Page 54 of Command and Control: GHOST Operative

Her hand comes back to grip my thigh, nails digging into my skin. "You said fucking me into tomorrow was always on the table, and it’s almost tomorrow."

This woman. She's fucking everything. So much more than I expected. So much more than I deserve.

And I’m going to keep her anyway. Julieanne doesn't know it yet, but she's never fucking leaving Alaska.

She's never fucking leaving me.

I shove down the front of my briefs, not even bothering to take them off, then slide my cock along her slit, groaning at how wet she is. "So fucking ready for me." I line into place and thrust hard, impaling myselfcompletely in one sharp move. Julieanne gasps, the inhale turning to a moan as I start to fuck her.

But the position is all wrong. I need more. I need leverage. I need to watch her ass bounce as I slam into her. So I roll, pushing her onto her stomach so I can kneel between her thighs. Gripping her hips, I lift them up and then slam into her, pushing her up the mattress and away from me.

And that won't fucking do.

I grip her shoulder with one hand, keeping her in place as I bottom out again, the bounce of her ass cheeks against my hips making me groan. I'm drunk enough I won't last long, so I reach under her with my free hand, slick fingers working her clit as I fuck her so hard her teeth probably rattle.

But the sounds she makes aren't that of a woman suffering, so I don't stop. I don't stop as the noises she makes get louder and she starts chanting my name into the pillow under her face. I don't stop as her hips jerk and her cunt clenches around me. I don't even stop when I come right behind her. I keep fucking her, shoving my cum as deep into her as it will go because I never want it to come out. I want her to carry me around everywhere she goes. I want a little to slip out every time she laughs, reminding her of this moment. Of me.

But it still won't be enough.

So I lean onto her, blanketing her back with my front until my lips are against her ear. "Rest up, Jules, because I'm gonna need to fuck you again."

20

GUILTY PEOPLE SHOULDN’T ASK QUESTIONS

JULIEANNE

I DO MY best to fluff up my hair and straighten out the black shirt I'm wearing as I shift around in the chair behind Vincent's desk. When I realized it was Sunday, I went into a full-on panic because I knew my boys would worry if they weren’t able to get ahold of me.

I was all prepared for a knockdown drag out with Vincent over Internet access, but he brought me straight into his office, pulled up my Zoom account, and left me alone with a cup of coffee. I'm assuming the access is limited, but I don't really have time to find out, because a smiling face pops up on the screen in front of me.

"Hey, Momma." Holden, my older son, looks well-rested and relaxed, which does my momma heart good.

"Hey." I smile back at him, leaning forward in the seat. "You look great. How's everything going?"

"Things are good. I really think I'm gonna enjoy my classes this semester, so that's nice."

"That is nice." Holden is in the middle of his third year studying programming and information technology. I wasridiculously proud when he decided to go into the same field I love so much, but he's always been a little more prone to stress and anxiety, so I was also concerned it might not be a career he would thrive in. His first two years at college were tough, and I was really worried I might be right, but seeing him looking so happy relieves a little of my own stress and anxiety regarding the situation.

The screen we’re sharing splits a third way and Kyler, my younger son, pops into view. His appearance is a stark contrast to his brother’s. Where Holden is wide awake and always comes in on time, looking fresh from the shower, Kyler is a little more of a free spirit. He’s generally a few minutes late and usually hung over. It's not a thrilling thing considering he’s still technically underage, but I was once a college student too, so I understand and try not to give him too much shit.

I do still give him some shit though. It's my motherly duty.

“It's about time you got here." I lift my brows. "You look a little rough. Wild night?"

Kyler's brow angles, and he gives me a smirk. "You shouldn't be asking too many questions considering you're in somebody else's house." His face zooms in on the screen. "And wearing somebody else's clothes."

My mouth drops open. I expected them to notice I wasn't in my condo, but I didn't for a second think they would pay attention to what I was wearing.

Kyler barks out a laugh, his expression turning stunned. "Holy shit, mom. I was just giving you a hard time." One hand clamps over his mouth as he continues laughing. "Are you really wearing somebody else's clothes?"

I have no idea how to handle the situation, so my mouth opens, but instead of words coming out, I make some sort of weird squeaking noise.

Which sets both my sons off into a fit of laughter. I had friends who raised daughters, and while I always believed kids are kids, there's no denying there are some differences between sons and daughters. Especially when it comes to talking about sex.

I heard more penis and ball talk during their teenage years than I ever anticipated, and answered a litany of questions that would make even the most experienced woman blush. Probably because they knew their father was too uptight to discuss anything with them, so all their concerns and discoveries were unloaded directly onto me. Whether I wanted to hear it or not.

"It's not like that." I try to explain, but it is exactly like that. I am wearing a man's clothes. I am sitting in his house. And I'm pretty sure I just felt a little of his jizz leak free when I shifted. I would be the embodiment of the walk of shame, except I can’t actually go anywhere.

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