He rolled onto his side and took his time, stroking toward her clitoris, gently fondling over her folds, always falling away before he touched where she needed. Every almost brought her to a higher level of need. “You are killing me.”
Her plea earned a nipping kiss, then Spiker stripped her underwear away. “Don’t rush me.”
Before her foggy thoughts managed a retort, he teased her clit. Her arousal slickened his toying fingers, stroking the tight bundle of nerves and spreading her folds like she was his plaything.
The tips of his fingers flirted at her opening. The pressure wasn’t enough, and she quaked with need.
“You are more than I imagined,” he whispered.
It was too much, needing his touch and words. A desperate cry caught in her throat. His thick, long fingers sank in. The relief was blinding, and then it was gone. Vanka opened her eyes, and Spiker locked her gaze, refusing to let go as he withdrew and plunged into her again and again. She couldn’t look away, only closing her eyes when he built her to a screaming orgasm that stole her sight again.
He was still, then careful and delicate, surrounding her in a hug that enveloped her soul.
She tugged on his shorts. “I need you inside of me.”
He studied her as if measuring her words. Because of what they did, the risks they took, the undercover roles they had played, they’d always known the unlikely, but not nonexistent, chance of intercourse—anything to stay alive.
They never had, but that hadn’t meant precautions hadn’t been taken in the course of their rather dangerous everyday life. She had an IUD. He’d had a vasectomy. They’d been open about partners, been careful and gotten tested, and neither had been with anyone else in some time. But knowing the facts wasn’t an agreement in their personal lives. She was asking for more than words: a fluid bond.
Vanka stilled. “What do you want?”
His forehead touched hers. “Everything.”
She hooked his shorts and tugged them over his muscular ass. The last of their clothes had fallen away. He was right. Everything between them had changed, and yet that wasn’t nearly enough. “I want all of you, too.”
Vanka gave herself to him, lifting and opening, asking for more. Spiker stroked his shaft, centering the thick crown of his cock to her canal. The stretching penetration and his blistering stare strangled her lungs. Vanka gasped and arched, finally pulling him in for more.
Spiker’s control snapped. Wild kisses consumed her breaths. His pinning body plunged deeper and harder until his rigid length was seated fully inside. He only paused to hoarsely whisper, “God.”
She agreed. A connection like this was proof there had to be a god.
He withdrew and thrust, deft and steady, like finding their pleasure was a requirement to live. Vanka tangled her legs up his thighs and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Orgasm plundered her, and he gave her just enough tenderness before fucking her into the next shoulder-biting climax. Her mind and body were pushed to the razor-thin edge of complete uselessness as he buried his cock deep, filling her with his hot, pulsating cum.
They collapsed in a tangle, gasping and clinging to each other. Vanka hadn’t known anything could be like Spiker. She squeezed his hand. Emotional tears threatened to fall. He was so much more than her partner or a man who fucked like he was king of the gods. Spiker had managed to touch her soul.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Three episodes into a Netflix binge, the hairs at the back of Spiker’s neck stiffened as he relaxed on the elevated deck, under a canopy umbrella that offered more shade than privacy. His sunglasses shielded his gaze, but his eyes jumped, searching for the incoming threat. Bingo.
A gleaming black GMC Yukon Denali had parked behind Vanka’s driveway, blocking in her Audi. Spiker didn’t need to see through the tinted windows to know who had arrived.
Buck stepped out of the air-conditioning and snarled at the heat. No wonder. The man had arrived as though he’d walked off a mafia movie set, wearing a three-piece suit, a glinting gold watch, and a pinkie ring. That was one hell of a look.
He marched toward Vanka’s front door. Sweat instantly glistened on his reddening face. Spiker paused his show and cursed. Was it too much to ask for a single day of relative normalcy? He wasn’t even asking for the suburbia-house-with-a-garden kind that Vanka had staked out, just a run-of-the-mill, no-GSI-guys-at-home type. Apparently, that was too much to hope for.
Spiker paused his show and, channeling mind over matter, pushed to his feet. “Hey. Back here.”
Buck pivoted on the sidewalk and glared. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I bet,” he muttered under his breath. It wasn’t worth his time to mention how he’d sensed an incoming headache before Buck shifted the Denali into park.
Buck cut across the yard. Spiker decided to be a good sport and meet his boss halfway. He sauntered into the afternoon sun, then ambled off the deck. Listening to a protective urge to hide the sanctity of Vanka’s gardens, he latched the fence gate at his back. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“What the hell are you wearing?” Deep lines creased Buck’s forehead, and his nostrils flared. “You look like a beach bum.”
“That was the look I was hoping for when I packed my bag.” Spiker smirked and hoped Buck read his demeanor as an unequivocal fuck-you. Then again, if he’d been on the beach, he would’ve missed out on the last few days with Vanka. If he’d quit instead of taking this assignment—
His stomach turned. He couldn’t picture any situation where things between them would’ve changed. Spiker cleared his throat. “But I’m here now. Your A-1 team player.”
Buck snorted and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Where’s Vanka?”
“Inside.”
“Smart woman,” he groused.
“No arguments there,” Spiker offered.
“Let’s get the hell into the air-conditioning.”
Spiker guided Buck from the driveway and retraced the path that Vanka had walked with Akira. Apprehension settled in his gut. The two visits weren’t coincidental. “I didn’t know you made house calls.”
“I didn’t know you did either,” Buck huffed, “but here we are.”
Spiker took the front porch stairs two at a time. If he were in Vanka’s situation, he’d want even a second’s worth of a heads-up. He opened the glass storm door and stepped in. “Guess who’s here?”
“Andy or Akira?”
“Neither. Buck.” Spiker held the glass door open and welcomed their boss in. “Come on in.”
“Jesus, shit, it’s hot outside,” Buck sputtered. “What level of Dante’s hell do you live in?”
Now that Buck was here? Gluttony? Greed? Violence? Fraud? Spiker grinned. “I must’ve missed the fire and putrid rain while I was out back.”
“Shut up.”
His grin deepened. That was probably the best decision he could make.
“Buck?” Vanka shuffled down the stairs, surprised. “Is there a problem?”
“An opportunity.” He shucked off the suit jacket and stepped into the dining room to toss it on the back of a chair. “You got anything to drink around here?”