Page 77 of Justice for Francesca

“Easy, sweetheart. Goddamn, you’re so fucking sexy. It’s going to feel so good when your cunt squeezes my fingers so tight, just like it squeezed my cock last night. I love when you shatter into a million pieces, no matter how it happens, because then I get to put you back together before doing it all over again.”

Francesca mewled in frustration, and he had to admit that when he started this, he had no idea just how erotic it would be. Not just for her but for him as well. Based on his body’s current reaction, he knew he was going to come just from watching her explode. He thanked every deity possible that he was wearing dress pants because it felt like his dick would be dead from the pressure of being contained if he’d worn denim.

“You ready, Francesca? You ready to fly?”

“Yesss,” she hissed. “Make me come, Ethan. I need it.”

“Hold onto the edge of the tub,” he told her.

She grasped the edge, and her knuckles went white with the pressure. He slid a third finger into her tight channel, then curved them upward to drag across her top wall, concentrating on her body’s responses. His pumping fingers sped up, dragging harder inside her, and suddenly, he felt her tighten as he stroked a long line from deep inside her channel to just inside her opening.

Now that he’d found the right place, the right pressure, he increased his efforts. Water sloshed out of the tub onto the floor, soaking his pants as it came over the edge, but Francesca was going to come so hard, nothing else mattered.

“Fuck, Francesca, that’s it. Give it to me!”

There was a moment of silence except for the sloshing water, and suddenly, her entire body curled up in on itself as her orgasm detonated. The scream that came from inside her was like she’d held in every sound from every other orgasm in her life, and now she was letting it go for him.

“That’s it, Francesca. Don’t stop coming, baby.” His one hand kept pumping, the other continued to put pressure on her clit, and he pulled her to the back of the tub while pushing himself tight to the outside wall. The front of his undershirt became soaked through from her wet skin that he held firmly to his chest, and as soon as there was pressure on his cock, his releasefollowed, soaking through his pants. Separated from her body by the bathtub wall, the pressure he placed against the ceramic of the bathtub and the rubbing of his clothing against his skin in time with the spasms of her body were both the best and worst feelings. He hoped that his actions didn’t permanently bruise his dick, but lost in this moment with her, he couldn’t stop himself.

Francesca began to gasp and started to sound as if his touch was becoming uncomfortable, so he began to ease back on his strokes. Ever so gently, he slid his fingers completely out of her pussy and off her clit. One arm came up to tighten around her shoulders as he held her boneless body up from sliding completely under the water, and they stayed like that until both of them were breathing normally again.

He pressed kisses to her hairline, damp from the warmth of the room and her sweat. His tongue flicked out to taste her salty skin, and it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Francesca. Well-fucked. Sated.

He’d never get enough.

23

A FRIENDLY DINNER WITH DEADLY DESSERTS

Francesca

Francesca, clad in one of Tripoli’s Navy sweatshirts and a pair of well-worn jeans, sat at the dining room table, her bare feet up on the chair he had abandoned a few moments earlier. She was groaning and hiding her face in her hands as he passed his phone to Mickie and Cruz. Somehow, he had pictures of her from when she’d been undercover at The Library. Several of them. She’d forgotten he’d taken the group shots—shots she’d tried to avoid being seen in for obvious reasons—and now Cruz got to see her club gear.

A wolf whistle came from Cruz. “Holy shit, Frankie, you’ve got some nice legs,” he teased.

“Yes. Yes, she does,” Tripoli agreed.

“I was more distracted by the cleavage,” Mickie said.

“The glory of a push-up bra,” Francesca mumbled.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t know anything about those,” Mickie admitted. She glanced at Cruz, a knowing look in her eye. “Well.I wore one once. Unfortunately, these babies can’t be contained by those tiny little things.”

“They were contained just right, which is to say, I thoroughly enjoyed putting you back together when you popped out of it.” Cruz kissed his girlfriend’s cheek, then scrolled to the next picture, which was Fleur and Tilly doing some sort of body shots off of each other. It had been a rare night where she’d forgotten herself for a while and was just Fleur, the friend, not the undercover FBI agent. He flashed the screen at Francesca. “You really liked her, didn’t you? I mean, as a friend.”

Sadly, she nodded. “Yeah, I did. Everyone liked Tilly. She was young and immature, sometimes shallow, but she was barely legal. Everything was so new to her at the club, and she embraced everything.”

Cruz swiped to the next picture, this one of Francesca sitting side by side with Tripoli in a booth. Someone else had taken the picture—she had no idea who—and sent it to him. They were immersed in some sort of conversation where their heads were close together, and they were smiling about something. They looked like a real couple who were in love.

“Okay, enough drooling over your coffee-wife,” Mickie admonished. She snatched the phone from Cruz’s hands and handed it back to Tripoli. “I’ll help clear the table. You can talk to Francesca, but no drooling!”

Francesca shook her head and rolled her eyes. “She knows you have eyes only for her, I hope.”

“Yep. I make sure she knows it. However, she brought up the cleavage, not me. I was too distracted by the legs. Those are safe to notice.”

They both chuckled again and lapsed into silence.

“How’s Michael?” She knew she shouldn’t ask because it would put Cruz in a tough spot. Technically, he couldn’t discussthe case with someone not on the investigative team, even though she knew ninety-five percent of the details.

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