Free Deep Breath by Alison Kent

support.
    And then his head bowed, the darkness around them encompassing, he slid his middle finger inside of her and teased in and out of her folds with his thumb.
    He felt her muscles contract as she began to move, rolling her spine like a snake and thrusting slowly to meet his rhythm as he fucked her with his hand. She was wet and wild; he wanted to taste her, to pull his finger free and lick away her sticky sweets.
    But she was close, clenching him, milking his fingers when he added another, grinding against his wrist. When she came, she burst in a silent wave, one powerful and sweeping. He felt the pulse of her contractions like a riptide pulling him down, and he straddled her leg and rubbed the engorged head of his cock against her.
    “I’m sorry,” she muttered again moments later. “I’m so sorry. That was so unfair.”
    He pulled his hand from between her legs and helped her smooth down her skirt before, gingerly, he took a step back and sat down. “Why are you always apologizing?”
    She struggled with the hem of her dress. “Because I’m horribly selfish. I’m always thinking about me and what I want.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with looking out for number one,” he said, slouching back to adjust the swollen goods.
    “To the extent I do it? Even I think I’m a pig.”
    He would have laughed if he wasn’t trying to catch his breath. “I think the ladies’ room is across the lobby. I’ll wait here if you want to freshen up.”
    “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry.”
    “Are you still cold?”
    She shook her head.
    “Nervous?”
    The same again.
    “Then my job here is done.”
    She brought up her hands to her cheeks. “You’ll let me make it up to you?”
    He groaned at the thought, grew harder rather than soft. “Let’s not go there right now.”
    She gave a mewling sort of guilty-sounding whine, leaned down, took his face in her hands, and kissed him. Then she scurried away. And it wasn’t until after she was gone and his hard-on was halfway to hard-off, that he realized she’d left without an apology.
    At least they were making progress on one front—though he would’ve been a lot more satisfied if they’d been making it on others. Specifically, finding what they’d come for and figuring out a way to get it, get out of here, and get back to the diner all in one piece.
    The sex thing could wait. Hell, the sex thing didn’t even have to happen. Georgia McLain, with her face, her hair, her outstanding body, and her hellcat ways were not a priority point of this mission. His cock might think differently, but he had yet to let the bastard run the show.
    He enjoyed women. He loved women. He liked being with them in bed and out. Women were the finest thing to have ever been created—so fine that men could never have done the job of designing the same perfect fit.
    That didn’t mean Harry would risk life, limb, or the covert nature of what he did for the Smithson Group for a little bit of nookie on the side.
    Of course, thinking about nookie was the moment he happened to look back up and see Georgia walking toward him, her wrap in place, her skirt straight, her hair a tousled mess of strands colored like a copper mine.
    All the work he’d done convincing himself of his immunity to the way she walked and looked and wore her clothes went to hell in a fiery handbasket. He was monumentally doomed. He got to his feet, adjusted his shirt and his belt and buttoned his coat, trying to decide if he had it in him to walk.
    He met her in the lobby hallway before she got the chance to corner him again in the dark. He was feeling about as weak as a man could get. He needed space.
    She handed him the money she’d had zipped inside a pocket smartly designed at the edge of her wrap. “Here. I’m feeling all girly, so you can be macho and pay.”
    “Now there’s the smart mouth Georgia McLain I’ve come to know and love.”
    She hooked her arm through his. “If you knew me, you would never have taken me