Chapter 12
DUET
LONDON
The chime crashes into our sacred space, and I tense, reality bleeding in through the cracks. I let the call go to voicemail, but the ringing starts again.
“Ignore it,” Grayson says, his tone dark, gravel. He’s doing everything in his power to persuade me as he licks the seam of my lips, fondles my clit, deepening the needy ache in my core.
“I can’t. I know it’s him.” I don’t have to say his name. The tension coiling Grayson’s shoulders makes it clear he knows it’s Agent Nelson. “If I don’t answer, he’ll send agents to my apartment and here, or he’ll come himself.”
With a rough grunt, Grayson releases me and pushes back.
This is difficult for him. Grayson doesn’t yield to intimidation, but he’s intelligent; he knows when to rein in his defiant nature.
I stand and hurriedly situate my clothes before I pad to the office. My bag is on the desk where I left it, and I dig out my phone. Nelson’s contact flashes on the screen.
I brace myself. “Agent Nelson,” I address him formally.
“London, how are you?” His voice is a little edgy, strained.
“I’m fine.” I’m as tempered as shatterproof glass, unbreakable—until I feel the charged current of Grayson drawing near. “Has there been a development?”
“What? No. Nothing like that,” he says. “I just haven’t heard from you since you got back to Bangor.
” An expectant pause hangs between us, what he’s leaving unsaid.
“I wanted to make sure that you’re all right.
I had to pull Silks and Mahoney from your detail due to funding at the crime scenes in Rockland. ”
“That’s all right, I understand. I really am okay. There’s no need to waste agency resources on me.” Grayson’s chest presses against my back, his hands tentatively settle on my hips. His deliberate eavesdropping is distracting.
“You’ve not a waste of resources. I want you to know that I’m dedicated to your safety—that it doesn’t come second to the agency, despite the politics.” When I don’t immediately respond, he adds, “Are you at home?”
“No,” Grayson whispers as his hand travels to the clasp of my skirt.
“I’m not,” I say, talking over the sound of Grayson lowering the zipper. The rough pads of his fingers trail in its cool wake, nearly stealing my voice. “I’ve stayed late at the office. I have a lot of things to catch up on.”
When telling a convincing lie, make sure that it’s partly the truth. I glance at the Dali and, as my skirt slides down my legs, feel more than exposed. My research into Grayson’s past preoccupies my time more than my career.
Nelson makes a sound of acknowledgment. “You’ll bring your sister home,” he assures me. “You’ve sacrificed too much time battling the system. Let it run its course.”
Grayson sweeps my hair over my shoulder, and I close my eyes against the heated brush of his lips across the back of my neck. His hand drifts around my waist, fingers dipping beneath the lace trim of my panties.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice uneven as Grayson touches me intimately, his fingers sliding roughly over my sex. “I really appreciate all your help in this matter, Agent Nelson.”
A lengthy beat, where I’m hyperaware of Grayson’s mouth on my skin, his touch growing rougher, my possessive as he sinks one finger inside me—
Then Nelson says, “About what happened in—”
“It was nothing,” I say, cutting him off quickly.
“No, it was inappropriate,” he insists. “My ego was too wounded at the time to admit that, but…London, this isn’t my MO. I want you to know that. This never happens, especially on the job.” He releases a weighted breath. “I apologize.”
Grayson sinks another finger inside me, deeper, curling both with a claiming demand against the tight ache as he settles his mouth near my ear and whispers, “Tomorrow.”
“It’s fine. I understand.” I say, breathless as Grayson’s other hand collars my throat from behind. “In fact, it’s my job to understand. I think we should meet tomorrow, agent. If you’re available.”
“I’d like that.” The relief in his voice is palpable. “When I return, I’ll have a number of things to wrap up in Rockland, then I’ll call you.”
“Perfect. Talk to you then.” I end the call before Grayson somehow maneuvers me right into the crime scenes. With a shiver, I drop my phone on the desk. “Dammit, Grayson.”
I can feel his fucking smirk as he presses his palm hard to my clit, drawing a sharp breath from me. I grip the edge of the desk. “Why am I meeting him?” I demand, my voice shaky as he continues to fuck me with his fingers.
“Because Nelson is your target.” He thrusts deep once more before removing his fingers, his hand grazing up the curve of my inner thigh. “And because the agent is obsessed with you. He’ll find a way to see you, regardless. Better to make it on your terms.”
“He’s not obsessed with me,” I argue. My nails dig at the wood as his fingers slip beneath the elastic of my panties, finding the spot that makes my voice tremble. “He’s obsessed with you.”
“Hmm.” He makes an amused sound as he releases my throat. Then he lowers to the floor, his hands mapping my body along his descent. The abrasive rub of his callused fingers over the silk of my bra and panties snags the fine material.
He nips my flesh before he takes the elastic trim between his teeth, tugging my panties away from my body and slowly dragging them down. He doesn’t stop until they’re snuggly around my ankles.
“One and the same,” Grayson says, rising to his feet. He flattens his palm over my belly, drawing me against his chest as his other hand clears space on my desk. “We’re a package deal, love.” With sure movements, he turns me around and lifts me onto the desk.
I plant my hands behind my back, bracing for balance, as Grayson hovers above.
A predator looming over his prey. My gaze sweeps the diagonal scars along his sculpted chest, the tattoo sleeves reaching up his defined arms. I had fantasies that consisted of a scenario much like this during our sessions…
and the realization that I’m here, in my office with Grayson, sends an erotic thrill racing through me.
“You like pinning me to desks,” I say to him, a taunt in my voice.
That slight dimple carves his cheek, his rare, devilish smile making an appearance.
“I love pinning you. Period.” He palms my face gently and tilts my head back as he kisses my lips, savoring me.
The coarseness of the starchy uniform slacks rubs against my clit, increasing the throbbing ache between my legs to a sharp pain.
I latch on to his neck to drag him closer, craving all of him at once.
My needy response steals over him with a hard shiver of restraint, then he’s grabbing my ass, fusing our bodies together. He hauls me off the desk with hardly any effort, only breaking the kiss to say, “I want you in that fucking chair.”
The guttural rasp of his voice scrapes along my skin like his brusque touch, his Irish accent bleeding through.
I wrap my legs around his waist, locked to him the way his inked puzzle pieces link together.
Uninhibited. Shameless. I grind against the hardness trapped in coarse pants that ignites my senses, loving the feel of his strained muscles as he carries me to the therapy room to make good on his claim.
He collapses in the patient chair with me straddling him. This is a sacrilege to my profession. I’m spitting in the face of my practice.
And it feels cathartic.
I clutch the headrest, my hair an unruly veil shielding us, as Grayson works my bra off to bare my breasts to him. He’s not gentle, nearly shredding the flimsy material with unfettered need.
And yet, the pressure isn’t enough. We’re too far apart still, and he grips the fleshy curves of my hips and forces me harder against his erection. Like starved and depraved animals, we tear at each other.
Never enough.
We communicate without words, on a carnal level. Whether we’re fighting or connecting. Challenging each other or submitting to our weaknesses. Conversing or fucking. None of it matters on a topical level—we delve deeper, exploring the cavernous abyss of our psyche, what some might call the soul.
For people with limited emotional range, this is a frenzy.
In a fit of emotive overload, Grayson could profess his love or kill me with an equal measure of indifference. Both would satisfy his overstimulated state, returning him to his comfort zone.
I could fear what I know he’s capable of—but I don’t. His intelligence suggests that he’d never chance a risk like he did today by coming here. He went against the grain of his nature in doing so. He’s here to reconnect, to feed the hunger that drives both of us toward an unknown destination.
It’s thrilling.
Frightening.
And neither one of us are capable of derailing this course now.
Once I jumped the tracks, I belonged to him, the same way exposing his innermost thoughts makes him mine. It’s more than trust—it’s dependence. We can no longer survive without each other.
Even in the face of discovery. Even with the threat of death.
Lydia would never survive this.
He’d devour her just as he’s devouring me now.
As Grayson ravishes my body, exposing his primal nature, craving my flesh—I feel powerful. He’s reduced the smartest people to idiots with his mind, and the feel of him losing control beneath me nearly brings me to climax.
His fingers drive into my hair, gripping at the roots to bare my neck so he can taste me. His stomach muscles flex under my touch as I feel my way down to the closure of his slacks. A sharp hiss lets me know that he’s just as wild with need as I am.
My heart thunders as I pull the clasp apart and yank his pants open. His unguarded thrusts work him free of his boxers, and I wrap my hand around his hard length, loving the way that one action twists his expression, creased with pleasure and pain.
His beautiful eyes flare with a silent challenge.
Lifting up, I slide my sex over his shaft, all the way up to the tip, my arousal drenching the smooth skin.