My breath is coming faster. The picture that he draws for me, the images that his words produce, rocket through my body like a physical touch. I gasp for air, both fighting and welcoming the tension that’s building from his touch, spreading from his slippery erection. It’s like a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, even thought and reason.
“Would you like that?” he asks, dipping his tongue into my mouth, dragging the flavor of my own essence with it. He presses just the tip of himself into my opening, quickly withdrawing, tormenting me mercilessly. My body clutches at him, begging him to satisfy my need.
I squeeze my eyes shut, searching desperately for some kind of control where none can be found. Sig brings me to the brink, balancing me there without allowing me to go over. Teasing me. Tantalizing me. Driving me mad with want.
A knock on the door brings an abrupt halt to his play. Sig stiffens on top of me, going perfectly still, perfectly quiet. Our eyes meet, panic in mine, aggravation in his. I only feel more alarm that he doesn’t take this seriously, that he doesn’t take Lance seriously. It’s almost as though he doesn’t fear him at all, which is ludicrous.
My heart is pounding, so hard my vision is throbbing with the pulse of it. Sig places a finger over my lips and shakes his head once. He doesn’t have to worry about me keeping quiet. My vocal cords are frozen.
He eases off me, grabbing my clothes from the floor–I’m not even sure how they got there–and handing them to me, as though he hasn’t a care in the world. He bends to kiss my stomach, my breast and my lips before he moves to slide his jeans on over his lean hips.
As he zips up, he runs a hand through his hair and grins down at me. I’m balking, of course. And terrified, but I’m not so terrified that I fail to notice the masculine perfection that is Sig. He’s magnificent.
His shoulders are a mile wide, his chest lightly dusted with hair. His long arms are exquisitely shaped, like Michelangelo lovingly carved each one muscle out of flawless granite. His stomach is a stair step of strength, his hips trim and narrow. And his legs…God help me, they’re thick and powerful and I can still see his massive erection straining against his zipper.
“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I might hurt whoever’s at the door.”
His voice is soft and amused, meanwhile my panic returns full force.
I sit up, scrambling for some amount of calm to aid me in digesting this horrific situation.
“What if it’s Lance? Or Barber?” I ask, standing on the bed and pulling on my panties and jeans. Sig watches me, in no hurry to move, his dark eyes sizzling with desire, burning me everywhere they touch. “Stop that! We have to think,” I snap.
He has the audacity to grin. “Don’t get so excited. If it’s any of them, I’ll just say that I walked to your house to check on you and you insisted that I drive your car back. That sounds like something you’d do.”
My chest is heaving as I mull over his train of thought. Then I realize that he’s right. This doesn’t have to be a disaster.
“Okay. That sounds good. Do that.”
He laughs quietly and reaches forward to pull me into his arms, kissing me nearly senseless. I’m more than a little dazed when he lets me go. “Maybe I will.”
I watch him leave, taking in his confident posture and delicious butt. I have to shake my head to clear it before I finish dressing, concentrating on my hands not shaking any worse.
I hear low voices, but none that I recognize. I creep to the window and stick just the tip of one finger in the edge of the miniblind and pull it away from the glass only enough for me to get a quick peek. A guy I’ve never seen before is standing on the walk talking to a shirtless Sig. Only when I see the stranger smile do I relax and take a seat on the bed to wait for Sig to come back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO- SIG
Although Finch’s timing leaves much to be desired, it actually works out well so that we can talk outside.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Fine as hell until you showed up.”
Finch grins, his rusty-red eyebrows shooting up as he cups his hands over his mouth to light a cigarette. He takes a couple of puffs before commenting. “I sure as shit hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I’ve got this. Don’t worry about my end. How’s it going with you?”
He shrugs, turning to stand shoulder to shoulder with me as he casually surveys the street, picking out a stray piece of tobacco from his mouth and flicking it to the ground. “I hope something pans out. I’m not making much headway. Tonin’s got his trusted guys and the rest of us just don’t get told shit. Just the basics.”
“What about that warehouse?”
Finch shakes his shaved head. “Tellin’ us he’s converting it into a few studio apartments. Total bullshit, but…whatever. Keeping an eye on it anyway.”
“I’ll get something from my end. Don’t worry.”
Finch’s eyes flicker down my bare chest and back up. “Looks like you’re working your…angle pretty damn hard.”
I can’t stop my big grin. Before Finch showed up, I was very, very happy with how things were progressing on my end.
“Nothing stands between a Locke and his job.”
“His blow job, you mean?”
I fake punch Finch in the gut. He reacts by shrinking his abdomen away. “Oh-ho-ho! Getting slow, old man.”
“You wish, puppy.” He flips his half-smoked cigarette into the grass and exhales a cloud of smoke away from me. “Don’t forget to check your messages, man. They copied me on the files you requested. Some pretty interesting stuff in there. Turns out your sweet ‘contact’ has a not-so-sweet rap sheet.”
I frown. “I already checked her rap sheet. It’s clean.”
Finch’s eyes narrow on me. “Maybe hers is, but the sealed one’s not.”
“Hmmm,” is my only response.
“Be safe, man,” Finch says, holding up his fist. I bump it with my own. “I gotta roll. Big party tonight. Criminal ballroom blitz.”
“I’ll keep doing what I’m doing,” I say.
Finch nods and throws back over his shoulder, “Hey, seriously man, check your email before you go playing in that pond too much.” With that, he climbs in his car and drives away.
What did he see in that damn file?
I head back inside, closing and locking the door behind me. I’m anxious as hell to get back to my play date. I know, however, when I find Tommi perched nervously on the end of the bed, fully dressed and picking at her fingernails, that playtime is officially over.