Page 38 of Bad Situation

I get nothing from him for a beat before he shakes his head. “I do what I need to when necessary but, other than that, I do what I want.” He lets go of one of my hands and wraps an arm around me, yanking me off my barstool. I’m forced to grab onto his shoulders and find myself standing between his legs where he pulls me in tight. “When I see something I want, I take it.”

I look up from his lips to his dark eyes. “It sounds like you’re talking about me.”

He drops his hand to my ass and claims it as his just like the other night. “That’s because I am.”

I try to calm my racing heart. Not much has made my heart speed in years, but that all changed the moment I met him in a Deep Ellum bar. Keeping my cool—or at least faking it to save face—I press into his chest, claiming him, just as he did me. “I guess that means I’m not the bad situation.”

“Oh, Jensen,” he starts and my eyes flare because I’ve told him not to call me that. He doesn’t miss it. His lush lips tip on one side and, just as he already claimed my ass, he cups me from behind and presses me to him where I feel him hard as a rock through his jeans. For a man who’s never laid his mouth on me, he’s got me wound tight—no intense boardroom situation has prepared me how to fake this. When he cups my sex and squeezes, I know he can see it too and I just hope he can’t feel how wet I am. But from the growing smirk on his beautiful face, I’d bet my annual bonus he knows when he goes on, “I couldn’t dream up a worse situation than you. But look at me, hard as a fucking rock and not giving a damn. You’re making me do things and push my boundaries to places I never thought I’d reach. And, baby, trust me—I’ve reached.”

I let my muscles relax and slide my hands up his neck. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Then you came along and everything in my gut says to run and not let you anywhere near me.” I press my breasts into his chest and his hold on me tightens when I didn’t think it could. “We can’t even be seen together right now but look at us.”

His hand slides up my back and into my hair, fisting it, and I’m forced to lick my lips that’ve gone dry. Something about Elijah Pettit makes me not care that he’s an FBI agent or that logic says this is wrong. I’m a numbers person. I measure risk daily and use cold hard figures for justification.

But not now.

And not with him.

He’s a breath away, his eyes focused on my mouth. I exhale, but when I lean into him, his hold in my hair constricts and his eyes shoot to mine.

His rebuke makes me gasp and he shakes his head. “Not yet.”

I frown.

His voice dips. “Come with me. Let me take you somewhere.”

“Now?”

He squeezes me between my legs, reminding me of the fact he’s got me where I am right now, but he’s yet to kiss me.

Still, his answer couldn’t be more resolute. “Now.”

Chapter 11

Your Cock

Eli

It was all I could do not to push the food aside and lay her across her kitchen counter. She was wet for me, I could feel it through her leggings. It didn’t matter how much I wanted her at that moment, there were things I needed to know first. Because, if I took her mouth, there’s no way I’d stop.

“What are we doing here?”

I check my phone one more time to make sure Bree fucking Newman is still at her house. Her not tailing me is one less thing on my long list of shit to worry about, at least for now. I set my phone to mute and toss it on the old table littered with tape and wrap for the boxing gloves.

When I turn to her, she’s standing in the middle of the mat. She was quiet all the way here after I convinced her it was fine for us to leave together, though, it was one hell of an argument. She finally relented but has been petulant ever since.

I don’t answer but walk to the edge of the mat in the rogue gym I found last week—if you could even call it a gym. It’s a shitty building located in a warehouse district less than a mile from my apartment. They focus on CrossFit and training for Strongman competitions, which I have no interest in. Lifting bores the hell out of me so when I walked in here and introduced myself last week, the owner, Brock, tossed me a key and told me to help myself. I’ve been punching bags, flipping tractor tires, climbing ropes, and all kinds of other shit every night since. It’s been a nice change of pace after being cooped up undercover for the last few years.

“I wanted to get you out of that fortress you call a home and, since I’m new here, this is a place I knew we could go and be alone. The owner gave me a key when I explained I keep odd hours. Being an FBI agent didn’t hurt either. Sorry—I know it stinks.”

I only switched on a few lights, so when she turns to me with her arms crossed under her tits, her eyes look almost black in the shadowed room. It’s late and the dirty windows that normally block a lot of light, are completely black.

“I grew up on a ranch. I’m used to stink.”

I try not to smirk. “A fancy CFO used to stench. You keep adding to the list of reasons I can’t get you out of my mind.”

She tips her head and raises a brow. “Am I going to see you on American Ninja Warrior? This isn’t your normal gym.”

I lift a shoulder and look around the dark space that seems to mirror her current mood since I stopped her advance on me. “I have about as much desire to be in the public spotlight as you. I like this place. It’s not a fancy gym like yours but it fits.”

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