She presses on my vein from the base of my shaft to the tip then rubs pre-cum around it.
“Gia,” I moan.
Her hand strokes me faster.
She’s going to make me come.
Her lips move to my ear. She quietly asks, “Can we start with vanilla and move later to Neapolitan?”
5
Gia
He can’t be a Twisted Heart.
There is no proof he isn’t.
He’s not.
All night, I fight my demons. But the temptations of Connor win every time.
And I can’t even blame him. He’s not pressured me to do anything I haven’t wanted. All night, he’s only put me first.
Just like the previous night.
There isn’t anything I’ve learned about Connor I don’t like.
Except he hangs out with Fisher.
Why? He’s not anything like Fisher.
It’s the plaguing question I can’t figure out.
I shouldn’t have told him I would stay.
I shouldn’t have come on him in the hot tub.
I shouldn’t have jacked him off in the cabana.
But I did. I can’t help myself. He’s like a magnet I’m attached to, and I can’t let go.
And I don’t want to.
Before I thought about ramifications, I asked him if we could do vanilla and move into Neapolitan.
Neapolitan. I don’t even know what it means. My limited experience has been what I’m assuming is vanilla, and the games I play with targets don’t ever go too far.
He’s still a target.
He’s innocent.
It’s not against the rules.
It’s against your rule.
The night air gets colder. “Let’s go upstairs,” Connor says.
I don’t object or question it. I allow him to guide me upstairs.
“Do you want a T-shirt?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He opens a drawer and picks one from the bottom. “This is the softest one I have.”
My heart flutters every time he does anything nice for me. Which is pretty much every other minute I’m with him. “Thanks.” I drop my towel then release my bra and underwear while he watches me with heat in his eyes.
He pulls fresh boxers out of the dresser then drops his damp ones with his backside to me. He quickly puts the new pair on.
His ass is all muscle.
My body throbs, and when he spins, he catches me watching him, and his lips turn up.
Pulling back the covers, he motions for me to get in and slides in next to me, scooping me up close to his body.
He kisses my forehead. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Red.”
“Dark or bright red?”
“Bright.”
“Like your dress from last night?”
“Yes.”
“You’re smoking hot in red.”
My heart skips a beat.
“But you’re hot in anything, I bet.”
More flutters.
“What’s your favorite flower?”
“I don’t like flowers.”
“Why?”
“They die,” I blurt out.
Change the subject.
“What’s your favorite color?” I ask.
“Blue.”
“Which blue?”
“Turquoise like the ocean.”
“That’s the best color of the ocean.”
“Makes me feel happy.”
I trace my fingers on his jaw. “What else makes you happy?”
He hesitates for a moment then says, “You seem to.”
My heart beats faster.
He twirls a lock of my hair in his fingers. “What makes you happy?”
“I don’t know.” I focus on the wall as my face grows hotter.
Ever since my family died, happiness isn’t something I’ve experienced. But in the last two days, being with Connor, I have been happy. Not a fabricated happy but a real one. It hits me like a slap in the face.
Connor gently turns my face. “Why don’t you know? A woman like you can have anything you want.”
No, I can’t. Nothing will bring back my family.
I tear up and will myself to stop, not sure what is happening. I’m a trained spy and been taught how to stop or fake emotions.
Connor frowns and quickly puts both hands on my cheeks. “Hey, tell me what’s upsetting you.”
I’m too choked up to speak.
Connor’s eyes widen. Gently, he kisses my tears. But the nicer he is to me, the more emotional I become. Any control Interpol taught me no longer exists, and I begin to sob.
He sits up and pulls me into his arms, cradling my head in his chest and kissing it over and over.
“Tell me what’s wrong?”
I keep shaking my head.
He holds me tighter. Eventually, I stop sobbing.
“Gia, did someone hurt you?” Connor quietly asks.
I lie. “No.”
“Gia—”
“I’m sorry. I should go,” I tell him.
He pulls me down to the bed. “No.”
“But—”
“No,” he sternly says again and kisses me softly. “Don’t run from me, Gia.”
I take a shaky breath. “Okay.”
He rolls over, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me. “Close your eyes.”
Sneak out when he falls asleep.
This is too far. He’s a target. You need to have another girl infiltrate him.
I do as he says, but my plan fails. I fall into the first deep sleep I’ve had since my family died.
I wake up in Connor’s arms, his erection pressing into my lumbar, and his fingers stroking my outer thigh. My pulse throbs, and my sex is already wet. I don’t even think about how he’s a target. It’s just Connor and me.
“You smell just as good in the morning as at night.” His deep voice fills my ear. His digits inch around my thigh.
I roll into him, full of flutters.
“Good morning.” He kisses me while moving his digits closer to my sex.
My legs widen and hands slide through his hair.
“I want to make you come all morning. Can I?”
I gasp as he brushes my inner thigh, sending zings straight to my core.
“Hmmm?” His eyebrows arch.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He removes my shirt and swallows hard while focusing on my breasts. “Gorgeous,” he mumbles, tracing my curves before dipping his head.
My nipples pebble as he diligently licks them. His finger slides into my sex, and I clench around him.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
He sucks on my breasts and lightly scrapes them with his teeth. His thumb slides up to my clit and circles while he drives deeper into me.
I haven’t been touched in so long. No one has gotten close enough. And this is further than I let any target go. Heat swelters in my nerves, adrenaline ricochets in my cells, and I violently shatter under him within seconds.
“Connor,” I cry out, and he lifts his head and consumes my mouth. I grip him and slide my hands down his back, palming his ass under his shorts.
The warmth of his flesh, swipe of his tongue, and safety of his arms bring me to life. And the hollow darkness I’ve felt for so long disappears.
A desire I’ve never known stirs in my core and expands furiously. “I need you, Connor,” rolls out of my mouth.