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"You've been into the system twice. Through fake booking. If those records exist somewhere they'll know who you are and that after one of your busts, a judge vanished, and after another part of the ring was taken down."
"I'll. Be. Careful." My hips were rocking hard, maximum motion to connect with his knuckles where he rubbed them hard against me, hurting and pleasuring and everything in me gathering up and starting to tense, ready, ready.
"How? How can you be careful?" He sounded reasonable. Like he wasn't doing to me what he was doing.
"Contacts," I said, breathless. "Colored." I could only make my brown eyes darker. "I'll go blond. It distracts. Ahh! Men. And." What the fuck was I thinking? Trying to think? Oh, right – "I can get a basic. Tat. Tattoo? One that. Can. Oh. Oh, oh." Rocking. His knuckles so hard. Nothing inside me. "Can be made more complex if I need another. Cover. Some." God! "Time!"
"You're going to do it?"
"Yes!"
"You'll go undercover?" His knuckles, harder, faster, impossible, so much friction building up.
"Yes!"
Pause. He almost stilled. I almost screamed. "And you will come back to me?"
The way he said it. That was new. That was different. That wasn't traditional Cole.
I didn't care. I really, really didn't care. "Yes!"
"Okay, then," he said. And like magic he unfolded all his fingers. Two went into one place and three went into another and I screamed, pulsing from head to toe, feeling the orgasm like something that raced through every nerve ending, every pleasure center. Every inch of me.
I pulsed. I writhed. I rode his fingers shamelessly.
Best. Massage. Ever.
