Deep Cover: Book 13: The Phoenix Force Series by S.C. Principale

Author:S.C. Principale [Principale, S.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

War is long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. It’s a military saying that’s been around for ages, but no one knows who said it.

Probably because so many people had the same thought.

Saturday night turned this undercover operation into the deepest deep cover work I’ve ever done. Vera’s living like she might die soon—whether it’s a slow death entombed in some hidden building in D.C. or a drive-by on her way to the courthouse, she’s acting like she’s got nothing left to lose—physically.

I can barely pry myself out of our bed to check the perimeter and the phones on Sunday afternoon. When I come back, she’s waiting for me, gloriously naked and on all fours, a big grin on her face. “Bring me that.” She crooks her finger at me, and my cock follows orders.

She wraps her mouth around me with a moan that makes my knees buckle, quickly getting me to full hardness before sliding her mouth down. I feel the narrowing of her warm suction turning into the tightness of her throat, and she’s taking all of me.

The perverted voice in the back of my head, the one usually buried in grumpy silence, pops out long enough to shout “Marriage material!” and then disappears in a haze of enthusiastic slurping. I let Vee drive, just happy to be her passenger.

When she’s done wicked, wicked things to me and caused me to explode across her chin and her beautiful full breasts (with sweet peachy-pink nipples and soft globes that fall naturally to the sides), we shower again. That just leads to more naughty things, with me bending her over in the shower and licking her from behind while she clutches onto the sides of the tub, three of my fingers sliding into her tunnel hard and fast as she babbles in bliss.

Yes. It’s a honeymoon. There are naps, sex, naps, and more sex.

It’s Sunday night before either of us realizes that Powell hasn’t called.

***

“What if he’s dead?”

“I don’t think he’s dead. He probably just figures there’s no reason to call.” Dave paces behind me as I make a loop around the outside of our safe house. Even though it’s hot and sticky in the late August night, I have to be outside—as long as my protector is by my side. I feel too cooped up in the house.

“Judges don’t work on the weekends, do they?”

“Some do. But I’m sure that has nothing to do with why he didn’t call. No news is good news. He probably just didn’t want to stave off questions.”

I hold his hand in one of mine and swat mosquitos away with the other. “How did you know he was lying? You couldn’t see his face.”

Dave’s brow furrows as he ducks under a wall of honeysuckle behind the garage. “Pauses and intonation in his voice. Some of it was just knowing about the program. You’re not the first witness I’ve helped guard,” his voice is pressed right against my ear. “Though it was usually just to and from a trial.

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