3. Ellie #2
"NCIC. National Crime Information Center." Cyrus types a string of commands and my head aches just trying to follow along. "Among other things."
"You hacked into a federal database."
"Hacked is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as an unauthorized consultation."
"This is so much worse than stealing concert tickets," I grumble, sinking against his chest to watch the felonies rack up.
He pulls up various records from the database, cross-referencing names and dates faster than I can even think.
Todd's name appears on one screen, surrounded by a literal web of connections.
His campaign donors, associates, staffers, and various other people I recognize from fundraisers where I smiled until my face hurt.
God, I don't miss that.
"What are you looking for?"
"In a word, dirt." He opens another window, pulling up financial records. At least, I think they're financial records. It's all moving too fast. "Campaign contributions, mostly. Anything that connects your stepfather to people who'd rather stay hidden."
Numbers scroll past in a blur. Cyrus highlights entries and clicks them away just as fast as they appear, building a picture I can't see but clearly he can.
"Found some suspicious contributions," he says after a while, his voice taking on that detached tone it's always had when he's in deep focus.
More detached than usual, anyway. "Shell companies funneling money through various PACs.
Nothing you wouldn't expect from a senator with his hands in the wrong pockets, though.
The man himself is squeaky clean on paper.
No arrests, no sealed court records." He scoffs.
"Not even a lawsuit settled out of court. "
"Because he buries it," I say, bitterly. "That's what he does. He makes things disappear."
"Everyone leaves a trail, Princess. You just have to know where to look."
"You don't need to get him arrested, Cy," I remind him pointedly. "He just needs to die."
His fingers pause on the keyboard. "I always do recon on targets. Knowing who his allies are tells us who might come looking after he's gone. And when we kill him, I intend to make sure there are plenty of low-hanging suspects for the police to focus on."
My stomach turns at the thought of after, even though this is literally what I'm paying for.
Well. Not paying so much as trading my body, but still.
He shifts to a different database, and the screen fills up with mugshots and arrest records of men I don't recognize. The Southside crew, based on the gang affiliations flagged in the margins.
"Interesting," Cyrus murmurs, more to himself than me.
"What?"
"Major bust last week in Southside territory. There were fifteen arrests." His eyes narrow behind his glasses. "Every single one of them was released within forty-eight hours. No charges filed. Even the ones with storied records, which are most of them."
"How is that possible?"
"It's not. Not without someone high up making calls." He bookmarks the page, then opens another window. "Someone's protecting them. Question is who, and why."
"Are you guys at war with them now? After what happened with Carson?"
Cyrus doesn't answer for a few seconds. "It's hard to say. We might be soon."
Not much of an answer, but I get a feeling it's the best I'm going to get.
The screens blur together after a while, filling with data and connections I can't follow, so I don't try. My attention drifts. The warmth of his body makes me sleepy, and the tapping of his fingers on the keyboard isn't helping much.
I shift on his lap, trying to find a more comfortable position, only to feel him tense beneath me.
Because I'm sitting directly on his cock.
I move again, and this time, I'm definitely not imagining the hardness pressing against my ass.
"Stop squirming," he mutters.
"I'm bored."
"Then be bored and still."
"I can't help it. I've been sitting here for—" I check the clock on his monitor. "An hour and a half. My fucking ass is numb."
"Feels like it has plenty of blood flow to me."
I bite my lip to keep from grinning. "Problem, Cyrus?"
"Don't." His voice drops, and I feel his breath hot and prickling against the back of my neck. "Don't start something you can't finish."
"Who says I can't finish it?" I challenge.
His left hand leaves the keyboard. Only the left. The right hand keeps typing, barely missing a beat, which is honestly impressive given that his other hand is already sliding beneath the waistband of my leggings.
I gasp as his fingers find me already wet through my panties, and a laugh rumbles through his chest.
"Unbelievable," he mutters, two fingers sliding into my panties and through my slit. "You've been sitting here soaking through your leggings this entire time while I work, Princess?"
My face flares hot. Only Cyrus could neg me in a way that makes me wetter.
"I was watching you hack into federal databases," I manage, my voice slightly shaky as my nails dig into his armrests. "It's... surprisingly hot."
"You have questionable taste in turn-ons." His fingers circle my clit, and I jolt against him. His right hand never stops typing, no matter what he does to me with the left. "Hold still. I'm working."
"You're—" I choke as he pushes two fingers inside me, curling them. "You're multitasking?"
"It's the only way I'm ever going to get anything done with you on my lap.
Maybe you'll be good when you come." His palm rubs against my clit while his fingers work inside me, and the one-two punch to my cunt makes my thighs clench around his hand.
"So sit there, be quiet, and let me finish my research. "
I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper. His fingers pump steadily inside me, his left hand working me just as efficiently as the right is working that keyboard.
This asshole.
But fuck, he's definitely ambidextrous. Just when you think you know a guy.
"You're insane," I pant, my thighs still clenching on his hand.
"And you're wet." He curls his fingers and hits that spot, and I have to grab the edge of the desk to keep from falling off his lap. "Very wet."
"Aren't you worried about Kade?" I tease.
He snorts. "Kade's pissed he wasn't first. Extra pissed it was his brother. Too late now, isn't it?"
His cock is a solid ridge against my ass now, thick and undeniably hard despite his surface-level composure. Every time I move against him, his breath hitches ever so slightly. But it's enough to tell me that his unaffected act is exactly that, an act.
He wants this as much as I do.
"Cy." My voice sounds pathetically thready. "I feel you."
"Observation noted."
His fingers don't slow. Not even a little.
"Let me—" I reach back between us, palming him through his sweats, and the sound he makes is the most human noise I've heard from Cyrus since I got here.
"That's counterproductive," he grits out, but his hips push up into my hand in response.
"Shut up." I tug at his waistband, freeing him. He's hard and hot in my palm, his piercing only slightly cooler against my fingers as they skate over it. I stroke him once just to hear that sound again.
His left hand stills inside me. His right hand freezes on the keyboard.
For one perfect second, Cyrus loses his composure entirely.
He shoves my leggings down just far enough and repositions me, lifting me and pulling me back onto his lap to face the monitors, his massive cock notched against my entrance. He grips my hips with both hands now, fully abandoning the keyboard.
"You are a fucking nuisance," he growls into the side of my neck.
"I live to serve," I say flatly, grinding against him, daring him to take what he so clearly wants.
He pulls me down onto him in one ruthless motion, and the stretch of him and his piercing dragging up against my inner walls makes me cry out loud enough that I'm sure if anyone else is still home, they hear it.
I chomp down on my hand to muffle it. Then again, if Jinx was home, I'm pretty sure he would have interrupted by now.
Cyrus's answering groan is quieter, but no less wrecked than mine. His forehead drops against my shoulder, and his fingers dig into my hips hard enough to bruise. I'm going to have a new set of finger-shaped bruises to join Tank's, but I'm not complaining.
"Move," he orders, and it's both a demand and a plea.