Chapter 20

TWENTY

“ G od, you’re beautiful,” Truman said against the creamy white skin of Emma’s inner thigh. He dragged his tongue through her wet folds a second time, tasting her.

She quivered under his ministrations. His cock twitched in triumph. She was his, and this might be their final night together. He was going to make it last. Make it worth every tear she’d shed earlier, the sounds of her sobs shredding his heart.

She buried her hands in his hair, her knees falling open wider as she pressed his mouth to her. “Don’t stop.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“ Please ,” she said with a frustrated hiss.

He smiled and kissed her swollen clit. “That’s my girl.”

“Not…a…gi—” He sucked it into his mouth. “ Ahhh .”

He mentally chuckled. Her pleasure was paramount. He licked and sucked, alternating in a rhythm that tightened her desire…and her pleas. She panted like a sprinter. “ Truman .” It wasn’t just his name. It was the way she said it. He poised his thumb on her throbbing nerve center as he filled her with his tongue. She could hardly whisper now. “ Please .”

Two strokes and her climax hit so hard, her hips bowed off the bed. She screamed his name and God’s, and he milked her through it, only releasing her when her body went slack.

He made his way up, pulling her fully onto the mattress with him. When she opened her eyes and peeked at him through heavy lids, his cock throbbed against her thigh.

That seemed to be the only impetuous she needed. She pushed him flat and straddled him in one swift move. His shoulder barked in pain, but he internalized it and gave her a cocky smile. “I see you've recovered."

"Your turn," she said, nipping his bottom lip with her teeth.

What was it about her that drove him mad?

He cupped her breasts, bringing a nipple to his mouth and enjoying her soft intake of breath. He released it, flicking his knuckle over the other before pinching it between his fingers. “I believe I wrung at least three ‘pleases’ out of you.”

Her laugh was deep and wicked. “Always keeping score. Let’s see if I can make it four.”

She sat back, teasing the tip of his cock with her sweet folds before drawing it away. Pressing her hands to his chest, she locked eyes with him and slipped down on to his shaft.

But not too far. He pulsed with his need as she lowered herself an inch, then retreated. Over and over again, taking him one torturous bit at a time.

He held her gaze, his hands on her hips, enjoying the way her eyes went molten as she took more and more of him inside her. Her walls contracted and released, telling him she was building up to another climax.

And then the little vixen slid all the way to his crown and came to a full stop. She closed her eyes and sighed, him fully embedded within her.

He ran his fingers up her sides and cupped her breasts. Her vagina pulsed once, twice, three times, gripping and releasing over and over again, until his member thrummed and pulsed in pain from the aching need of her to move .

Her eyes peeked open, and the look she gave him made the world spin. For a heartbeat, it was as if he was her everything. Her past and future, all rolled up in one.

As if…

She loved him.

A sucking sensation filled his chest, even as his hips bucked. It couldn’t be true, and he’d never thought of himself in a long-term relationship, but…

She grinned as if sensing his panic. “Say, please, Truman.”

The word fell out of his mouth before he could think. "Please. God, yes. Please.”

However, he wasn’t sure what he was asking for: for her to move again or for her to continue looking at him like he was her savior, her hero, her everything.

Bracing her hands on his pecs, she granted his wish. Slowly, calculatingly, she rose until only his tip was inside her, then slid back down. Up and down she went, building a faster and faster pace.

Over and over, she rode him, and he thrust into her. Her lids closed, and he swore. “Open your eyes, Emma.”

“Please?” she taunted. “Where…are your…manners…?”

Fuck. He ground his teeth, but he was getting close. From the way she was clenching him, she was, too. “Fucking please,” he grunted. “Now.”

She shoved his hands off her breasts and rose onto her knees, leaning down to kiss him and sticking her ass in the air. He grabbed her hips and slammed her down on his cock.

She exploded around him.

Her head went back, exposing the graceful arch of her neck, and she cried out her pleasure loud and long. He tugged her forward, forcing her to look at him. Two more thrusts and he followed her over.

They slept.

When the sun came up, shining through the disgusting brown curtains the next morning, the sheets were tangled, and the room no longer smelled musty. It smelled like sex and Pop-Tarts.

Truman had found a box and fed her around four when they’d both been starving once more.

He’d never considered himself a Pop-Tart kind of guy and had turned his nose up at them many times. Here, with Emma, it didn’t matter that they were hand-sized chemistry experiments that came in a box from the grocery store. As he’d broken off pieces and watched her lips close around them, licking his fingers in the process, they’d morphed into a delicious treat. He’d never look at the cherry ones the same way again.

They showered and dressed, finding clean clothes in the closet that were far below his standards, but he didn’t care about that either. Especially when Emma stood naked beside him, running her fingers up and down his spine as she surveyed the poor selection of shirts and decided the button-down he’d picked for himself was a better color for her.

She snatched it from his hands, and he chased her downstairs, her whooping with delight, until he caught her and took her on the dining room table.

His side was killing him, but it was worth every moment of pain.

Reality crept back in over a breakfast of more Pop-Tarts and coffee. He contacted Dolan and asked him to check on Catherine. The man reported back a few minutes later that the nurse on duty refused to give him an update unless he could prove he was related to the woman. The Feds were carefully controlling any information about her and suspected Emma would try to find out how she was.

“Can Brigit help us?” she asked, sucking filling off her finger. She’d taken two capsules for her own pain management, which she said wasn’t bad, but he knew that was a lie.

“The Bureau has her phones bugged, remember? Any unusual number will be flagged.”

“We need more burners,” she said. “Can we find out how Gani is doing?”

He texted Dolan to check on her. The man told him to fuck off.

His brain circled what Gani had said about the Mastermind, the wheelchair, and the scarf. What Dolan had suggested.

Last night, it had seemed impossible that he knew the identity of the man. In the light of day, as his mind replayed situations and conversations from his past; it still seemed improbable but not impossible.

A rotten sensation took hold in his gut.

His phone dinged with a text.

Dolan: Her friend is in critical condition but still alive.

Truman: Thanks, man. I owe you .

Dolan: You’re not worth the trouble. Leave me alone .

Truman relayed the information to Emma, who sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. She hadn’t put on pants yet, and her knees stuck out from the hem of the shirt. “Thank God.”

He sipped his coffee, staring out the window. The spring morning was cool, and birds hovered around a feeder in the front yard. “I need to do several things today. I won’t be gone long, and this place is safe. If you want, though, I can ask Dolan to keep you company.”

Her face turned hard. “I’m going with you. Whatever it is.”

He sat across from her. “I believe I can end this today, but what I need to do in order to make that happen involves breaking a few promises. Things could get dicey, and I can’t protect you if the shit hits the fan. It shouldn’t take me more than a few hours, and I’ll be back.”

“No.” She sat forward and plunked her cup on the table. “We’ve already had this discussion. We’re in this together.”

He reached over and took her hand. “I know, and I appreciate your stubbornness and willingness to stick this out, but we’re this close”—he held his thumb and finger an inch apart—“to resolving all of it—your dad’s disappearance, your mother’s attack, everything. I need to do my job, Emma, and I need to know that you’ll be safe while I am.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I think I know who the Mastermind is, and I need to gather as much evidence as I can to give to the task force so they can stop him.”

“Who is he?”

“For your safety, it’s best I don’t tell you. At this point, he has no reason to believe either of us knows, and until I have solid proof, it’s my word against his.”

She kicked his shin under the table. “Tell me.”

“Ow. What did you do that for?”

“Because you’re being an ass. Either we’re in this together or we’re not.”

“You are as hard-headed as they come, you know that? Why do you think your mother kept his identity a secret, not just from you, but from everyone on her team all those years? He’s not only dangerous, Emma—I believe he's at the top of the food chain. He has resources you and I can't even touch. If he gets wind that you know who he is, he’ll come after you.”

She slammed her good hand on the table. “He already has!”

Blimey, she was going to be the death of him. "I'm formulating a plan, and once I have everything in place?—”

Her phone, under one of the silver wrappers on the table, beeped. Both of them swiveled their heads toward it, then met each other's eyes. "Dolan?" she asked.

His phone, in his pocket, had no incoming text messages. He shook his head as he reached for hers. She reached for it at the same time. Their fingers collided, but she managed to snatch it up first. "It's from him ," she said, her eyes wide. “It has to be.”

Truman took the phone from her. “Good."

The text was brief—an address and a time. Come alone and don't tell anyone if you want to see your father alive again .

Hope filled Emma’s face. "My dad's alive. We can save him.”

Truman wished he could feel that same hope. The Mastermind was reaching out.

And he was setting a trap.