Authors: Evelyn Glass
Atop Bishop's cock and playing with herself, hot prickly sensations crawled across her body. Her toes curled as, beneath her own fingers, her orgasm lapped at her inner restraint. Her pussy throbbed and pulsed around Bishop's hard cock.
As the woman gasped and trembled atop him, bringing herself to release with her own masturbation, Bishop moaned. It was a double-edged sword, watching her come atop him, but not from his own ministrations. Desires and urges itched through his mind, unable to be scratched. He was too far to push himself into his own release, despite being balls' deep inside Stella.
Stella gasped loudly, her hip gyrating down against his cock. Her pussy throbbed as hot pleasure hit her like a tidal wave. Heat and tingles overtook her body as Stella crashed against Bishop. She continued to writhe against him, her pussy milking his unsatisfied cock.
Bishop moaned and bucked his hips, hoping the residual pulsing from Stella's moist sex would nudge him over the edge. As if reading his mind, Stella scrabbled from his lap. Her thighs quaked and trembled under her weight. Bishop groaned and sighed, leaning his head backward against the chair. His wrists ached from the handcuffs and his cock throbbed from unspent orgasm.
Stella pulled on her discarded clothing, resisting the urge to eye Bishop. She wasn't sure if she could leave him tied up and unsatisfied with her own privates still throbbing. The ache to feel his release inside of her twisted at her lower stomach. If she released him, now, he would probably toss her onto the desk and have his way with her. It wasn't an entirely unwelcome thought, realized Stella, as her body throbbed with the very imagining. When her pants were firmly affixed, she glanced at the man.
Bishop leered at her, his gaze hungry and heated. He panted, his broad chest straining against his tee-shirt and kutte. Bishop craved to grab Stella and delve back inside of her. His hands were still clenching and unclenching with his restraints in place. The heat of his stare fingered through Stella's heart, making her chest tighten. Oh, yeah, Bishop would have hauled her over the desk without a second thought.
They'd have time for mutual release later. Once Stan was dealt with, they'd need to celebrate.
That idea eased Stella's slight guilt. A sly grin crossed her lips as she eyed Bishop coyly. Leaning back against her desk, she crossed her arms. His erection still stood at impressive attention, slickened from her juices. However, she attempted to keep her gaze trained on Bishop's face. “We'll have to continue this at some point in the near future, Mr. Bishop.”
“Happily, Agent Holmes.” Bishop licked his lips, throwing the handcuffs an annoyed glare. His eyes dragged back to Stella, fully clothed and as smug as a cat with a saucer of crème. “
Without
the handcuffs, I hope.”
“We'll see.” Her smile broadened. For the first time, her gaze took in Bishop's situation. Cuffed to a chair, erection still at full-mast, and a blush on his cheeks. Smug warmth lingered in Stella's chest knowing she had done this to him. Vaguely, she wondered if he felt similar veins of smugness with her. “I'll let you take a breather, before I take those off.”
Bishop shifted in the chair, leering at the woman. Annoyance plucked at his face. His balls ached, and his dick still throbbed, desiring Stella's intense attention. Crescent moons dotted his palms from how hard he clenched his fists. To make matters worse, he wanted to wipe – no,
fuck
– that smug grin off her lips. In his mind's eye, images of the near future flashed through his head. Restraints, ice cubes, making her scream from pleasure, merciless orgasm after orgasm. Thinking of what he could do sent licks of desire erupting through his half-mast erection.
“Oh, my, what are you thinking about?” Stella breathed as she leaned over him to undo his handcuffs. She watched his cock go from half-flaccid to a full-on stiffy. Perhaps undoing his restraints hadn't been the best choice.
As the metal cuffs clattered to the area rug, Bishop shoved Stella back atop her desk. She gasped as he pinned her down, his erection jabbing into her thigh. She bit down a whimper as she squirmed under his firm body, her own keening with delight. Against her ear, Bishop's voice came hot and low, “You'll find out soon enough, Miss Holmes.”
He pushed off her, standing straight. Bishop adjusted himself, before stowing his sex back into his jeans. The hiss of his zipper ricocheted loudly around the room. Stella watched him, cheeks pinked and her chest heaving. Desire swam in her warm brown eyes. It took all of Bishop's willpower to not climb back atop her.
With a wink and a smirk, Bishop strutted around the desk. Stella watched him the whole way, her core twanging with desire. Once he stepped outside of her office, she eased herself into the office chair and leaned back, taking deep breaths.
Her work day stretched ahead of her, peppered with dreaded interactions with Stan. The last thing she needed was to obsess over Bishop and his future surprises.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The evening finally fell, and anxiety clawed across Stella's thoughts. Her stomach lurched with the thought of Stan coming into her room. She paced across the floor, organizing the same stack of books she had previously placed elsewhere.
The one bed motel room, which she had shared with Bishop over the weekend, suddenly felt too small and cramped. Stella wished she had opted for the rental home, so her bed wasn't dead-center with the action. At the time, it didn't make sense for her to have a large living space. The fact her room had a fully stocked kitchenette with appliances and a sink seemed frivolous. Now, however, she wanted space when Stan came over. Being in such an enclosed spot made disgust claw her heart.
Stella attempted to ease her worries. Bishop sat outside in a rental car. He was prepared to crash into her room at the first sign of distress. As a backup, Stella planned to text him by nine, an hour after Stan's arrival. She patted her holster, hidden beneath the knit jacket she wore. If all else failed, she could protect herself.
Then there was the question of evidence. Could any of the Seven Tribesmen find anything to finger Stan for her attempted abduction? Bishop would check Stan's car. A recently bailed out Howler and Crow would check Stan's motel room while Coyote and Ruse paid a visit to Delilah in lock-up. Qwerty, as he was visiting a still recovering Newb, was hacking into and monitoring various surveillance cameras. Something was bound to be found, whether it was a bottle of chloroform or a confession from Delilah Sampson.
The certainty didn't still Stella's anxious heart, though. Her chest ached, and the very organ felt about ready to burst against her ribs. The woman sighed and ran a hand through her hair, finding her fingers trembling.
Rhythmic knocking suddenly cracked through the air. Stella gasped and stared. She smoothed down her blouse before heading to the door. Flinging open the door, Stan stood there. His eyes razed over her, and her stomach churned. Stan grinned when Stella stepped to the side, allowing him entry. Stella cast a concerned look into the parking lot. She spotted Bishop's rental and, just slightly, her worries eased.
As she shut the door behind her pretending to lock the deadbolt, Stan amicably tried to strike up conversation. “You're looking especially lovely, Stella.”
“Oh, th-thank you,” Stella stuttered. She could feel an angry blush heating across her cheeks. Acting coy, her hand slid to her hair, tucking some strands of hair behind her ear. Stella gave Stan an appraising survey. The man had worn casual clothes, including khaki shorts that showed off his calves. Stella's mouth went dry, spotting a chess piece tattoo on his leg. Her gaze flickered back to Stan's face, forcing a flirtatious smile to her lips. “You're looking great, too.”
A lump already ascended into her throat. Stella prayed this little operation would be short-lived and fruitful. Moving further into her room, Stella attempted to still the adrenaline pulsing through her. Stan's eyes wouldn't leave her, though. They burned with carnal hunger. It was strange how an expression she found alluring on Bishop was positively despicable on Stan.
“About earlier today,” Stella murmured, her gaze drifting to the floor, “I'm sorry if I made things awkward.”
“No, not at all. I had been hoping to talk to you about that.” Stan advanced on her. Stella's downcast gaze caught his calf again. She suppressed the bile that crawled up her throat.
Stella jerked her gaze to Stan's face, hoping her expression conveyed surprise and delight, “Really?”
“Really. Kind of a relief when you broke the ice,” laughed Stan. His hand extended to Stella's shoulder. The heat and weight of Stan's hand weighed down on her. It was an entirely uncomfortable sensation. Her stomach coiled away from his touch.
“Oh, um, speaking of ice, would you like a drink?” Stella tried to inconspicuously pull away from Stan. She suddenly turned to her motel room's kitchenette. As she crossed the empty space, she chattered over her shoulder, “I dropped by the liquor store and sprang for some red wine.”
She didn't hear Stan's answer, nor did she care about it. Her nerves needed something to cushion them. At this rate, she would be a ragged mess before the night ended. Working on auto-pilot, Stella managed to retrieve the wine from the fridge, including a couple of recently bought wine glasses. Setting the goblets onto the counter and popping the bottle open, Stella tried to ignore her shaking fingers.
“That's a pretty fitting choice.” From behind her, Stan chuckled. Stella's shoulders stiffened, and the wine bottle's nozzle clacked against the glass. When had he managed to get behind her? Was that his body heat she felt licking at her back or her overactive imagination?
“What?” Stella swallowed as her heart thundered in her chest. She prayed Stan couldn't hear her overworked organ.
“Red wine.” Stan's breath tickled her neck. Stella's stomach dropped to her knees in a whimpering mess. His lips crept closer, his breath sticky and wet against her earlobe, “It's sweet and tart, just like you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The president of the Seven Tribesmen watched as Agent Jackson swaggered from his vehicle. The man glanced up and down the parking lot, as if expecting a brigade of motorcycle enthusiasts to suddenly attack. Bishop's knuckles whitened as he strangled the steering wheel under his fingers. Oldies rock quietly sang from his vehicles radio, but all the lyrics and lilts were lost in Bishop's ears.
He hated the thought of Stella alone in a room with her dirty partner. His stomach lurched as Stella opened the door. For a brief moment, she glanced out into the night. Perhaps it was Bishop's imagination, but she appeared relieved as she spotted his car.
Then, she shut the door solidly behind her and the man who attempted her past abduction.
Bishop waited five minutes, pulling on his leather gloves. He half hoped Stella would text him or fling the door open, kicking the bastard out on his ass. However, when the five-minute marker passed with nary a disturbance, Bishop steeled himself. Stella needed him to find evidence, not leer into her room with fiery fury.
Armed with a metal hanger and a putty knife, Bishop climbed out of his rental and made his way to Stan's black 2014 Impala. Bending the hanger into a rod and using the putty knife to crack the door open, Bishop made short work of the electronic locks. Opening the driver side door, he flicked the unlock button twice, and the sound of multiple mechanisms obeying graced his ears.
He glanced over his shoulder, toward Stella's room. The lights were still on, and there was no screaming. So far. A sense of urgency prickled at Bishop's thoughts. He wanted to get this done and over with quickly, in case Stella needed him.
Bishop skirted around the car. First, the glove box. Nothing there, but registration information and insurance. He checked under the passenger side and driver side seats, running his fingers along the underside and even going so far to adjust the seating. Nothing. Stan Jackson either kept his car immaculately clean or he had recently scrubbed it clean.
After rummaging around in the back seat, and finding nothing, Bishop climbed in. He didn't need Stan peeking out and seeing his ass hanging out of the Impala. Bishop yanked down the seats, kneeling atop them to keep them down. The dark trunk extended before him. A quick sweep of his arm found nothing, except scratchy carpet. His fingers sought out the edge of the floor and, in a quick yank, had the board folded up. Blindly, Bishop stuck his hand into the spare tire compartment.
His fingertips didn't touch rubber, though. Bishop's hand bumbled against an envelope and, below the envelope, something made of glass shifted. With his free hand, he snatched his cellphone from his pocket. The light from the small screen lit up the trunk in bluish light.
Indeed, a goldenrod envelope sat in the well where a spare tire should have. Bishop snatched it from its resting place, revealing a bottle at the bottom of the compartment. The bottle was wrapped in a cloth, presumably to keep it from shattering in the metal well. The label had been torn off the bottle, leaving nothing to obscure the liquid sloshing around. Bishop had an idea what the bottle contained.
The envelope, however, he'd have to open. Throwing a glance toward Stella's room, the man felt a sick itch start in his stomach. No one was coming, and no one was peeking out of the window. Bishop bent the metal prongs and spilled the contents into his palms.
A solid stack of photographs slapped against his palm. Using his phone to cast extra light onto the pictures, Bishop's brow furrowed. Each depicted Stella over the recent weekend: coming, going, being accompanied by himself. The icy realization finally slammed into his guts: Stan knew Stella had spent her time off with him.
He scrambled to replace the photos and place them back in the well. The evidence wouldn't mean anything if it was apparent someone had broken into the car. Bishop clambered out of the car and slammed the seats back in place, before closing the door. He charged toward Stella's room as soon as his boots hit the gravel.