G-Men: The Series (36 page)

I felt myself being lowered gently down upon him. I sucked in my breath as I felt the pleasurable fullness of Slate inside of me.

“Umm,” he moaned, as he started his rhythmic movements underneath me; raising me up and down with his hands at the speed and tempo he wanted.

I leaned forward a bit so that my breasts were brushing against his chest. My hands gripped his shoulders as the heat of our lovemaking increased.

He raised me up and down, up and down. My hips gyrated in a circular motion making sure the head of his beautiful cock was hitting my magic spot over and over again. My whimpers of pleasure were getting louder. His breathing was coming faster as he moaned my name.

“God, baby…”

We were there now; together our pleasure peaked as we spiraled into mutual orgasms that rocked our bodies as one. We came over and over again. I felt myself pulsate around him. He continued to groan in pleasure.

I collapsed against him, kissing his damp face and neck, his chin, his eyelids.

“I love you, Slate,” I whispered in his ear as I kissed him there, too.

“I know, baby,” he said. “I know.”

^{chapter 46}

I was surprised when I awoke the following morning to find Slate sleeping next to me, his arm thrown across me like it was the most natural thing in the world for us.

In truth, it was the first time Slate and I’d ever actually slept together, other than the nap we had taken the day ‘Grant’ had been conceived.

I’d decided the name ‘Dalton ‘didn’t go that well with ‘Slater.’ Of course, I was presuming that Slate would want the baby to carry his last name, but we hadn’t actually discussed it. Grant Slater definitely sounder better than Dalton Slater.

I lifted Slate’s arm off of my belly so that I could scoot out from underneath it to go pee. He immediately woke up. I felt him haul me back as I tried to exit the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Well, I kind of needed to relieve myself, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I don’t think so, baby. You know having a full bladder makes a woman’s orgasm about fifty times stronger?”

“Really?”

“Would I lie?”

“Prove it.”

Since we had fallen asleep naked, no time was wasted having to disrobe again. We each popped a mint into our mouth from the supply I kept on the nightstand and commenced devouring each other once again. Twenty minutes later, covered in sweat and winding down from the best freaking, mind-blowing orgasm in the history of womankind, I knew that Slate had made a believer out of me.

“Wow,” I said, still panting as I rolled over onto my back. I laid my wrist across my forehead as my heart rate slowly returned to normal.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he said with a cocky grin, his head perched up on an elbow staring down at me.

“You were so right,” I said, smiling up at him.

“Damn, I hope you didn’t wake Lindsey. You made quite a racket with those lungs this morning.”

“Braggart,” I teased. “Actually, she’s staying with my parents for a few days. Everything with Jack has left her emotions raw. She’s had to face some cruel facts. It’s been hard on her.”

“How about you?”

“I didn’t have the emotional investment in him that Lindsey did. I knew what he was.”

“Did you ever love him?”

“I thought I did,” I replied, with a shrug. “I didn’t really know what love was, I guess.”

“And now?” he asked, watching me intently.

“And now I know what it is, Slate. I meant what I said last night. I love you. I understand if you don’t feel the same way about me. Does that have to affect the way I feel about you, though?”

He gave me a scowl as he raked his hands through his just ‘thoroughly-fucked’ hair.

“Christ, Sammie,” he said, “I mean, what the fuck? I
know
that you love me. You think I can’t tell by the way you treat me? You’re having my baby, for the love of Christ. Can’t you tell that this makes me so fucking happy?”

I nodded. “So, what’s your point?”

“What’s my point of what?”

“What’s the point that you’re attempting, but failing, to make, Slate?”

“I just think that you must
know
how I feel by the way that I treat you, alright?”

Where the hell is he coming from with this?

“Actually, I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t know how you feel about me.”

“Oh, Christ,” he said, totally uncomfortable with the conversation. “I think it’s pretty
obvious
, Samantha. Use your head.”

With that, he propelled himself off of the bed and swaggered into my bathroom to relieve himself. I managed to make it to the guest bathroom on the main floor without having pee running down my leg.

Thankfully, one of Jack’s tee shirts was hanging on the hook in there. I pulled it on over my head so I didn’t have to parade naked in front of Slate. I was starting to feel a tad self-conscious about my blooming belly.

When I returned to my room, Slate was zipping the fly on his jeans up.

“So, I guess you’re taking off,” I said, picking my panties up off of the floor.

“Aren’t you going to make me some breakfast, babe?”

I gave him my best ‘Are you kidding me’ look. He chuckled, pleased that he’d managed to get a reaction of some sort to lighten the mood.

“Sure,” I said, pulling up a pair of sweat pants and turning to go out towards the kitchen.

I felt his hand on my arm as he pulled me back and turned me around to face him.

“I was just
teasing
, Sammie. How about I take us out to breakfast, huh?” His thumbs were brushing each side of my face. His eyes were filled with something unfamiliar to me.

“Can I shower first?”

“Of course you can. Make it quick.”

Thirty minutes later, Slate and I were headed out into the country, Slate behind the wheel of my Mercedes testing its horsepower.

“Where did you park your truck?” I asked.

“That’s top secret information, little lady,” he said with a wink. “I can’t divulge information pertaining to my covert activities.”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. I guess I was seeing the ‘playful’ Slate now. I wondered how many different personas he possessed.

“Where are we going for breakfast, Michigan?”

“No, smart-ass, we’re not going to Michigan. We’re going to one of my favorite places. Sit back and relax.”

My stomach growled loudly enough that Slate heard it.

“Whoa, it sounds like someone’s definitely hungry.”

“Yeah, Grant and I are both ravenous.”

“Grant?”

“Uh huh, that’s the name I’ve picked out for the baby.”

“Grant Slater,” he said, considering it for a moment. “I actually like that.”

“Don’t get too attached to it,” I advised him. “More than likely it’s going to change.”

Slate had no clue how I was about naming babies. Since this one would likely be my last, I expected it’d be even worse than with Lindsey and the host of names I’d given her prior to her birth.

I recognized where we were now. It was the same restaurant that Slate had taken me to for chili.

“Katy’s has breakfast?”

“The best,” he replied, pulling my car into a parking space. It was definitely more crowded this time than it was when we last visited.

Slate was even a gentleman, opening the car door for me and helping me out.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, bacon, and eggs greeted us as we walked through the door. Within moments, Katy had spotted us. She hurried over with a big grin on her face. I recalled that she had said Slate was one of her favorite customers. There was no hiding that fact at the moment.

She came up to him, planting a big kiss on his cheek.

“Where in the world have you been keeping yourself, handsome? It’s been forever.”

Slate actually looked like he was going to blush at the attention she was giving him.

“You remember Sunny?” he asked.

“Of course I do. How are you, Sunny?”

Before I had an opportunity to answer, Slate interrupted.

“Actually, she lied about her name. Her real name’s Samantha. I call her Sammie.”

I felt myself blush with embarrassment. Why the hell did he feel the need to share all of that with the restaurant owner?

I glowered at Slate, and then turned my attention back to Katy, who was watching me with amused eyes. Her gaze lowered to my growing baby bump. She was smiling, as if she was pleased with my condition.

“Sammie,” Slate continued, with a smile of his own, “I’d like for you to meet my mom, Katherine Slater. You can call her ‘Katy’.”

^{chapter 47}

~ SLATE ~

What a fucking few crazy days had gone by. So much had happened…most of it good, from my perspective.

We’d made the bust. It had all gone down well, for the most part. I was livid that the rat bastard had slipped through the cracks. No one knew that better now than Agent Hatfield. He was given a written disciplinary action that would go into his permanent personnel file. Mistakes like that should never happen, not on my watch.

The bottom line was that Hatfield should’ve known better. He and I had both served together in the Army and had gone through Green Beret training together. Hell, we were on the same survival training for twenty-one days in the Mojave Desert. If you can’t trust and assess the abilities of your lifeline partner in that situation, who could you depend upon? He’d gotten lax. He’d clearly fucked up. As his superior officer, I had to do what I did. Personal feelings couldn’t enter into my decision. That’s just how it was.

Then, of course, there was the issue of Sammie. How in the hell could I not let my personal feelings interfere with my best judgment?

Fuck! I was trained better than this - what the hell? She was under my skin in a big, big way. I’d let her distract me. I’d carried on with her even after I knew that she had no Intel to offer me. She had no value, for all intents and purposes in this investigation, as far as I knew.

What a fucking idiot I was for not being clued into the fact that she was “Mr. Big’s” fucking wife? Oh yeah, don’t think for a minute the title of “Mr. Big” that was given to him by the Outlaws, hadn’t stuck in my craw once I knew who he was to Sammie. It had nothing to do with the size of one’s dick. It was the fact that the title “Mr. Big” in and of itself denoted power. There was no way in fuck that this dude had more power than me. Period.

I thought about last night, the night I’d spent with Sammie all alone in that fucking huge house of hers. She was under my skin. There was no way that I couldn’t think about the way she looked, the way she felt, the way she kissed and touched me, the way it felt to be buried deeply inside of her and hear her moan and feel her writhe beneath me. It hadn’t been a line of shit whatsoever when I’d told her my cock was made for her pussy. It was the God’s honest truth. I’d never ever had that before with a chick.

But then, the inevitable happened, the talk of love: ‘I need you Slate; I love you Slate.’ Christ, how in the hell was I supposed to deal with that? I’d never, ever told a chick that I loved her. Why? That was simple. I never, ever wanted to give them the pain that was associated with love.

My mind drifted back to when I was growing up, it was just me and my little sister. My dad did his share of partying and drinking. I was too young to understand the full ramifications of it. I figured that was just what dads did. I remembered him coming home drunk. Mom had made dinner. We’d eaten and then were sent to our rooms once he hit the door.

Mom would warm his dinner up and take it out to him, setting it in front of him at the dining room table. She would always wait and eat with him. She said it was important for a husband and wife to spend quality time together.

Laney and I’d be upstairs in our room. We only lived in a two bedroom duplex in Virginia. We had bunk beds, I remember.

Laney was younger, so she had the bottom bunk. She would lay there on her bunk and play with her stuffed animals, talking to them as if they were real. Pretty soon, the raised voice of my father could be heard. Laney would roll over onto her stomach and put her pillow over her head and start humming some nursery rhyme.