Hard Beat

“Lest you forget the Scrabble tournament. I mean that was scintillating entertainment,” she teases, drawing a chuckle from me over one of the lame ways we tried to pass time last week with an impromptu Scrabble challenge amongst all of the journalists. “Who knew qwerty was a legitimate and legal word?”

When I meet her eyes, I’ve got a lopsided smirk on my face over our first real fight over nothing. Every relationship has to have those, and the fact that we hit that milestone makes me feel a little more like we’re a normal couple despite this crazy-ass set of circumstances. There is supposed to be a war going on and it’s my job to report those events. And not having anything happening makes me feel useless, even though I don’t appreciate the evils of combat. Despite the company I get to keep nowadays, I’m feeling bored.

Although that company is definitely not a hardship to look at. I glance back as Beaux walks toward me and take her all in: ebony hair wet and falling over her shoulders making a dark mark on the fabric of her robe, her toned, ta

“Nothing from Omid?” she asks as if she’s been reading my thoughts – and like it’s perfectly normal to be talking about sources when my libido is thinking about everything that’s beneath the light blue fabric of the robe.

“No.” I sigh loudly, my frustration audible. “Not from him or any of my other sources. It’s complete radio silence. I think that’s part of the problem. I know something is in the works. I agree with Sarge. Everyone is lying low, waiting to see who makes the first move. I know Omid knows something… That’s why he’s lost in the wind again. If only he would text me back, then I’d feel so much better knowing that there isn’t some huge meet going on that we’re going to miss, you know?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmurs as she walks up behind me, presses a kiss to the crown of my head, and runs her fingers through my hair, playing with it where it curls over the tops of my ears.

“That’s my story. I’ve been tracking it for months, worked my ass off to get the contacts to ensure that I’m there when it goes down, and now I feel like it’s going to slip through my fingers.”

“I understand why you think that… but you’re just antsy from being stuck in this damn hotel. Maybe you need to get out. Take a walk. It helps me when I do.”

I snort out a laugh. “Yeah, I know it helps when you take a walk,” I say sarcastically, aware that she’s probably rolling her eyes right now. But at the same time I know those solo walks of hers are nonexistent now since I’ve made a habit of being with her each and every night.

And being smothered never felt so damn good. Especially when it’s the weight of her body on top of mine.

“He’s probably just playing it safe. He seems totally loyal to you. I’m sure if there was something going on, he’d tell you about it.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, leaning my head back against the warmth of her belly, while part of me worries about Omid, hoping that he really is okay and nothing has happened to him. “I spoke with Rafe when you were in the shower. He reiterated what he said to you about how much the brass really loves the pictures you’re turning in.” For some reason I need her to know how incredible they are, especially after all of the shit I gave her in the begi

“Thank you,” she whispers softly as her fingers thread through my hair, nails scratching my scalp in the most hypnotizing of ways.

“He asked me how we were getting along.”

I love the throaty laugh that follows with that hint of the unique rasp of her voice to it. It sounds almost as if she’s holding a secret and I’ll be the only one she’s going to tell. It also causes that slow burn of desire that’s always on low flame to start to simmer inside me.

“And what did you tell him?”

“Hmm… that we were managing one day at a time. That I still found you irritating and a know-it-all. That it was a real feat for me to sit hours on end with you and not want to strangle you. But that at least you were good at taking photographs because you can’t play Scrabble for shit,” I deadpan as her hands still in my hair and I wait for her reaction.

“Irritating, huh?” She removes her hands from my scalp and steps in front of me. She lifts an eyebrow in challenge as I try to figure out just where she’s going with this.

“Yep. And a know-it-all,” I say with a nod and a smart-ass smile on my lips as my eyes flicker down to the deep V of where her robe parts. Only about a foot-long section is closed now, affording me a killer view of her cleavage down to just above her belly button and a lot of leg, and damn if I don’t suddenly lose all train of thought.

“Well, Pulitzer, I’m so sorry that it’s so taxing for you to have to sit with me all… day… long,” she says in the breathiest of voices, drawing every single word out at the same time she steps forward and stands so that her legs straddle both of my thighs. I slide my eyes ever so slowly from her legs up her torso to meet her gaze, my hands itching to reach out and touch, but shit, I’ll let her take the reins for a bit to see just where she takes this because I’m liking the direction already.

“It’s a hard job, but somebody’s got to do it,” I say with emphasis. And of course at that same moment she lowers herself to sit astride my lap, ass on my knees, placing the enticing heat of her pussy right atop my cock. I have to hold back the wave of dizziness that threatens to assault me from the downright mind-rattling sensation.

“I like hard jobs,” she whispers as she leans in and brushes her lips against mine so that I can smell the toothpaste on her breath and the lotion on her skin. I lean forward to try and deepen the kiss, but she pushes her hands against my chest to keep me still in my chair while her hand snakes between her parted thighs to cup me.

And while damn those fingernails felt incredible on my scalp, the muted sensation of them scraping over the fabric hugging my nuts is Heaven. I groan, a man wanting his woman and not ashamed to show it. “Beaux…” My head falls back as the feeling of her more-than-competent hands on me shifts my train of thought from one frustration to a whole different type.

“Don’t speak, Ta

Yes. Please.

Our eyes hold, her lips twist with humor, and as I look at her on her knees before me with her hands ru

We never break eye contact as her hands push my knees apart so that she can wiggle her way in between them and her hands begin to work the button and zipper on the shorts. In perfect sync with her, I lift up as she tugs my clothes down, and my dick springs free.

I love watching her eyes light up at knowing I’m hard and waiting for her without much if any foreplay. Shit, she could blow a cold breeze my way and I’d be ready for her. Even better than the look in her eyes is watching her have to make the conscious decision to tear her eyes from mine and look down at what’s waiting for her.

And call it male ego, call it machismo, I don’t give a fuck, but it’s such a turn-on watching her eyes widen and her tongue dart out and lick her bottom lip when she looks down. Every part of my body feels like it is standing at attention, waiting for the next touch, her mouth to take me in, the enticing visual of watching her suck me off.

Her eyes dart up to meet mine one more time as she lowers her head and puts my dick in her mouth. And it’s not like she teases me, puts the tip in and licks her tongue around the head to taunt me with promises of what’s to come next. Hell no. She lowers her mouth onto my cock and keeps going all the way until I hit the back of her throat.