Page 110 of Agency
“I do…” Trailing off, I kissed her again, and our tongues languidly explored the other’s mouth. As we did, my fingers brushed her cheek, producing another moan. Lips parting, I looked down at her.
“But, do you forgive yourself?” I asked. “Because you’re going to have to carry that weight, same as we all do.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “But maybe, if you three can help me put things right with my former employers… maybe then.”
“And, if not?”
“Then,” she said, her fingers tracing my jawline as we continued to lock eyes in the now-dimming firelight. “I guess I’ll just keep carrying that weight.”
As we began to drift off, something occurred to me, and I leaned in closer to her, whispering, “Hey, Ambyr…”
“Hey, what…?” she asked, her words coming as if she were already halfway to dreamland.
“Remember how I wouldn’t tell you my name?”
“Yeah,” she replied in a voice slurred with sleep, and the final effects of the wine. “I remember.”
I leaned in closer, whispered something in her ear. When I pulled back, her eyes were wide.
“Now, don’t tell anyone. Or I’ll never trust you with anythingeveragain. And I’m serious this time.”
“Fuck you!” she hissed, now closer to wide awake. “You’re going to lay that on me and not let me tell anyone? I hate you!”
“Good night,” I said, stretching downward and giving her a peck on the lips.
“Fuck you…” Trailing off, her eyes lowered as she took a deep, resentful breath. A second later, though, her eyes were returning to mine as she puffed out. “…Jericho.” Then, as she lay her head back down against me, she whispered: “I thought the spanking was supposed to be the punishment. Asshole.”
But, still, I could feel the smile against the meat of my shoulder as I pulled her closer and we both began to drift off.
I kissed the top of Ambyr’s head and snuggled her in closer, I could feel the aches of loneliness, twisted ankles, and distance drifting away. Because, despite the cramped quarters of the couch, this was better than any night with just my beer to keep me company.
Chapter Thirty
Morgan
The fire must have died overnight, because the house had that sharp fall bite to the air as I descended the stairs in thick, woolen socks. I could sense Old Man Winter drawing in big lungfuls in preparation to puff his cheeks and whoosh his first frigid blast across the land, and I was glad I’d pulled on my sweater before leaving my spartan guestroom in search of fresh, hot coffee.
Chilled air caught in my chest as I stepped into the living room, though, and I nearly had to brace myself against the wall.
The blanket was pulled up over the two them. How they both fit on the oversized couch, I didn’t know, but Ambyr had to have been laying half on top of Jericho.
The last time I’d had this hard a time trying to catch my breath was on the tail end of a full-gear, ten klick hump through a Philippine jungle, and I struggled to get my wobbling legs moving as my eyes remained glued to their combined forms.
That was one lucky blanket, though. The way the thick cloth hugged the curves of her breasts and hip might have left something to the imagination, but goddamn did I had plenty of imagination–imagination I’d been wrestling all night, like Jacob wrestled that angel. My cock had been ragingly hard as I listened to Ambyr’s stifled whines and pleas the night before. Their half-bitten conversation had carried up through the house’s thin bones, accompanied by those smacks on what I knew were the cheeks of her ass.
In some half-crazy, masochistic idea of saving myself for the next time I could cum inside her, I’d struggled to contain the need to stroke myself. But, I’d contained the urge, and let myself rage till well after they’d quieted down.
Was she bruised? Was she tender?
My throbbing cock snaked down the inside of my denim pants leg as I crept through the living room, my socked feet instinctively rolling in the near-silent outside of sole to center movement I’d been trained in.
Because I didn’t want to make this vision end, did I? This view of Ambyr, laying with another man… And not just any man, either. One of my best friends.
I looked down as I passed them and breathed a sigh of relief… No, not relief. Something else…. Joy? Excitement? Care? Whatever I was feeling, a warmth filled my chest and encapsulated my heart as I made my way into the next room.
The looks on their slumbering faces mirrored the one in my heart. Content in rest, peaceful even.
The whole idea had been Andrew’s initial strategy, on which we’d collaborated while we’d been out securing supplies the morning before. First, the family dinner as our spec ops forces, to soften Jericho up and return a sense of warmth to the house, to weaken his resolve at holding his grudge. Sabotage, if you will, a guerrilla action aimed at his will to fight.
