Page 65 of Eyes in the Shadows

So, I give it to her. I last a few more strokes, then I’m feeling that tingle through my scalp, the itch running down my spine. It tightens my balls, and the push-pull feeling of the orgasm slams through my dick and into her.

I slump, but take care not to fall on top of her. I’m not trying to force all the air out of her lungs and she’s leaning on her diaphragm. I pull away and sit my sweaty ass back in the chair. She rises up off the arm, wobbling on her knees, and turns a little to face me.

“Come here,” I say, moving to the side to make room and holding out my arm.

With a somewhat sleepy smile, she curls up next to me. We’re squished, and she’s half on top of me. It’s perfect. “Was that all okay?” I ask, stroking her hair.

“Hmm?” She tilts her head, leaning her chin on my chest.

“The crawling, the hair pulling, the roughness… I probably should have asked before—”

She smiles. “Well, ‘okay’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use, but yeah. It was okay.”

“What word would you use?”

“Fucking hot,” she laughs breathlessly. “Not enough. More, please.”

“This is going to be fun.”

She smiles. “I would have said something if I didn’t want to do the crawling thing, or if you were being too rough. I’m a tough girl; I can take it. Oh, and speaking of dirty fantasies…” she says, lifting her arm and showing me the soft flesh of the underside. “I forgot to tell you, but I have one of these birth control implants.”

I nod. “I know.”

She makes an exasperated noise and swats me on the chest. “Medical records are supposed to be—”

I cut her off with a laugh. “Darlin’, I felt it when I was washing you.” It may be the only way I didn’t invade her privacy, but not because I wouldn’t. Because I just hadn’t gotten there yet.

“Oh.” Her sheepishness is adorable.

“So, what you’re saying is, ‘please fill me up again, Mac?’” I ask, grinning at her.

Her smile is pure, feminine satisfaction.

24

Mac

It's a conspiracy

It’s a long day, but at least there’s some action. I’m able to confirm that Rossi’s guys are, in fact, getting ready for the drop on Sunday. In addition to the ever-present guard, two other guys show up and go inside the unit, emerging hours later with clipboards. A long-distance zoom with my lens tells me what I already know—it’s a pre-sale checklist.

But after another day without so much as a glimpse of his bulletproof SUV, I’m starting to get concerned. Normally a Kingpin likes to periodically remind his minions who’s in charge, and he gets involved in the big stuff. A quick sale of this much artillery is pretty big stuff, if you ask me. But Rossi hasn’t shown his ugly mug.

I even follow the checklist guy who takes the papers with him, in the hopes that he’s bringing it to the boss in person for a review. He doesn’t. He goes to the Lucky Goat and settles in on a stool, gluing his eyes to the game on the tv behind the bar and his hand to a glass of whiskey.

So, on my way home, I decide to take a detour. A simple internet search—Wes isn’t the only one who knows how to use public access to his advantage—yields me the address I’m looking for. Rossi’s monstrosity is twenty miles from Ulysses, so maybe it’s less of a detour and more of a hike. But as I suspected, it’s completely locked down, which is part of the reason we don’t typically hit them at home.

Only a few lights are on inside, and there are several cars parked out front—fancy, Italian and German cars, clearly not owned by the help—but I can’t spot the black SUV I saw the night of the warehouse debacle. Which doesn’t necessarily mean he isn’t home; there’s a huge garage, too.

I wonder, not for the first time, if he’s gone underground until after the sale. It’s smart. Cowardly, but smart.

When I get home, I check the bedroom and hear that Eleanor is in the shower. So, I change for a workout. After shredding my pecs and shoulders, greeting my girl and rubbing one out, I head into Wes’s cave. Dimitri is sitting on the other side of his desk and they’re chatting about hockey when I arrive. The conversation cuts short, not that I care. The Southeast doesn’t have a lot of ice-based sports, so I never really got into it.

Dimitri is all business. “What do we know today?”

Wes takes his turn first. “Well, they’ve definitely got the law in their pocket.” He spins his laptop to show us the officer profile of Christopher McCloskey, including a sealed disciplinary file that shows he’s been reprimanded for accepting bribes, selective enforcement, and witness tampering. The dirty-cop trifecta.

“Good to know,” Dimitri nods. “I assume you have added him to the file. We may be able to use this.”

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