Page 73 of Agency

“Quiet,” he growled in my ear. “Unless you want me to stop.”

Moaning, practically whimpering, I shook my head as the pleasure continued to flood my body. No. No, I definitely didn’t want him to stop! Closing my eyes, leaning my head back, I began to move my fingers. To find his shirt and lift. To slide fingertips over his rock-hard abs, across the light dusting of hair.

“That’s better,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear, followed by his tongue as his fingers continued to slide in and out of me. “Good girl, Ambyr. Keep your slut mouth shut and let me work.”

He continued to play with me, and I was almost horrified to realize just how wet I actually was for him. I could hear his fingers pleasuring me, I was so hot and bothered! And I was only getting wetter and wetter as my fingers found his belt and began to work on his buckle!

I shuddered again as his thumb returned to my clit, my body trying desperately to hold off the coming orgasm.

But then, he took his hand away and began to slide fingers up my stomach as I unfastened his pants. Rough nails dragged across my midriff, making me moan louder into his gagging palm. Because no matter how much I knew I needed to hold off in order to bring him even deeper into my web, there also was the frustration of my own release looming over me. Teasing me, reminding me of how much I was enjoying myself, and how much I needed this orgasm after a long, awful day.

The fingers of my cuffed hands groped across the bulging cotton of his boxer briefs, tracing him beneath the taut cloth. They found the flap, slid within.

Another moan against his gagging hand as I wrapped my fingers around the heat and rigidity of him, and now he let out a groan as loud as my earlier one had been.

His moan, though, was deeper, more guttural and bass, and I could have sworn the bed shook with the force.

I began to stroke. Slowly, I worked myself up and down the full length of his cock. Stopping to gather his pre-cum, I spread the slick fluid over his sensitive head, before retracing my steps back down his shaft. Then back up again as I reacquainted myself with him.

His hips, then, began to move, to thrust into my bound hands.

My God was that hot! To feel him slowly losing control, even as he so carefully controlled me! His circling thumb sped up, and his fingers curled within me as I splayed myself wider for him.

“Please, Morgan,” I whimpered against his palm, my words coming out as muffled nonsense. “Please, please, please fuck me!”

Muffled, or not, my words weren’t nonsense to him. No, he one-hundred percent understood what I wanted, craved, and needed. And, as his lips leaned in closer, and his hips continued to thrust his cock into my stroking hands, I felt myself get closer and closer and closer as he circled my clit and fucked me with his fingers.

“No.”

I began to cum. Whole body contorting and the bed’s wooden voice groaning, I bucked as he held me back against his granite-like form. Spasming and moaning, the pure dirty pleasure pushed away all thoughts of the Agency being after me, of my imprisonment, of the fact that this was all supposed to be part of an escape plan.

“Quiet!” Morgan hissed, his hand tightening over my mouth. “You’re going to wake everyone up!”

But even his hand couldn’t contain my moans at the sudden loss of control and absolutely sense of release, and my deep-throated groans filled the room till I was sure I’d be heard outside.

And then… the bedroom door opened.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ambyr

Morgan was out of bed before my orgasm-addled brain could even fully register what was going on, and a long, dazed moment passed before I twisted around to get a better look at who was standing in the doorway.

From the open door, a rectangle of yellow light illuminated me. And now, as I looked back over my shoulder to see who had interrupted us, the sudden change in light levels blinded me. Instantly, Morgan and our mystery interloper both transformed into blurred shades.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Morgan said in a harsh, rasping whisper.

Silence from his friend. He stepped inside and eased the door shut behind him.

“She’s still cuffed, man,” Morgan said.

My vision already adjusting, the rough outline of Andrew were became discernible.

Oh, thank God it’s not Jericho.Andrew, with his seemingly perpetual grin and easy-go-lucky nature, I could handle. Of that I had no doubt.

Or, maybe not. Because the always grinning Andrew wasn’t grinning. No, instead he was dour-faced as he looked first to Morgan, then to me.

And now, here he was–arms crossed and jaw set–slowly approaching with measured, methodical steps.