A Love For Always Page 9

  Needy sounds escaped her, wanting more from him. She needed him on top of her, dominating her, but Nate had other ideas. He broke the kiss and yanked her shirt off.

  “Nate! Someone will see!”

  “Twelve foot privacy fence,” Nate muttered.

  “I’m sweaty,” Sylvie gasped as he deftly unclasped her bra.

  “So am I.” A hot mouth sucked on a nipple; she moaned in response. Sylvie wasn’t an exhibitionist, but making out in the open heightened her arousal to unbearable levels. Hands stroked feverishly down her sides and between them, and before she knew it, he was tugging her shorts down along with her panties.

  “Oh, God,” Sylvie whispered. “This is really happening.”

  A damn right was mumbled somewhere against her skin.

  Nate continued tasting every inch of her, moving lower in sensual exploration. When his tongue reached her belly button, he circled the area for a long time, in no hurry to reach the spot where she craved him the most. However, self-consciousness took her out of the moment.

  “Nate, don’t.” She scored his hair with her fingers as she looked down at his dark head edging lower and lower. “I’m serious. I’m sweaty.”

  His head came up, pinning her with a feral glare. “I don’t fucking care. Been dreaming of this moment, babe; a little sweat ain’t stopping me.” Hot breath fanned her throbbing center before his mouth closed over her clit. The drag of his tongue down her cleft sent her back arching off the lounge.

  “Ahhh!”

  An answering growl, her butt lifted higher as he consumed her like a man starved. His tongue was everywhere—flicking her clit, spreading her folds, and dipping into her pussy. The pulsing intensified as her thighs pressed in against his head.

  “Nate, oh, God! There. There,” Sylvie mewled. “Suck it, please.” He flattened his tongue, stroking her slit heavily before sucking her tender flesh, sending her soaring to a blistering high. Sylvie screamed his name as a shattering orgasm swept tremors through her body. The exquisite throb of her core rendered her almost breathless; she thought she’d pass out.

  Nate bolted up her body and kissed her fiercely, the smell of her sex permeated her nose. The rawness, the urgency, the frantic rubbing of his erection against pussy sent her spiraling into another climax. Her sob of pleasure was swallowed by Nate’s bruising kisses.

  “I need to fuck you, Sylvie,” Nate muttered as he dragged his lips away from hers.

  “Yes. Okay, Nate. ” God, she sounded needy.

  She saw the frustration in his eyes. “The condom’s in the room.”

  A shuddering breath shook his body before he lifted away and scooped her into his arms.

  “Nate?”

  He didn’t say anything as he carried her to the bedroom. His body was stiff as hers was boneless. Nate lowered her to the bed, and as she scooted back on the covers, he stripped. She admired the ripple of muscle flexing under his skin as he tugged off his shirt. When he lowered his boxer briefs, his hard, thick length sprang free, reminding her how he had always filled her. Always hard. He was hard all over and she was anticipating being wrecked, ruined, and stretched beyond limits. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand drawer, tore the wrapper, and quickly sheathed himself.

  Guess foreplay was over.

  “It’s been too fucking long, babe,” Nate said hoarsely, bending to grab her ankle.

  He fell between her legs, lifted them high up with his forearms and drove inside her. Sylvie’s breathing hitched as she struggled to adjust to his size. He’d always been too big, and she’d always been too small.

  “Shit! Did I hurt you, Sylvs?”

  “Give me a moment.” She blinked a couple of times, unsure whether it was pleasure or pain.

  Nate searched her face, tortured savagery etched all over his features. He was holding on by a very thin thread. She could feel the pulse of his erection even without the movement.

  “Okay, I’m good,” she whispered.

  Nate hissed as he withdrew from her and pushed back in. “You’re fucking tight.” He repeated the movement. “So fucking tight, Jesus.”

  As her natural juices coated his shaft and as she stretched further to accept him, he pounded harder into her, capturing her lips in a brutal kiss. When he wasn’t kissing her, he was watching her, his eyes smoldering with the intensity of his possession. There was no turning back now. Nate owned her. He left her with no doubt. It was in the way his body slammed into her, the way his cock filled her. It was in the way he continued to take her, fast, hard, and powerful.

  His fingers reached down between them, rolling her sensitive clit. As another orgasm rippled through her, her pussy clenched around him, drawing his cock into her body.

  “Fuck. Fuck.” Nate’s head snapped back and she watched the pleasure rip through him. His muscles corded and bunched in beautiful symmetry as he powered in one more time and stilled. He shoved his face in the curve of her shoulder, muffling his grunt of release. Nate continued to gently rock into her as the tremors diminished from his body.

  He was careful not to crush her, but he was relaxed enough into her, she could feel the wild beating of his heart.

  “That,” Nate said, lifting his head to gaze into her eyes, “was fucking amazing.”

  “It sure was.” Sylvie smiled shyly.

  “Welcome back, babe.” He kissed her forehead.

  “Nate—”

  “Shh, hold that thought. Be right back.”

  He slid out from her to take care of the condom. Sylvie stretched, basking in the soreness of her well-fucked limbs. Nate returned from the bathroom and got back into bed with her, pulling her into his arms.

  “You know what this means, right?” Nate said. “You’re sleeping in my bed. No more damned separate rooms.”

  “You rushed me.”

  “I simply fast-tracked our relationship, Sylvs,” he murmured. “You were taking too damned long.”

  “It hasn’t even been two weeks. You said you would give me two weeks.”

  “I lied.”

  “Hmm . . . not sure that’s a good basis for a relationship,” she teased.

  His arms tightened around her. “I didn’t want to waste any more time. We have a solid foundation, Sylvs. Friends for eight years, known you for nine, and we picked up easily afterward.”

  This was true. Still, she had a lot to process. “I’m going to be late for work.”

  Nate sighed. “You’re not going to get all weird on me are you?”

  “No. I’m not.” This was also true. Sylvie looked up at him and smiled.

  He resumed kissing her and kissed her for a while.

  Sylvie pulled away. “I’m really, really going to be late.”

  “I’ll take you to the restaurant and pick you up.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Let’s shower before I decide to keep you in bed all day.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Pass the rice, jackass.”

  “Get it your damn self. I’m busy eating.”

  “This is good stuff, chef.”

  “Amazebal . . . urg . . . chef.”

  “Kato, chew your food,” Sylvie admonished, chuckling at her kitchen assistant’s effort of speaking over chewing.

  The staff meal was always a rowdy affair given the diversity of her crew. Three people manned the ramen bar—badass-looking Rick with his equally badass-looking tattoos, Taylor who was clean-cut and scholarly, and Koji, the only full Japanese on staff. Kato, who could be mistaken for her younger brother, and the other four waitstaff who were a mixed bunch as well, ranging from preppy to goth.

  “Here you go, Rick.” She handed her sous chef the plate of rice.

  “Great, next you’ll ask Sylvie to wipe your ass.”

  “Taylor! Inappropriate!” Sylvie exclaimed, but a grin threatened to break through her stern face.

  “Okay, mama bear,” Taylor shot her a devilish grin.

  “Go fuck yourself, Taylor,” Rick told his partner.

/>   “Gentlemen, the nabemono is the comfort food of my country,” Koji spoke in a sage tone. “But you are all disrupting its essence”—he took a sip of tea—“with your goddamned bickering.”

  Raucous laughter erupted across the table.

  “What’s this shit called anyway?” Rick asked, deadpan.

  Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Hakata Chicken hot pot.”

  “Huh,” Rick muttered. “Thought it had a fancy Japanese name.”

  “It’s really called Tori Mizutaki,” Kato piped in.

  Rick frowned at Sylvie. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

  “Would you even remember what it’s called tomorrow?” Sylvie asked dryly.

  “You have a point,” Rick replied.

  More laughter from the table.

  “Okay, guys,” her Goth-chic server called their attention. “The wolves are hungry.”

  Everyone glanced at the line of customers en-massing at the glass-paneled door.

  “How many groups have signed themselves up on the clipboard?” Sylvie asked.

  “We’re at thirty, mostly two pax, one group of four.”

  “Verified all groups are present before we open?”

  “Yes, chef.”

  “Fabulous,” Sylvie said. “Okay, team, looks like another busy night. We’ve got thirty minutes. I hope you’ve memorized the specials for tonight. No substitutions.”

  “Hell yeah!”

  She loved her team.

  Six hours later, Sylvie flopped down on her office chair.

  What an evening!

  The ramen-hungry crowd was relentless. She was tired on her feet and her ramen-slingers were kept busy all night long. It wouldn’t make up for the money Hiroshi took from her last Tuesday, but it was comforting that the money would keep coming in. She was going to tough it out tonight and count the sales before dropping it off in the night depository.

  “Hey, I’m heading out,” Koji said. “Specials were a hit, chef. Good job.”

  “Thanks! You guys did a good job pushing it. Who’s left on the floor?”

  “Just Rick and Taylor. All the waitstaff are gone.”

  Kato was cleaning up in the kitchen. Their dishwasher and all-around prepper quit a few days ago, and she needed to hire someone ASAP. She wanted Kato to concentrate on cooking and less on prep and definitely not cleaning.

  Sylvie said goodbye to Koji and turned her attention to three days’ worth of mail. Her eyes zeroed in on a manila envelope and a package. A Saturday delivery? Must be important.

  It was almost midnight. Nate texted her an hour ago saying he’d be out of an emergency meeting soon and to let him know when he could pick her up.

  Sylvie: I need another hour to tally the sales. Can we stop by the bank and drop off the money before we head home? Okay with you? Rick, Taylor, and Kato are still here, BTW, so I’m not alone.

  Nate: I’m almost done, and we can certainly stop by the bank. I’ll come hang with you while you finish up.

  Sylvie: Love that.

  Nate: Later, babe.

  Sylvie sighed happily and remembered their time this morning. Nate said his heart always belonged to her. He had not said he loved her. She wasn’t sure he was the type who would say the words, because she had never heard him say it to her or anybody. Words were not as important as actions. Both of them had to start somewhere. She was opening herself up to a future with him, and she would give him a chance to be the man she could trust her whole heart with.

  Her eyes fell again on the padded manila envelope. It looked like it was delivered via local courier. She tore it open and pulled pictures out of the pouch. A cell phone also fell out.

  “What the crap is this?”

  They were pictures of her from a few days ago from inside the restaurant! But how? The walls suddenly closed in on her, and her pulse pounded in her ears. Sylvie looked suspiciously at the surveillance cams. Sam Harper had updated their system and these pictures didn’t look like they were from the video feed. There was a note wrapped around the phone.

  “These pictures were sent to your father. Call him. He should know our threat is real, and we can get to you any time we want. Press 1.”

  She flipped the phone open, her thumb hovering over the number. Indecision froze her fingers and she snapped it closed. She pushed back against her chair and left the room, heading to the back exit. Before she could yank the door open, Nate’s warning to her this morning echoed in her ears. What was she doing? Nate was going to flip if she stepped outside alone.

  The phone vibrated in her hand and a name flashed on the screen. Daichi Yoshida?

  Confused, Sylvie answered. “Dad?”

  “Sylvie, are you all right?” her father’s heavily accented voice came on the line.

  “Yes. I received some pictures and a package I don’t—”

  “Listen, destroy—”

  The line crackled and a high pitched sound sent her into a disoriented state.

  “Ahhh!” She dropped to her knees as the phone clattered to the floor.

  A booming sound.

  The building shaking.

  A rain of debris.

  Blackness.

  *****

  “Earth to Reece.”

  Admiral Benjamin Porter’s amused voice broke through Nate’s passing fantasy of getting Sylvie home and naked.

  Nate cleared his throat and glanced in irritation at Beatrice’s father. The admiral was deeply involved with the clandestine operations of the CIA and had been a long-time mentor of Travis. He was also a frequent ally of BSI whenever they found themselves in sticky situations with other government agencies, needing the admiral to make things go away. His help wasn’t always without a hidden agenda, but Nate noted it was unwaveringly for the greater good.

  In other words, if there were a true patriot in the room, it would be the admiral. The man had given up a lot, even sacrificing his family to get things done for the homeland. It was only recently that he had mended his relationship with his daughter.

  “He’s been slacking for the past week,” Beatrice piped in, ignoring the glare from Nate. She smiled sweetly. “About time, I say.”

  “Thank God, Ed’s picking up the reins,” the admiral added, glancing at Ed Shephard who’d moved into the role of managing partner seamlessly. “Judging from the track record that’s been happening lately,” Porter stared pointedly at Beatrice, “we’re looking at a few months of upheaval for Reece.”

  There were four people in the meeting late Saturday evening. Nate, Ed, Beatrice, and the admiral. Slight adjustments needed to be made in their security detail for a medical delegation to Jordan. New intel of an ISIS threat appeared online and the team was scrambling to address possible loopholes in its security. Porter, as usual, provided inside information.

  “We’ll need to do additional security sweeps at the convention and double-check the list of employees who have access to the hotel room floor against the new ISIS watch list,” Ed said. “Make sure nothing has changed.”

  “The threat to the medical delegation is low,” Beatrice said. “We just don’t want what happened to Black Brig Security to happen to us.”

  “If they listened to our warning, those aid workers would still be alive,” Nate muttered in disgust.

  The mood of the room turned somber as they remembered the headline from a month ago when five U.S. aid workers, whose sole purpose in Syria was to help the nation’s starving refugees, were executed for the world to see.

  “You did all you could, Reece,” Porter said. “Black Brig chose not to listen.”

  “Are we done here?” Nate said, suddenly feeling the need to get out of the office.

  “Yes,” Ed said. “I’ll work up the changes and email it to Travis to look over.”

  Beatrice stood up. “And I’m going home. Gabe’s working over the weekend as well.”

  Everyone knew better than to ask Beatrice about her fiancé’s work. Gabriel Sullivan worked for a private security firm whose servi
ces were frequently contracted by U.S. Intelligence agencies for covert and clandestine operations.

  “I’m out of here as well,” the admiral rose from his chair.

  “I have something I want to run by you,” Nate told Porter. “You parked in the basement or street?”

  “Basement.”

  “Great, I’ll walk with you.”

  After Nate and the admiral walked Beatrice to her car, which was parked on the street, they rounded the building and headed down to the basement parking.

  “I’ll see what I can dig up on Daichi Yoshida’s organization,” Porter said.

  “Also, have you ever heard of Drake Lassiter?” Nate asked. “He’s a DEA special agent who nearly busted Sylvie earlier this week.”

  “You boys never do things simple with your women, do you?” Porter chuckled. “First Travis, and then Gabe. No, I haven’t heard of him, which is surprising since I’ve dealt with the DEA in Colombia. I’ll admit the Asian Crime Syndicate isn’t high on the CIA’s priority right now. They’re too complicated to take down with not much benefit in terms of National Security.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Their affairs don’t even rate on the President’s agenda.”

  “I imagine ISIS and Al Qaeda are still the administration’s biggest headache?”

  “And North Korea.”

  Both men fell into a protracted silence, lost in their own thoughts. Nate shoved his hands in his pockets as he mulled Lassiter’s exact interest in Sylvie. He didn’t like her being a target one bit. The underground parking lot’s pallid fluorescent lighting flickered overhead, illuminating the cold grey concrete. Nate’s Ferrari was parked near the bank of elevators.

  They got to Porter’s SUV first.

  “I’ll call you Monday with details. I’m heading to Richmond tom—” Nate’s voice faded when he noticed a line of four men, all dressed in black, walking toward them. “Fuck.”