Page 46 of The Spy Ring

“Isn’t that funny, Tiffany? I gave up everything for that place. I had no life other than work, and this is what happens.” He waved his hands between us.

“I’m sure there’s someone who you could call?”

He needed someone who was close to him and since I knew absolutely nothing about him, that person wasn’t me.

“There are only two people I could remotely consider friends. One was Tenn, my partner at work. But based on the pile of papers I signed today, I’m pretty sure I can’t have any contact with him for a long time.”

“But why wouldn’t you be able to have contact with your work partner? What happens when you go to work?”

I was confused. Did that have anything to do with us? Did being with me get him assigned to something else? I wish I knew what exactly he did so I could help him. I hated sitting here like an idiot and not being able to help someone in need.

“Because I got fired. I’m no longer working for the Federal Government. I’m unemployed, Tiffany. All because of my penis.”

My eyes widened. “Oh no, Jagger, I’m so sorry.”

I reached out and put my hand on his knee. He was lying in such a way that it was as close as I could get to him. He pushed himself up and scooted closer to me. Taking my hand in his, he gazed into my eyes.

“Which do you like better? Penis or cock?”

My head went back. “What? Uh, what, uh, why would you ask that?”

He ignored my question. “I like that you cook,” he grabbed the sticky lollipop from my free hand and placed it back into my mouth, “and I really like watching you suck on this.”

Jagger leaned forward so his lips were next to my ear. I could feel his hot, alcohol-soured breath drift down my neck. It felt good but he was drunk. As much as I still wanted him, nothing could come of it tonight.

His fingers drifted to my neck, cupping it as he said, “I have an idea. While you whip up a batch of cookies and continue sucking on that lollipop, I’ll be hard at work making sure my cock keeps you hungry for more.”

I was angry. Yes, mad that the idea of baking was turning him on. Like I was some 1950s housewife. But was I really annoyed at him or how I was reacting to his words? Because what was happening between my thighs was heated and tight and made me squirm.

His hand began to drift, lower from my neck to my collarbone, over my shoulder and curved around. It hovered just above my nipple. And I ached for him to continue, knowing that wasn’t right. He was drunk and upset at his job loss. I would be taking advantage of that.

But it had been so long since I had been touched like that by a man. Maybe once wouldn’t do any harm. Then I could put him to bed in David’s room after making sure he drank a glass of Pedialyte I had in the refrigerator from when David was sick with the flu this past spring.

His forehead leaned on my shoulder but his hand remained still. He smelled of alcohol and something spicy that was most likely his shampoo or aftershave, but I wanted to believe was uniquely Jagger.

And he sounded . . . wait, he sounded like he was snoring. I pushed back on Jagger and realized he had passed out. So much for a little boob action.

I pushed him back until he was lying down and pulled his legs up on the couch. After taking off his shoes, I grabbed an extra blanket from the hall closet. I made sure he was lying on his side—in case he got sick during the night—and set a small wastebasket below him and a glass of water on the coffee table.

He looked so peaceful. The hard lines on his face that always seemed to be there vanished. His life couldn’t be easy with what he did, and I wondered how much of a toll it took on him mentally.

I brushed my hand over his hair, pushing some strands that had fallen over his eyes, when he surprised me by grabbing my wrist.

I gasped as his eyes opened.

“I’m not Jagger anymore. You can call me Geoffrey,” he said before his eyes closed and the snoring started again.

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