inside Stella and she gasped, gyrating her hips desperately against Bishop. In a breathy, fragile tone, she whimpered, “Arthur!”
His warmth licked every crevice of her insides, taunted every swollen nerve with further pleasure. Her body shook atop his, pleased tremors reaching out from her exhausted core. Her toes curled and fingers clenched as she threw herself against Bishop. The feel of his body, sweaty and firm, under her grounded her as her shivers subsided.
Thoroughly spent, Stella sighed into Bishop's shoulder as his arms wrapped tightly around her. His fingers rubbed gently into her back, easing residual tension from her body. Before long, the woman happily fell into a deep slumber, her worries overridden by hormonal exhaustion. Bishop silently held her, basking in the euphoria of the ideal surprise.
As the afterglow abated, Bishop's expression became pinched. There was one thing he had to do, for Stella, before he submitted himself to unconsciousness.
Despite the sleep tugging at his eyelids, he grabbed his cellphone from the bedside table. Bishop only had enough energy to send Qwerty a text, before he carelessly dropped his phone back to the table. Bishop, with Stella atop him, sunk down in his bed. His arms clamped her too him as sleep overtook his senses.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Never before did Stella believe she'd sit in a room with three bikers, completely comfortable with their presence. Her gaze flickered from “Qwerty” and Coyote before her gaze darted to Bishop. The man caught her gaze, throwing her a smirk and a wink. Heat clawed up her face as she averted her gaze.
It was by sheer luck she had managed to wake up early enough to elude nurses. In the wee hours, Stella had dressed herself in the bathroom and retied Bishop's gown, before collapsing on the room's sole couch. Moments later, a chipper young woman came to take Bishop's biometrics. She seemed completely unaware of Stella's presence.
Hours after her struggle to get clothes on, Qwerty and Coyote entered. The green-eyed man nodded in her direction, a certain glint in his eyes. Qwerty ducked his head down, face burning with a blush. Both men were subjected to Bishop's glare, as if warning them not to say a word. Somehow, both of them knew she had stayed the night. That thought made her blush burn harder.
“So, how about you catch us up to speed on the lovely agent's dilemma?” Coyote broke Stella's embarrassment with his inquiry.
“Agent Holmes overheard the respected Agent Jackson and our dear ole Firecrotch talking,” Bishop answered, shifting in bed. His body throbbed in pain with every slight movement. He wasn't about to complain, though. Every throb, every stab, reminded him of Stella's body on him, clinging to him, murmuring his name under her breath. He shook the sensual thoughts from his head and forced his brain to concentrate, “She put the coke in my IV.”
“That snort-sucking bitch,” snarled Coyote.
“It gets better,” Bishop added, a grimace on his lips, “Stan Jackson is affiliated with the White Knights.”
Qwerty's head jerked as incredulity crossed his features. “But they're the ones that tried to kidnap Miss Holmes!”
“Which is why I think Stan planned the attack,” Bishop sighed, disgust painted his words bitterly. His gaze jumped from Qwerty to Coyote. “Either to play hero and gain Stella's affection or to use her as a bargaining chip against the Seven Tribesmen.”
Coyote nodded, his lips thinning into a nasty scowl. “And when the abduction failed, he tried to off you.”
“Or point the drug trafficking on us again.” Bishop shrugged. Agent Jackson’s despicable plots didn't come as a surprise to him. In fact, a part of him was shamefully relieved. The man had rubbed him the wrong way from the very beginning. His gaze slid the 7T's personal techie. “So, Qwerty, what did you find out about dear ole Stanley Jackson?”
Qwerty
His warmth licked every crevice of her insides, taunted every swollen nerve with further pleasure. Her body shook atop his, pleased tremors reaching out from her exhausted core. Her toes curled and fingers clenched as she threw herself against Bishop. The feel of his body, sweaty and firm, under her grounded her as her shivers subsided.
Thoroughly spent, Stella sighed into Bishop's shoulder as his arms wrapped tightly around her. His fingers rubbed gently into her back, easing residual tension from her body. Before long, the woman happily fell into a deep slumber, her worries overridden by hormonal exhaustion. Bishop silently held her, basking in the euphoria of the ideal surprise.
As the afterglow abated, Bishop's expression became pinched. There was one thing he had to do, for Stella, before he submitted himself to unconsciousness.
Despite the sleep tugging at his eyelids, he grabbed his cellphone from the bedside table. Bishop only had enough energy to send Qwerty a text, before he carelessly dropped his phone back to the table. Bishop, with Stella atop him, sunk down in his bed. His arms clamped her too him as sleep overtook his senses.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Never before did Stella believe she'd sit in a room with three bikers, completely comfortable with their presence. Her gaze flickered from “Qwerty” and Coyote before her gaze darted to Bishop. The man caught her gaze, throwing her a smirk and a wink. Heat clawed up her face as she averted her gaze.
It was by sheer luck she had managed to wake up early enough to elude nurses. In the wee hours, Stella had dressed herself in the bathroom and retied Bishop's gown, before collapsing on the room's sole couch. Moments later, a chipper young woman came to take Bishop's biometrics. She seemed completely unaware of Stella's presence.
Hours after her struggle to get clothes on, Qwerty and Coyote entered. The green-eyed man nodded in her direction, a certain glint in his eyes. Qwerty ducked his head down, face burning with a blush. Both men were subjected to Bishop's glare, as if warning them not to say a word. Somehow, both of them knew she had stayed the night. That thought made her blush burn harder.
“So, how about you catch us up to speed on the lovely agent's dilemma?” Coyote broke Stella's embarrassment with his inquiry.
“Agent Holmes overheard the respected Agent Jackson and our dear ole Firecrotch talking,” Bishop answered, shifting in bed. His body throbbed in pain with every slight movement. He wasn't about to complain, though. Every throb, every stab, reminded him of Stella's body on him, clinging to him, murmuring his name under her breath. He shook the sensual thoughts from his head and forced his brain to concentrate, “She put the coke in my IV.”
“That snort-sucking bitch,” snarled Coyote.
“It gets better,” Bishop added, a grimace on his lips, “Stan Jackson is affiliated with the White Knights.”
Qwerty's head jerked as incredulity crossed his features. “But they're the ones that tried to kidnap Miss Holmes!”
“Which is why I think Stan planned the attack,” Bishop sighed, disgust painted his words bitterly. His gaze jumped from Qwerty to Coyote. “Either to play hero and gain Stella's affection or to use her as a bargaining chip against the Seven Tribesmen.”
Coyote nodded, his lips thinning into a nasty scowl. “And when the abduction failed, he tried to off you.”
“Or point the drug trafficking on us again.” Bishop shrugged. Agent Jackson’s despicable plots didn't come as a surprise to him. In fact, a part of him was shamefully relieved. The man had rubbed him the wrong way from the very beginning. His gaze slid the 7T's personal techie. “So, Qwerty, what did you find out about dear ole Stanley Jackson?”
Qwerty
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