Indecent Exposure_The Academy Page 9

  My fingers find the edges of the mat and cling, my head falling back as I cry out at the ceiling. Oh God. Oh God, the texture and roughness of his tongue makes me quake in a way I can’t control. My mind barely manages to wrap itself around one sensation, before Jack introduces me to another. I don’t know whether to let my thighs drop open, or to tighten them around Jack’s head. I have a different impulse every time he licks me. Jesus. Jesus.

  And all that is before his middle finger slides inside me, careful but insistent. His every movement is confident, as if he’s been created to please a woman, but when I glance down, he’s watching me with a mixture of heat and concern. “Tell me I can call this mine.” His knuckle turns and grazes my clit, making me moan. “Tell me when we’re in this room tomorrow and everyone wants what I got, I’ll know this tight spot is for me. Only for me to treat so fucking good. Katie, tell me.”

  I have no idea what he means about everyone wanting me, but I’m willing to agree to anything right about now. Especially Jack referring to me as his. I am his in this moment, my flesh quickening around his finger, his tongue lapping at that bundle of nerves with such reverence. “Yours. Yes, yours.”

  He falls into me with a savoring groan, sliding his tongue inside me to replace his finger. My hips shoot up off the ground, a scream trapped in my throat. Somehow he manages to keep his upper lip against my clit as he saws his tongue in and out of me. Heat engulfs me like I just plunged into an erupting volcano. My body twists on the floor, sweat beginning to form at my hairline. I’m whimpering like a cheesy porn star—but my cries of Jack’s name seem to only encourage him. The muscles in his shoulders shift under my legs, his body crawling closer and closer, as if he can’t get enough of me, those growls vibrating along my inner thighs.

  When I hear the clang of metal, I peer down between our bodies and find Jack reaching into his jeans. “Honey, I just need to. I need to.” His words are pushed past stiff lips, like it’s costing him an effort to speak. “It’s just . . . sweet fuck. You taste too goddamn good. Need to stop it hurting so bad, okay? Not going to fuck you, I swear. It’s just my hand . . . ahhh.”

  I make a sound of protest when he drops his head again and begins polishing my clit with his tongue. Not because it doesn’t feel like a miracle, but I wanted to watch his hand move between his legs. From my angle above, I can only see his cut triceps flex, his elbow bobbing, so I close my eyes and picture him stroking his erection. And oh . . . oh God. Combined with the relentless rubbing of his tongue, the image shoots me past my breaking point.

  My inner walls clench so hard, I think I make a sound of pain, but the crest that follows is so blissful and thorough, I forget what pain even feels like. Maybe I’ll never remember. I don’t know, but my core continues to milk Jack’s tongue, again and again, my stomach spasming in seismic ripples, my fingers ripping at the mat on either side of my hips.

  “Jack. Please. Jack.”

  The orgasm is so intense, I’m almost relieved when my body depletes of tension and I’m left sucking in giant gulps of breath. Jack appears over me, his mouth finding mine in a hard kiss as moisture lands on my stomach. He breaks away with blind eyes and my name growling from his lips. I don’t think, I just follow instinct, reaching down to cover his hand with my own, holding tight and helping him work through his release, same way he gave me mine. “Yes, Katie. Jesus, yes. Touch me. Feel what you made me do.”

  He falls to the mat beside me once his climax passes, our rapid breathing echoing in the gymnasium. I’m wondering what happens next when his fingers slide through mine, lacing us together. “How long do we have, Snaps?”

  Something sticks in my throat, because I know he’s not referring to tonight. “Ten days. Nine, really, because I fly back to Dublin on the final morning.”

  “Nine.” He brings my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. “I’d be grateful for one, so I won’t complain.”

  It sounds as though he’s speaking to himself, but when I glance over, his pirate smile greets me. “‘Do you guys come with a manual?’ Did you seriously ask me that?”

  His laughter and my yelps ricochet off the walls of the gym as Jack wrestles me into his arms, planting kisses on every inch of my face.

  Chapter 9

  Jack

  Field trips aren’t as fun when you’re an adult. Especially if you’re a lifelong Manhattanite. We don’t like to leave the borough unless it’s on fire, with the exception of your standard vacation. Or when a friend drags you to Brooklyn for craft beer and an outdoor concert. Today, however, I’m more than willing to endure the trek because Katie is two rows ahead of me on the academy-chartered bus and she can’t stop turning around, peeking at me through those eyelashes. Pretending to take pictures of the passing scenery. Adorable.

  There is only so much we can learn at the indoor firing range, so we’re traveling to our sister academy in Long Island to train outdoors. It’s Friday morning and I haven’t seen Katie since Wednesday night when I got her pants off in the gym. Meaning I’m desperate with an ache in my pants that won’t quit. If I had my way, yesterday would have been spent with my mouth attached to her pussy, but since she’s here with the exchange program, she was required to meet with some Irish community leaders and members of the NYPD brass. Meetings that ran late into yesterday evening.

  I want her to myself. Yesterday. Now. Tomorrow. I don’t like her meeting other dudes without me around. Hate having gaps between the time we spend together. We’ve got so little time and I want to make the most of it.

  Am I crazy to have this new, quiet voice in the back of my head whispering that . . . Katie could stay in New York? Yeah. That’s exactly what it is. Batshit crazy. She has a life in Dublin. A family that loves her. A badass job. Shit, though, I would miss the honesty in her voice when she speaks to me. Looks at me. It makes me want to be honest, too. Not only for her, but for myself. Like I’m finally wondering if I owe it to myself to try harder. At the academy. Hell, at life.

  Jack, I think you have a serious talent for marksmanship.

  What if that was actually true? Before Katie showed up, I never would have thought an opportunity existed for me outside of a daily grind on the way to a bottle, but . . . the conviction she delivers while looking me straight in the eye? It makes me want to believe. In everything. Myself. Magic. Rainbow-colored unicorns.

  I’ve been sober since Monday. Yesterday was difficult. I woke up sweating and actually went for a run along the East River with Charlie to exhaust myself. My bedroom is cleaner than before I moved into it and I even volunteered for the grocery run. My roommates are still reeling. And hell, this morning isn’t easy, either, but when the bus pulls to a stop and everyone begins to get off, I’m sure as shit not thinking about vodka. I’m thinking about getting close enough to Katie to remind her we’re still on. Jack and Katie are a thing for the duration of her stay. I’m determined to be sober for every second of it, so I won’t forget a thing.

  Almost everyone, including the instructor who came to assist Katie, heads out of the parking lot and towards the outdoor range, packs thrown over their shoulders. Three recruits hang back like diseases to help Katie carry the heavy cases she brought, but I send them on their way with a jerk of my head. “Fuck off, yeah?”

  One of them thinks about mouthing off, but his friend tugs on his elbow. “No offense, but pick your battles, bro.”

  “Good advice,” I say, winking at the trio. “Better listen to him.”

  Katie stands at the bus’s luggage compartment. Looking over and seeing me waiting, she sends me a cute, disapproving frown and, fuck, my tongue feels unnatural inside my mouth. Like it doesn’t know how to exist without kissing her anymore. “Just helping out my instructor . . .” I slide a look down her body and wink. “With her equipment.”

  The sunshine highlights her flushed skin. “Just for that, you can assist me in a demonstration.”

  “Yeah?” I pick up a heavy case in each hand and waggle my eyebrows at her. “You didn
’t seem the type to like an audience, but I’m game if you are. Kinky.” She sputters and marches off ahead of me. I follow with a grin on my face, not bothering to hide my appreciation of her tight, twitching ass. How’d I miss her so much? “You don’t really plan on having me help you with a demonstration, right?”

  “Oh, but I do.” She tosses a triumphant look over her shoulder. “How does it feel to be thrown off?”

  “I’ve been thrown off since we met, honey.” Her step slows down long enough for me to catch up with her. Blocking us from the moving pack of recruits with my turned back, I drop my voice low. “Come out with me tonight, Katie?”

  “I have a fundraiser dinner,” she whispers. “At the Irish Consulate.”

  I can’t hold back a frustrated sound. “Tomorrow.”

  She hesitates, before giving me one firm nod.

  My smile is dopey as fuck over gaining her agreement, but ask me if I care. “I’m not taking you just anywhere.” As I quell the urge to kiss the life out of her, I’m also kind of marveling over how good it feels to be clearheaded and have a plan. I could get used to this. Even as I have the thought, there’s a twinge in my throat, a tightening in my spine, but I ignore them both. “Any idea why I’d want to take you to Bensonhurst?” I hum in my throat, like I’m trying to come up with a reason. “Maybe to a little place called Sal’s Steakhouse?”

  “Shut up. Bensonhurt, Brooklyn?” She smacks me in the chest, but her smile could make a man want to move mountains. “You’re . . . that’s where crime boss Joey Big Time was taken out. No way. You’re not taking me there. Yes, you are. Oh my God.”

  “You’re a little sick, honey, you know that?” My laugh feels strange climbing my throat because it’s so real. “I love it.”

  She stares at me for a beat, the wind dragging a strand of red hair across her mouth. “Thank you for thinking of that. Thinking of . . . me.”

  My heart is knocking against my ribs. “Don’t mention it, Snaps.”

  “We should go,” she whispers. “Before they send out a search party.”

  Katie turns and starts to head in the direction of the firing range, but spins and plants a quick, forbidden kiss on my mouth. We stare at one another a moment, before she gasps at her own behavior and jogs off.

  Afterwards, I stand there and remember that open, carefree look she hit me with right before our lips connected. A lot like how she looked at me when I hit that target in the firing range. I love it. I want her to keep looking at me like that. A girl like Katie wants to spend time with me and I should be on cloud nine. A man earns a girl like her.

  Have I earned a night out with her, though? Would she still want to go out with me if she knew I’d lied about my drinking?

  Katie wasn’t kidding. I’m actually helping with a demonstration.

  When she calls me—by my last name—to come forward, no one is idiot enough to say shit about her odd choice, but there is a definite ripple of skepticism through the ranks. Charlie smacks me on the back, wishing me luck and I don’t have to look at Danika to know she’s enjoying every second. One of the other two instructors smirks, leaning back against the low concrete wall to watch the show and I hate how it gets to me.

  Not that I care what he thinks, but I’m already beginning to sweat, wondering if the night with Katie in the range was a fluke. I’m barely getting used to Katie believing I have potential, now I have to prove it in front of these assholes, none of whom take me seriously. Unless you count my ability to clean their clocks or win a battle of insults.

  A tremor snakes through the veins on the backs of my hands. It’s been happening a lot over the last five days, but not now, though. Not now. As if one symptom tempted the others to life, I feel like I’m sucking sand, the grains flying to the back of my throat and causing abrasions. Katie waves me forwards, but I catch the uncertainty in her eyes, as if she’s wondering whether she made a mistake, testing me too soon.

  No, I won’t let her think that.

  Willing the shaking to stop, I shove my hands into my pockets and saunter forwards.

  “Put me to work.”

  I feel, rather than see, Katie’s relief. “Right,” she says, addressing the recruits. “So in our first session, we fired with bladed-off stance. Today we’ll be utilizing the athletic position, which is more for tactical shooting or a situation where rapid fire is required.” I can hear every intake of breath in my ears as Katie approaches the firing point and goes over safety instructions, the proper technique for holding the weapon. Every recruit is glued in and I want to be, too, but that goddamn tremor is still going through my hands, making all her words bleed together.

  Before I know it, Katie is turning and calling me forwards.

  When I sidle up beside her, she glances at me, then down at my pocketed hands, giving me no choice but to draw them out. And I call on something deep inside myself to stop the fucking shaking. I think about the fountain spray on my face, the sound of my footsteps while walking through the crosswalk after putting Katie in a cab, the sizzle of pancakes in a pan. All the clear thoughts I’ve gathered over the last five days and shit, I can’t believe it, but the rightness of going without a drink stills the tremors.

  “Ready?”

  I nod, taking the weapon from her, making sure to keep it safely pointed away. Just like in the underground range back in Manhattan, the weight of the rifle makes my blood slow, brings everything into sharp focus. Calm slides beneath my skin and spreads out like warmed-up peanut butter. Katie is at my side, talking to the recruits about the proper stance and I listen to every word, while somehow already anticipating what she is going to say. Feeling her instructions, interpreting them faster than I would have thought myself capable.

  Recalling Katie saying not to rest my finger on the trigger until I’ve made a conscious decision to shoot, I breathe and slowly press digit to metal. The sound of shuffling, the wind, traffic on the nearby road fades out. By the time I fire, I’m not even surprised when I hit the target. In my stomach, it was a given. A certainty I’m stunned by.

  My mind goes back online, hearing Katie’s breathless encouragement first, then everyone else. There’s actual whooping of my name, high fives going on behind in the viewing area. I set down the weapon carefully and turn, trying to bite back a smile when Charlie gives my shoulder a shove.

  “You been holding out on me, man?”

  I try to shrug it off, but my roommate is like this massive, unmovable barrier of positivity most of the time. Right now? He’s The Great Wall of Charlie. “Some things I save for the privacy of my diary, all right?” I shoot a glance at Katie and she’s smiling to herself, preparing the weapon for the next recruit. God, I want to scoop her up and hold her so bad, my arms feel like empty vessels. This. Shooting. It’s something I share with her. We share this.

  She gave it to me. I need to give her something back.

  My knee-jerk answer is sex, but . . . she needs and deserves more. I have to find out what I’m capable of giving and right now, right this minute, I’m looking forward to the challenge.

  “Hey.” Charlie steps into the firing point, the rest of the recruits fanning out down the row facing the target area. “Help me out?”

  “Me?”

  The question is barely out of my mouth when another guy I’ve only spoken to once in the locker room calls my name, farther down the row. “I’m next.”

  “I’ve known him longest,” Danika says, holding up a finger. “You can all wait.”

  I’m dumbfounded by the sudden requests for help, and my gaze zooms to Katie. And my little Irish honey winks at me, so fast I barely catch it.

  Tomorrow night can’t get here fast enough.

  Chapter 10

  Katie

  Nighttime sounds rush in from my open hotel window, lifting the curtain and sending it fluttering into the room. I haven’t bothered turning on lights, because the moon is bright enough and the shadows it casts in the room feel dreamlike.

  It occurs to me a
s I stare back at my reflection in the mirror, I have no idea what American girls wear on dates. My dating experience is literally just what I’ve seen on the telly and I’m not so naive that I think real-life people wear designer clothes on a regular basis. There must be a happy medium and I’m praying I’ve landed on it. At the fundraiser last night and most of the events I’ve attended, I’ve been required to wear my proper Garda dress clothes for endless rounds of photographs with high ranking NYPD brass and officers from other countries traveling with the exchange program. Finally being out of the starched uniform makes me feel like Cinderella heading to the ball. Although, she was dressed by a fairy godmother and I’ve been left to my own awkward, unskilled devices.

  Worrying my lip, I turn to the side and wonder why everyone doesn’t just sign a pact to wear leggings all day, every day and do away with the angst. Jack seemed to like me just fine in my workout gear, hadn’t he?

  Remembering the way I kissed Jack yesterday in plain view of anyone who might have turned around, my cheeks flush bright red and I press my hands there to cool them down. What an utterly reckless move and—God help me—that was part of the reason it was so thrilling. Concentrating during the shooting lesson had been more difficult than the Olympics. Watching Jack help instruct his fellow recruits, I’d checked the urge to touch him several times. Just rub a circle into his back or squeeze his hand. I wouldn’t have to hold back tonight, though.

  When I realize I’m smiling in the mirror, I up the stakes and dance in a circle, kicking my legs like a showgirl. This is what it feels like to have no restraints. Apart from the sexy stuff, I think my brother would be proud of me right now. I’m really living. By going on a date with Jack—by going to Brooklyn!—I’m having the adventure we’d promised ourselves.

  An image of my father’s weary face pops into my mind. Am I trading my father’s happiness for my own? What is he focusing on now that he doesn’t have me to train? With a large helping of guilt, I stow the worries away for the evening, promising an extra-long phone call to Dublin in the morning.