Page 3 of Claimed by Him

Two

The manwho answered the door to the suite was thirty-three to my twenty-two years, but he was as fit as any field agent in his twenties. A fact that I could currently see since he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I took a moment to appreciate the view, from his unruly dark brown hair to the blue-gray eyes that were still muddled with sleep, all the way down his chest to the trail of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants.

“Agent Kurth.” I gave Clay a snappy little salute.

“Rona?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked behind him. “It’s three in the morning.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to invite me in?”

We didn’t need to do the dance about why I was here so early. He’d known me for years, and he knew about my nightmares. He didn’t know exactly what they were about since the subject had always been off-limits, but he knew they often resulted in insomnia.

When he showed back up in my life seven weeks ago, I’d been glad to see him, but things hadn’t become sexual until a few weeks later when I’d had the nightmare and gone for a run. Like tonight, I’d found myself outside his hotel room door, and one thing had led to another. We hadn’t really talked about it since, but it’d become a thing between us, our friendship adding some ‘benefits.’ We could walk away at any time, opt out whenever we didn’t feel like hooking up.

It was just sex between friends. That was all.

For a moment, I thought he was going to turn me away. It was early in the morning, after all, and he had to work early. We both did. Just because I couldn’t sleep didn’t mean he had to lose sleep too.

He didn’t opt out though. He gestured for me to come in, then shut the door behind me.

“I wish you’d see someone about that nightmare,” he said as he stepped past me and walked into the little kitchenette.

I kicked off my shoes and yanked down my pants, kicking them aside. “And I wish you’d stop talking and start working on distracting.”

His eyes slid over my body, and heat followed his gaze. I hadn’t worn anything sexy, but he never cared about that. It wasn’t about what I was wearing, but what he was thinking about doing to me. I’d had a couple partners over the years, some of them bad, some good. Clay was better than good, and he was…inventive. It was a combination that kept me coming back for more, but not one that would get us past being friends who fucked.

“Come here.”

When I reached him, he motioned toward the counter, and I lifted myself onto it. At two inches under six feet and with an athlete’s build, I wasn’t the sort of woman who got literally picked up by guys. I didn’t mind though. I wasn’t sure I’d ever met someone I trusted enough to let him manhandle me. If Clay didn’t fit that particular qualification, I doubted anyone else would.

“Do you ever stop thinking?” Clay asked as he put his hands on my knees.

“What do you think?” I countered, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him closer.

Instead of answering, he captured my mouth in a deep, hot kiss, his tongue plundering, exploring. I ran my hands over his chest, his dark hair rough against my palms. He made a sound in the back of his throat when I rubbed my thumbs over his nipples. I used my nails then, blunt as they were, scraping them over the darker flesh, and he dug his fingers into my thighs.

“Damn, Rona,” he groaned, tearing his mouth away from mine.

I flicked my tongue against one nipple, then the other. One hand moved under my shirt, and I stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, his signal that he could continue. We’d established boundaries the first time we were together. He could touch my breasts over my bra, but the shirt stayed on, and he didn’t go anywhere else. I knew he’d felt some scar tissue a time or two, but he’d been careful to stay away from it.

And to never ask questions.

His free hand dropped between our bodies and his thumb pressed against the damp fabric between my legs. I made a low sound, my eyes closing. My head fell forward onto his shoulder, and I ran my hands up his back and then down to his ass. As his thumb pushed the material between my lips, he found that bundle of nerves and pressed against it. I slid my fingers under the waistband of his boxers, dipping my fingers into the two little dimples at the base of his spine.

Soft kisses trailed up my jawline, and then he took my earlobe between his teeth. Mouth and fingers worked together, stoking the fire low in my belly. For all our banter, when we finally got down to business, there was no waiting around, no dragging things out. This wasn’t making love. It was having sex. Fucking. Physical pleasure and stress relief with a friend.

I squeezed my eyes closed, muscles tensing in anticipation of the relief that was only seconds away. He rubbed my clit harder, faster, and I came with a cry.

I turned my face into the place where his shoulder and neck met, panting. He gave me a moment to come down, and then he was taking a step back. I let him go, raising my head in time to see him drop his boxers. His cock was average length, but a little thicker than most, which meant it rubbed against a lot of nice places.

He fisted his cock as he opened a drawer and rummaged through it for a moment before pulling out a condom.

“You have them in every drawer here?” I laughed as the feeling returned to my legs. I could usually get myself off pretty well, but sometimes, it was nice to have someone else involved.

Clay shrugged and gave me that cocky grin of his. I’d masturbated to that smile plenty of times since I first met him, and it still turned me on. He was one of those pretty-boy sorts that people usually underestimated, but I’d always seen the intelligence in his eyes, and that just made him sexier in my opinion.

“Down,” he ordered as he rolled on the condom.

I slid off the counter and took a moment to drop my panties before turning around and leaning over. I spread my legs and heard an appreciative sound from behind me.

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