The Six: Genesis | A Reverse Harem Novel

Thirty-Eight

Three days pass in a blur.

One moment, I'm enjoying the bliss only Chris Gatlin can provide and the next, I'm staring down a lengthy diatribe of twisted code. For fuck's sake, what were they thinking? Why did they let someone else fuck with my shit?

I want to rage, tearing everything apart with my bare hands and then drop on top of their heads. But, it would solve nothing and we'd be no closer to solving this riddle than I was a day ago. Ryker has been in and out, dropping by to check on me when he thinks I'm not paying attention.

He can sneak around if he likes, but I can't afford to let anything get in my way, not even the delicious diversions Chris creates. A low groan slips out of my mouth and I collapse against the table before me as his hands slide into my pants. There's no mistaking what he wants.

In his head, I scale through the emotions he projects, curling my toes when his middle finger presses to my clit and rubs.

"Chris," his name—my prayer—won't keep him at bay for long, "I have to work."

He shrugs. I can't see him completely. He's a sliver of hulking muscle in my periphery, but the hand between my thighs rises and falls with his shoulders.

"Then work..." He whispers in my ear, moving closer to block me from view. "I didn't say you couldn't...."

"How am I supposed to work when your—"

A laugh radiates through his chest when I break off awkwardly, squirming in his iron grasp. There's nowhere to go. Trapped by a lab table and Chris' formidable form, I'm a damsel in distress—or is it a damsel in need of de-stress?

"I'm sorry, Blue. I didn't quite understand..." He teases, fingers fucking me deeply. "Can you repeat it for me?"

Meany.

He knows I won't fight him—I can't. Not when his thoughts are turning into mine and I'm wanting the same naughty things he does. Not when all I want to do is drop to my knees before him, unzip his pants, and take him down my throat.

It's the best breakfast and a grand way to awaken in the morning.

Truthfully, keeping up with him was a challenge. He never seemed to be anything other than hard. If I didn't have his fingers, his mouth or his dick inside of me for longer than an hour, I'd search for him.

I needed him. Needed to him look at me, love me and touch me. Needed him to make this gaping hole in my chest do something other than twist like a knife to the stomach.

A shudder racks through me as his other hand trails up my spine and rounds my side to cup my breast. It's gentle, seeking and cupping me until I cannot keep another gasp from leaving me. His name wrapped in it, honeyed and loved as deeply as he is.

But isn't this too soon for love? Isn't it too soon to feel the way I do about this man? We haven't known each other long enough to want him the way I do.

Yet, I can't help it.

Does it damn me not to want to? Does it make it worse that I hope he knows the same delirious desire suffocating me every second of the day? Desperate for his touch, I part my legs and lean into his chest.

My eyes roll back as his fingers find their rhythm. Heat feathers under my skin, scorching from the tips of my toes to my head and back again. It coils in my belly, tightening and reeling as my head swims.

"Chris... please... I..."

Before more words spill out, I shut my mouth. Begging won't get me what I want, not when we're like this. He likes to watch as much as he likes to make me come.