Walking out of the holding cell and catching another glimpse of Dom made him want to hug the man on the spot. Instead, he grunted, “Thanks.”
“No prob, Mr. Bournham. Glad to help.” Like gravel rolling through molasses, Dom's voice seemed eerily impossible to push through vocal chords, yet the effect was mesmerizing. Even the cops froze in place, just staring. “When your phone cut out with a crunch, I knew something was wrong.” His glare could peel paint, and he aimed it at the officer processing Mike's paperwork. Goosebumps appeared on the cop's forearm, though he didn't look up.
“Here you go. You're free, Mr. Jones.” The tiniest of eyebrow twitches from Dom told Mike he would be asked the rarest of questions from his chauffeur. One of the many privileges of wealth – and power – he had learned was that of privacy. Enough money, enough connections, and you could make anything go away.
Add in a touch of illegal activity, and someone like Dominic could make a person go away. Never one to touch that, Mike simply took the guy at face value. He was a good bodyguard/chauffeur, and this mess – the one time Mike had found himself in trouble with the law, ever – proved Dom was a loyal, good guy.
Mike would pay, though. Somehow, some day.
All thanks to Lydia.
“Hey, Dom,” he asked as they climbed into a rented Suburban. “Can you find someone's personal phone number?”
“Can Tom Brady throw a pass?”
Mike chuckled. “Lydia Charles. I need her cell number. She works for me, so it should be in company records.”
“Consider it done, Mr. Jones.” The closest muscle movement Dom had to a smirk flittered across his thick, wrinkled lips.
Ha ha,” Mike mumbled. “Touché.”
Mike leaned back against the tan leather and took a deep breath. Urine. Bernie's masterpiece was still dried into his hair. Dom's nostrils began to twitch, and Mike opened his mouth to explain.
Nope. He was done managing and explaining and protesting and adjusting.
Time to get back to being in charge.
And that would start with one phone call.
Chapter Ten
Mike put his hands under Lydia's shirt as they kissed, fingers and palms gently caressing her back. “Your skin is so soft,” he whispered into her mouth and she helped him to slide the blouse up over her head and toss it onto a nearby chair. She could see the waiting bed over his shoulder, but there was no rush. Dreaming of this moment for too long meant that it was better to let it unfold slowly, his hot hands burning her breasts, beading her nipples, sending a trail of fire to her soaked pussy.
She followed his example, her fingers deftly undoing each of his buttons in turn, working her way down, the backs of her hands brushing against his tight chest and muscled abdomen. When the shirt fell off him and landed at her feet, she couldn't resist stealing a glance down at his magnificent upper body, lithe and tanned, muscles rippling as he slid his hands back up to her bra clasp and the white softness of her breasts burst forth onto his chest like heavy cream splashing onto a bronze platter.
And then she stared brazenly, as if it were all hers. Mine, she thought. Mine for now. Perhaps – she hoped, mine forever.
She didn't stop there. As his fingers pebbled her nipples and his tongue explored hers, her hands continued on, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, sliding across tight flesh and finding his even-tighter cock, ready and throbbing, needing to be in her. Soon enough, yes. For now, she wanted to hold him in her hand and to exert control over his deep pleasure. He groaned and kissed her urgently, his hands practically tearing off her remaining clothes and also his own, realizing she had struck a nerve.
So much for the slow unfolding.
Mike's strong arms picked her up almost effortlessly and laid her down on the warm bed, pouring himself next to her and looking into her eyes with a little smile. He inventoried her curves with eyes and hands that seemed to make a map of her body in his mind, cock leaping as she sighed when he brushed her mons. So open, so free – so bold, his willingness to look and explore made her momentarily self-conscious, but the desire in his eyes wiped all that away. He kissed her ear, jaw, neck and breasts, lingering there for some time, the feeling almost unbearably good and triggering a clenched build-up in her clit that screamed for release, until he seemed to remember himself and his mouth and tongue resumed their progress down her stomach and straight into her womanhood.
Where she needed him most.
She moaned with pleasure and gratitude, her hands finding his shoulders and neck and hair as he roamed her body, caressing her hips, thighs, stomach and the space between her breasts, a valley of goodness and passion. He sighed deeply, the sound telling her that he was not just giving pleasure to her body, but also receiving almost as much pleasure from it. If such a thing were possible.
Until this moment it had always only been her body. But now it was also his, and she wanted him to do with it—
Wait, what was that sound? The doorknob turned and slowly opened, revealing Jeremy, who stood there openly looking at them, a broad grin on his face. Tousled brown waves and intense brown eyes lasered in on the two nude bodies, entwined in each other and the bed clothes, a vulnerable, private sight. He removed his shirt and pants, rushing to join their naked state, tall and lean and ready for anything. She caught a glimpse of his dimpled ass and practically swooned, her juices flowing into the mouth of Mike, who was not objecting and had simply resumed going down on her as if his friend's presence were the norm.
Words and action escaped her as she melted into Mike's mouth and Jeremy's hands started stroking her from behind. She imagined both of them making love to her at the same time and she almost came right on the spot, nearly pushed over the edge by the lush precision and timing of Mike's tongue flicking back and forth over her nub as Jeremy's mouth covered her breast and his hand stroked her ass.
Mike continued loving her clit, driving her crazy, tongue lightly playing against her now and bringing her ever closer to the edge. She could smell them both and also herself, one hand in Jeremy's hair as he licked her breast, the other in Mike's hair as he savored her pussy. There were two beautiful men loving her body and it was too much, way more than one woman could withstand, but still she wanted more and more.
And more.
Now Mike moved up to kiss her and she could taste herself again. Jeremy's hand slid down to her clit and she thrust her hips hungrily forward to meet it. He started licking her ear, Mike pinching her nipple with his fingers and Jeremy's hand stroking her hair. Both men were reaching down to her pussy with their long arms and she could no longer tell whose fingers were inside her and whose were teasing her clit. “Oh, my God, don't stop,” she moaned.
Jeremy looked down at her. “You're so beautiful,” he said.
Mike stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes. “I've wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”
“We both have.”
Lydia could feel tears streaming down her face. “How can this be?”
The two men exchanged a puzzled glance, and Mike said, “How could it not be?”
It seemed to Lydia that she was smiling with her entire body. She reached down and took one of their cocks in each of her hands, pulling Jeremy's close to her mouth so that she could taste him. Mike was rock-hard in her other hand and she stroked him slowly and gently until a slippery drop of pre-cum oozed out onto the palm of her hand. She could really taste Jeremy's cock now as the head seemed to be swelling even larger inside her mouth. He gasped and she could tell he was about to...
Suddenly he pulled out. “No, not yet, I want to be in you.”
Sweet, perfect words of anguished need – because she very much wanted Jeremy inside her. She wanted both of them inside her. Lydia put her hands on Mike's shoulders and pushed him down on his back, straddling him –
Beep beep beep! What the fuck? Hazy and stoked, Lydia pawed her nightstand in search of the damn phone. Clit on fire and twitching – twitching! – she awoke to find herself in a small patch of wetness.
What
the
fuck?
A dream had made her come in her sleep? The wetness wasn't pee – she knew that. Only once, in college, had this happened, after an intense night of partying and her first (and only) one-night stand with a guy who loved pussy so much he ate her out for half an hour, bringing orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. The next night, her fantasies had spread into her unconscious, apparently, because she had awoken exactly like this, hips thrusting against a ghost lover and bed slightly wet from her juices.
But this? A threesome dream with Matt's friend Jeremy?
And Michael Bournham, of all people?
Slamming her head back against the pillow, she shifted her legs to take the stinging, tickling pressure off her poor, maligned clit, which popped like a Mexican jumping bean, nerves on autopilot.
If she were going to have a sex dream about anyone, it should be Matt – right? Between the supply closet, the elevator, and the nightclub she was about as frustrated and needy as anyone could get, confused and struggling with her feelings for him.
How on earth did that come out in her subconscious as a threesome with Michael Bournham and Jeremy?
Grabbing her pillow, she screamed into it, the muffled vibrations not enough release to get out how weird this all was.
Coffee and a shower would have to do.
At least she could check masturbate off her list of things to do today.
Overachiever.
By the time she'd sucked down a cup of coffee and finished with a quick rinse, she knew the day would be fine. Absent-mindedly drying her hair, she thought through the day's events. Facing Matt wouldn't be that horrible – at least she hadn't dreamed about him between her legs.
Every other man she'd met for ten minutes or less – but not Matt.
Bzzzz.
“Who calls at 6:20 a.m.?” Lydia wondered, turning the hair dryer off as she watched her mobile phone vibrate across the bathroom counter, lighting up. Every night as she brushed her teeth she plugged it in here, the easiest, most reliable location in her apartment. Every other flat surface was covered with books or a computer, so the bathroom it was.
The number wasn't one she recognized, so she ignored it. Turning the hair dryer back on, she closed her eyes and combed through her damp hair with her fingers, willing it to dry faster. She had to hop on the train today and couldn't miss the 7:07.
She was putting on her makeup a few minutes later when it rang again. Same number. Hmm. Might as well pick it up, she thought. Maybe one of her brothers changed their cell number and something was wrong with her mom or dad.
“Hello?”
“Hi. So about those travel arrangements.” Oh, that voice. Oh, how that voice triggered so many involuntary physical reactions that she absolutely, utterly did not want to have at this moment at 6:20 in the morning when she was on her way to work and would face him within the next two hours. It wasn’t that she was afraid to face him and it wasn’t that she dreaded the consequences of what she’d done with his travel, it was that she increasingly couldn’t trust herself when she was anywhere near him.
Dreams notwithstanding.
Being on the phone didn’t involve physical proximity but dammit, from the way her throat tightened, how blood flooded inappropriate places that had nothing to do with professionalism in the workplace, and how she could feel herself needing to control her breath – his damn voice just drove her lustfully mad.
