Page 35 of Blood in the Water

He spun her around so her back was against the tree, then slid his hands into her leggings, his fingers just cold enough to make her gasp with pleasure as they slid through her folds, sinking into the heat of her pussy.

“Nolan…”

“Jesus you’re wet, Bridge. I wish I could taste you. I want you on my tongue.”

The possibility was made all the more exciting by the fact that it would be impossible. Her pussy was throbbing with need, her clit pulsing as he penetrated her with his fingers, slippery with her juices.

He kissed her hard and deep, her back pressed against the trunk of the tree, his hard cock lengthening and hardening in her hand as she stroked him. She circled his headwith her finger, using the semen beading there to tease his crown.

She was moving with the rhythm of his fingers as he did the same, both of them striving for orgasms made more enticing by their exposure at the edge of the field, the cold air warring with the heat of their bodies.

He broke their kiss long enough to turn her around so that he was behind her. “I need to be inside you, Bridge.”

He pulled her leggings down far enough to expose her ass to the cold. The frigid air on her exposed pussy coupled with the push of his cock through her thighs, the stroke of his swollen head as he positioned his head against her entrance, sent a gush of wetness to her center.

She braced herself against the tree. “Hurry, Nolan.”

He grabbed onto her hips and plunged into her in one long stroke. She moaned as he tunneled through the swollen tissue of her channel, his thick head bumping against her cervix.

He drew out a little at a time, dragging his shaft back through the wet heat of her pussy. She pushed back against him as he drove into her again, oblivious to the cold as they moved in unison.

The air was quiet around them, filled only with the sound of the wind in the trees and her soft cries as he fucked her. The stress of everything that had happened and everything that was to come heightened the sensation of their movement, their desperation shared: Nolan pushing inside her like he couldn’t get close enough, Bridget pressing back against him even before he was all the way out of her, out of her mind with the need to feel him inside her again.

The orgasm took her by surprise, washing over her without warning. It crashed through her single-mindedfocus on Nolan’s cock inside her, eclipsing everything but the tremors rocking her body. She held onto the tree, the trunk cold and rough under her hands as Nolan shuddered against her, groaning as he thrust over and over again, letting her milk him until he collapsed on her back, his hands coming around her waist to hold her against him as he gasped for breath.

He turned her around and pulled her against him, letting the trunk of the tree take some of their weight as he held her.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” he murmured.

“I promise,” she said. “Promise me.”

He took her face in his hands. “I’ll try, Bridge. I promise I’ll try.”

She buried her face in his coat and hoped he hadn’t seen the tears in her eyes.

19

Nolan exited the highway in Newton and turned into the parking lot of the Crowne Plaza hotel.

“What a dump,” Will said from the passenger seat, looking through the windshield at the building’s aging facade.

“Interesting assessment coming from someone who uses stacked books as end tables in an apartment that could be featured on Hoarders,” Nolan said.

Will looked stung. “There’s nothing wrong with using books as furniture. You’re just jealous because my apartment is more homey than yours.”

“Homey? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

They got out of the car and started across the pavement to the glass doors at the front of the main building. Will was right: it was a dump, two medium-rise buildings, one of which straddled the highway, built from gray stone the same color as the pavement that surrounded it. It could have been a town hall in any suburban neighborhood, a social services office, the DMV.

“Why the feck are we here?” Will grumbled as they stepped into the lobby.

“Because this is where Christophe said to meet him,” Nolan said. “And because the shit is going to get a lot deeper for us without the Syndicate’s help.”

They made their way toward the elevators at the rear of the lobby. The place was deathly quiet, a sea of yellowing tile and generic art, the must of old upholstery curling through the air.

He couldn’t imagine Christophe Marchand here, but Christophe didn’t make decisions lightly. Everything he did was calculated, from the clothes he wore to the words that came out of his mouth. If he was here, there was a reason, and Nolan had a feeling the atmosphere was secondary to the location. Nondescript was good when you were looking to take down an increasingly unstable mobster.

Nondescript and out of the way was even better.