Ash had never known Kegan to be speechless, especially when it came to a woman. His friend was no Casanova. He didn’t care about his love life or lack thereof. He didn’t get attached because he ate, slept, and breathed his job at the FBI. It was his life, his wife, and his baby—all rolled into one. That was why they shared women. Kegan could get laid when he needed to let off some steam, and Ash got to have a short-lived, uncomplicated, no-strings-attached relationship.
But no more. That was all in the past. This woman, whoever she was, had changed everything for Ash. He wanted complicated. And he wanted so many strings that he could tie her up with them…and never let her loose again.
“Who is that?” Ash finally asked once he recovered enough to regain his power of speech.
"Annabelle Kennington-Preston.”
At Kendall’s no nonsense reply, Ash’s stomach bottomed out. That was Annabelle? The FBI wanted him to get close to her? Had they lost their fucking minds? What about their fucking eyes? Did they not see what she looked like? Shit, a man only had so much willpower. And when it came to the magnificent creature only feet away from him, Ash would have none. He knew it as surely and confidently as he knew the tip of his dick was already seeping cum for her.
If Ash actually followed orders—which he rarely did—and got “close” to Annabelle, it would only be to take her, to possess and own her, not to investigate or interrogate her. The entire FBI could suck his motherfucking cock. And if he touched her, that simple sheath dress she wore would be off her in a flash, the lace ripped to shreds, lying in a hunter green puddle at his feet.
No warning and no questions asked, Ash would back Annabelle up against the wall in the hall behind her. He wouldn’t waste the time to take off his black jacket, crisp white dress shirt, or tuxedo pants before he had her short, shapely legs hugging his waist, her heels digging into his back, scouring holes into his skin. He’d hold her tight while he worked his weeping cock into her warm, wet, sinfully snug pussy—with the whole world there to watch and witness them.
As tiny as Annabelle was in stature, she’d weigh no more than a feather in his arms, and her pussy was sure to be a tight fit. The satiny walls would have to stretch and strain to accommodate him. But he would make sure she accepted him—all of him, every, single, goddamn inch of him. He wouldn’t be gentle about it, either. No, not the first time. His animal instincts were too alive, too fresh, too raw for slow, sweet, and smooth. He couldn’t do tender or tame. He needed her too badly. He craved her too desperately, yearned for her too deeply.
Oh yeah, Ash was fucked.
Breathing hot and heavy, Ash stepped forward, knowing he had to have her—this very minute. Married or not, guilty or not, she was his, and she always would be.
But no more. That was all in the past. This woman, whoever she was, had changed everything for Ash. He wanted complicated. And he wanted so many strings that he could tie her up with them…and never let her loose again.
“Who is that?” Ash finally asked once he recovered enough to regain his power of speech.
"Annabelle Kennington-Preston.”
At Kendall’s no nonsense reply, Ash’s stomach bottomed out. That was Annabelle? The FBI wanted him to get close to her? Had they lost their fucking minds? What about their fucking eyes? Did they not see what she looked like? Shit, a man only had so much willpower. And when it came to the magnificent creature only feet away from him, Ash would have none. He knew it as surely and confidently as he knew the tip of his dick was already seeping cum for her.
If Ash actually followed orders—which he rarely did—and got “close” to Annabelle, it would only be to take her, to possess and own her, not to investigate or interrogate her. The entire FBI could suck his motherfucking cock. And if he touched her, that simple sheath dress she wore would be off her in a flash, the lace ripped to shreds, lying in a hunter green puddle at his feet.
No warning and no questions asked, Ash would back Annabelle up against the wall in the hall behind her. He wouldn’t waste the time to take off his black jacket, crisp white dress shirt, or tuxedo pants before he had her short, shapely legs hugging his waist, her heels digging into his back, scouring holes into his skin. He’d hold her tight while he worked his weeping cock into her warm, wet, sinfully snug pussy—with the whole world there to watch and witness them.
As tiny as Annabelle was in stature, she’d weigh no more than a feather in his arms, and her pussy was sure to be a tight fit. The satiny walls would have to stretch and strain to accommodate him. But he would make sure she accepted him—all of him, every, single, goddamn inch of him. He wouldn’t be gentle about it, either. No, not the first time. His animal instincts were too alive, too fresh, too raw for slow, sweet, and smooth. He couldn’t do tender or tame. He needed her too badly. He craved her too desperately, yearned for her too deeply.
Oh yeah, Ash was fucked.
Breathing hot and heavy, Ash stepped forward, knowing he had to have her—this very minute. Married or not, guilty or not, she was his, and she always would be.
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