Page 39 of Command and Control: GHOST Operative

He groans against my skin. "Behave, Julieanne, or I'll fuck these tits instead."

It's another empty threat. I know he's not going to stop fucking me. But now my imagination is running wild and the image of Vincent straddling my chest, shuttling his dick between my oiled-up tits as he glares down at me sends me over the edge. I wail out his name as I come, head thrown back, spine arched, body trembling from being in a position I’m not accustomed to and will likely result in not being able to walk right in the morning.

Still so worth it.

Vincent follows me over the edge and the sensation of his dick flexing and swelling inside me sends another mini tremor through my body. The whole interaction steals what little energy I have left and leaves me a worthlesslump. I can't move. I can't think straight. I'm barely breathing.

But Vincent still hasn't stopped fucking me. His movements are slower now, but he continues pressing into me, watching where his body impales mine.

Ten years ago, I might have been embarrassed. Self-conscious at the intense way he's staring at that part of me. But I'm older now. Less concerned with what other people think. It's also pretty easy to tell that Vincent is the opposite of repulsed by what he’s seeing. His expression is almost fascinated as he watches our bodies come together. Makes me wish I could see it too.

Maybe later. Right now I'm too tired to contort into whatever position that would require. Too worn out from way more orgasms than I've ever had.

And from running for my life. Though that situation no longer occupies much of my brain. It’s way more interested in the past few minutes.

Vincent's eyes finally lift when I let out a long sigh of contentment. His hands slide down the backs of my thighs in a gentle caress as he slowly helps me lower my feet to the floor. Before pulling out, he grabs my discarded pants, wadding them up and using them to catch anything that might follow his retreat. Holding the pants in place as he stands, he hauls me up along with him. "Come on, Angel Face. Let's get you put back together again."

Leading me into the bathroom attached to the waiting room, he flips on the light and follows me right in. He takes me right to the toilet and positions me in front of it. "Sit down."

"Uhh." I might not be embarrassed by him looking upclose and personally at my bits, but standing here listening while I pee has me hitting the breaks.

Vincent cocks a brow at me. "Everyone pees, Jules." He grabs the front of his pants, tucking his well adorned dick back into place before zipping the fly. "You look like you're about to fall over. I'm not leaving you in here alone."

His words are gruff, but they warm me. I spent my entire adult life taking care of other people. People who frequently weren't grateful for what I offered. No one's ever taken care of me. No one's ever inconvenienced themselves for my benefit.

And here's a man who not only inconvenienced himself, but literally put his life on the line because strangers were violating my home.

Has Vincent done some questionable things? Yes, but, to be fair, so have I. And he's also done some surprisingly sweet things. Even though he wouldneveradmit it.

Vincent crosses his arms, glaring at me. "I'm standing here until you go. I know what happens if women don't pee after sex."

For some reason that pisses me off. "How do you know that?"

Vincent's lips twitch, like he wants to smile but refuses to allow it. "I think I like when you're jealous, Jules."

I narrow my eyes at him, and this time he does give me a hint of a smile. Then he drops both arms to his sides, going to the sink where he switches on the warm water. "I was going to be a surgeon, remember?"

Now that the water’s running, it makes it a little easier for me to do what needs to be done, the sound of my business mixing with the water he’s using to rinse out my pants. They're probably too far gone, but I don't stop. I’mnot excited about the water stopping, leaving him to hear the sound of me peeing.

I quickly finish up and wipe. Just as I'm ready to stand, Vincent drops the pants and reaches for me, gently helping me up. I give him a smile as awkward as this whole interaction feels. “Thank you.”

He nods, but doesn’t reply, which makes it feel even more strange. Or maybe it just feels strange because no one’s ever taken care of me like this before.

His grip is firm and steady as he leads me back out into the waiting room where he helps me pull on the sweatpants that never made it onto me the first time. I brace against his shoulders as he works them up my legs and over my hips, his calloused hands brushing my skin way more than the task requires. Once they’re in place, he rises to his feet and helps take off the coat I'm still swaddled in. Going back to his bag, he digs through the contents before pulling out a black, long-sleeved shirt. He runs his hands over my T-shirt, his gaze flicking to mine. “Is this dry?”

I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. I expected Vincent to be all the things he is. I knew he was grumpy and dangerous and a little abrasive. Never once did I guess he would be so gentle and careful with me. I also never let myself consider how much I might want to be treated this way, and the realization makes it hard to swallow.

Vincent seems to decide my T-shirt can stay on because he pulls the new shirt over my head, layering it on top. I'm about to argue, because I know the shirt will be too tight and I really don’t want to be uncomfortable for an entire plane ride. But Vincent is tall and broad enough that the only place it’s snug is across my tits. And even that isn't toobad since the man seems to have a decent pair of pecs of his own. Not that I’ve gotten to see them.

He reaches up to gently work my hair free of the collar. "Better?"

"Better. Thank you." My smile accidentally turns to a yawn.

Vincent grunts but doesn't acknowledge my thanks. He goes back to one knee in front of me and starts digging through his bag again. He pulls out yet another pair of socks, like some sort of mercenary Mary Poppins. "Sit down."

I gladly follow his order. I'm fucking exhausted. So tired I’m struggling to stay upright. Dropping to my butt, I let him pull the socks onto my feet. He’s so careful as he works them into place, aligning the heel gusset and toe seams perfectly. Vincent is obviously skilled at caring for others, and it makes me wonder, "Why didn't you end up being a surgeon?"

His hands still, one thumb gently sliding against the bit of skin peeking between the top of a sock in the bottom of the pants. "I didn't handle people's lives being in my hands well."

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