Page 11 of Agency
The taste of each other, the feel of soft lips on soft lips, the sound of moist lips pressing to moist lips as our tongues swirled and danced to the rhythm of the notes washing over the whole bar. I breathed him in, savored him, savored this first of tonight’s so many kisses. A flashingly brief, sharp sensation as his teeth bit at my lower lip, as he gently sucked for a split second. Then our tongues back together, exploring and teasing and promising so many indulgences for the rest of the night.
God, what was I even doing? Of all the men in town that I could find to while away the night, I’d found this one? What was I thinking?
His hands, though–oh, his hands! They pushed away that fear as, down from my hair, they found my bare back. Arms encircling and pulling me tighter to him, he flattened my breasts against his broad, hard chest as we really leaned into this whole thing. If we’d been out nearer to the crowd, or still back in the Beaver, there probably would have been cat-calls and whistles of encouragement. But, back here in the secluded booth, there was only us. Only our lips, our mouths, our panting breath in this darkened corner.
And, of course, our hands.
How could I forget our hands?
Especially as one of his slid around from the bare skin of my back and down to my side.
I positively whimpered into Morgan’s mouth as his massive hand landed on my waist. I pictured briefly how easily he’d be able to manhandle even me into doing whatever he wanted, and I could feel myself almost gushing as I thought of taking him back up to my room.
Then, sliding down over my hip, he found the muscular flesh of my thigh. Broad and strong, his rough, callused hand nearly encircled my thigh as if the strongest part of me were only my ankle. Fingers like a vise on the outside of my leg, clutching and so in control, his thumb mimicked mine from earlier in the bar, circling and circling on the flesh of my inner thigh, enticing them wider…
Gasping for breath, I pulled back from Morgan’s lips, as much to breathe fresh air as to see whether my future client’s bodyguard was still at the bar.
He was. But, I realized, he was meeting his own date here, and that his back was now turned from Morgan’s and my sordid little tryst in the back booth.
I could get up, now. I could leave the booth, and stride right out of the hotel lounge without even looking back. I could dodge this attractive, masculine, capable, Morgan-shaped bullet before the projectile had left the barrel.
But then, that bullet began sliding up my soft, begging skin to the hem of my dress. Reminded me of why I’d invited this particular bullet to be fired my direction in the first place.
Breath catching in my throat, my heart seemed to rise from my chest to meet the trapped air, even as a whimpering groan escaped my lips.
That bullet began pushing my hem higher and higher, his thumb circling and rubbing and circling as his enthralling digit traveled higher and higher to the thin, hot, soaked cloth between my thighs… before pulling back.
I whimpered again, this time in frustration.
Barely more than a second had lapsed, and here I was, leaning back in for more of him. More of his lips, his tongue, his flashing teeth. Spreading my legs a fraction wider, I invited him with nothing more than a gentle moan somewhere down in my chest as his fingers slid up beneath the hem of my dress, and his circling, rubbing, teasing thumb tracked higher and higher and higher up my inner thigh.
How many men had I dragged back to my hotel room over the years? How many had I taken firm control of? Taught a few lessons in the kinds of pleasure men and women could give each other?
Dozens, at least.
But, how many had I succumbed to so easily?
“Yes,” I said between kisses as his thumb traced up and down the flimsy cloth of my bikini cut panties. He must have felt the dampness, must have felt my heat and desire. How could he not? “Right there. You’re good at this, aren’t you?”
His thumb read me like brail through the red satin. Teasing my lips, sending sharp pangs of pleasure and need radiating out through me, even as his mouth moved to my neck.
“Oh, fuck, Morgan,” I said in a whimper, my hips moving to match his thumb and grind myself against his digit as he held me closer. “Right there, yes. Right there.”
“You like that,” Morgan whispered in my ear, his hand still working even as his other arm cradled me close. “Don’t you?”
Another whimper in answer, as if the sound were coming from someone else’s throat. Because, no way in hell was that whimper coming from mine. No way. Definitely not.
A gasp, then, and a shuddering shiver passed through my body as the tips of his fingers now traced their way up and down my lips, teasing me more before finding my clit and replacing his thumb. They were brushing, just barely brushing, past to either side, making my body absolutely sing with both pleasure and frustration.
“Being here in this bar with all these people around…” His words were practically a purr in my ear, his breathy whispers sending shivers through me as the pleasure warmed somewhere deep within the pit of me and sent little tingles rippling out through my limbs. “Thankfully they’ve cut off dinner service, or we’d probably have waiters walking past right now.”
Another whimper form my lips came as my eyes squeezed tight, my hips still moving me in perfectly matching rhythm against his fingers.
“But then, again,” he continued between kisses at my ear and bites on my neck, “maybe you’d like that? One of them walking by, hearing your muffled moans. Catching a glimpse of your legs spread for me, my hand stroking beneath your skirt. The way you’re pushing yourself back into them.”
A little burst of adrenaline-fueled pleasure behind my eyes as his words sunk in, as I realized how true they might have been. I did like the danger, didn’t I? The danger of being discovered, of pushing the envelope? Wasn’t that why I found these men in bars? Why I pursued the career I did?
I enjoyed this kind of thing, didn’t I? Why else would I be so close without his even pushing aside my panties?
