Plain Sight Page 8

  “You can’t—”

  “You think I can’t, but let me work, and trust me, and you can have your chance at finding that new normal.” She looked back at the shower. “You need that more than me. Come on, undress and get in there. My shower can wait.”

  Inhaling deeply, I sat up and tried to square my shoulders. I put a hand on the sink and climbed to my feet.

  My knees instantly buckled, but Bridget caught me as my hand slammed on the counter for support as well.

  She shook her head. “There’s the adrenaline crash.”

  “What?”

  “Too much adrenaline,” Bridget explained. “You’ve been running on it since the office this afternoon. I knew it was coming, I was just hoping we’d already be asleep. Let’s sit back down and get these clothes off.”

  My eyes went wide.

  “You can’t shower by yourself right now. I’ll help.”

  “I…”

  She let out a sigh. “Vaughn.”

  I paused another minute and nodded, unbuttoning the shirt that was full of today’s misery. Bridget took and it shook it out, hanging it on a hook on the back of the door. Next came the undershirt, and then I had to take my pants and socks off. She pitched the socks in the sink with the under shirt and hung the pants on the hook as well.

  Glancing at the sink, I also saw Dylan’s underwear there as well. “What’s that about?”

  “We have nothing else to wear. I’ll wash them and let them dry overnight.”

  “Are all spies so practical?”

  “Agents, sir. Agents. And yes, we are.” She held out her hand and made a ‘gimme’ motion.

  “What?”

  “Skivvies. You can’t shower in your boxers.”

  Well, fuck.

  I hoisted my ass up a bit, my legs desperately trying to buckle again, and dragged the waist band of the boxers down.

  Practical. She’s practical. This is all for a reason.

  And for some God unknown reason, my brain decided at that moment to realize she was wearing only underwear and a T-shirt.

  Holy hell, she’d busted out of the bathroom, armed, dangerous, and pantsless.

  Oh, no. No. Bad timing. Very bad timing.

  “Close the door, Bridget,” I said.

  “We’ll have more trouble hearing—”

  “Close the fucking door.” The absolute last thing I wanted at that point was my son walking in and find her half naked, and me naked sporting a chubby.

  Bridget closed the door. Tossing the boxers in the sink, she walked around me and wrapping my arm over her shoulders. Grabbing the edge of the sink she helped me stand and my knees were still completely unsteady.

  With the stance of a consummate professional she helped me into the tub and sat me down on the edge while she got the water going and the temperature right. The toiletries were still in there from Dylan, so it was just a matter of getting the water at the correct heat.

  God, I wished this hard-on would go away. I clasped my hands over it, and the cold water hit my foot at almost the same time. I felt some relief for a moment and just kept my hands over myself.

  The water took a moment, and I could it feel it turn warm and I relaxed a bit.

  “Grab the bar, and see if you can stand up,” Bridget said.

  I did, and was able to pull myself to standing without my legs feeling like they were going to buckle. I lifted one hand so I could grab the shampoo.

  My ass hit the floor.

  Damn.

  “Well, that’s not going to work.” I heard her sigh.

  “I can just shower here.”

  “Not even,” she said.

  I looked up at exactly the wrong moment.

  Chapter Nine

  Bridget

  He couldn’t stand. He didn’t know how to handle the crash, and I usually made sure I was asleep by the time it really hit.

  I’d had the second shot of adrenaline when I heard that table hit the floor earlier. Seeing Vaughn on the floor hyperventilating didn’t help anything. I was so worried that he’d been shot or worse.

  When he uttered the words my son, I knew what was going on. Everything that happened that day was crashing down on him and he just didn’t know how to compartmentalize. Between that and the adrenaline, he was overwhelmed.

  I was used to it—I could feel it even now, all the adrenaline draining out of me—and I’d be fine.

  Vaughn, on the other hand, was now at the bottom of the tub, looking completely overwhelmed and defeated. He needed help and I was the only option.

  I wished there was someone else. Because the instant he took off that T-shirt I was grateful I was a woman and had nothing to rise to the occasion when I was turned on. Jesus. The man took care of himself. He wasn’t built, but he was toned and tight and holy shit I wanted to dance my fingers over that skin.

  Then he dropped his pants. I was pretty sure my brain said something like blergarghmrph hrrnnnn. It only got worse when he pulled the boxers off.

  I desperately tried not to notice his generous endowment. Practical. This is practical. This is all for a practical reason.

  He was naked and erect and I didn’t need to react to it, but holy shit. I was also glad I’d left my panties on.

  The cold water mitigated the situation for a moment. I was hopeful he could manage this on his own when he pulled himself to standing.

  Then he let go and hit the bottom of the tub.

  This just wasn’t going to happen without my help.

  Taking a moment, I decided I didn’t want to abort the mission, because he was already in the shower and soaking wet.

  I didn’t have any clothes for tomorrow and getting these wet was a bad move. So I pulled my shirt off and hung it on the door.

  “W-what are you doing?” he gasped from the floor.

  “You need the shower. We’re not going to half ass this.”

  “No, clearly, since my whole ass is out.”

  His snide remark did not hide the erection he was sporting again.

  Professional, goddamn it.

  I climbed in behind him, and I had to take my bra off. I didn’t have time to wash and dry that the right way. So making sure he couldn’t see me from his place on the tub floor, I unhooked myself and flung it to the counter.

  “Oh my holy fuck,” Vaughn breathed.

  I scooped my arms under his. “Grab the rail and pull yourself up. Do not let go. Hang on with both hands and I’ll get you showered off.”

  He managed to pull himself to standing and was about to take a hand off the rail. I slapped mine over his. “Don’t. You’ll fall again.”

  I reached for the soap, and I heard him groan. I was confused until I realized my very erect nipples were brushing against his skin.

  “B-bridget, could you just…step out for a minute?”

  “What? Why?”

  “I just need like five minutes.”

  My brow furrowed. I wanted this done and over with so that I could crawl into bed and fall asleep. Stepping out and waiting for him to feel like he was ready to take a shower was ridiculous.

  “We’ll be done in five minutes.”

  “You will.”

  I shook my head, and started soaping him up around his neck. I could feel the chords of his neck straining as I ran my hands over him. I used the bar of soap to clean down his arms—I didn’t want to trust the washcloths. The towels were marginally safer.

  The bar drew the soap lines back up his arm and I reached around to lather his chest—

  “Fuck. Bridget. You have to give me a minute here please.”

  “But—”

  “I just need you to step out. Pull the fucking curtain closed, I don’t care. Just, a minute. Seriously, at this point it won’t take me a minute.”

  What did that mean?

  Pushing forward, I wanted to catch his eyes ask him what was wrong. But as I did, he groaned again and huffed. “Fuck.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Instea
d of stepping back, I reached over his hip and splayed my hand over the skin below his navel, dusted with the light hair of his happy trail.

  “And how, Mister Willard, do you propose to take care of your problem with two legs that barely work, and two hands firmly planted on that support bar to hold you up?”

  “I don’t know,” he growled. “Maybe it will go away. I need a goddamn minute, okay?”

  I passed the bar between my hands and got them good and soapy. I dropped the soap on the little soap shelf and ran my hands down his stomach, to the curls at the base of erection.

  His breath came out in a stutter, but he said nothing. Moving one hand further south, I found his sac between his legs, heavy and hot. I let my fingers fondle him, using the soap to slide over him.

  My other hand moved in from the side and I slipped it up his erection. He was beyond hard and hot, and the instant my finger closed around him, he groaned.

  This man was well endowed, and I was reacting to him. I pressed myself right up against his back so he could feel what he did to me.

  He didn’t say a word, but his head tipped forward and I could fell his breathing getting heavier. The feel of him in my hand, the trust he was giving me at that moment was delicious.

  Moving slowly at first, I gauged what he wanted by how tense his back was and how white his knuckles were. His breath was jerky and shallow, but all in the best ways. He was a wonderful specimen, and it had been too long since I’d had a man in my hands.

  Heavy breathing turned into panting, panting into low moaning, and my body was lighting up in response to his. The hard cock in my hand twitched and I could feel he was close the way his muscles bunched.

  I leaned to his ear. “Remember, don’t scream.” I gave the shell a little nip.

  Vaughn didn’t have it in him to be quiet. I could hear the orgasm pending and building, I wasn’t sure what I could to minimize his grunts.

  An idea struck me. As the first tremor of his orgasm started in his shaft, I let go of his sac, grabbed his chin and turned him toward me. My mouth covered his and I swallowed the sound of his body-shattering orgasm.

  Heavy ropes of his cum shot from him hitting the wall, the tub lip, down into the basin where we were standing. His hips jerked forward as he hit each roll of his climax, and I just kept kissing him as his cock slowly relaxed and finally surrendered.

  I finished washing him in record time as he clung desperately to the safety rail. Rinsing all the soap off, I finally turned the knobs off for the water.

  He turned, and stopped, staring at me. “You still have your panties on.”

  I nodded, and leaned back in to help him out of the tub and sit him back on the toilet lid. I threw on my shirt as I grabbed the pajama bottoms I had bought for him.

  Vaughn grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “That was fucking hot.” His mouth covered mind for a moment and all I wanted to do was slide down on his lap and see if I could get that cock back in action. Bad, Birdie! “But you didn’t have to.”

  “No,” I answered. “I wanted to.” I angled my head to study him. “Also, if I had stepped out to let you handle it, cough, would it really have done any good when I stepped back in, topless and wet.”

  He grunted, “That’s not helping me right now either.”

  I giggled—giggled?—and shook my head. “Yeah, nothing else is going to come up that we have to address. I’ll tape that beast to your leg and drug you to sleep. You need sleep. Too much happened today.”

  I held out the pajama top, and he grabbed it, slipping it over his head. “Can I just sit here for few minutes? I think my legs will be just fine if I can just sit for a few.”

  “Of course,” I answered and pulled my soaked panties down my legs and quickly replaced them with the bottoms that match the top.

  As soon as I realized I had done that in full view of him, I glanced at Vaughn. He had rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and was counting cracks.

  “Do they strip your modesty in spy school?”

  I leaned in and breathed the words across his lips. “I just gave you a hand job in the shower. Is there any reason for modesty?”

  He stared at me. “A little yes. Unless you really have duct tape to strap this monster to my leg. Then, go for it.”

  This time it was my turn to moan. “Bad timing, bad timing. Need sleep. There’s a kid in the bed.” I stepped back and started filling the sink. “I’m going to wash these and then we’re going to sleep.” I looked at him pointedly. “And you’re going to share the bed with Dylan.”

  Vaughn

  “Are you really sleeping with the gun under your pillow?” I asked.

  “Yes.” The answer was so easy for her it scared me a little. But if she was really a former agent, guns were just part of the job. Also, knowing that killed my libido a bit and my satisfied dick chilled the fuck out.

  She was right. I would have just been hard again in seconds if she hadn’t been there with me. The guilt ripping through me at that moment was pretty terrible. I had really, really enjoyed her hands and gotten lost in the long, firm, confident strokes of her hands.

  The instant the satisfaction raced out of me and hit the wall, I realized I hadn’t thought of Helen at all during those moments. I knew that was fine, better actually. But it didn’t lessen the guilt I felt that someone other than my wife had pleasured me.

  “Jesus, I need to talk to my therapist,” I mumbled.

  Bridget’s eyes caught mine in the reflection in the mirror. “Excuse me? My hand job wasn’t that bad.”

  I laughed. “It’s not you, Bridge. It’s me.”

  “I certainly didn’t see anything wrong with you.” She paused and I could see a little flicker of pain in her eyes. “And my nickname is Birdie.”

  “Birdie. I like that.” I looked at the closed door, and sighed. “Could you just peek out and check on him?”

  She nodded and stepped outside the room to peer around the corner. Ducking back in, she was smiling. “He has disappeared into the sleep sack and now has his feet on the pillow.”

  Chuckling, I nodded. “That’s Dylan. He likes to do everything backwards.”

  It was quiet and watched her scrub the things in the sink with some detergent she had come up with. Watching her hands, I realized I was very intrigued by this woman.

  “You really are prepared for anything.”

  “Almost. There’s always something that might catch me unprepared, but I try to keep the basics of life on hand at all times.”

  “Laundry detergent?”

  She scrubbed the undershirt I had been wearing. “If I can get my hands on it, I do. Washing with hand soap doesn’t have the same cleaning power. It doesn’t have deodorants in it, and there’s nothing worse than running an assignment and worrying that someone will catch the scent of your dingy drawers.”

  She wrung the shirt and draped it over the shower curtain bar.

  Shit, even looking at the shower was turning me on. “I really need to talk to Billings.”

  She stopped and looked at me again. “Billings?”

  “Dr. Peter Billings,” I said. “My therapist.”

  She laughed. “That sly asshole.”

  “What?” I wrinkled mt forehead.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out what that man did for a full-time job.” Bridget grinned. “It’s a hobby of mine. Trying to figure people out. Who they are, what they do, what makes them tick. Billings has been an enigma.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He’s the Prime Dom at Club Imperial and my sister-in-law—”

  “What?” I gasped the words, nearly choking on them. “He’s what?”

  Her laughed filled the room. “He’s kinky as fuck, Vaughn. He’s also one of the most generous people you’ll ever meet. And now that I have the last puzzle piece, I realized he’s a got a heart the size of the ocean. He also knows how to keep his mouth shut, so if you need to call him tomorrow, do it. Use the burner and call him. Don’t text.”

/>   For just a moment she looked unsure, which was something I had never seen Bridget look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Are you calling him because of us?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “I’m calling him because of me, Birdie. I’m a headcase right now, and we’re in a bad situation my gut is telling me is going to get worse. I’ve come a very long way since the first session with him, but I’m still not there. Not yet.” My legs were starting to feel normal again, not so much like Jell-O, but I didn’t want to leave this room yet.

  I folded my hands and my thumbs fought against each other for a moment. “Tonight was the very first time I’ve felt anything besides fear and numb. And I felt…feel it in a big way. It’s the first time…”

  Tossing a look at the shower, I could feel my whole body flush red from top to bottom.

  Bridget’s hands dropped to the sink and she hung her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even—”

  I snatched a hand and held onto it. “Oh, no. No, no. That really was hot as hell. It’s me that’s broken. You did nothing, and I mean nothing wrong.” Catching her eyes, I pulled her closer. “You haven’t done a thing wrong since we busted out of the office this afternoon.”

  My own words hit me. “This afternoon. Jesus. All this happened. No wonder my legs didn’t work.”

  She smiled. “You had a hard crash. And when your daily excitement consists of a good trade deal and a nice dinner? You’re not ready for it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Call Billings in the morning. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but he’ll help. I’m almost done here. Why don’t you see if you can manage to get back to the bed with your son, and I’ll double check the locks on everything.”

  Nodding, I braced my hands and forced myself to my feet. I didn’t plunk back down on the toilet, and felt a lot better. I walked to the door, and saw Bridget nodding encouragingly.

  I stepped out into the room and looked over at Dylan. Backward and upside down. I smirked, and leaned back to Bridget in the bathroom. “Dead asleep.”

  She nodded, and held my eyes for a moment. I wanted to ask her something, but I wasn’t sure how, so instead I stepped further into the room.