Page 67 of Welker

Taking his hand, she tugged him in that direction.

Forty minutes later, the kitchen was clean…along with a counter that may or may not have been scrubbed twice, the final wash-down coming after they’d made use of it for an activity that was fast becoming Welker’s favorite new pastime; having Moira come apart under his ministrations.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Moira yawned broadly, “but I’m ready for bed.”

Welker waggled his brows and for his cheekiness, he received a playful smack on the chest.

“Bed, bed,” Moira clarified. “Not sex. You, my love, are well endowed, and my lady-parts need a little break. We brought them from zero to sixty in a matter of one evening, when before that, they’d been up on blocks for several years.”

Welker instantly felt terrible. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, ready to berate himself for his cluelessness.

“No,” Moira assured him, going on tiptoes to kiss his furrowed brow. “But it might be good to give things a little time to recover before I attack you again, okay?”

Welker chuckled.

That was just like Moira. Making it sound like the whole thing—wearing out her hoo-ha—was completely on her.

He’d give her dibs. This time. “I can live with that. Just do what you have to do, and my body will be here and available whenever you’re ready.”

Moira actually reached forward and patted him on his dick which had been slumbering contentedly in his jeans. “Mmm,” she purred. “Maybe in the morning.”

And…yup. The randy bastard twitched to life.

“Down, boy. Down,” Welker looked at his zipper and growled out the order, which had Moira laughing.

“I can talk to it for you, if you want,” she said slyly. “I don’t mind using my mouth.”

Welker placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the stairs.

“Stop. You’ve done quite enough for one evening,” he told her gruffly. “Now let’s go sleep.” He emphasized the last word while giving her a gentle push.

“Copy that, LT.” Moira saluted him, sashaying her fine ass out of the room and up the stairs.

Welker followed at a short distance, because, yeah, even though he wasn’t going to touch her again tonight, he was a guy, and still had to look.

It seemed like they’d just shut their eyes when both their phone alerts went off.

“What the…?” Welker scrambled for his device, and with bleary eyes, attempted to focus on the screen.

“Call out,” Moira clipped, already half way off the bed.

“Great timing,” Welker grumbled, but he wasn’t far behind.

Moira put on his shirt and started to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his brain still in semi-snooze-mode.

“My turn-outs and vest are in my truck.”

Damn. They’d brought in and secured her service weapons, but hadn’t done the same with her go-bag.

“Wait.” Welker strode to his closet and pulled out his SWAT apparel, pulling his pants and shirt on quickly before tossing his bag on the bed. He beat-feet into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, then ran a quick toothbrush around inside his mouth.

Spitting, he called out. “Meet me downstairs. I’ll go to your truck and get your things.”

Moira entered the bathroom, sidled up beside him, and began doing the same ablutions as Welk, not shy at all about sharing a sink. “Keys are on the table in your entryway,” she told him as he wiped his mouth on a towel.

“Got it.”

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