Overlooked(2)(139)
I push out a loud breath as I finally re-enter my office. Closing the door, I walk on shaky legs back to my desk and nearly collapse against the corner of it.
Did the man know he was a walking wet dream?
Too frustrated to work, I journey back to the door and slide the lock in place.
With an urgency I can’t explain, I reach down and remove the sopping panties before taking a seat behind my mahogany desk. Reclining in my over-sized office chair, I lift one leg to rest my foot against the edge of the desk.
As moments from our meeting replay in my head, I decide in that instant that my lunch break will be postponed until my fingers attempt to strum away the tension at my aching center.
I sigh as my fingers make contact, my pointer and middle fingers slipping around the slick button that is my clitoris. My head lolls back enjoying the intoxicating sensations that ripple through my middle.
My fingers inch further south as I summon images of Jameson sitting across from me with that penetrating gaze and that cocky smile. Then I imagine those rough fingers teasing my sensitive nub and a moan escapes me at the erogenous thought.
I continue to rub circles around my clit while I dip a finger into the welcoming warmth of my hole. The penetration is a delightful addition that has me grinding my hips upwards as I imagine Jameson thrusting into me with enough momentum to shake me to my core.
And then I’m coming as I pant my client’s name, the wetness of my release coating my fingers as my shoulders relax and momentary satisfaction covers me.
*****
At five o’clock, I’m the first one out of the office. I’m anxious to get home and share my earlier encounter with my roommate, Stephania.
As I stride across the parking lot, I throw a furtive glance over each shoulder and grip the keychain containing my pepper spray. It is a routine I adopted once I fled my hometown and have to walk anywhere alone.
I unlock the front door and Stephania is in the kitchen, cooking as a mouthwatering aroma fills the small two-bedroom apartment we share.
Her bouncy, red curls are pulled away from her face when she looks up at me with a smile.
“Steph, you will not believe what happened to me today!” I squeal.
“You got a promotion?” she guesses, a hopeful expression on her face.
“No!” I laugh, leaning against the island.
Her lips quirk at my excitement but she doesn’t try to guess again.
“I met a walking sex dream and his name is Jameson Wilcox.”
Her eyes double in size at his name but she remains silent as I give her a detailed play by play.
Chapter two
JAMESON WILCOX
I need to fuck Grace Chambers.
The woman is a fucking vixen. Pure sex packaged in a beautifully curvy frame. My carnal instincts want to devour every inch of her.
An hour after our meeting, my cock is still shoving against the zipper of my slacks making it all but impossible to concentrate on anything besides her plump lips and thick, round ass.
The fact that our meeting was a ruse no longer matters. I need to bury my cock in that woman before this assignment is over.
I turn her card over in my palm before deftly flicking it to a corner of my desk. Shaking my head, I try to clear those wayward thoughts.
I’m a bounty hunter for people on the wrong side of the law. I have no business having these thoughts about a target.
Pulling my phone from its cradle, I dial my client to notify him that initial contact has been made.
“Wilcox,” his sickening voice greets. “You got good news for me?”
I inform him of my meeting and tell him that the job will be complete in a month’s time according to the deadline we had agreed upon.
“We’re on schedule,” I assure him. Then I tell him the name of the town she’s claimed as home, sparing details about her occupation and home address. It won’t kill him to wait a bit for the remainder of the information.
Truth be told, I’m not too sure I will ever share that info. He doesn’t need it as long as I hold up my end of the deal. Which I fully intend to do.
Brick drawls on about something insignificant and I smother a retort.
The man is nauseating but a paying customer, and who am I to discriminate? His money is just the same as any other American dollar.
He hired me a week ago to capture and deliver Grace Chambers to him in a month’s time. The client, who most refer to as “Brick,” wants her to suffer for a mistake he claims she made before skipping town and moving to Holly Hill.
Brick reminds me that I’m not to harm Grace in any way. He wants her delivered unscathed before exacting his revenge. My only responsibility in the ploy is the capture and return of “dislocated” goods or persons and I would receive the six-figure payout we’d agreed upon.