“Fuck,” he hisses. “Oh my god.”
I massage him as I suck, taking hold of the base of his shaft as I slowly slide my mouth back up his cock. I’m so fucking pleased with myself when his eyes literally roll back into his head. I watch his stomach muscles flex and contract as I lick and suck at him. He seems to oscillate between trembling uncontrollably and then becoming completely paralyzed as I work my mouth up and down, making sure to take him as deep as I possibly can every time. Jamie makes a frustrated, rumbling sound that has me shivering down to my toes.
I don’t think it’s possible for him to get any harder, but somehow he manages it. I know when he begins to thrust into my mouth that he’s getting close. I squeeze the base of his cock hard as his movements grow faster, more labored. I know all too well what that will do to him; he swears again, growling through his gritted teeth, and then he’s roaring as he comes, his legs shaking as he tries to remain upright.
I never knew what it was like to almost reach orgasm simply because you made someone else come. Not until I met Jamie. I swallow every last drop as he pours himself into my mouth, and I feel myself glowing. I eventually let him go, and Jamie drops to his knees in front of me, scrubbing his face with his hands.
“I swear you’re going to kill me one of these days,” he tells me.
“I hope not.”
Jamie blows out a deep breath and grins at me. He plants a kiss on my forehead, and then takes me in his arms, pulling me over so that I fall on top of him as he sags to the floor. We end up in a pile of tangled limbs, my head resting on his chest, and we lay there for a moment, both breathing hard, Jamie’s heart hammering beneath my ear. For a split second, everything is perfect. There is no Hector Ramirez. My father isn’t being held hostage. Agent Denise Lowell has crawled back under whichever rock she came from.
There’s nothing.
There’s nothing but me and Jamie, and the beautiful ring he just put on my finger, and everything is perfect. I know it can’t be this way forever, but for now it’s more than enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
REBEL
Honestly, I didn’t think she would say yes. I mean, why the fuck would she? Doesn’t make any sense. Things would be so much easier for Sophia if she packed up her shit and went back to Seattle. Well, maybe not Seattle given Ramirez’s interest in her, but somewhere else. Somewhere I couldn’t find her. She surprised me when she agreed to my proposal, but then again Sophia regularly surprises me, almost on a daily basis. I didn’t expect her to want to prospect for the Widow Makers, and I sure as shit didn’t expect her to stick with it once I gave her the green light. Being a prospect is basically bullshit. She’s had to babysit drunk bikers, clean up their puke, stand watch outside while deals are going down, cook breakfast every morning, clean the clubhouse, and put up with every sexist remark under the sun while she’s been wearing that prospect cut, and yet she hasn’t complained. Not once.
Maybe the guys have gone easy on her since I made it clear they were to show her respect, but still. Being a prospect is fucking terrible. I definitely wouldn’t want to do it.
I find myself grinning like a fucking tool as Soph pulls up next to me outside Julio’s compound. She yanks her gloves off her hands, and Mom’s engagement ring flashes in the sunlight, sending fractured rainbows dancing in all directions. She catches me looking at it there on her left hand and slaps me on the arm.
“Focus. We’re about to walk into the lion’s den. You can’t be smirking like the Cheshire cat.”
She’s right. Julio will probably see it as a sign of weakness or possible insanity if I go in there looking like this. It takes me all of ten seconds to master my expression into one appropriate for the situation. All I need to do is remember why we’re here, after all, and my smile suddenly feels like it’s land sliding off my face to be replaced with a stern, downturned grimace.
“That’s more like it.” Soph swings her leg over her bike, climbing off, and I do the same. Julio’s men are slowly approaching the gate to the compound, assault rifles butted up against their shoulders, dark eyes fierce and pissed off. Sophia tenses at the sight of the weapons, but her reaction is barely noticeable. I only note the way her shoulders rise a little because I know her so well. To an outsider or a stranger, she would appear to be completely at ease. Her poker face is phenomenal.
“What the fuck you doing here?” a tall, skinny guy yells over to us. “This is private property.”
He’s obviously new. The three other men that are with him, guns also raised, snicker at his expense. One of them whispers, “That’s Rebel, man. The Widow Maker.” The tall guy in the middle squints at me, as if he was expecting someone more impressive.