And then he bit down on my earlobe. His hands were all over me, my c**k, my ass, my n*****s—oh God, my n*****s—and my control was out the window.
“Like that, baby?” he growled.
I moaned and panted and gasped, and didn’t care a f**k what my reactions were revealing to the man who was the best the CIA’s rival agency had to offer. I needed the physical contact with his skin.
Skillful hands rubbed the nap of my sweater over my chest, stimulating my already sensitized n*****s, and my hips rocked against his groin, seeking some kind of relief. I would have cursed him if I could have caught my breath. But I couldn’t catch my breath. The blood to my brain had all gone south, and with it any higher brain functions. All my c**k knew was that it was rock hard, and it wanted to come.
Somehow he go
