Page 81 of Covert Operation
“Sweetheart.” One big hand comes to cradle my head, fingers tangling in my hair as he groans. “Fuck you’re good at that.”
I’m happy to hear it since I fully intend for him to make good on the threat he tried to hold back last night. I’ve already reclaimed so much of my life. Of myself.
But I want this too.
Zeke’s nostrils flare as he watches me work, the set of his jaw getting tighter and tighter. Every muscle in his body is tense as his dick flexes against my tongue. “You look so pretty like this.” His hand wraps around mine, tightening my grip. “So perfect with your lips around my cock.”
I moan, the sound muffled against his skin, as I press my free hand against the throb between my legs. Last night, his accidental dirty talk had all my parts lighting up like a freaking Christmas tree, and tonight it’s even worse. Because he’s not holding back. Not keeping them from me thinking I can’t handle them.
Zeke groans again, his hand tightening in my hair. “Are you gonna swallow everything I give you?”
I bob my head in as much of a nod as I can manage without messing up my rhythm as I push harder against my pussy, trying to ease my own suffering. I knew I would enjoy doing this for him, but I didn’t expect it to do so much for me.
By the time the first salty splash of Zeke’s climax hits my tongue, I’m so wet I can feel it through the layers of panty and tights. I’m practically vibrating with need as Zeke pulls free of my mouth and lifts me onto his lap.
One hand brackets my jaw, bringing my mouth to his for a bruising kiss that steals what little breath I have left. His lips barely break from mine when he asks, “Did you enjoy sucking my cock, Sweetheart?”
The hand that held my face drags up the skirt of my dress and pushes into the waistband of my panties, working under the constraint of my tights to clamp over my mound. A thick finger traces my seam and he chuckles. “You did, didn’t you?”
I nod, the movement jerky as that wandering finger finds the hard nub of my clit and starts to circle. I’m already halfway gone, so in mere seconds I’m shuddering against the width of his chest as Zeke tells me how beautiful I am. How sweet. How perfect.
How much he wants me. How much he needs me.
How much he loves me.
That he’s going to give me everything I want. Everything I need.
Lucky for him, those are both the same thing.
THIRTY-FOUR
ZEKE
“WHAT ARE YOU doing?” Savannah stands at the end of the kitchen island, staring at me, her dark brows pinched together in confusion.
“Making breakfast.” I had so many plans for this trip and none of them have really panned out. Savannah didn’t get to enjoy her stay at The Gaylord. We didn’t get to visit The Parthenon or tour The Grand Ole Opry.
So, while I hadn’t planned to tackle this project until we were back in Alaska, I decided to stop at the grocery on my way back to Memphis yesterday. Now, the handful of items I picked up are lined down Christian’s counter and I’m elbow deep in my very first cooking adventure.
It’s not looking good.
Savannah’s green eyes track the ingredients laid out before me, going from the flour to the farmer’s cheese, to the eggs. “Are you making syrniki?”
The soft way she asks—like she can’t believe I would do something like this for her—makes me think Savannah isn’t used to having someone take care of her.
She’ll get there.
“I guess you’ll have to tell me what I make.” I drop a scoop of the sticky dough onto the floured counter and do my best to flatten it out. “The instructions weren’t exactly clear.”
They probably were, my skill set just leaves a lot to be desired. The recipe could have been written with toddlers in mind and I’d likely still think it wasn’t simplified enough.
“So far it looks like you’re doing pretty well.” Savannah starts to come stand beside me, but I shake my head.
“No helping.” I point to the line of chairs across from me. “You cooked for me. Now I’m cooking for you.”
She gives me a shy little smile as she slips into one of the seats. “You don’t have to cook for me.”
“I want to cook for you.” Never in my life did I think those words would come out of my mouth. The next ones would have been even less likely. “And from what I hear, I’m going to have to cook for everyone else at some point too.”