Black and Blue

“Tell me about Claire,” he said, voice flat, utterly emotionless.

Instant mood killer!

Why did he want to know? Why was he pressing this yet again? “No,” she said.

He stared at her, unwavering. “Have you ever talked about it with anyone?”

“No.” And she wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

His nod of acceptance was stiff.

Silent, they picked at their food for a few minutes. He was a good cook, and that kind of sucked, because it meant he was good at everything he did. That he had no deficiencies.

Soon the tension got to her, his power still stroking over her, revving her up so much that liquid heat began to pool between her legs. Her voice was raspy as she said, “Are we ever going to talk about what happened in my foyer . . . and my office?”

“Yes. But not now.”

What? Why? “When?”

“Soon. I hope.”

Not good enough. She dropped her fork and glared at him. “Why wait?”

His gaze raked over her, and heated, the lavender darkening to a deep, rich plum. “Feeling needy, princess?”

Yes!

Can’t lie to him. So, instead of answering, she hopped to her feet. “If you don’t want me anymore, just say it. I’m a big girl and I don’t need coddling.”

He remained silent.

Figured. She stepped around him with every intention of storming off. But he grabbed her by the waist and jerked her onto his lap. Those thick, muscular thighs. But he didn’t keep her there. He pushed the plates aside and set her on the table.

“I want you. I always want you.” He unfastened her pants and tugged them and her knickers down her legs, leaving her bare from the waist down. “Now spread your legs.”

She obeyed, but not quickly enough for his taste. He placed his palms on her knees, his skin so hot the contact burned, burned so good, and pushed her thighs apart, as wide as they would go. Exposing her. Making her vulnerable to his view.

He just sat there, looking at her. Heat in his glowing eyes. Expression taut. A charge thickened the air, and she found it difficult to breathe. She trembled, almost violently. Waiting was a beautiful agony . . . and then just agony.

“Please.” Begging him again? Yes. If that’s what it took.

“Oh, I’ll give you something.”

“Will you give me everything?”

“You’re so pretty here,” he said, ignoring her question. “I think it’s time for dessert.” And then he was on her, his mouth where she needed him. Hot and insistent, stoking her desire higher and higher with every flick of his masterful tongue. He licked up and down, from side to side, and all she could do was roll her hips and seek more.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. “Blue!” And then she was lying down, resting her feet on the arms of his chair, and he was reaching out, his hands cupping her breasts, as he ate and ate and ate. Pleasure spiraled through her, strong, insistent, demanding, building, building. She wasn’t going to last. Had wanted him too much, too long.

A scream ripped from her as she climaxed.

Blue tugged her upright and stood. He tore at the button and zipper on his pants. His shaft, so long and thick, stretched past the material. The head glistened, proving just how badly he wanted her.

“Know how good you taste, baby? Never had anything like it. But now I need you to suck me.”

“Yes.” She dropped to her knees, with no hesitation, and took him deep into her mouth. He moaned her name, a plea, a curse, then moaned again, whatever he said next unintelligible. He was so big he hurt her jaw, but she didn’t care. She moved on him, again and again, until his hips were pumping in rhythm with her mouth. Faster . . . faster . . . she pressed her tongue against his shaft with every upward glide, and when she reached the top she gave a little suck . . . again and again . . . and it was so good, so bloody good.

“About to . . . Baby, I want you to swallow me. Every drop.”

Then they were on the same page.

She gave another suck, a harder one, and that was it, that finished him. He came, roaring with his satisfaction.

After she’d taken everything he had to give, she rose to shaky legs—only to realize she and Blue were floating in midair.

“Uh, do me a solid and ease us back down,” she said even as she tensed, expecting a crash.

He tucked himself back into his pants and frowned. Then they were drifting to the floor, landing.

She pulled on her jeans and opened her mouth to say . . . what? That can’t happen again? Or: Why won’t you just do me already?

Her phone beeped, saving her from having to decide.

Michael’s text. The new mission. “We’re to intercept one of Star’s employees tomorrow morning.”

Blue nodded. Then, without a word, he stalked from the kitchen.

“I’m getting tired of watching you walk away,” she called.

He offered no response.

What did he want from her? What were they to each other?

What would happen next between them?

Despite everything, she almost couldn’t wait to find out.

* * *

He wasn’t having sex with Evie until she trusted him enough to talk about Claire. The more he had of her, the more he wanted from her—and the less she offered. She had things backward, and it was time he turned things around.

Judging by the one-sided conversation he’d heard when Evie was on the phone, he suspected Michael knew something was going on.

Blue planned to nut up and tell the man all . . . just as soon as he knew what “all” encompassed. What, exactly, did he want from the girl?

What would she give him?

Right now, not much.

Would disappointing Michael be worth it? Should Blue change his mind about going after her yet again and walk away before anything else was added to his “all” tab?

His gaze strayed to Evie, who sat across from him in another unmarked sedan. She distracted him, obsessed him, angered him, frustrated him . . . delighted him. With her, he discovered a rare ecstasy.

He’d once considered her a momentary pleasure. But she wasn’t. She was more than that. So he asked himself again: Would disappointing Michael be worth it, no matter how little Evie wanted from him?

Yeah.

So no, there would be no changing his mind.

Think carefully. His game was tomorrow, and the party the day after that. Which meant, in two days he would be turning up the heat on Tiffany Star. The thought left him cold, even disgusted, but he’d never been more determined to break a case.

His stomach twisted in a thousand tiny knots. In private, he could compel Miss Tiffany to do and think whatever he wished. Sex could be taken off the menu. But in public, he would have to play the part of besotted suitor. There was no way around it.

How would Evie react to, say, a kiss? End things with him then and there?

Would oral sex at dinner be nothing more than a fond memory?

He wanted to howl.

He would talk to her before the party and make her understand. And he would talk to Michael when things