Authors: Ann Jacobs
Tags: #Romance, #Erotic
“You’ve got a horny little ass, don’t you honey?”
Andi Young laughed. She’d never had more fun in bed than she’d had this weekend with the big, hunky DEA agent who now had her cuffed to her bed and was pretending to do a body cavity search. She writhed beneath him, wanting him to ream her pussy again with his insatiable ten-inch cock.
She couldn’t believe all they’d done since cutting out on the boring civic association function where they’d met three days ago. He’d fucked her every way but loose at his beachside condo. Now they’d come here to her apartment because he was leaving on assignment later tonight. He’d resorted to the cuffs and initiated her into toys and bondage games. She’d loved it, every minute of it. Hell, she was still loving the weekend finale. And she didn’t want him to go.
Nobody else had ever stuck something up her ass and made her like it, but Gray Syzmanski had. His tongue, his large, callused finger, and now a vibrating butt plug mercifully much smaller than his massive cock—all had probed her anus in the past few minutes. Once he’d gotten her past the pain, the attention had produced a delicious arousal that threatened now to explode.
“Fuck me, damn it!” Hot, juicy honey gushed from her needy pussy, settling around the butt plug and soaking his fingers when he extended the search.
“Got to make sure your sopping little cunt’s not hiding any contraband.”
“Hurry.” Damn it, if he didn’t quit massaging her G-spot and wiggling his fingers around so the vibrations migrated from her pussy to her ass, she was going to come again. “Search my pussy with your cock.”
“Not quite yet. First you’re gonna give me some head while I’ve got you all tied up.” Facing her pussy, he straddled her face, his heavy balls pressing against her nose, and fed her his cock. His cream, mixed with her honey, tasted erotic…arousing. God help her, she didn’t need to get any more aroused.
He tweaked her clit, then dipped his fingers into her spasming pussy, telling her in his rumbling deep, mesmerizing voice about all the fun, arousing things he still had in store for her.
“There’s nothing I won’t do to make you come. Nothing I can’t do for you, baby. Oh, yeah. Lick me like that and I’ll feed you my come.”
“Mmmm.” Much as Andi liked swirling her tongue around the ruby knob of his cock, she wanted it in her pussy more. Playfully she nipped him with her teeth.
He pulled out and switched positions. “Dangerous little piece you are,” he growled, rubbing his cock along her slit before ramming it into her pussy. Oh God! His huge cock carried the vibrations from the butt plug as it stretched and filled her.
The minute he primed her G-spot, she started coming. Over and over and over again, each wave better than the last one, until she felt his cock twitch. Twitch and jerk and spurt its load deep inside her womb.
She’d gotten him so hot the condom broke. Right now she didn’t care. The afterglow of the big O to end big O’s had her limp as a dishcloth, weak as a kitten. So weak she barely noticed when he unfastened the cuffs and set her free.
Later, she heard him swearing in the bathroom while she lay like a rock in his big bed. When he came out, he wore a towel and a worried frown.
“It broke, honey.”
“I know. I felt you coming.”
His tanned cheeks reddened. “Yeah, well… Are you going to be okay?”
“If you mean am I on the Pill, no. But it should be okay.” No way did Andi want to send him off to some dangerous secret mission worrying about whether he might have gotten his three-night stand knocked up. “I’m clean, and I assume you are, too.”
“Sure. That’s not what I meant.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, I’ve got to get out of here or I’ll miss my plane and end up getting fired. I should be back in three or four weeks. I’ll call you.”
“Okay.” She wished she believed him.
“Really. I want some more of this.” He reached down, cupped her mound. “Not often a guy finds a
hot redhead. Now that I’ve found mine, I want it shaved smooth for me. Promise you will.”
“Oh, yeah.” Andi was fairly certain that if he asked her nicely she’d shave her head for him.
“I’ll count on it. Now give me a kiss and wish me luck with the drug cartel we’re going in after.”
He tasted of mouthwash, not sex, when he tongue-fucked her mouth one last time. Then he hugged her hard, and he was gone.
* * * * *
Six weeks later Andi sat in a corner booth at Bennie’s Place, crying her eyes out to Sandra Giancone, her immediate boss at the Hillsborough County State Attorney’s office.
“What the hell am I going to do?” She barely got the words out between sobs. “Its father’s dead, killed on the job in some fucking hole in South America. He’ll never come back. I can’t get rid of his baby, but Harper will fire me for sure. I’ll be all but out on the street.”
“If he fires you, sue him. You can’t get fired for being single and pregnant, not in this century.”
“Tell that to Gray’s mother. You’d have thought she was fucking Queen
Thinking about Gray made the tears start coming again. Six short weeks ago he’d been vital, alive, the hottest lover she’d ever had. Now he was gone, and she was carrying a little piece of him and her. A reminder of the most erotic weekend of her twenty-seven year life on this earth.
“Calm down, it can’t be good for the baby for you to cry like this.” Sandra paused, then looked straight at Andi and set down her wineglass. “Damn it, get with the program. Forget what that old bastard, our boss, may say or try to do. Just do your job. Win your cases. Claw your way up Harper’s ladder of success or troll for jobs defending the scum we try to put away.
“You don’t need a man to lean on. I decided a long time ago to go solo. And Andi, that doesn’t mean I don’t have more than my share of sex.” Sandra fiddled with the strangely beautiful cameo on the choker she always wore, as if it had some special meaning.
Andi was too mired in her own problem to figure what that significance might be. All she knew was Gray was dead, she was carrying his baby, and whatever she did, she’d have to do it on her own. She took the Kleenex Sandra offered and wiped away her tears—the last, she vowed, that she’d ever shed over this.
The beach scene looked normal. Too normal. Kids played in the surf while sunbathing moms cast periodic glances their way. A noisy volleyball game was going on farther down the white sand beach. Soft waves slapped against the shore, lapping close, closer with each pulse of the incoming tide.
Gray Syzmanski looked away from the warm Gulf waters. Adjusting his grip on forearm crutches, he started across the parking lot. The stench of hot asphalt reminded him of the all-encompassing miasma of the South American jungle where he’d spent seven miserable years. By comparison, this ninety-degree May afternoon in
Gray shoved images of insects and snakes and the stench of rotting tropical vegetation to a far corner of his mind. He was home now.
A sudden needle-like stab in his thigh almost sent him sprawling. Hell of a situation, not knowing when his screwed-up nerves were going to kick in and relieve the numbness with agonizing pain. He paused, leaned against the hood of a gleaming silver Porsche.
His Corvette had been that color. He’d driven it the weekend before he left. Whatever happened to the redheaded lawyer who’d come home with him? He’d wanted, expected, to continue the affair they’d begun that Friday. Memories of them making hot, adventuresome love had kept him going when he otherwise might have given up the fight to stay alive.
Andi. A sassy name for a sassy lady. A sassy lady who’d loved playing erotic games. Top, bottom, or anywhere in between.
The thought of looking her up now was ludicrous. Once he’d been her match and more. He wasn’t now. He was a cripple. Always would be. Might as well accept it, drag out that handicapped sign he was too proud to use, and save himself torturous trips like this across oceans of parking lots.
He hated people feeling sorry for him. So why was he standing out here in the blazing sun, feeling sorry for himself? He might be a physical wreck, but at least he was alive and free.
Pushing away from the Porsche, Gray made a beeline for his luxury sedan parked two rows farther back. His wrists ached. His biceps and triceps burned. Sweat dripped down his forehead, obscuring his vision.
The pain didn’t matter. Rebuilding some sort of life did. He’d drive across the causeway, meet the partners from Winston Roe in downtown Tampa. They’d probably look at him and wonder if he could drag himself to the office and put in the kind of hours it would take for him to do the only kind of job they could offer.
Ironic. Once Gray had scoffed at the idea of riding a desk. Now he wasn’t certain he could persuade the firm’s partners he had the stamina to work every day, dictate briefs, and make an occasional appearance in court. Even getting into the boat of a car his therapist had hand-picked proved a major challenge. Gray stowed his crutches and inched his way behind the wheel.
If the law firm’s partners had an ounce of guts, they’d look at him and conclude that he was too battered, too shopworn, and too scarred emotionally and physically to take the path he’d forsworn fourteen years ago. What the hell had made him crave danger, the excitement of working for the DEA? Why had he blown off the job that had been waiting for him at the firm his grandfather had founded?
Gray adjusted his sunglasses. As he did every time he had to drive now, he reminded himself to take it easy. He was none too sure he’d mastered the skill of judging distances with one good eye.
* * * * *
At the elegant Tampa offices of Winston Roe,
encompassing more than a hundred lawyers and four times that number of assorted paralegals, secretaries, and investigators if his research was correct—Gray felt like a fly under a microscope. They’d settled him prominently at one end of a huge conference table while thirty or so of the firm’s current partners put forth polite questions cloaked in lawyer-like ambiguity.
Clearly, they’d modified their usual interview technique to accommodate him and his limited mobility. He guessed the job offer, tendered after thirty minutes or so of gentle questioning, should have come as no huge surprise. Hell, his long-dead grandfather’s name still appeared on the firm’s impressive letterhead. Gray wouldn’t rule out pity as motivation for the job offer, either, or admiration for his having managed to survive seven years against all odds.
As he drove back across the causeway, he tried to analyze each question he’d answered, translate every expression he’d witnessed on those smiling faces. He tried hard to believe the partners he’d be working for had hired him because they believed he could do the job. Hell, he had his own doubts. Lots of them.
Gray shoved those doubts aside, told himself that he could succeed in his new career if he put his mind to it. And he would. His captors had stolen nearly eight years of his past, but they hadn’t managed to steal his future.
* * * * *
Away from work early for once, Andi Young sat on her porch steps and sipped an icy lemonade. Sweat, sunshine, and the smell of fresh-mown grass promised a hot, muggy
Times like this, she felt as if she were a kid again. Laughing, she watched Brett heave the ball across her backyard toward her friend Kristine’s husband, Tony Landry.
For a moment Andi let herself imagine it was Brett’s father, not Tony, teaching Brett to throw a ball. Most of the time she was pretty satisfied with her life, but there were moments when being a single mom left her swamped with memories and regrets.
“Mommy, watch out!”
Just in time, Andi raised her hand and deflected the softball before it smacked her in the face. After lobbing it at Tony, she plopped down on a wicker rocker she’d found at a yard sale a couple of weeks back.
“It’s only the middle of May, and already I’ve had it with this heat,” she told Kristine, who lounged on the swing that hung in the shadiest corner of the porch.
“Me, too. I’m not looking forward to it getting even hotter.”
“I don’t imagine you are.” Andi eyed her friend’s distended belly and grinned. “I don’t envy you, being pregnant through the heat of the summer. It’s a bitch. “
Kristine smiled. “Guess Tony and I should have thought ahead, shouldn’t we?”