63. Mandy
MANDY
He takes the first dirt road he finds.
Or knowing Hendricks, the first dirt road he’s already vetted for visibility, traffic patterns, and potential sniper positions.
Whatever. I’m too turned on to care.
The truck disappears between the pines, and every second he keeps driving makes it worse. My pulse is racing. My skin feels too tight. I can’t stop looking at his hands on the wheel.
Those fucking hands—steady, controlled, and completely at odds with the muscle ticking in his jaw.
There’s only one place I want those hands right now—between my legs. I press my thighs together.
Doesn’t help.
I clear my throat. “How far are we going?”
“Far enough.”
His voice is gravelly, the way it gets when he’s in me.
Jesus. That doesn’t help either.
He drives another minute before pulling into a small clearing screened by trees.
The truck stops.
The engine dies.
Hendricks doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
Suddenly the cab feels very small.
He turns his head. One look at his face and every smart-ass thing I planned to say evaporates. That control I’ve been poking at for the last twenty minutes? Gone.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then comes back to my eyes. “You wanted me to pull over.”
I nod. “Yes.”
His gaze holds mine. “Why?”
There are any number of answers I could give him.
Because Monday is coming too fast.
Because Ashford is waiting.
Because Clara is running out of time.
Because underneath all my jokes and swagger, there’s a tiny voice reminding me this plan could go spectacularly fucking wrong.
But none of those are the answer. Not right now.
Right now, I want the man sitting beside me so badly I can barely stay still.
So I unbuckle my seat belt and lean toward him. “Because I’m done thinking.”
His eyes darken. “And?”
Of course he makes me say it. Fucking Hendricks. “I want you.”
Something in his expression changes.
Then he reaches for me.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck, pulling me across the console. His mouth crashes into mine—hard, possessive, claiming. I kiss him back just as fiercely, my hands fisting in his shirt.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing hard. "I agreed to the plan," he says.
"I know."
"But you need to promise me something."
I tense. "What?"
"No crazy shit." His eyes lock on mine. "You follow the operational boundaries. You don't go off script. You don't take unnecessary risks."
I look at him suspiciously. "Define unnecessary."
"Mandy."
"I'm serious.” I sit back, but my hands are still wrinkling his shirt. “What counts as unnecessary when we're using me as bait?"
His grip tightens on my neck. "You know what I mean."
I do. He means don't be reckless. Don't throw myself into danger just because I can. Don't treat my life like it's disposable.
"I'm not going to be passive," I say. "Or helpless."
"I'm not asking you to be."
I tip my head, considering him. "Then what are you asking?"
"I'm asking you to stay alive." His voice drops. "I'm asking you to come back to me."
The urgency in his voice stops me cold. I hear everything he doesn’t say, and for a a second I don’t know what to do with it. Something in my chest cracks open, and I can’t find my words. Normally I’d make a joke, but I can’t do anything except whisper, “Okay.”
"Okay?"
I nod, swallowing thickly. "I promise. No crazy shit."
He studies my face, searching for the lie.
He won't find one—I mean it.
"Good," he finally says, pulling me in for a kiss.
It’s slower this time. Deeper. Like he's memorizing the taste of me.
When he pulls back, his hand slides down my body. "Get out of the truck."
I blink. "What?"
"Passenger side. Now."
He leaves no room to argue—not that I want to anyway. I climb out, my boots hitting the dirt. The air is cold, sharp with pine and the faint smell of rain. The clearing is silent except for the wind in the trees.
Hendricks comes around the front of the truck.
He doesn't say anything—he just backs me up against the open passenger door, his hands on my hips, his body caging me in.
"What are you—"
"Quiet." His mouth finds my throat, and I gasp. He kisses down the column of my neck, his teeth scraping lightly.
Jesus—I feel like I could come from just that. My hands come up to grip his shoulders. "Hendricks—"
"I said quiet."
A shiver runs through me, and I clamp my mouth shut. Bossy Hendricks should probably piss me off. It really, really doesn’t.
His eyes meet mine. He knows exactly what that did to me.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I whisper. “This was my idea.”
One eyebrow lifts.
Right. Quiet.
His hands move to the waistband of my pants as he drops to his knees in the dirt.
I stare down at him, my heart pounding. "What are you doing?"
He looks up at me, his eyes hot and hungry. "What does it look like?"
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He pulls my pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving them pooled around my ankles. He grips my hips, holding me in place. "Spread your legs."
I do, as much as I can with my pants constricting me.
His mouth is on me before I can process it.
"Fuck." The word tears out of me as his tongue licks into my pussy, slow and deliberate. He groans against me, the vibration sending shock waves up my spine.
He's not gentle.
He's ravenous.
His fingers bruise my thighs, holding me open as he devours me. His tongue circles my clit, then flicks over it with perfect pressure. He sucks me into his mouth, the pressure almost painful for just a moment, before releasing me and then taking me back with a deeper, hungrier pull.
My hands rake into his hair, holding on, holding him closer. "Adrian."
He doesn't stop—thank fuck.
One hand slides up to press against my lower belly, keeping me still as his mouth works me over. I can feel the scrape of his stubble against my inner thighs, the heat of his breath, the relentless rhythm of his tongue.
I'm going to come. Already. I whimper—I don’t want to come yet. This is too good.
I tug his hair. "Wait."
He pulls back just enough to speak. "No."
His mouth is on me again, like he can’t get enough. Like he’s determined to learn every inch of my pussy. Like he wants to know what’ll make me shudder, what’ll make me groan for him. Like I’m the most delicious treat he’s ever tasted.
Like I’m his personal donut.
He bites my clit and then sucks on it as he flicks it with his tongue.
And I detonate. The orgasm slams into me, sharp and overwhelming. I cry out, my hands pulling his hair as my body shakes.
He keeps licking me. I'm gasping and trembling, and he doesn’t stop.
Instead, he pushes two fingers into me.
"Fuck," he rumbles against my skin. "So fucking wet for me."
He crooks his fingers, finding that spot inside that makes my entire body go rigid. His mouth returns to my clit, and now he's working me with both—fingers thrusting in a relentless rhythm while his tongue circles and flicks.
"No." Gasping, I try to pull away while I’m yanking him closer by his hair.
"Come for me again." His voice is pure command. "I want to feel it, Amanda."
"Oh Jesus." I arch back. I could come just from the way he says my name.
He licks me, sucks, and then licks again. His fingers pump steadily, firmly. "Just like that," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak. "All that fucking attitude, and this is what you do when I touch you."
Legs shaking, I slap my hand onto the car, clinging for dear life.
“You know what I’ve figured out?” His tongue swipes over me. A hint of a smile curves his lips as I whimper. “You’re only unpredictable until I touch you.”
To prove his point, he pulls his fingers out and adds a third one.
“Oh fuck,” I moan. I try to move my legs wider, wanting more, wanting him to crawl inside me—this isn’t enough—but my pants keep me bound. Or maybe that’s Hendricks.
He chuckles as if he can hear my thoughts. “I know you now. Every look, every sound, every fucking tell.” His mouth seals around my clit with devastating pressure.
The sensation is too much, too intense, too fucking good. I cry out. I'm already oversensitive from the first orgasm, and he knows it. Of course he fucking knows it.
I try to hold on, make him work for it.
He doesn’t give me the chance. Pleasure punches through me so hard my back bows. His name rips out of me, my hips jerking against his hand as I come apart.
Fuck.
So much for unpredictable.
He doesn't stop until I’m boneless against the car door, every nerve still humming. He pulls back, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.
“Filthy,” I breathe.
His mouth curves.
And somehow, I know we’re nowhere near done.