Free Risk of Exposure (Alpha Ops Book 6) by Emmy Curtis Page B

to her annoying self. “Very true.” He stepped away so that she knew he wasn’t a threat, but as soon as he’d taken a step back, she grabbed the front of his shirt, screwed it up into her fist, and yanked him toward her. Heat rushed through him as her lips met his. Alrighty then .
    “You…are the most…annoying person…I’ve ever…met,” she said, punctuating her words with kisses.
    “Pot, meet the kettle,” he murmured back. The wafer-thin cardigan she was wearing was driving him insane. He could feel the heat of her skin, but the material was slightly rough. Rougher than her skin anyway. He pushed her back against the wall and took a breath. He was being a wanker again. Fucking the boss’s daughter like it was okay.
    It wasn’t okay.
    “Are you sure you’re…”
    “Jesus, spare me the bleeding heart, Malone. I want what I want. Right now, I want you. If you’re up for it, do something. If you’re not—”
    He licked the whole length of his palm slowly, cutting off her words as she watched his tongue. Then he plunged his hand in her panties and dragged his fingers through her wetness, making her gasp and hold on to the wall like it would hold her up.
    He used all his fingers to stroke different parts of her. “Does this ‘something’ work for you, love?” he growled, pressure building in his pants.
    She moaned in response, the sound reverberating through his soul. Jesus .
    He took his hand away and slung her over his shoulder.
    “What are you doing?” she gasped as he strode toward her bedroom.
    “I’m not going to fuck you against a wall again, sweetheart. That might work for you…”
    “It does work for me,” she said, he voice coming out in time with his strides.
    “I know.” He opened the door and lowered her gently to the floor.
    Immediately her fists went to her hips again. He was too turned on to argue, so he just pushed her back. She fell onto the bed with a small squeal.
    “You might want to get screwed against a wall, but if I’m… servicing you, you’re going to fucking look at me. You’re going to see me making you come. I’m not an anonymous dick.” He had zero fucking idea why he was suddenly so passionately against anonymous sex. But apparently he was.
    He stood at the foot of the bed. “Strip,” he said.
    She hesitated.
    “Get your fucking clothes off.”
      
    When she’d gone looking for him because she couldn’t sleep, she’d imagined they could look at maps and make a plan for when the snow stopped. But when she’d found him gone, she slipped into an unfamiliar state of fear and trepidation. He’d left her.
    Suddenly she’d had doubts that she would be able to get to the border by herself in the drifting snow before the Russians or, yes, maybe a guy on a tractor. This was her job. As soon as she’d realized that maybe she wouldn’t have to do it herself, that maybe he’d be able to help her, she’d subconsciously decided that she couldn’t do it by herself.
    What was wrong with her?
    And while her body was flooding with stage one hysteria, he’d come back. And thirty seconds later she was here, standing on her bed—a bed that had seen no action in over six months—deliberating whether to do a silent striptease.
    Who knew when she’d get laid again? Who knew when she’d meet a sufficiently hot man who was also annoying enough that she wouldn’t want to get close to him?
    “Take them off, or I’ll take them off for you,” he said in a challenging voice.
    “You can try…,” she said, and readied herself for combat.
    But he didn’t grab her, didn’t jump on her and rip off her clothes. Unexpectedly, he stood up on the bed with her, taking her hand to steady them on the bouncy mattress. He brushed hair out of her eyes and kissed her. Deeply, slowly, like he was truly in love with her. An unrecognizable emotion crested over her, sending waves of warmth pulsing through her body in time with every touch of his tongue.
    Her muscles loosened as