Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
She laughed, breathless and feeling almost reckless, safely back on birth control. “I’m okay, Huck.”
“Let’s prove it,” he murmured, his voice thick with challenge.
“All right.” She kissed him, her body softening and arousal heightening, her thoughts slipping away with each brush of his lips.
He scratched his hands down her back to cup her butt. The foreplay was usually longer, but she wasn’t in the mood to wait. Her body was already sparking, nerves firing under his touch. So she slowly, carefully, grasped him and lowered herself onto him.
He groaned as her weight settled on his thighs, his hands clenching against her hips. “Nice.”
“I am gifted.”
“That you are.” He reached up and tweaked her nipples, his grin sharp and wicked. “I take it fast this time. Slow later.”
“Agreed.”
She pressed her hands onto his shoulders, muscles coiling as she lifted her hips and then drove them back down, their bodies colliding with a force that lit her up from the inside. He slammed her back down again, his fingers digging into her skin.
They set up a hard, unrelenting rhythm. When he powered inside her, her body went lax and loose, her muscles quivering under the intensity. She let herself sink into it, surrendering to the heat and hunger. Finally, her mind stilled. No more thoughts, only sensation. A truly rare occurrence. This was the kind of clarity she craved.
She reached the pinnacle, her body shuddering as she whispered his name, her climax tearing through her. Huck was seconds behind her, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks, his own release crashing over him as he jerked wildly inside her.
Gasping, slightly sweaty, she collapsed forward and nuzzled her face into his neck, letting the warmth of him soak into her skin. “You always make me feel better. Head to toe,” she mumbled.
He chuckled, a deep, satisfied rumble as he rolled them over again, his big body bracketed above hers. “Good, because we’re just getting started.”
Chapter 8
Morning brought a sharper wind as Laurel stepped out of Huck’s truck and dodged through the rain toward their shared office building. The sturdy, two-story structure clung to the hillside, its facade solid. Rain dripped from the eaves, splashing onto the uneven pavement.
The middle suite on the ground floor housed Staggers Ice Creamery, its new neon sign glowing bright yellow, humming faintly in the misty air. The scent of fresh waffle cones and melted sugar seeped through the doorway every time a customer came or went, blending with the sharp bite of rain-soaked asphalt. The FBI offices took residence on the floor above the creamery.
To the right, the Washington State Fish and Wildlife offices took up both floors. The lower level buzzed with activity most days—radios crackling, heavy boots thudding against tile, the occasional bark of dogs. Metal desks, utilitarian chairs, and the constant hum of computers added to the underlying mechanical soundtrack.
Laurel’s mother had leased a section of the ground floor to the left for her tea subscription business, but the space remained stubbornly empty. Rainwater streaked the glass, smudging the cursive COMING SOON sign that had been there a bit too long.
Above her mother’s space sat Rachel Raprenzi’s studio, Killing Hour Studios. From the outside, the narrow windows gleamed with freshly cleaned glass. Inside, Laurel imagined a mixture of high-end recording equipment and cluttered research boards.
Laurel stepped into the shared vestibule used by the FBI and Fish and Wildlife. To her right, Huck’s office was marked by a hand-carved sign that read FISH AND GAME. The dark wood gleamed under the dim lights, grooves worn smooth from years of touch. She paused, having wondered but not asked. “Why do you have an incorrect sign above Fish and Wildlife?”
“A while back, a group of woodworkers—old, retired guys—made it for us,” Huck murmured, grinning. “We didn’t have the heart to change it. I like it. Adds charm.”
“It adds confusion,” she countered. But the quirk had grown on her, the sign’s rustic look fitting the rough-edged nature of their work. “Although, I do like it. Charm is a good thing, right?”
“Exactly.” He pressed a quick kiss to her head before opening his glass door. “Try not to get shot at today.”
“Ditto.” She moved to the scanner to the right of her door, its flat surface cold and slick beneath her fingertips. They’d finally had new security installed to better protect the office.
She swiped her ID over the plate, and the door clicked open. Inside, warmth replaced the rain’s chill. The stairwell leading up was lined with garish wallpaper of cancan girls, bright skirts twirling against deep crimson backdrops. Laurel still hadn’t replaced it, even though she’d meant to. The pattern appeared ridiculous and outdated, but it amused most of the agents and techs who walked through the door. Maybe that was enough reason to leave it alone.