Undercover Engagement by Samanthe Beck

Chapter Fifteen

“Come!” Eden panted. “I’m going to come,” she said again as the first implosions rippled through her.

As soon as the words left her mouth, someone growled like a furious animal—Swain—and the world spun. A cry of surprise—hers—filled the air. The next thing she knew, she was splayed on the stairs, blinking through sweat-blurred eyes at a thin dark ribbon of grain in the wood. Her forearms were perched precariously on the step just below, her knees wide and sliding wider in search of balance on two different steps, her legs shaking with the force of the orgasm about to roll through her like a storm surge. Before a fear of falling formed, a big, sure hand curled around her hip. Another shoved her robe up and dragged her underwear down.

“Oh, God. Okay. Okay.” She wedged a foot between the rails and braced her arch against a baluster. “Just hurry.”

Despite her instruction, or maybe because of it, he left her there for a prolonged moment, open and aching and trembling to be filled. And then…lord…the hard, heavy heat of him brushed her inner thigh. Her insides clenched and released, greedy to receive him. Without really meaning to, she dug her knees in and arched her back to open herself even more. He swore—that’s all the warning she got—and thrust.

Her body put up little resistance. He’d gotten her so wet, so ready, she felt empty not having him inside her, but still she cried out as he sank deep. One sharp cry of thanks for the perfect fullness of his penetration, followed immediately by another cry of gratitude as the force of his entry caused shockwaves that sent her orgasm cresting higher.

Terrifyingly high, a whisper in her head cautioned. Remember you have to come down. You have to survive that fall. But then Swain started to move, taking her even higher with every thrust, and he fucked caution right out of her mind.

His hands were everywhere, so lightning fast she couldn’t keep track, so effortlessly effective she didn’t need to bother. He was giving her everything she could have asked for, anything she could have wanted. He was giving her words, too, low and rough, with his lips near her ear, his breath fanning her cheek, but even so, she couldn’t make them out. A mix of prayers and curses and Eden…Eden…Eden. They flew away in the chaos of his body buffeting hers, and the waves of sensation building, and building, lifting, rising…until…the raging power finally dragged her under, and she came on the stairs, with her head bowed, her hands clasped like a faithful at prayer, and the sound of her own voice in her ears, crying his name.

By the time her breath steadied and her system calmed, he’d peeled his body off hers and started kissing his way down her spine. Keeping her forehead pressed to the stair, she sighed. “Jesus. What brought that on?”

The warm lips pressed to the small of her back lingered there for a moment longer. Then they disappeared, and a big hand slapped her ass—a little too hard to count as playful.

“Hey!” She jerked upright, pulling her robe around her, and turned to glare at him. “What is your problem?”

His usual “no worries” expression was nowhere to be found in the foreboding slant of his brows, the blazing blue of his eyes, and the stubborn set of his jaw. “My problem is coming home to find my partner alone and next to naked with the two men we’re running a sting on.”

Oh, jeez. Not this again. Even understanding the arguably noble place it sprang from didn’t mean she intended to give in to his overprotectiveness. She stood. Her underwear dangled around her ankles. She kicked it off and secured the belt of her robe. “I wasn’t any more ‘next to naked’ this afternoon than I have been the other times they’ve seen me.”

He stayed seated on the stairs, shirtless, shoeless, and absurdly appealing with his jeans around his shins and his construction-chiseled body on display. “We could argue that, but more naked or not, you were a whole lot more alone.”

She stepped over him. “I’m not having this conversation, Swain, except to say they’re harmless, and I know how to take care of myself.”

When she started to walk away, he reached out and snagged her ankle. A jerk had her falling backward. Her scream of surprise turned to an inelegant oof as she landed in his arms.

“Nobody’s harmless, choux.”

“Let go of me.” She tried to throw an elbow into his gut, but he had her locked down. Wriggling, she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Is it my turn to headbutt you? ’Cause that’s what’s coming next if you don’t let go of me, you big, idiotic cooyon.”

“That’s redundant. No, don’t,” he said and jerked his head away when she tipped hers backward in hopes of connecting with his jaw.

“I didn’t invite them over, you know. They just showed up. For caution’s sake—because I do rely on my training, regardless of what you think—I took things outside. I served them lemonade and made them look at bridesmaid dresses. Trust me, the only crime likely to happen was two counts of death by boredom.”

“Nah. I don’t think so.” He took a deep breath, causing her chest to rise and fall with his. “But if you didn’t want to shoo them off, why not send me a text so I know what I’m walking into?”

Oh. Well, yeah, she could have done that.

He breathed again, slow and easy, and loosened his arms. “Just keep me in the loop, choux.” His voice was a persuasive rumble. His hands smoothed down the outsides of her thighs. “That’s all I’m asking. You’re the love of my life, after all.”

She battled a smile. “You’ll do the same?”

“Swear to God,” he murmured.

“No flying solo?”

“Copilots all the way. We land this thing together.” His hand slipped between her knees. He ran his warm, callused palms up the insides of her thighs. “Can we make up now, or do you still wanna fight?”

She shifted her hips over his lap. “I can feel how much you want to make up.”

He bit her earlobe, then drew it into his mouth and smoothed his tongue over it. The heat of his body, the urgent press of his erection, the slow sweep of his tongue—it all held her in a sweet, heavy thrall. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together to stifle a moan.

“What you feel there? That’s me pretty much all the time you’re around.” His hands smoothed over her lap and up the sides of her body to cup her breasts. She arched into his touch, covering his hands with her own.

“Eden?”

“Huh?”

“I know this wasn’t in your plans. Mine, either, though I won’t deny it was in my wildest dreams. But I don’t think we’re going to get this genie back in the bottle.”

No. No, they definitely weren’t. Eyes closed, savoring the way he molded her breasts, she smiled and wiggled her hips again. “Is that what you call it? Your genie?”

“It’s your genie, choux. It’ll grant all your wishes.”

Her laugh turned into a groan when he sent one hand down her abdomen to ease between her legs. “Am I limited to three?”

He plucked her nipple, stroked her center, and just that deftly balanced her at the brink of a dizzying new orgasm. “No limits.” As if to prove it, he slid one finger inside her, where she remained so thrillingly sensitive from everything he’d already done to her she arched and came with a shockingly ragged gasp.

“Absolutely no limits,” he repeated as he anchored her, shuddering and breathless, against him.

But there were limits, she reminded herself while her body recovered from the force of nature known as Marcus Swain.

Their cover had limits.

The assignment wouldn’t last forever.

Genies were notoriously tricky, but this one—this particular one—would ultimately have to go back in the bottle.

…

“Oh, God. No. Not that.”

“Choux, c’mon now.” From his kneeling position, Swain aimed his best persuasive look at her.

“It’s too big. It’s not going to fit.”

She was grasping at straws, and he figured she knew it, but he could coax her into giving it a try. “It’s gonna fit perfectly. Trust me on this. You might actually like it.”

She crossed her arms and shook her head. “No self-respecting woman would like it. Cover or no cover, when all this is over, I have to be able to face my reflection in the mirror.”

He dropped his head and sighed. “It’s not going to do any permanent damage. I promise.”

“It’s going to permanently damage my soul.”

“Choux, it’s a license plate holder.” He held it up so the sparkly crystal rectangle framed her plate. “I’ll screw it in carefully. I’ll take it off when the op’s done.” He rubbed a thumb along the back bumper. “Your paint will never know the difference.”

She winced. “I can’t drive around in a vehicle that has the sentiment I’m not spoiled, just well taken care of emblazoned on it. I just…can’t.”

He straightened, threw her another smile—he really did not want to go all the way back to Pep Boys for a different holder—and said, “Bet the future Mrs. Michael Swain would. Doncha think?”

She raked both hands through her hair and spun in a circle at the side of the driveway. Now wasn’t the time to tell her how well she filled out a sexy blue…thing. Thin straps showed off her smooth shoulders. The V neckline—front and back—showed off more silky skin and the outline of her teardrop-shaped breasts. The sway of them beneath the opaque cotton made him wonder if she wore a bra. Some kind of tie or drawstring around the middle highlighted her narrow waist. The shorts ended high on her mile-long legs. Just looking at them brought back the memory of those long legs dangling down his back as he staked a claim to the wonderland between her thighs. And…damn. There went his dick.

“I agreed to the pink, fuzzy dice. I agreed not to get my car washed for the next few weeks. I even agreed to let you wreck my bumper with your Warning, Random Bitch Moments sticker. I draw the line at the spangled, sugar-daddy license plate holder.”

“Just try it on for size,” he insisted, turned his Saints cap around on his head so he could see what he was doing, and then put the screwdriver to use removing her Cleveland dealer-issue license plate holder around her bogus Ohio plate. Afternoon sun beat down on his shoulders, and sweat pooled at the small of his back, dampening his T-shirt so it stuck to his skin.

“I can’t watch my smart, proud car be defiled.” Eden threw a hand in front of her eyes. “I’m getting a drink. Want one?”

“Grab me a beer, choux. Defiling cars is thirsty work.” He wasted a minute watching the shorts rise and fall on her thighs as she walked up the steps, then drew his phone from his back pocket when it chimed.

“Yessir,” he answered, recognizing the number.

“Hey, Swain. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday.” Sheriff Malone’s voice strolled over the line, unhurried and not particularly apologetic. “Have I caught you at a good time?”

“Yep. What’s up?”

“I need to put you on another assignment.”

The bottom dropped out of his world at the same time the screwdriver fumbled from his hand and hit the dirt. “Don’t pull me off this op. We’re making good progress here,” he replied quickly, prepared to talk fast and talk convincingly, because tapping out early was not an option. A non-option he didn’t want to have to explain, considering he didn’t, personally, give two shits about a small-time marijuana business that would probably be legal come the next election. But he did care about convincing Eden to waste her energy on him outside of the op, and to accomplish that, he needed time to show her just how reliably he could deliver those orgasms on demand. He needed…dammit to hell. He just needed, and this call slammed him face-first into the realization that it was more than a casual need. “We’re so close—”

“I’m not taking you off your current assignment,” Malone replied with the relaxed tenor of someone who didn’t realize he’d sent his audience into a tailspin. “I just need to add another op. Your part is small. Mostly courier. I think you’ve got the bandwidth, and frankly, we need someone nobody on the county payroll will recognize. That’s you.”

Malone explained the deal while Swain let out a breath and leveled his pulse. It was a simple enough gig. On a date and time yet to be determined, meet an administrative assistant for the county at a designated location and pick up documents and other support incriminating her boss—the county treasurer—in an embezzlement scheme. Bring it to HQ and turn it over to evidence. He could do it in his sleep.

The screen door banged closed behind Eden as she stepped out onto the porch. She held a beer in each hand and glanced anxiously at her car.

“I got it,” he told Malone. “Not a problem.”

“Great. I know I don’t need to say this to you, but discretion is of the essence, given that the county’s on both sides of this investigation.”

“It’s not a problem,” he reiterated, getting to his feet. He sent Eden a grin and twirled the screwdriver. She rolled her eyes.

“Things going well on the domestic front?”

“Never better.”

Eden leaned against a porch column and wagged his beer at him.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“Will do,” he replied as Malone disconnected. Eyes locked on her, he pocketed his phone and walked over to join her. “Consider yourself mobile, choux.” He accepted the beer she offered and took a swallow. “That car is good to go.”

Holding on to the post, she leaned forward and inspected her newly tricked-out ride. “That’s one opinion, but”—her attention shifted to him—“I suppose I appreciate you doing the dirty work.”

“Dirty work is kinda my specialty.”

She placed her beer on the porch rail. “Finally, we agree on something.” A slow smile curved her naked lips, and a slim finger hooked under the top button of his fly. Her eyes widened for an instant, which told him she’d discovered his hard-on, and then she pulled him closer. “How dirty?”

Did she still not realize that was entirely up to her? She wielded all the power in this dynamic. She always had. If she knew his heart had dropped into his boots when he’d thought Malone intended to pull him off their assignment, she’d understand exactly how caught up he was in her. If she did know, what then? He gave himself a mental shake. Too risky. He put his beer on the porch rail beside hers and stuck with what he did best. “How dirty would you like it?”

Now her smile turned crooked. The finger in his jeans tugged harder. “I guess we’ll find out.”

He let her lead him by his cock—literally—across the small porch, well aware it was the only part of him she fully trusted, but when she backed through the screen door, he dug his heels in and dropped a fast, hard kiss on her lips. “Speaking of dirty—I am. Dirty and sweaty.” He uncurled her fingers from his jeans, took her hand in his, and gave it a quick squeeze. “Gimme three minutes in the shower, and then—”

She shook her head. “It’s not your turn in the shower, cooyon. Didn’t you check the schedule?”

“I suppose I neglected to study it. Shame on me. What can I do to convince you to adjust that schedule of yours?”

One dark brow arched. “Nothing. The shower is mine.”

“Nothing?” He tossed his cap on the newel post, then peeled his T-shirt over his head. “You sure?” Toe to heel, he stepped out of one battered Nike, then the other. Deciding turnabout was fair play, he hooked a finger into the loose V of her neckline and reeled her to him. “One little favor?” Taking hold of her hips, he walked her backward through the living room and into the hall. “One teeny tiny little favor?”

She flattened her palm along the center of his chest. “I’ll tell you what, Swain. Just this once, I’ll compromise on the schedule. I’ll share my shower with you.”

His imagination leaped on the offer, immediately picturing Eden all slick and wet and pinned between the tile and his body, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked a noisy orgasm out of her so the sound of her coming echoed all around them in the acoustics of the shower. “Kind of a tight space to share, choux.” He steered her into the small room and closed the door behind him. “It might be tough to move around.”

She leaned into him, smiled up at him, and put her fingers to work unbuttoning his jeans. “I think we can manage. Turn on the water, and we’ll see.”

He twisted the hot water to full blast, but his hand nearly slipped off the diverter when she reached into his jeans and freed his cock. The momentary moan of the pipes covered his rough inhale, and the sound of the water pounding the porcelain mostly drowned out his low groan when she closed her fist around him.

Not wanting to trip himself up at such a crucial point, he wrestled his way out of his jeans while she explored the dimensions and resiliency of his hard-on. Finally, he covered her hand with his own. “You keep that up, we really will both need a shower, and I have to point out, you’re a little overdressed.”

Steam wafted, creating a hazy intimacy. Her soft laugh only added to it. “Not as overdressed as you might think.” She pulled the tie at her waist and shrugged one strap from her shoulder. The fabric draped low in front—low enough for him to harbor serious doubts about a bra.

“Whatcha got on under there, Officer Brixton?”

She shrugged the other strap from her shoulder, and the whole thing slid down her body to form a blue puddle at her ankles. She stepped out and moved it aside with the sweep of a foot. “Not much.”

Not anything, and Christ, she had a body. He’d been up close and intensely personal with every inch, but the full impact of her standing before him covered only by lazy plumes of steam was…breathtaking.

Maybe he stared too long, because she put a hand on her hip and tossed his own words from their first night in the house back at him. “See something you like?”

He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close. “I like it all. I like this.” He kissed her—a long, slow slide of lips and tongues. “And this,” he said before bestowing a kiss on one dusky nipple. It puckered against his lips, and his cock stiffened in solidarity.

Hands clutched his shoulders. “Shower…”

“Soon,” he promised. “I’m not quite done here yet.” Taking her by the waist, he turned them so she faced the sink, and he took up position behind her. Their eyes met in the medicine-cabinet mirror, hers slightly wary, and for whatever reason, he liked that small sign of uncertainty over ceding control. In a fucked-up way, it evened the score, because he was feeling all kinds of out of control where she was concerned. Reaching around to cover her breasts, he squeezed them gently and lifted them. Her head fell back against his chest. “I like this,” he said and swept his thumbs across her nipples. Her hands dropped to clasp the backs of his thighs and draw his hips closer. His cock settled against the cleft of her ass. His hands rushed to her hips and held her fast as he gave in to the temptation to rub his hard-on up and down along the warm, snug channel. A low noise vibrated in her throat. Her eyelids fluttered, and a flush unfurled across her cheekbones. “Swain…”

“Shh.” He dropped to his knees again, still holding her hips. “I like this.” He kissed the sweet curve of one ass cheek, enjoying her warm, steam-dampened skin. “And this.” He switched to the other cheek and, this time, sank his teeth into the pliant flesh.

“Oh. Ooooh.” She braced her hands on the edge of the counter and arched her back, lifting her backside to accept the minor punishment.

“Since you did wonder how dirty I worked, I fucking love this.” He speared his tongue between her cheeks.

“Sweet Jesus!” she gasped, bent at the waist, reflexively, and then squirmed against his hold as he delved, flicked, and teased his tongue all the way up to the small of her back. He kissed her there, smiling against her dewy skin when he felt her legs tremble.

“I-I don’t think there’s much more of me to like, Swain.”

“Just one more,” he promised and turned her around. “Just this one little place, right…here.” Leaning in, he kissed her curls. Nuzzled her. Inhaled her until he could taste sex at the back of his throat. Her thighs quivered. Her hand landed on the top of his head.

“Don’t I get a turn?”

Fair was fair. “Yeah, choux, but you gotta give me a sec.” He leaned back on his heels and reached into the shower, then twisted the cold tap until the water turned from scalding to comfortable. Then, simply for the sheer fun of shocking her once again, he stood, sweeping her over his shoulder in the process. Ignoring her scandalized “Swaaaiiin!” he stepped into the shower. Once under the spray, he let her slide down his body—wet skin against wet skin—’til her feet touched the porcelain. Her hands remained linked behind his neck. “Cooyon,” she muttered, but with no real heat behind it, and tipped her head back to let the spray dampen her hair.

“Just trying to conserve space. I told you it would be tight, didn’t I?” He plowed his fingers through the luxurious, wet silk of her hair and then continued down the long line of her back. Damn, she was beautiful, all sleek and glistening.

She lifted her head and made a show of looking around the small enclosure before focusing on him. The steam and water brought out the gray in her eyes, turning them soft and cloudy, but he detected a dangerous spark of green in their depths. “I think we can make a go of it.” Twisting enough to lift the shampoo from the caddy that dangled from the showerhead, she poured an abundance into her hand, returned the bottle to the caddy, and then worked the liquid into a lather. “It’ll just take a little teamwork. I’ll help clean all your hard-to-reach places.” With that, she snuck a hand down between their bodies and wrapped a soapy fist around his cock.

The breath burst from his lungs. “Same team, same dream,” he managed and lifted an arm to search out the shampoo from the caddy and return the favor, but she slowly dragged her fist up his shaft and followed with a pass from her other fist, working him in rapid succession. His palm landed on the tile instead, too incapacitated by her quick hands to do more than brace himself upright and watch, mesmerized, as his cock endured each slick, tight pull.

This was no straightforward hand job. Somehow, she elevated it to art. Contrasting sensations—the soothing slide of her grip along his aching cock; the abrupt tug she administered at the end of each pass, which lifted his balls away from his body and provoked a jolt of addictive agony that had his vision blurring. Contrasting tones—the dark bronze of her skin against his. Contrasting sounds echoing around him—her soft hum of triumph, his ragged groans.

Just about the time he felt it necessary to warn her this particular hard-to-reach part was getting painfully hard, she stilled and rested one fist at the base of his cock. She snuck her other hand between his legs and soaped up his balls.

“Damn, choux.” His head fell forward, and he closed his eyes to focus on the sheer torture of her touch. “I think you’ve hit all my hard-to-reach places.”

“Not quite yet.” Her voice held way too much satisfaction.

He fought his eyes open and stared into hers as she continued devastating his boys with her busy hand. “That feels pretty thorough.” His voice sounded like a rusty chainsaw.

Flecks of emerald danced in the cool gray pools of her irises. “I should do a closer inspection.” She poured more shampoo into her hands, then ran them down his body as she crouched before him until she was eye level with his freshly washed assets. Water streamed down his body, rinsing suds away. Shifting onto her knees, she looked up at him, her plush lips parted.

His hard-on surged—eager to submit to her inspection. As long as it didn’t last more than ten seconds, he figured he could withstand it and still muster up his part of the teamwork. Flattening both palms against the wall of the shower, he dipped his head under the spray. “Do what you gotta do.”

“I think I missed a spot, here.” She lowered her head and placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against his left ball.

He cursed.

“And here.” She bestowed a kiss to the counterpart.

“Anywhere else?” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

“I’m afraid so.” She ran her tongue along the underside of his cock in a long, languid stroke, and he prayed for the strength to stand firm and be a gentleman.

“Is that the last of it, then?” Please yes. Please no.

“Brace yourself, Swain. I missed another of your hard-to-reach places. A really hard place.” So saying, she closed her lips over the cruelly sensitive head of his cock and took him fully in her mouth. Sweet torture. Sweet relief. Either way, his muscles went lax on a groan of surrender…until soapy hands grabbed his ass and soap-slick fingers delved into a place he hadn’t anticipated she’d reach for. “Whoa…” His eyes sprang open. The sight of his dick cradled in her active mouth distracted him for a nanosecond, but the second wave of the clean sweep going on around back had his eyes crossing and an orgasm he considered highly premature building somewhere between his cock and…a hard place. A really hard place.

“Fuck me.” He reached down, got his hands on her, and lifted her in one swift motion. Turning them in the tight confines wasted precious seconds he wasn’t sure he could spare, but then he had her backed up against the tile, trapped there with his desperate body. Hitching her legs over his arms, bracing his foot against the edge of the tub for extra leverage, he lined her up and thrust deep. Her cry bounced off the tiles. Her arms twined around his head. Mouth fused to hers, the scent of shampoo all around them, and warm water pelting his back, he began fucking her—a slippery, body-clapping, haphazard fucking that somehow worked, because in gratifying seconds, her breaths turned choppy and her inner muscles quivered around him in quick little hugs. They pulled him in. Took him hostage. He came in a torrent, banging his fist on the tile to keep uncensored words from spilling out of his mouth. Words he shouldn’t have in him. Never had in him. Words that suggested the woman in his arms had, indeed, found her way into some very hard-to-reach places.

And he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about it.