Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(52)
And here she’d thought her mouth had gone dry before.
His jaw clenched. “Baby, when you look at me that way . . . ” Instead of finishing the sentence, he ripped open the condom and rolled it on. Planting one hand against the table on each side of her, he settled between her legs, nudged her open, and slowly entered her, inch by inch.
Her nails scraped against the wood table as she moaned, feeling incredibly, exquisitely filled. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he began to move, slowly at first, letting her get used to him. Then he began to take her harder, the table creaking rhythmically as he pounded in and out of her.
“You feel so f*cking incredible,” he rasped.
“Yes. Just like that.” She closed her eyes, letting go for the first time in what felt like forever, forgetting all about the break-in, and her panic issues, and everything else, and focusing only on the pleasure of the moment, the strong, cocky, annoying, gorgeous man who was driving her wild as his fantastic cock thrust in and out of her, so goddamn skillfully and rough and hard and perfect that she could scream.
He slowed his pace just as she started the climb to her orgasm.
No.
“Open your eyes, Victoria,” he said in a guttural voice. “Look at me.”
She did, and saw his blue eyes blazing heatedly down into hers.
He moved in slow, smooth, dominant strokes, holding her right at the edge.
“Ford.” She tightened her legs around his waist, trying to get the friction she needed.
He skimmed a hand possessively up her stomach and between her breasts. “You should see how beautiful you look right now.” He leaned forward, and shifted the angle of his hips. “Come on my cock. I want to feel it.”
She dug her nails into his shoulders, crying out as she came. His swore under his breath and grabbed her legs, pinning her against the table as his hips flexed and he pounded into her, faster and harder, until he groaned, all the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining beautifully tight as he shuddered and slowly came to a stop and finally collapsed on top of her.
Neither of them said anything for several moments as they caught their breath.
“I think I might actually be bleeding,” he finally said against her breasts.
She laughed—oops—as he pushed up and looked over his shoulder. There were indeed several red scratches from her nails, but no blood.
She smiled cheekily. “Well, you did say that you wanted to feel it.”
When he grinned down at her, looking all flushed and tousled and adorably sexy, she felt a fluttering in her stomach.
“That’s not a game you want to play right before I carry you into my bedroom for round two, Ms. Slade.”
Liquid heat spread low across her stomach. “I didn’t say there would be a round two.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, his voice husky and wicked. “You didn’t say there wouldn’t.”
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, feeling deliciously sore and exhausted, Victoria climbed out of Ford’s bed.
Digging around in the darkness, she found her sandals on the opposite end of the room, and her skirt in the doorway where Ford had peeled it off of her. Out in the living area, she collected her bra, shirt, and torn underwear, all of which were strewn haphazardly around the table.
After getting dressed, she went back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Ford slept on his back, one arm thrown over his head.
She reached up and gently smoothed back the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “I’m heading back to my place,” she said, when he opened his eyes.
He blinked and pushed up onto his elbows. “You don’t want to stay?”
“I have to work tomorrow. You know how it is.”
“Sure. Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it all stand on end.
A few moments later, she shut his front door and walked down the hallway to her own place. She smiled to herself, thinking that someone had indeed looked well-sexed after their evening together.
Good.
Eighteen
FORD SPENT FRIDAY morning at his desk, fueled by coffee while furiously writing a follow-up piece about Darryl Moore and the probation department. And this time, the gloves were off.
He skewered the department for their incompetence in losing track of convicts, and for repeatedly overlooking curfew violations and crimes committed by offenders while on probation. The problem, he wrote, went way beyond Darryl Moore. By cross-checking the department’s files against arrest records, he’d found several other examples of offenders who’d fallen through the cracks, including a car thief who’d skipped mandatory meetings with his probation officer before shooting and killing a fifteen-year-old, and a sexual predator who’d broken curfew seventeen times—without repercussion from the probation department—before raping a thirteen-year-old girl.
. . . records reveal a systemic failure to monitor felons under the department’s supervision. . . . County Board president Robert Samuels said that the probation department is “understaffed and in dire need of increased funding.” . . . Acting Chief Probation Officer Reece Meisner acknowledged that mistakes have been made. . . . According to one inside source, the department has lost track of “innumerable convicted felons” within the county. . . .
About twenty minutes after he e-mailed the story off, his managing editor called him into his office.