Page 56 of The Devoted Game

The harder he pounded, the harder her stilettos scrambled for purchase on that slick surface. His movements grew frantic, his breathing more jagged. Finally—oh God!—he was losing it the way she had twice already.

He stopped mid-stroke. She wanted to scream. Her body throbbed for more.

He nibbled at her lips. “I do love those lips, Grace.”

“Move,” she ordered, shifting her hips, contracting those inner muscles with all her might.

He shuddered. “In a moment. But first.” He teased her lips with his own. “Just one more for the road.”

Confusion reigned for about two seconds, and then he caressed her where his penis already had her stretched so tight. Massaged and pressed until she felt herself coming all over again. Then he moved once more, in and out, slowly, making her breath catch, making her body convulse all the harder.

He started to come. Closed his eyes and worked it out, one measured stroke at a time.

Leaning into her, he kissed her lips tenderly as if he hadn’t just made her come three times.

He braced her weight against him until her feet were steady on the floor, then he withdrew. The sensation made her gasp, made her ache at the loss.

Stunned, bewildered, tingly, out of breath ... she felt all those things.

He pushed her skirt down her thighs, took the weapon from her hand and tucked it back into its holster. “You’d better go, Agent Grace.”

She nodded, uncertain of her voice.

Vivian slipped out the door, glanced around the room. The sight of the urinals hanging on the wall drove reality home. She had just had sex in a men’s bathroom. In a stall!

With McBride.

She strode out the door, thank God without encountering another person, and darted into the ladies’ room.

Her eyes rounded at the image in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. Her blouse was twisted.

“So, so stupid.”

She righted her clothes. Washed her hands. And smoothed her hair.

Pull it together. She couldn’t go back out there and face him if she didn’t.

Deep breath. It was just sex. No big deal. In an hour or so he would be gone and it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Except that it did matter.

He was leaving and this case wasn’t right.

There would be another email from Devoted Fan. And without McBride ...

She touched the holster at her waist. Where was her phone? The sound of metal bouncing on tile echoed in her head.

“Shit.” She had left it in the men’s room. Holding back the urge to run, she walked to the door.

McBride leaned against the wall between the two restrooms.

He held up her cell phone. “Looking for this?”

She snatched it from his hand. “Thanks.”

The phone vibrated against her palm. She jumped.

“I’ll catch up with Pratt.” McBride pushed off the wall and sauntered back to the table.