finger to her lips and Cecily nodded. She had no intention of interrupting the show.
And what a show it was. The guys were talking about something she couldn’t hear over the beat, and they were doing exactly what Missy’d promised. Washing cars. From their view on the side of the bleachers mostly hidden from sight, Shane’s tattoo looked more badass than ever.
His body was a thing of beauty, muscles rippling as he worked. He turned away and sucked down the last of a bottle and then turned suddenly and leaped like he was shooting a three-pointer. The bottle smashed hard into a recycling can.
When he turned back to the car, Chase caught him with the spray hose and then followed it up by nailing Shane in the chest with a massive soapy sponge.
A string of curse words followed, punctuated beautifully by the end of the playlist. In the sudden silence, Chase said, “Lost your edge, Shane? Never turn your back, eh?”
Shane looked pissed. He grabbed his sponge and plunged it down into the bucket, sending soapy water everywhere. Chase backed up. “Come on, dude, let’s just finish up.”
“We’ll get right on that. Let me shove this down your throat first,” Shane growled. He jumped. Chase dodged. Shane attacked. Chase’s foot hit the bucket, and both guys went down in a mess of water, soap, and hotness.
As they wrestled it out on the garage floor, Missy muttered, “Thinkin’ maybe I’d like to be reincarnated as a Hudson Kings towel.”
Cecily snorted, a little too loud.
“Shit, we’ve been made,” Missy yelped.
It wasn’t clear who’d won—other than Cecily and Missy—but the men were off the floor, looking up at them. “You two going to stand up there staring, or are you going to help?” Chase called out.
Cecily stood up, her hands on her hips. “I’m wearing a white T-shirt.”
“I won’t complain,” Shane said.
“How ’bout you, Missy?” Chase asked.
“Washing cars is like the one thing that is definitely not my job around here. But, by all means, don’t let us put you behind schedule. Keep on soaping and . . . yeah, just keep with that . . . touching and wrestling.” Missy crossed her legs and settled back into the bleacher rack.
Chase messed with the music, and a new song started, one that was undoubtedly linked to a playlist called something like “Get Some.”
“I know this song,” Missy murmured. “I know this song well.”
Cecily only had eyes for Shane. He was looking up at her, a spark in his eyes, a quirky set to his mouth. She wanted to kiss that mouth so badly.
“Oh-h-h-h, I think something’s gonna ha-a-a-a-appen!” Chase swiveled his pelvis.
Missy’s eyebrows flew up. She shifted in her seat, part fascination and part discomfort. “I’ve seen you do amazing things with tools, Chase, but this is new.”
“You know my momma was a dance instructor.”
“You going to dance for me, Shane?” Cecily called down.
“My momma was definitely not a dance instructor,” Shane said.
“And yet,” Chase said, adding a moonwalk and running his fingers down the arrow of chest hair leading south. “I believe every single man on this squad knows a particular routine of mine.”
Missy burst into peals of laughter. “I remember that job. I think that was the best day of my life.”
“The guys had to pretend to be dancers? Strippers? You are not serious,” Cecily said, her jaw dropping.
“Serious,” Missy said. “I auditioned them so Rothgar could make placements. Shane impressed, but in the end we needed him in the car, so I never saw his performance. All that talent just . . . wasted.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “There’s surveillance vid somewhere with Romeo, Nick, and Chase.”
“They couldn’t handle this,” Shane said, completely expressionless, but motioning to his body. “Woulda broke the tape.”
When they’d stopped laughing long enough to breathe, Cecily asked, “How many beers are you in, anyway?”
“Just enough,” Chase said.
Cecily watched Shane. He didn’t appear to be having difficulty controlling his liquor, but Shane was definitely loose. Comfortable. Something had changed as a result of their big date. She knew it had for her, and now she thought she could tell it had for him. There was something freer about him, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. Less tension in his body, not so obsessive with the highly focused concentration . . . it was like he was remembering how to live or something. Well, so am I, thought Cecily. So am I.
“Hey Shane, show Cecily what you’d do if you had to do it for a job.”
“He wouldn’t,” Cecily breathed more than said.
“He would. He’d have to,” Missy said. “Wouldn’t you, Shane? If a job depended on it, you’d drop trou and dance, wouldn’t you?” She baited him further by adding, to Cecily, “He’s one of the most loyal guys I know.”
Shane’s eyes were on hers when she said, “Yeah, show me what you’d do for a job.”
Shane looked at Chase. Chase looked at Shane.
“Come down here, then,” Shane said.
Missy and Cecily exchanged glances and then rushed to the garage floor. At which point, very deliberately, Shane ran his index finger down his bare chest the way Chase had, but this time following his treasure trail farther down into the waistband of his jeans, where he cupped his balls.
Cecily’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh, shit,” Chase said. “He’s all in!” He tweaked the music again and took a place next to Shane.
“Holy, holy, holy . . . ,” murmured Missy, looking more out of her element than usual, reaching down and grabbing two beer bottles from the ice chest and handing one to Cecily. “I should have brought over a blender. I need a blender. Fuck, I don’t know what I need . . .”
“Shane, my man, you ready?”
“You put any part of this on fucking social media, you’re both dead to me,” Shane uttered. “This” being the way he and Chase danced over to them, with Chase taking the bottle Missy still held and Shane taking Cecily’s from her hand. With a nearly synchronized flick of their wrists, they slammed the bottles down on their belt buckles, sending the tops flying, then handed them back, continuing to air fuck the girls from a distance so short that Cecily thought she could feel the heat coming off their bodies.
“Oh. My. God,” Missy said. She was blinking a lot, and the hair at her temples was damp, and not just from water flinging off the men as they danced.
Suddenly, Chase pulled Missy in, and the two of them started a wet sponge fight; Shane grabbed Cecily’s hand, and everything slowed down.
Bubbles drifted through the air as he pulled her close to his body, walking her backward, away from the others, until they were blocked from sight behind a Humvee.
The music continued playing. Cecily giggled, and he just kept moving, dark eyes rimmed with eyelashes spiky with water, his lips curled in a knowing grin. As Shane’s mouth found hers, she let her fingers roam his taut body, slipping through the soap on his skin.
She had on a white T-shirt with a pearl-and-rhinestone Peter Pan collar, topped with a cream-colored cardigan. She was wearing jeans and sneakers. The rhinestones caught the light, and Cecily reached out, laughing, trying to touch the rainbows dancing across Shane’s skin.
Voices faded. Someone hit the dimmer switch, and the space went dark save for the muted rays streaming in from a couple of large skylights.
Cecily started in surprise; Shane hauled her back into him. “Not going anywhere,” he said.
He captured her hand, sending it skidding, making a soap trail across his pecs.
“Too hot,” she said, panting, struggling with her sweater.
He pulled it off, and his mouth was back on hers, his tongue sweeping against hers, fire, gorgeous fire. With a soft mew into his mouth, Cecily felt the wetness slippery between her legs. She unhooked her bra and let it fall to her feet.
“God, the way you fire up for me . . .” Shane’s voice was a study in control. Control she was looking forward to smashing completely with her mouth and fingers and body.
“Figured the first time I’m inside you, we’re back at the Four Seasons or something,” he said. “Not on the garage floor. Fuck you properly.”
“Fuck me improperly,” Cecily said, tracing her finger over his tattoo. That got a laugh. “You’re laughing a lot more than you used to,” she said.
“I know,” he said, drawing a lazy circle around one nipple, bringing it to a point with his index finger. He leaned down and sucked her nipple through the wet T-shirt until Cecily gasped from the sheer pleasure. God.
She moved her hand down to cup between his legs. His erection was huge; she could feel the heat of him, the strain beneath the wet denim.
He groaned. God, it was fantastic, the way he reacted to her touch. “Take them off,” she said into his ear.
His eyes seemed to get even darker. He slowly disengaged, and then went to work on his jeans, pulling them off as he locked onto the sight of Cecily slipping her T-shirt over her head and then shedding her jeans.
His briefs were plastered to his erection. Cecily swallowed as he moved in and put his arms around her. Being surrounded by Shane’s body was divine. Flesh on flesh, finally. Finally.
With one hand he reached back and upended a cart filled with moving pads and blankets, pulling her down with him.
“Cecily, I want you,” Shane said. “You with me?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
There was a pause—just the rough sound of Shane’s breathing. In the dim light, she saw him grab his jeans, go for his wallet. Then his lips were back on hers, pressing her gently to the ground again. The sound of ripping tinfoil, and after a moment, the tip of his cock gently pressing between her legs.
Oh, god, yes, I want this, yes, yes . . . “Want you inside me,” she managed, gripping his arms.
“Yeah, baby. I’m yours.” Taking his own weight on his forearms, he pushed his cock slowly into her, so slowly she could feel her body open up to him. God, he felt so big, but she was more than ready. Slick, wet, pulse pounding, she threw back her head, arched her back, and took his cock to the hilt.
“Jesus, fuck, yes, baby, yes!” Shane gasped.
He pulled back and then drilled in, this time a little harder, a little faster. So fucking fantastic Cecily couldn’t verbalize the pleasure. “Still with me?” he asked around the tongue licking her ear.
“Always with you, Shane,” she murmured, squirming underneath him, desperate for more.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“Need you to fuck me hard,” she begged.
His mouth smiled against her neck; she could feel his hot breath and the way his lips curled against her skin. “Hot little piece,” he said.
And then he started to fuck her hard.
Cecily held on as his cock worked her, the pleasure building until she thought she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “Like to take you higher.” One hand slipped down to work her clit, his thumb stroking softly even as he drove hard inside her.
Cecily whimpered. “Oh, my god.”
Sweat dripped off Shane’s back as he thrust, owning her with every powerful stroke. “Jesus, this feels so good,” he said. “Everything feels so good when it’s with you. Go with me.”
As if she could control it. “I go where you send me, Shane. I can’t help it.”
“When I touch you like this, when we’re in that place . . .” He shook his head, his fingers teasing her clit, his breathing ragged. “There’s just nowhere else that makes any sense. I don’t get it. I don’t get it. You just make me so fucking okay. That saying about being comfortable in your own skin? I feel like that when I’m with you.”
“Oh, Shane,” Cecily cried out. His words, his body, the look on his face. “I’m coming.”
“Right with you.”
Cecily held on to his shoulders as he fucked her to the end, her own orgasm brought to new heights as she watched him throw his head back and find the pleasure he’d been waiting for all this time.