Cloak of Red (The Arrow Tactical Series Book 3) by Isabel Jolie

Author:Isabel Jolie [Jolie, Isabel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Noctivity Publishing
Published: 2023-08-30T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

SOPHIA

For years, I worked at sex, not out of enjoyment but because I needed to recover. Or, more accurately, I needed to feel like I had recovered. I strove for normalcy. Recovery. But physical intimacy isn’t work with Fisher.

My skin tingles from his touch, and I swear, when I gaze into his eyes, there’s a connection. Simultaneously familiar and new, the sensation both exhilarates and terrifies.

My palm glides along rippling, toned muscle. His hot mouth sucks and nips. The potency of his touch ratchets up a need so intense my pulse roars. My sex clenches. I paw at his clothes, losing any bit of calm. But thank god, I seem to have the same effect on him.

He tugs my sweater off my head. Palms my breasts. I strain for his belt buckle as he sucks and nips. My pants fall to my ankles. My panties join them.

“Please, hurry.” It’s both demand and prayer. I’m half on the bed, half off, his feet planted on the floor when he thrusts inside. A sigh of relief pours out. His forehead falls, and he stills.

“God, you feel good.” I cradle his jaw in my hands, and his gaze meets mine.

Slowly, he begins to move, alternating between slow, tender movements and hard, pounding, possessive thrusts. Little foreplay. We went from zero to eighty in the blink of an eye. He’s a master. Doing exactly what I need.

But it’s those deep blue eyes, the care washing over me, that tenderizes my heart through the searing heat. Logically, there’s a physical explanation for the emotional build-up. Endorphins and a release of hormones that accompany sex. But this emotional build-up, it’s new to me, and that’s where the terror comes in. Because I’m feeling all these things. I care for him, but we’re not real.

This is what I tell myself as he pulses inside me, skin flushed and damp, biceps bulging. I tighten my thighs and arms around him, holding on as he crashes down over me. I bury my face into the curve of his neck, breathing in his addictive musky scent. His hard chest crushes my breasts. As our breathing slows, his heartbeat thuds against mine.

The sex is real. But it’s temporary. I can’t hold on to this or become attached. Fisher doesn’t make plans, not because he’s emotionally stunted, but because he can’t. He chose a career that doesn’t easily allow a personal life. And I chose the same career.

The CIA would frown on this. On relationships. Fraternization. In fact, there’s a form we have to complete for approval for any relationship. Whether the person is in the CIA or outside of it, the relationship must be approved, in theory, before it begins. I’m breaking rules.

From our employer’s perspective, what we are doing is wrong, yet nothing has ever felt so right. Just as I honed my marksmanship skills, I must learn how to manage the tangle of emotions sex with Fisher delivers.

Fisher’s quiet, slow perusal is unnerving. Am I transparent? But his lips fall to mine, and he gives me the sweetest, most tender kiss.

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