Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) (10 page)

His lips parted to say something, but he seemed unsure of what.

Yeah, I thought so
. “Can’t rape the willing, Silas.”

“This isn’t how I want it—” He gritted it out through clenched teeth, enduring my hand.

“Too bad.” Power flooded through me as I threw his words back at him. “I’m going to watch you come like this.” And I shoved my mouth around him, sucking as hard as I could.

His knees softened and he slid a half an inch down the wall in response. God, the idea that I could bring this giant of a man to his knees made me burn. Maybe next time I could—

Nope. There couldn’t be a next time. After Reno, I’d sworn never to get involved while undercover, and who knew what kind of relationship Silas had with his sister? She could walk in at any moment and I’d be made. Even though I didn’t know Caroline personally, we’d seen each other. She might not remember I was FBI, but she’d know I was government. Really, she’d know I wasn’t who Silas thought I was.

I held onto the illusion that I had him trapped against this wall as I fucked him with my mouth. We both knew he could stop me if he wanted to. His half-assed attempt to fight me died when I trailed my hand across his stomach, down to the place where his leg met his body, and lower until it was involved in pleasing him. I cupped his balls and massaged.

“Fuck, fuck . . .” he chanted through his labored breathing. Both of his hands were in my hair. “Where the hell . . . did you come from?”

If I weren’t already busy, his rhetorical question would have gotten me to smile.

His hips moved and flexed, and that cock jabbed in my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat. He flinched with pleasure as I skimmed my teeth lightly over the head. It was an action I loved, one that was unspoken trust, showing my intent wasn’t to hurt. But more importantly, it explained to him exactly who was in control of the moment. He could tug on my hair or push on my head all he wanted, but if he went too far, I’d be ready to deliver some sharp, immediate correction.

My lips were coated in saliva and starting to go numb from the punishing rhythm we’d fallen into, when his legs wavered. The tiniest shiver of uncontrolled movement, but it was a clear signal that he was close. Plus, he exhaled loud and long, a moan escaping him that was filled with pleasure.

I threw everything I had into it. My tongue, suction, my nails scraping lightly over the tender flesh below what was in my mouth. It only seemed fair. The orgasm he’d given me had been phenomenal. Could I give him the same experience?

“Jesus Christ, it feels so good,” he whispered.

Heat warmed across my cheeks. It was a simple thing to say, but hearing it was . . . nice. It got to me so much more than it should have. And it turned me on further. The ache for satisfaction was back, flaring wildly.

The moan I made hadn’t been forced. It crept out of me without thought or intent. I slowed, surprised at my reaction.

“Don’t stop.” Silas quivered and his chest lifted in a sharp, enormous breath, only to push it out in a burst. “
Fuck!”

His face twisted into one that could mimic agony, but it was clearly ecstasy, and those interesting blue eyes slammed shut. His cock pulsed and spurts of thick, warm liquid pooled in my mouth as I slowed to a stop. This time his painful grip in my hair got me to yield, and as he finished coming, I swallowed.

“Holy,” he groaned, long and low, “shit.”

He retreated from my mouth, but didn’t release me. I had no choice but to remain on my knees in front of him. It was probably unintentional, the logical side of my brain said. He needed to catch his breath and let the last of the orgasm drain away, but I couldn’t stand the implied submission. Up until ten seconds ago, I’d been the one in charge, and I wasn’t comfortable with how quickly things had shifted.

Fuck, my scalp was smarting, and I shook my head, breaking his hold. As I rubbed the tender skin, he leaned down, grabbed his pants, and drew them back up. His fly was left undone. His strong hands startled me, scooped under my arms, and lifted me to my feet.

“Are you okay?” His eyes were full of concern, and his hand covered mine, helping to rub away the pain.

“I’m fine.” I pushed his hand off, not needing his help.

But as soon as I brushed him away, his arms locked around me, holding me against him. Embracing me. The weak part of me liked the feeling of his strength surrounding me, but I couldn’t allow it.

“Hey,” I said, tilting my head away from his kiss at the last second so his lips hit my cheek. “Thanks so much for . . . today.”

He slowed to a halt, and when he blinked, his gaze grew suspicious. “You’re welcome.”

“The tattoo is beautiful.” The skepticism in him seemed to grow into distrust. Fuck, I needed a decent exit strategy. “And this was a lot of fun, but it’s getting late.”

“It is. We should probably grab dinner.” His statement was completely loaded. An obvious test.

“I don’t think we should.”

A sliver of hurt flashed through him, then was gone instantly, replaced with cool indifference. His hand slid up my spine and curled around until it could cup my face. His thumb brushed across my cheek, and his evaluating stare rooted me in place.

“I’m sorry if I was rough. You’re really aggressive, and it’s hot as hell, but it kind of threw me.”

He was worried that I wanted to bail because I was afraid of him? Hardly. And . . . I wished I could stay. My gaze floated to the unmade bed and I glared at what I couldn’t have. My gut said I could fuck him. The risk was minimal, but then my untrustworthy gut had been wrong on one very big occasion.

“It’s not that,” I said. The best way not to get caught in a lie, was to not have to tell one in the first place. “Look, I just got out of something serious. I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“It’s dinner. A conversation over a meal. You owe me, mouth raper.”

I felt my eyes widen in surprised amusement. “Excuse me, mouth raper? Pretty sure I remember you telling me not to stop.”

His eyes gleamed. “You misunderstood. I said
don’t
, and
stop
.”

I laughed. “Bullshit.”

He used the hand cupping my face to draw me in, and kissed me sweetly. It was disorienting and disarming. “Have dinner with me.”

The tiny voice inside said it was one harmless dinner, but I knew better. The longer I remained around him, the more I’d persuade myself to give in. I shook my head. “I can’t. Thanks, though.”

Rather than seem dejected, Silas straightened and did up his pants, and I couldn’t resist watching his strong arms flex. His expression was determined. “I’ll change your mind.”

I wasn’t about to give him the opportunity, so I flashed a smile and stepped out of his reach. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting me go.

“Good luck,” I said.

I was halfway to the stairs when his footfalls rang out. He followed me down the steps. “Don’t forget about the favor.”

I sighed. “You won’t change my mind about that, either.”

We collided with Andre at the doorway of the studio. He looked visibly relieved not to have caught us in the act, and his gaze turned to Silas. “You’ve got a customer.”

We followed Andre into the gallery and he gestured to the far corner, where a man stood, peering at the artwork. “That gentleman wanted to speak to you.”

Upon hearing that, the man turned—

No fucking way
. My mouth fell open, and I had to force it shut with an audible snap. Silas glanced at me, then to the man, as if unsure of what to do.

“You’re the artist?” The man asked, studying us.

Silas left me and strolled toward his customer. “Not of that piece. It’s Paulo Castanada’s work. He’s showing here next week.”

“I work in Congressman Bennett’s office.” The man puffed up his chest, giving off an air of importance, like Silas should be impressed. “And I was interested in getting something for the congressman’s DC apartment to remind him of home.”

The man didn’t just work in Bennett’s office, he was Kirk Roland, the congressman’s senior aide. The guy standing in Silas’s gallery was the right hand man of the crooked politician I was desperate to bring down.

My brain churned, trying to figure out how I could use this to my advantage.

“You like this piece in particular?” Silas asked, gesturing to the small painting where the Chicago River cut a swath between buildings. The water was the same color as blood.

“It’s . . . interesting. I don’t know how well it’d go over.” Roland flung a finger at another piece nearby, a black and white picture that seemed to be a close-up of machinery. A beautiful pattern immerged among the gears. “I like that one, but it doesn’t say Chicago.”

“That one’s mine. If you want Chicago, you should come to the showing. Paulo’s great at catching the grit and darkness of the city.”

Andre was ready as soon as Silas reached for it, handing a postcard-sized flyer so it could be passed to the potential customer.

Roland took the card, turning it over in his hands, and tucked it in the interior pocket of his suit jacket. “Grit and darkness, huh?”

I could see the interest waning from Roland’s eyes and I wasn’t about to let that happen. If I could get him to the showing, I could find a way to hint at the blindfold club, or slip him a business card. Hell, I could probably get him to make an appearance at the club that very weekend. But my rapidly developing plan rested on the first step, which was getting Roland to the gallery, and Silas seemed primed to blow the sale. Victor Bennett wouldn’t want dark and gritty.

I sidled up to the men and flashed a bright smile at Roland. “I’m sure Paulo has some pieces that are more evocative of the Chicago people typically think of.” Silas’s glance cut my direction. He had to be wondering what the hell I was doing.

Pure calculation, was the answer. Kirk Roland was a pompous ass, and I’d do everything to appeal to it. Having him visit the club was the break Shane and I had been waiting for.

I focused on Silas. “I’m excited to see what he’s going to show. This one’s edgy, but it’s still beautiful.” I dropped my voice a shade, slipping into a more seductive tone. “It’s also a little sexy, and I like that.”

It was a cheap tactic to get him thinking about sex, but fuck it. Sex sold and it worked. Roland’s gaze rolled back to the painting, evaluating with new eyes.

“Does he,” Roland said, “have something like this, but more. . .” He searched for the word.

“Mild?” I offered.

“Yeah,” Silas answered immediately. “He has some work with broader appeal.”

“Perfect,” I said, planting the word in Roland’s mind.

Roland nodded in thought. His hand touched his suit coat pocket, as if confirming the card he’d tucked there was still inside. “Okay, good. Thanks, maybe I’ll come by and check it out.”

The men said their goodbyes, we watched Roland go, and Silas’s gaze swung my direction. “So now you’re going to the show?”

I floundered for a response. Inside, I was a little thrilled that I’d be forced to see Silas again. “What can I say? Your cock persuaded me.”

Again, Andre gave a choked laugh.

Chapter

NINE

Shane sat across from me at the conference room table, his expression blank. He always had that look whenever I debriefed him about something of a ‘delicate’ nature.
Delicate
. That was the term my last handler used when discussing sex. It was a gray area between me and a female handler, even worse with a male one. But I appreciated Shane’s stoic attitude.

I’d given him the rundown of the encounter with Roland and my plan to entice him to the club. I’d also casually mentioned I’d fooled around with the tattoo artist, leaving Silas’s name out of it, and thankfully Shane glossed over the finer details.

“There’s a hiccup,” I said, “that needs to be mentioned.”

“Don’t tell me Roland’s gay.”

I put my train of thought on pause. Shit, was he? He’d worn a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. It seemed unlikely, though, that he’d be into men. His breathing had picked up when I’d mentioned sex and his gaze had lingered on me, too long to be anything other than interest.

“You know Chief Deputy Caroline Getty, with the Marshals?”

Shane’s expression morphed into one that said he was putting two and two together. “What’s the connection between them?”

“The tattoo artist is her brother.”

Shane’s gaze dropped to the tabletop as he considered my next move. “Gotta tread carefully there. I hear she’s a fucking ball buster.”

I glanced out the glass door of the conference room to the rest of the office, which appeared like any other. Outdated computers sat on government-funded furniture and looked as exciting as the non-existent view out the window.

If we’d been doing this at a bar, Shane would have been more relaxed and spoken freely. He might have told me gossip about how exactly Caroline was a ball buster, because in our tightly knit department the men gossiped just as much as the women did.
Especially
when it had to do with women.