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He reached forward and fisted a hand in her hair, twisting until she the delicious bite of pain stung her scalp.

“Come. Now. Be a good girl or my cock is going down your throat and you’ll go to bed needy.”

A groan tore from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her and she pulsed around his cock. She couldn’t have held it back if she wanted to. Not even for the delicious threat of having his cock in her mouth. Thoughts of sucking him off fueled her need and one orgasm rolled into another. Soon he was gripping her hair tighter as he let out a roar with his own release.

When he finished, he pulled out of her and she collapsed face first into the mattress. She could hear him discarding the condom before the mattress shifted and pulled her until she rolled and he sat her up pulling her against his chest.

“You’re terrible for my sleep habits, woman. But that was perfect.” She shuddered as she rested against him. Perfect was the only way to describe it.

12

ARE you going to spank me if I take a cab to work?

Carrie grinned as she hit send on the text message. It was nearly noon, and she was going crazy in Peter’s apartment. The man didn’t have cable, so her only option was the local channels, which meant daytime soaps.

Dear God woman. Don’t send me texts like that at work. And yes.

Her face heated. When her mind drifted to thoughts of what Peter might be like as a dominant, she cursed herself. She was a masochist, not a submissive. There was a difference. Then again, he’d been dominant and rough last night, and she’d loved every minute. She was still sore from their fucking and she had bite marks on her inner thighs that would stick around for days.

I do need to go to work. Tom wants to talk to me.

Her phone rang.

“I thought you said texting was better.”

“Are you lying to me about work again?” His voice was clipped and stern and there was an underlying threat in it.

“No.” And she technically wasn’t. Tom had asked her for an update. Peter didn’t need to know that was something she could handle on the phone.

“If I find out you are, do I get to spank you?”

“I swear I’m not.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Use a ride service, and text me the driver’s license plate and name.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “Dear God, you’re overprotective.”

“That’s your only option. That or stay home. Tell me now what you’re going to do because the doorman is under strict instructions not to let you leave, so I’ll need to tell him things have changed.”

She scowled. Her fun conversation had gone south in a hurry. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not taking chances with your safety or giving you any opportunity to run off again. Now what’s it going to be? Ride share or stay home?”

“Fine, I’ll text you when I’m in the car.”

“If you don’t, I’ll track you down and you’ll regret it.”

She flipped him off even though he couldn’t see her and hung up on him just to make herself smile again.

A half hour later, the ride share driver dropped her at the Washington Post. Inside, she went to Tom’s office, but he was in a meeting, so she got to work on some posts for the blog, including one on the anti-sex trafficking bill.

As she wrote, an idea formed, and she pulled up the CIA website to submit a ‘Freedom of Information Act’ request for declassified intelligence on sex trafficking in Colombia. She didn’t know what to expect, but Colombia was a point of intersection in the information she’d gotten from RIP, so it was a logical place to start.

After faxing the FOIA form, along with one asking for expedited processing, she sat down to dig into her original article. As she was wading through interview notes, her desk phone rang. She jumped and stared at the blinking lights that told her the call came in from reception.

“Washington Post, Carrie Davenport speaking,”

“Miss Davenport, I’m Jared Turner and I’m calling from the attorney general’s office. I need a moment of your time.”

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