Page 29 of Fury
“Behave or I’ll leave you here in the dark.”
“Whatever. Let’s just find out who’s breaking into my building.”
“This way then.”
His hand clasped round mine, hot rough skin scratching at my palm, engulfing me as he tugged me forwards. I wriggled a little, trying to pull away, loosen his grip, but it only tightened. A vice I couldn’t get out of, so for a while I let him lead me on into the dark, manoeuvred so I was a step behind him, covered by his mass as we trailed through the shadows.
The corridor towards the morgue was eerily quiet, both of us holding our breath, listening for anything that might wait for us round the corner. Footsteps. Movement. Anything. But the building was as silent as death itself. Fury pushed each door gently, our bodies flush with the wall, my body protected partially by the doorframe and partially by the huge mass of man that guided me round the dark building, his hand firmly in mine.
And with each step towards the cold room right at the back, my heartbeat quickened, bounding against my ribs, pulsing down my arm, my grip on his hand tightening. I tried to steady my breath, to stop the ragged gasps becoming audible, but the pressure in my chest barely let me pull in enough air to keep me conscious and moving. I staggered on, a whirring sensation in my head. My heels clacked loudly on the linoleum tiles, Fury’s footsteps soft and barely audible, even in the thick-soled boots he always wore.
“Fuck’s sake,” he whispered beside me. “Can you take them off?”
“What?”
“The shoes. Take them off. They’re making far too much noise.”
“I’m not walking along here in bare feet.”
“Take them off or stay here.”
Stopping, he pulled his hand from mine, rough skin scratching as he slid it loose.
“The sound you’re making is enough to wake all those stiffs from their eternal sleep. If you don’t take them off, I will.”
His voice was like smooth gravel, rough enough to cause a shiver down my spine, but painless. Distracting. A memory smouldering in my deepest parts, thrumming a rhythm in my stomach, and down my legs, where he now dropped to on his haunches, fingers wrapping round my ankle and tugging my foot off the floor.
I stifled the squeak and grabbed a handful of his shoulder to steady myself before I teetered backwards. My shoe slid off with a slight nudge, and he reached for the other leg.
“Ok, ok. I got it.”
He didn’t let go, the scratch of the pads of his fingers against the skin of my ankle, as he pushed my suit trousers up, his hand sliding higher.
“Fury, I don’t wear my shoes up there. And there is still someone loose in my office.”
He didn’t move, his hand still on my leg, fingers trailing over the back of my knee, forcing a deep heat into the pit of my stomach.
“Let go,” I barked. “I can do it myself.”
I kicked my leg from his grasp, his fingers brushing my skin as he let go, a hundred thousand energised tingles shooting up my leg quick enough I had to swallow hard to not let the gasp slip out into the darkness between us. He couldn’t see what he was doing to me. If that happened, I would lose all control. He would think he’d won something. Had some hold over me.
Fury stood up; the towering mass of man amplified now I’d shrunk by three inches. And for the first time in his presence, I felt vulnerable. Small. Weak.
“Come on,” he tugged at my hand, and I didn’t need to see his face in the dark to know he was grinning like an arsehole.
Chapter Thirteen
The skin of her ankle was as smooth as satin and warm against the hands that had fought and laboured all my life. Her shoe slipped off after a little resistance. Even her body was stubborn, not just her personality. I should have let go straight away, let her drop her foot to the floor. Instead, I trailed my fingers over her ankle bone, gently protruding, skin pulling tight as her calf tapered away, bulging like she actually used them for something other than stomping around offices and throwing orders about left, right and centre.
Above me I heard the little hitch of breath, and I let my hand slide higher, feeling round the back of her knee, trailing fingers over the underside of her thigh, every part of her flesh tight and smooth.
“Fury,” she whispered, the hint of control breaking in her voice. “I don’t wear my shoes up there. And there is still someone loose in my office.”
Stopping, I sighed. Another night. Another time. Maybe. I turned my back to her as I stood, adjusting my dick that was pushing painfully against the zip of my work trousers, rough industrial material unforgiving on delicate flesh.
“Come on,” I reached for her hand again, those slim, long fingers and the most manicured nails I had ever seen.
I needed those round my cock, pumping my length. I could watch those nails do that all day. And fuck. That was doing nothing for my raging hard-on. When we found this intruder, he’d run a mile if he saw what I was sporting. Fuck’s sake.