Isabelle breaks eye contact with me and runs her tongue along my finger.
I’ve watched her eat ice cream before. I even mocked her once because she was moaning loudly at the great taste. The erotic sounds she had made—like she was verging on orgasm—resulted in men looking at her, most likely imagining how she would sound if they got to fuck her.
At the time, I thought it was funny.
Now, all I can hear in my head is the sound she made that day.
My cock thickens at the mental image of her licking it and making those same noises. I try telling it that’s not going to happen. It doesn’t listen.
Isabelle’s gaze returns to mine. There’s a heat in her eyes that I don’t remember seeing directed at me before. Her lips part enough for my finger to pass through them. Her teeth lightly scrape against my skin—and it takes all my willpower not to groan at how amazing it feels to have her taste me this way.
Isabelle pulls away slightly; then she takes my finger farther into her warm mouth, sucking it, running her tongue down the length of it.
“Great job,” Gabrielle says, breaking the trance Isabelle appears to be under. She pulls my finger from her mouth, and it instantly mourns the loss.
“How was that?” Isabelle asks me. There’s a slight smugness to her tone, but there’s also a hint of something else that I can’t get a full grasp on.
“It was good.” My voice comes out husky. I cough to clear my throat, not wanting her to find out how much the activity affected me. Christ, I’m dreading to see what Gabrielle wants us to do next.
The need to escape the room and accomplish what we came to the resort to do burns hot in my veins. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I’m restless, a sensation that’s fairly uncommon to me.
And that’s not a good thing. It’s when mistakes happen.
Isabelle peeks at her phone, even though we aren’t allowed to be on them—other than when she took the photo of her ankle. “Oh God, there’s still thirty minutes left.”
She shifts about on the floor. To most people, it appears that she’s attempting to get comfortable.
But I know better. She’s restless, too. She wants to get out of here as much as I do and talk to Bradshaw.
“Welcome to the world of being an agent,” I say under my breath.
“What? You usually get stuck in classes about sex while the bad guy is out there, wreaking havoc on the world?”
“Definitely not. But a large part of the job is about your hands being tied, in a figurative sense, when you just want to get out there and take down the bad guys. A major aspect of the job is surveillance.”
“Except we aren’t surveilling.”
“How’s everyone doing so far?” Gabrielle asks the group, interrupting Isabelle’s conversation with me. In her hand is a stack of what looks like playing cards. “I’m going to give one of these to each of you. It’s the next question that you’ll be answering. But unlike the first one, these questions are just between you and your partner.”
She starts to hand them out.
Isabelle quietly groans—which might have more to do with the expressions on everyone’s faces after they read their card than anything else.
The “What gets you in the mood for sex?” question was clearly tame compared to what’s on those cards.
“At least we don’t have to come up with an answer to share with everyone,” I tell her. “No one will know that we aren’t talking about the questions on the cards.”
Gabrielle hands us our cards, and I read mine.
“All right, gentlemen first,” Gabrielle says. Unfortunately, she’s still standing next to us and doesn’t appear in any rush to move away.
She gives me a slight nod to go ahead and ask Isabelle my question.
“Which do you think is hotter? Sex standing against a wall or bent over a desk?”
It actually says table, but the image of Isabelle bent over my desk with her fine ass in the air popped into my head at the wrong moment.
She chews on her lower lip for a heartbeat. “Is it even possible to have sex while standing against a wall?”
