Free Cease and Desist (The IMA Book 4) by Nenia Campbell Page A

breath.
    Michael .

Chapter Five
    Liaison
     
    Michael
    A shot of whiskey burned in my gut like a small sun. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. That wasn't important. My cognitive resources were finite and I divvied up the load accordingly.
    Jesus Christ, this job is going to kill me.
    Christina was in her office, as I'd known she would be. I could hear her talking to herself. The door was standing ajar and I silently nudged it open.
    The stereotype of the jaded mercenary seeking solace from his mistress is heavy-handed and trite; but like all stereotypes, there's some truth to it. I had told myself I only wanted to address her concerns but when I saw her in that nightshirt, which might have been made of clingwrap for all it did for my peace of mind, even I had to admit that I was a liar.
    It took her a long time to notice me standing there. Too long. Long enough to get her throat slit. She made a small, startled sound, reaching beneath her pillow for something that glinted in the half-light.
    “Is that a knife? Or are you just happy to see me?”
    “It's a knife.” She retracted the blade, put it back under her pillow. “Can't be too careful these days.”
    I took that as permission to enter. “No,” I agreed. “You can't.” She watched me shut the door. I heard her breath catch when I locked it.
    I reached her in three long steps, already half-hard. Christina's unbrushed hair swirled around her face like a cloud, framing the smooth column of her throat. She swallowed, directing my attention lower, to her full breasts, and curvy hips and ass.
    I opened my mouth, paused. “What's burning?”
    She pointed at a smoking votive candle.
    “Knives and candlelight.” I stepped closer, until our toes almost touched. “How romantic.”
    Her erect nipples were hard enough to make indents in the fabric. I thought about how they would pucker in the cold air when I tore that shirt off her, how they would soften from the warmth of my lips and tongue as I took her into my mouth.
    I could almost hear her breathy moans. See her fingers digging into the sheets as I slipped my fingers inside her slick, sweet cunt to get her ready for my cock. How she would moan when I stroked and squeezed her clit, how she would beg —
    My cock throbbed painfully. But before I could touch her she said, “How's Suraya?”
    Another ache, searing into my belly. I ignored it as best I could. “She seems confident. Ready to go.”
    “You're really going to let her do this.”
    “You said it yourself. What choice do we have?”
    “Those weren't my exact words.”
    I cupped her breast through the shirt, squeezing gently. I looked at her face, rubbing my thumb over the nipple. “Oh?” She didn't tell me to stop.
    “If there was another way….”
    “There isn't.”
    She winced. I'd backed her against her desk, and the sharp corner had jabbed her backside. I put my hand on her thigh, rubbing and massaging, until I'd reached her ass, and then I squeezed, crushing her lips against mine, delving my tongue into her mouth to taste her as I'd been aching to since that plane ride.
    “No,” she panted, as our lips broke. “I guess not.”
    I moved her underwear aside, parting her with a nudge of my fingers. She moved her thighs without my asking and I exhaled through my nose. Fuck. She was just as wet as I'd imagined.
    “You're so tight,” I said, brushing my lips against her mouth. Her eyes had a glazed look as they sought mine out, and I saw her fingers were white where she was braced against the table. I adjusted my rhythm, gentling it, intent on bringing her to her knees. “You need to relax, sweetheart.”
    Christina nodded. She was trembling, and she was tense enough to snap.
    I pulled out my fingers to toy with her clit, and her moan caught, fragmenting deep in her throat. The sound made my balls throb. The effort it took to hold back was starting to cross over into pain.
    With my free hand, I pulled her hair back from her ear,