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FISH HAD GONE OVER what was about to happen more times than he’d replayed his Kobayashi Maru training test. How bad would getting involved with a principal be, should it get discovered? Called into Dalton’s office, for sure. He’d get a reaming, maybe be given dog-and-pony-show assignments for a while, but there were others—Scrooge for one—who’d violated the rule and were still working for Blackthorne.
As long as it didn’t interfere with his assignment, he couldn’t see the harm in a round of mutual itch-scratching. His job was to stay here with Lexi. That had been made clear. He wasn’t needed to back up Adam. No matter what went down, his job was to stay here with Lexi. And it was Lexi.
As he stroked her arm, nuzzled her neck, inhaled her scent, he tried to rationalize what they were doing.
She’d asked.
He couldn’t lay blame on her. He was a willing partner.
She unfastened his belt buckle. He hissed a breath. Her hand strayed south, and there was no disguising he was a willing partner.
He wanted it slow. He wanted it fast. Hell, he just plain wanted it.
She pressed against his groin. He reached for her breast.
“Too many clothes,” he murmured into her neck.
“And guns,” she said.
“Could be dangerous.” Fish laid his Glock on the nightstand. When Lexi leaned over to set hers down, the brush of her body against his shot most of his blood supply south.
Unable to resist, he yanked her on top of him, wrapped his arms around her, hugged her ass. Body to body contact, even through their clothes, had him squirming, which intensified his desire even more.
Slow down.
He released his grip, and she rolled off. She turned her back, swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Was she having second thoughts?
Before he could speak, she crossed her arms and tugged her shirt over her head. He flipped to his side, moved her hair over her shoulder, stroked the bare skin of her back. Smooth. Soft. Warm.
Fish touched the clasp of her bra—pale pink. She remained motionless, and he took that as a green light. He released the hooks, then sat up so he was behind her, one leg on either side of her hips. He caressed her back, his fingers walking along her spine, one vertebra at a time. His hands explored. Shoulder to shoulder, down each arm.
He stopped when he encountered the scar running along her left biceps. “From the domestic?”
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
He leaned around, grazed the fading line with his lips before resuming his explorations. To her waist, then around her belly, pulling her closer.
She clasped his hands, moved them up to her breasts. Tilted her head back. Sighed.
He cupped her breasts, letting them sit in his hands, feeling the weight of them. His thumbs moved in lazy circles around her nipples.
She groaned. Wriggled against him.
His aching erection swelled against his jeans, tormenting him.
Reluctantly, he released one breast to deal with his plight. He unbuttoned the waistband, fumbled with the zipper.
Lexi worked herself free, swung herself around and shoved him onto his back. “Let me.”
She lowered the zipper, one tooth at a time, each rasp of metal against metal vibrating through him.
She pulled at his jeans, and he raised his hips, helping her slide them off. While she shimmied out of her jeans, he shrugged out of his shirt.
“I see you’ve taken the commando approach,” she said.
“And I see you haven’t.” He tipped his head toward her pink bikini panties.
“That can be remedied.” She worked them to her ankles, then kicked them aside.
“Dammit, Lexi, you’re gorgeous.”
He’d seen her in uniform, in street clothes, in hooker clothes, but naked was a whole new reality.
In one motion, he yanked the coverlet aside.
“Lie down,” Lexi said.
He flopped onto his back again, and she straddled him. Her hair fell like a golden curtain around his head, each strand teasing and tantalizing as she waved her head from side to side.
She kissed his forehead. His nose. Each cheek. His chin. Continued a southward journey, fingers walking along the muscles of his abs. Her teeth scraped his nipples. He gripped the bedsheet.
She slid backward. One hand cupped his balls. The other stroked his erection. Slowly. Gently. Barely a touch, but Oh. My. God.
“Dammit, woman, you’re killing me.”
She paused. “Do you want me to stop?”
“You do and I might kill you.”
Her lips replaced her fingers, and he was sure he was going to die.
***
LEXI ENJOYED THE PHYSICAL perfection that was Marv. But more, she enjoyed the way he seemed to be enjoying her pleasure. He smelled of soap, mixed with the musk of his arousal.
She took his tip into her mouth, tasted the salt as she rolled her tongue around the head. Marv had managed to find her breasts and was tormenting her nipples, sending sensations directly to her center. And a sense of urgency, building layer upon layer.
“Wait.” His whisper was sharp. Demanding.
She paused, but didn’t lift her head.
“Wallet. Condom,” he said, panting.
His jeans were on the floor. She gave up what she was doing and found what they needed. She tore the packet open and handed it to him.
He set the foil square beside a pillow, and with one quick motion, reversed their positions. “My turn.”
He repeated what she’d done, gentle kisses from forehead to navel with an excruciating stop at her breasts. His tongue swirled, his teeth scraped. Each motion shot pleasure to her core.
His fingers travelled lower, slipped inside her until her entire universe was concentrated in one tiny nub.
Her hips rocked, setting a rhythm against his fingers.
“Come for me, Lexi,” he whispered.
As if she had a choice. Her world went black, then filled with blinding light, a rainbow of colors. Gasping, she pushed his hand away. “Too much.”
“I don’t think so.” He reached beside her for the condom. Sheathed, he positioned himself and slipped inside, barely a fraction. Withdrew. Moved a little deeper. Withdrew again. A fraction deeper. Withdrew. Not all the way. Over and over until he was fully inside her.
She met him, stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust. Stared into his espresso-colored eyes, watched his pleasure build.
As did hers. He gasped, his hips pistoning as his eyes glazed over. He let out a feral roar, and she was with him as he exploded in release.
They lay there, waiting to breathe again.
Marv shifted enough to take his weight off her. She ran her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, enjoying the afterglow. Slowly, her brain processed what they’d done.
Twice in a row wasn’t normal for her.
Or maybe being with Marv was the new normal.
Nonsense. This was a one-time thing. A lot of years had built up to this moment, a moment that needed to happen. Now that it had, they could put it past them and move on.
Marv hoisted himself to one elbow and gazed at her, questions in his eyes.
Was she supposed to say something? In the three years since Brian had died, she’d been with a couple of men. Not one-night stands, more like weekend flings, and they’d always known going in that neither was looking for anything other than a way to blow off tension.
If she’d thought sex was going to be the same with Marv as it had been with those flings, she’d discovered it couldn’t be, not for her. They’d ... connected. She had, anyway.
She sat up, ran her fingers through her hair. “I should get cleaned up. The grocery delivery could show up at any time.”
“Lexi...” he grabbed for her arm. She shook away. But not before she saw the hurt, the confusion cross his face.