Page 28 of Beautiful Rush
Holy hell. She kept up a steady rhythm, her cheeks hollowed, her tongue and mouth and hand bringing me to the brink of something so explosive I felt it from the base of my spine to the top of my head.
I didn’t think about all the reasons why we shouldn’t be doing this in my parked car. I didn’t think about anything at all except for her hot, wet mouth that was tight as a fist and the way she watched my face, knowing the power was all hers.
My balls tightened and I warned her that I was going to come. She hummed in agreement and the vibration sent me over the edge as she ripped the orgasm from me, her eyelids at half-mast as if she’d been the one to have an orgasm and not me. I watched her throat bob up and down as she swallowed and then she ran her tongue over her lips as if she wanted to capture every drop. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me hard, her tongue darting into my mouth so I could taste myself on her which was kind of weird but strangely erotic, her kisses wet and frantic as she ground her body against me.
I slipped my hand inside her shorts and slid two fingers inside her, rubbing her clit with my thumb, my fingers reaching and curling and hitting a spot that made her cry out. She bucked against my hand, trying to get more friction, her head flung back as she held my shoulders to support herself. It only took a few seconds before her muscles convulsed around my fingers and her scream echoed off the walls of my car.
She rested her head on my shoulder, her face pressed against the crook of my neck, her soft breath on my skin. It was the softer, sweeter side of Keira.
She stayed like that, still and quiet for a few minutes, our bodies slick with sweat and scented with sex and I ran my hand through her hair the way I knew she liked it. When I’d been away from her, Ihadthought about her hair and her body and her face. But I’d thought about a lot of other things too. The sadness in her eyes the day we sat in the church. How odd it had been that she’d chosen a Russian Orthodox cathedral, one I’d visited many times over the years. I had thought about the night it snowed, and we’d walked along the East River, the snowflakes gathering on her eyelashes, her face tipped up to the sky, her face lit up with joy as she caught snowflakes on her tongue. Later, I’d taken her back to Eden and Killian’s loft and kissed her. I knew it was goodbye, that I was going UC, but she hadn’t known. Which had been a dick move.
“We need to go, babe,” I didn’t want to interrupt the moment, but I had to get going and she needed to go back to work. She peeled her body off mine and climbed back into her own seat.
On the way back to Atlas Motors, I got a call from Dmitri but ignored it. Two seconds later, Leon’s number appeared on the screen.
I silenced the call. Most likely, they were checking to make sure I was on my way with my Ukrainian pole dancer in tow.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Keira asked.
I shook my head. “I’ll call back after I drop you off.”
“You’re leading a double life,” she said quietly.
I glanced at her, the irony not lost on me. She had wanted an honest life away from her father and had ended up with someone who couldn’t tell her the details of his day-to-day. “Yeah, I am.”
“I kind of like it like this. It feels forbidden.”
Figures she would find that exciting, just like having a guy break into her apartment. “What happens when my assignment ends? Will you kick my ass out the door?”
“You’ll have a boot print on your ass.”
“Ouch. I love the pain you give.”
She laughed. “You’re crazy.”
“So are you.”
I pulled over a block away from Atlas Motors and left the car running. Without the A/C it was like a sauna in here.
“Thanks for lunch.” She reached for the door handle, ready to leave.
“Keira.” Her amber eyes met mine, eyebrows raised in question. “Stay away from the street racing tomorrow night.”
Keira settled back into her seat and sighed. “Is that the only reason you stopped by?”
“I wanted to see you,” I answered honestly. “And I wanted to get your phone number.”
“You already have my phone number.”
“It’s in my other phone.” Which was at the precinct with my badge, ID, and gun. I reached across her and pulled a burner phone out of the glove compartment. I had so many phones it was sometimes hard to keep them straight. “What’s your number?” I asked, my thumb poised over the keypad.
I entered her number and called it but didn’t hear a ringtone. I raised my brows, waiting for an explanation. “Giving out fake numbers now?”
“Oh, please. And you call yourself a detective,” she scoffed. “Do you see a cell phone hiding in these short pockets? My cell phone is at the garage. Or at home. I’m not great at remembering to bring it.”
“How will my tracking device work if you don’t have your phone on you?”
She grinned. “It’ll work perfectly. You’ll always think I’m at home.”
