Page 68 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“Are you ok?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, opening his eyes to stare down at her.

“No, I’m not ok.” She wiggled again. “I need you to move.”

Something seemed to break inside him at her demand. He shuddered and slowly pulled almost all the way out. Then pushed just as slowly back in.

“You...feel...so...good,” he growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck again. “So goddamn tight.”

He repeated the slow withdrawal and penetration till Georgia thought she would expire from frustration. His thrusts drove her crazy. The fire in her belly burned even hotter than before, but the pace he set only served to feed the blaze, not quench it. She teetered on the edge of a precipice, terrified that if she jumped, she’d fall.

“Peter,” she whimpered.

“Let yourself go,” he whispered. “Just go with it.”

“With what?” Georgia moaned, willing to try just about anything to satisfy the dragon inside her.

He began to move faster and go deeper. One hand moved down to press the nub of flesh at the top of her sex, and at the first touch she exploded again, the force ten times that of the last detonation. The firestorm roared over her body, consuming every inch of her, every nerve ending, every thought.

She was barely aware of him thrusting hard and fast into her, of his muffled shout as he went rigid above her, his head thrown back. His hips jerked, then he collapsed on top of her, his eyes firmly closed.

She couldn’t keep her own eyes open as exhaustion claimed her body. The strength of her pleasure burning away the last of the adrenaline she’d been surviving on for the past twenty-four hours.

As her mind sank into unconsciousness, she realized she didn’t care about lying naked on a bare dirt floor. She felt so good she didn’t give a damn who—SEALs, hostages or terrorists—came traipsing through the tunnel door.

What the hell just happened?

Peter lifted his head off Georgia’s shoulder and stared down at the female feast beneath him, thinking he’d get some answers.

She was asleep.

Dammit.

He was still embedded deep inside her. Using both arms, he carefully levered himself up, pulling out slowly, grunting as the friction caused him to get hard all over again. Part of him wasn’t satisfied with just one taste of her.

He wiped himself off with a tissue he dug out of a pocket and pulled up his pants. The hand he raked through his hair shook as he stared down at the sleeping woman.

He’d lost it with her, breaking every rule in his book in the process.

Thou shalt not become emotionally involved with women you’re supposed to protect.

Thou shalt not have unprotected sex.

It was even more dangerous for her to break those rules than him. Why would she ask, no, beg him to take her? She deserved silk sheets and candlelight, not a dirt-covered floor in the middle of a war zone.

A faint echo of voices hammered home the precariousness of their situation. He leaned down to stroke her cheek.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Wake up.”

Georgia stirred, and opened her eyes. For a moment she looked disorientated then her face flushed, and she glanced away. “What? How long was I asleep?”

“Just a few minutes, you can crash again if you want, but I thought you’d like to get your clothes, uh...fixed up first.”

She nodded, still not making eye contact with him. “That’s a good idea.”

She sat up, her hands pulling at her bra and top, then got to her feet so she could shove her skirt back down over those luscious, biteable thighs.

Peter handed her the chador.

She took it, flashing him an embarrassed look. “Thank you.”

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