Called Up (23 page)

As her heart started racing, her eyes flew up to Deke’s.

And he saw it. Saw it and reacted immediately, drawing everyone’s attention away from her by saying, “Forget about Fitz, people. What about me?
Jesus
, you’ve got me driving a train, advising on programming, whatever the fuck that means, plus I’ve apparently got to set up a campaign fund. This is some serious shit.”

By the time he was done—well by the time everyone else was done giving him a hard time—Fitz’s breathing was almost back to normal and her heart had stopped racing.
Almost.
But whatever. She was about to take back control of the meeting when she realized Nate was staring at her.

Then he turned, and although his expression didn’t change, she could tell by the way he focused on Deke he knew exactly what had just happened. Maybe he even felt a little bit guilty. Either way, he decided to let her off the hook by saying loudly enough to get everyone’s attention, “So I don’t like that whatever I do means you all pay for it one way or another, which is why it only moves forward if you all give the go ahead. Because of Johnny’s visit, unfortunately, we do need to have a sense of what you’re thinking so we’ll need your ballots back by next Wednesday. Fitz will send out an email for a time to meet next week.”

His gaze moved back to hers and her response was automatic. “Anything else?”

There were a few more questions, actually, and she was grateful for it because it meant she could end on a high note. By the time they’d adjourned the meeting, she was pretty sure she’d managed to get past it. She was even able to smile when Lola came up to her afterward and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. And I know the nanny thing was a stopgap to help me out. Deke’s been telling me I need to figure out something official for a while now. It’s just that I love having you live with us so much—” She did? Fitz’s heart started picking up its pace again. “It was what came to mind. It was entirely selfish of me to even—”

“Lola.”

Fitz’s entire body warmed at the sound of Deke’s voice. She looked up to see him very deliberately keeping his distance, but his eyes were burning into hers and she got the sense that he was as ready to take her in his arms as she was ready to be there. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until later tonight.

Then he smiled. Although he wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulders, his gaze never left Fitz’s when he said, “It’s not selfish. I can’t imagine anyone living with Fitz would ever want her to leave.”

Did he mean that? Really? Because now that she mostly had hold of herself again, she wasn’t feeling at all okay with the fact that he’d been the one to step in and help and yet she’d given him not one bit of a heads up as to what was going on. If she weren’t so scared of how it might change things between them, she would pull him out of this room and tell him right now. But it would change things. He
would
be angry. And since he was possibly the only person in the world who believed in her enough to jump in and take her back without even a second’s hesitation, the idea of upsetting him scared her so much that her heart went into full-out race mode again. She clutched the table. This time she felt like she might actually throw up.

Except, no. He’d said it as part of the joke. Or at least that’s what she told herself as he looked down at Lola and went on with what he was saying. “You, on the other hand, are a total slob and, personally, I’d kick you out in a second.”

Lola turned to him and pounded him in the arm. “I have four kids. I have
triplets
. Who are
three
.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Deke said, rolling his eyes, ignoring her outraged laugh. “Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you have a job and a personal life. What
ever
. The fact of the matter remains you’ve been a mess for a long time, Lo.”

With a smack on the arm, Lola spun him around and pushed him toward the now decimated trays of food. “Okay, Mr. Clean. Show me how it’s done.”

He glanced back at Fitz over his shoulder and winked.

And Fitz felt a surge of...love.

But friend love. Because that was all it was. And she’d loved him forever, so it wasn’t like anything had changed.

Well, um... The sex part. That was obviously different.

She looked down at the table and began gathering her things together. After a minute, Nate came over and leaned back against the conference table. He folded his arms across his chest. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

Fitz glared at him as she shut her laptop down. “
Really?
How about you tell me?”

“I want you to be part of this,” he answered, not at all apologetic. “I won’t pretend otherwise.”

Other than a huff, Fitz had no response to that. So she ignored him while she went about her business. She’d gone as far as putting the extra portfolios into her bag when he said, “So you’re still sleeping with him.”

And there went all the folders right onto the floor. “
Damn
it.” With a glare at Nate, she flounced down to pick them up, feeling the air in all sorts of odd ways just in time to keep her skirt from flying up. Sam crouching down next to her to help didn’t make it at all better.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

Except, well... She did want to work for him. Panic attacks and other ramifications aside, she really wanted the job with Sam’s foundation.

Damn
it. How obvious had her near-breakdown been?

Not very, apparently, if Sam’s saying, “That was a fantastic presentation,” meant anything. “Do you have time to talk a little bit?”

They weren’t strangers. They weren’t friends, either, of course, but thanks to his longstanding relationship with Nate, she figured she could at least take advantage of that fact.

She smiled. “Of course. Could we maybe meet over at Deacon’s in fifteen minutes or so? You guys can grab a table.” Probably not the best way to handle the high-powered owner of the Chicago Watchmen and potential new boss, but she needed a minute. Big time. “I’ll see you in a few.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Deke spent the rest of the evening watching Fitz have drinks with another man.

Yes, it was work, but that didn’t make it suck less. And it was a damn good thing Sam had gotten control of his eyes and was being completely professional. Overly professional, it seemed, given they all went back a ways, but maybe that was because Nate was there with them the whole time.

Well, most of the time. There was the two-minute interlude when Nate came over to get a round of drinks. While Deke was drawing a draft, Nate smiled and said in the most conversational tone ever, “You do realize the only reason I’m not kicking the ever-living shit out of you is because Dorie seems to think you and Fitz are good for each other. She made me promise to be nice. She’s also made it clear I’ll never see her naked again if I play the baby sister card so make no mistake—if I have to kill you and end up never having sex again in my life, yours will be the slowest, most painful death you can possibly imagine.”

“Dorie,” Deke called out, his eyes never leaving Nate’s, “your drinks are on the house tonight.”

With a laugh, Dorie called back, “No worries, Deke. I’ve got your back.”

Actually, Fitz seemed happy, his friends were all having a good time and his bar was full. It wasn’t the worst of nights.

Plus, with Lola’s kids at his parents’ and Lola herself with Jules, Fitz was coming home with him. Not only did she stay until closing, as the crowd dwindled down to the final stragglers, she actually offered to help close out Betsy’s tables so the other woman could get home to her kids. Hell, she’d actually sat and talked with Tristan Tucker and his date for a while, something Deke didn’t think he’d ever seen. If it hadn’t been for Josh still hanging around, well, it wouldn’t have been the first time Deke had had sex in his bar, but it would have been the best, he had no doubt. She’d done amazing at that board meeting, even with that moment at the end. He might not like the idea of Fitz’s job getting more intense, but if it meant she wore those suits and heels every day? There were some definite perks. The idea of it made him so hot for her that, once he got her home, he barely made it to the bedroom before tearing her clothes off. Yep, he damn well ravished her. She didn’t mind one bit.

Which was why, when he was woken up by the click of metal in the middle of the night and realized it was the sound of her handcuffing him to the bed, he was taken a little bit by surprise. Before he could even process it, she took his other wrist and cuffed that one as well.

“You,” she said, “have been a very naughty boy.”

Deke—and his dick—came to full attention. “I have?”

Now that he was fully secured, she climbed off him and went over to the overnight bag she’d stashed by the windows. Her hair was all teased out, kind of the way it had been the first night they’d been together in San Francisco, and she was wearing something flimsy enough for the moonlight to shine through. Grabbing hold of the headboard, he hiked himself up enough to see...

Well, he wasn’t sure what you’d call it. An overshirt of some sort, dark but completely sheer, floating behind her as she walked toward him, not even coming close to covering up the corset she was wearing. Or the garters. Or the knee-high boots. Where the fuck had those come from?

“You, uh... Want to turn the lights on?” He hated when she hid from him, no matter what form it took. But there was also the part where the dominatrix thing was working for him big time. And, damn it, he wanted to see her.
All
of her.

She stopped at the end of his bed, completely out of his reach. She’d cuffed his hands down close to the mattress, so it wasn’t the easiest thing to even keep his head high enough up to see her. Especially because there was some tenting going on and it was entirely in the way.

His head dropped back down when the tips of her fingers trailed lightly up to his knee. “Nope,” she said. “You’re being punished.”

All the parts that weren’t already throbbing, started. He had no freaking idea what was going on but, holy fuck, was he happy to play along. “I’m pretty sure the prisoner has the right to know the charges against him.”

“True,” she said, her palm grazing the head of his cock and, even with the sheet between them, the heat of her hand had him surging up.

Completely ignoring his efforts to get closer, she pulled the sheet down past his waist to the top of his thighs. Got herself wedged between his knees so he had no choice but to open his legs up a little wider, although it wasn’t the easiest with his legs mostly trapped by the sheet. But, God, he wanted her on him. He grabbed hold of the headboard again, tried to flip her under him. She wasn’t having it. And all efforts came to a screeching halt when he felt the first stroke of her tongue—wet and slow, from base to tip.

Oh,
fuck
. “Fitz... Baby...”

“Mmm?” she murmured, letting the vibration roll over her tongue as she swirled it around and then down again. Then she sat back on her heels and her hand took the place of her tongue. Rather than a nice strong grip, however, she let her fingernails skim his skin, the sensation of them sharp enough to have him on edge, but light enough for him to want more. He clenched his jaw so as not to start begging.

Not at all concerned, she kept those fingernails grazing as she sternly said, “The charge is theft and indecency. Stealing a woman’s panties comes with major penalties.”

If not for the thought of her bare through that meeting, he might have been able to keep his hips from rearing up again. God
damn
. “Defense states all items of clothing were returned,” he said.

She smacked the inside of his thigh. “The prosecution stipulates that is technically correct,” she answered, “however, the motivation was questionable.”

Okay, yes. So she’d come up to him while he was doing the food cleanup with Lola, jabbed his arm and said, “You. Come with me.” Then she’d grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of the media room and into the stairwell.

“Sex in the library? Isn’t that illegal?” he’d asked. Not caring if it was, mind you, it was just that if he was going to be mayor he’d need to know things like that.

“No touching,” she’d said, smacking his hand away. “My underwear.
Please.
”

Even that had been hot.

Staring at her now as her hand trailed up and down his leg, he said, “Defense pleads temporary insanity.”

Her hand came back up and gave a way too light stroke up his shaft. “Explain.”

With a groan, he said, “Stairwell sex was implied. In the
library
.” He wasn’t generally into sex in public places, but that was now on his bucket list for damn fucking sure.

She lost her composure for a second, a grin breaking through, possibly because he may have whined. Then she got her lawyer face back on. “Hmmm... The prosecution can see the point.” To his surprise, she even brought her eyes up to meet his, something she rarely did when nakedness was involved. “The prosecution is also taking into account the fact that the prisoner came to the rescue of a damsel in distress earlier this evening, and she’s petitioned the court for lenience.”

Yes, maybe she was mixing her metaphors a little, but he wasn’t about to call her on that. Not when she sounded a little more emotional than usual in these circumstances. “Fitz...”

But she didn’t reply as she settled her shoulders between his legs again and let her hair fall teasingly over his skin right before her mouth closed over him.

Okay, fine. He was happy to go with that for now. Especially when she’d come up with an excellent alternate use for her tongue. Sweet
Jesus
.

But he wanted his hands on her. He wanted his mouth
on her. He’d never been restrained—he’d never had any woman be with him the way Fitz was. And hell, fucking, yes he was getting off on it, as was overwhelmingly obvious. But he wanted to
see
her. Look into her eyes and have her look right back. With her down between his legs, the only thing he could do was jerk his head up.

Or maybe not. With a frustrated huff, he let his head fall back down to the bed. “Hell, Fitz. If we’re gonna do this again, at least put the cuffs a little higher so I can see you. Or come closer for fuck’s sake.”

She laughed, goddamn it. Actually laughed before taking him all the way to the back of her throat and then releasing him. Teasing him the way he’d teased her more than once before—and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Not in a physical sense. He wanted inside her so much he was actually sweating. But he’d never not been the one in control before; he’d most definitely never been handcuffed. Hell, if it was any other woman, he still wouldn’t be.

Still playing her part, she shook her head regretfully, her hand going back down now, from his thigh to his knee to his ankle. “The jury finds the defendant guilty of the original charge. Punishment will proceed.”

Trying to pull his head up again, he said, “Unless you’re into whips and chains—” and he was ninety-nine percent certain that wasn’t the case although, God knew, she was always doing something she wasn’t telling him about so there was always that slight chance “—I’m not sure anything else you can dream up will be nearly as effective.”

Because he was already in pain. Pulsing, throbbing,
serious
pain.

Completely unexpectedly, she gave him a wet kiss on the inside of his thigh and then pulled away. Then he felt something drift over his foot that was far too light to be anything but...

Oh. Fuck. God. Damn. It was the flimsy thing, which she was taking off, deliberately out of view. It was followed by the sound of a zipper, a slow, seductive slide he could only listen to. His dick jumped to attention like she was pulling it on a string. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She laughed again, and this time something with a bit more substance, something a little lacier, landed on his knee. He sucked in a breath as it continued its course right on up. “You know...?” she said. “Seeing you like this sure does make me wet.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

She came crawling up over him on all fours, letting her breasts graze his stomach and chest. Then she let out a quiet gasp as she dragged that slick, wet heat over the length of his pulled-way-too-tight skin. But rather than sink onto him—as he so fucking required—she lay down, her hand slowly making its way down her own body. Down the curve of her neck, down between her breasts... It disappeared from his sight just as she let her head fall back. “
So
wet,” she moaned.

The growl erupted out of him and he was pretty sure he’d be bleeding by the end of the night if she didn’t take these handcuffs off him, but he didn’t give a shit as he twisted and hooked his leg over hers, dragging her toward him as she squealed in surprise.

She’d pinned him down for a reason, however, and clearly had no intention of giving up control. She flipped him back over and straddled his thighs. “Take your punishment like a man, Prisoner Deacon.” Then she leaned down and kissed him, murmuring, “Time for
you
to show a little bit of that trust.”

He tried—oh, fuck, he tried—working on getting his breathing back to normal as she sat back up and over him, what little clothes she still had on in disarray.

Then all bets were off when she bent down again and had her way. She took him in hand and mouth, torturing him with long, slow strokes before coming up for air. She knew exactly how wet to get him, exactly how hard to squeeze and stroke, exactly where to swirl her tongue. In the brief moment of sanity before his eyes rolled back in his head, he realized no other woman had ever made him feel this way—or ever even tried to.

He wanted to touch her.
Needed
to get his hands back so he could run them over every single centimeter of her skin.

Her hand cupped his balls, then her finger trailed underneath, and the whole world collapsed around him, falling and crashing left and right, every cell coming together in one big mass, pounding and pulsing right
there
. At the very last moment before the entire universe detonated, she pulled away.

Again.

She sprawled across him, her hand fumbling with the drawer of the bedside table and then jerking back when he caught her nipple with his teeth in a not very gentle tug. She cried out and came back to him, knocking the drawer out of the table as she did, but managing to snag a condom as everything else spilled to the floor. Which was good because he was past the point of caring whether he had one or not.

And it was even worse now, because he could see her. Every goddamn gorgeous inch of her from her ruddy red lips right down to the tips of her still-boot-clad toes.
Fuck
, those boots... “Get up over me.”

“What?” she asked, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed over.

He flattened out so as to give her enough room to swing her leg over his chest and straddle him. “Higher.”

Eyes widening, she shook her head. “I...”

She was so fucking close he could practically taste her arousal. With a groan he jerked his head up close enough to get a nip of her inner thigh. “Hands up high on the headboard, Angel. I want to see all of you stretched out above me.”

Finally
he could do something with his hands: grab hold of her knees and splay them open hard enough for her to fall against him. He took full advantage by getting his tongue on her clit and then his teeth, just enough for her to scream. It was abso-fucking-lutely perfect.

He couldn’t touch her breasts but he could see them, and he enjoyed every single second it took to drive her to the point where she was writhing and moaning his name in a constant chant before shattering, slumping against the headboard as she gasped for air above him.

When she finally came down, literally and figuratively, he nearly exploded when she drew the condom over him, and then looked directly into his eyes. Held his gaze. He came harder than he ever had within seconds of her sinking down. She collapsed against him, both their chests heaving as they gasped for air.

“Oh my God,” she finally murmured into his chest. “That was... It was...”