Page 5 of Harris

I knew I’d signed up for this and all, getting together with a man like Nick Harris, but it still sucked.

“I know. But this is a big case. Huge.”

“You’re huge,” I joked, and then reached for Harris, pulling him to me using his cock as a handle. “Think you can go again? I need to stock up, if you’re leaving again already.”

“Jesus, woman. I’ve come twice in the last thirty minutes. Give a guy a minute to recuperate.” Yet, despite his protests, I felt him stirring a little.

“Can’t help it if I’m starved for your loving. You were gone for two weeks. Two weeks! That’s fourteen days without your dick. Fourteen days of my vibrator, which just doesn’t cut it.”

“You’re insatiable, babe.” He leaned against me, pressing me back against the wing, kissing me.

“Like you’re any better?” I asked.

Oh yeah, definitely stirring. I stroked some life into it.

“No, I’m not better. Can’t get enough of you. Never will, I don’t think.”

“So how about this time you bring me with you? I can help with the caseandkeep your bed warm.”

He was hard by this time. Still perched on the edge of the wing, I slid him home, wrapped my arms around his neck and a leg around his waist so he hit the angle I liked best. This time I did the work, grinding my hips on him.

Seriously, Nicholas Harris was a beast, an absolute animal. Insatiable, unstoppable, wickedly virile. I couldn’t have custom designed a better man to meet my own unquenchable sexual thirst if I’d tried.

“You’re not coming with me,” Nick said, cupping my tits in his hands.

“Yes I am.”

“No, you’re not. Holy hell, don’t stop. I’m close.”

“I’m so coming with you.” I kept doing what I was doing, rolling my hips with Nick’s cock buried deep. His thick shaft hit me just so, which meant he was making me come too. “And I’m coming, like right now. Oh god, that’s good. How can it get better every single time, no matter how many times we fuck?”

“I don’t know, but it does. Jesus, you feel good. So fucking good.” He held onto both my thighs now and took over the thrusting, pumping himself to climax for the third time, and me for the…fifth? Sixth? I’d lost count. “And you’re staying here. If whoever took Cleo Lonigan was willing and able to snatch her right out of their Malibu mansion in broad daylight, they’re at least reasonably professional and likely very dangerous. I’m not risking you.”

I let him pull free, holding onto his neck until he was out of me, and then I pressed my face into his chest. “I’m not staying here again, Nick. I’m just not. I’ve stayed back almost every mission. I want to go. I’m getting bored here.”

Nick paced away from me, running his hand through his hair in frustration. He jerked his jeans off the floor and shoved his feet into them, not bothering with underwear. Then he grabbed his boots off the floor, but didn’t put them on. Walking over to the control panel, he jabbed the button to open the bay doors, stopping it when they were open just wide enough to admit a body.

Paused in the opening. “Layla—god, you’re so fucking stubborn. I’m telling you, you can’t come on this one. I’ll bring you on the next one, I promise.”

I scooped up the bandoliers and draped them over my neck, snatched up the rifle, and followed him out of the barn. Once we were outside, he used the keypad on the outside to close and lock the doors, arming the alarm.

I stalked past him toward the house. “You say that now, that you’ll bring me on the next one. But you won’t. That one will be too dangerous, too. I’m not fucking helpless, Nick. Or have you forgotten Brazil?”

He was right on my heels, probably staring at my ass despite our disagreement. “No, I haven’t forgotten about fucking Brazil. My job is to keep you safe. Putting you in harm’s way is doing the exact opposite.”

I stopped in my tracks, spun around and jabbed a finger into his chest. “No, Nick, your job isnotto keep me safe. Your job is keep me happy and to love me. I love it here; I love being an information analyst. It’s challenging, and rewarding. It’s the best job I’ve ever had, and not just because it’s with you. But I’m fuckingbored.I don’t need you to babysit me, to keep me shut up in the compound like some fainting daisy prima donna. I can hold my own and take care of myself, and you fucking know it. I can be an asset…Iaman asset.”

Nick snarled, a rare expression of extreme frustration and anger. “We’re not having this conversation right now, Layla.” He shoved past me and into the kitchen via the back door. I followed him.

And, of course, who should be sitting at our kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee but Puck Lawson. Five-nine, barely, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in breadth. He was built like a wrestler, barrel-chested, arms thick as my thighs—which, let me tell you, is fuckingthick.Trim waist, quads so massive it was ridiculous. Bald as an egg, naturally swarthy skin tanned darker by the sun, and sporting a black beard so long and thick it spread across his chest. Gimlet, intelligent brown eyes that never missed a thing. He reminded me of one of the dwarves fromThe Hobbit, actually, and not at all in a comical way. He was dangerous. Liked to drink a little too much, and liked to fight when he drank. Liked to gamble, and won more than he lost. Quick with his fists, quick with comebacks, and quicker yet with a trigger. I’d seen him perform feats of sharpshooting that shouldn’t be possible, pinging a nail head with a handgun from seventy yards, one-handed, without even really trying. Of course, his skill with firearms was tertiary to his real talent: forensics. He had a Ph.D. in forensic science, actually, which came after a tour of duty in Iraq, and eight years as a special agent with the FBI before being lured away by Harris with the promise of a massive salary and a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy regarding Puck’s wild ways.

Puck liked his women, too. I’d seen him down in town on several occasions with more than one woman on his arm, and never the same one twice. And now he was in my kitchen. The men weren’t allowed in our home, as a general rule. When Nick was home, I was naked more often than not, either post-fuck or ready for another round. Which meant the guys stayed out.

Because of situations like this. I hadn’t bothered to arrange the bandoliers at all, so they were all just hanging around my neck, not covering diddly-squat. And Puck being Puck, he wasn’t shy about staring.

I scooted over to hide behind Nick. “Puck, what the hell are you doing in here?”

He grinned over the rim of his coffee mug. “Waiting for the boss.” He gestured at Nick with the mug.