K. Bromberg - Bend

This was one of those times.

I closed my eyes, my head tilted up towards the ceiling, and I let myself totally submerge into this pool of pleasure that Jason had created for me with his very talented tongue and his probing, thick fingers, which were giving my sweet spot the 'ol come-hither motion at that very moment.

I felt my core turn to liquid as I melted into the magical thrumming of his tongue and fingers in unison, on both my clit and my sweet spot, ready to give him exactly what he'd ordered just moments before. I moaned loudly, my hips starting to thrust upward to lessen his journey.

"What the hell?" I heard someone shriek…from somewhere.

Immediately, Jason's warmth left me. My eyes simultaneously flew open, the hazy fog of being 'almost there' quickly dissipated as I saw Lindsey's horrified face standing about six or seven feet away, aghast at what she had just viewed.

She had clamped her only free hand over Harper's eyes, her other arm cradled a still-sleeping Jackson against her chest.

"Get out," she hissed, and to be honest, I wasn't sure if she meant Jason, or me, or quite possibly the both of us.

Jason hurriedly stood up, grabbed his tool box and got the hell out as quickly as any man could, his erection still very evident underneath his navy blue work pants.

I slid from the countertop, bending over to pick up my panties and shrug them back on. Lindsey was still glaring at me, evidently too fucking pissed to have the good manners to give me some privacy. Harper was squirming around, trying to move Lindsey's hand away from where it still covered her eyes, but she couldn't budge it.

"Timing," I said, pulling my cutoffs up and fastening the button, "is fucking everything," I finished, brushing past her and going to my room.

It was my sixth week of physical training, but it felt as if it had been years instead of weeks. I stood in the weight room, at five-fifteen in the morning—that's right—five-fucking-fifteen, watching myself in the mirrored wall of the room, doing curls with free weights clutched in both hands.

Fuck, why in the hell did I get assigned this time frame for a personal work-out?

It was punishment, pure and simple. But it was required, and since I'd done a good job of pissing off my instructor, it was what it was.

I glanced around the large, carpeted room. There were only three other people in here, all guys. The thing was, I had to clock in and out, so it wasn't as if I could ditch it without getting busted, and then I'd be in more trouble, if that were even possible.

Neither Trace nor Lindsey were speaking to me and hadn't been for three weeks. I was, as they say, persona non grata at the Trace Matthews residence.

Kicking me out was totally their prerogative, I got that. But why the fuck had I been forced to endure yet another one of Trace's lectures?

He had even asserted that I had no fucking business being in the bureau, and that I had my head stuck so far up my ass, even he couldn't pry it out. That was, if he had a mind to, which he said he clearly didn't.

Oh. What. Ever

I looked at my reflection. As bad as Trace had made me sound, I didn't think that I really resembled the type of loser that he'd accused me of being.

Hell, I was in the best shape that I'd ever been in physically.

My arms and legs were toned nicely; my belly firm and flat. I was taller than Lindsey; that had to count for something, right?

My light brown hair was long and shiny; and my dark brown eyes resembled pools of liquid chocolate, or so some dude had once told me right after we’d shared sex and a blunt.

I wiped some perspiration from my neck with my towel, placed the free weights back into the slots in the rack, and grabbed the next heavier set of weights.

I planted my legs a bit apart just as Darin, my assigned trainer, had instructed. I started once again with the curls, making sure to inhale and exhale the way that he had recommended. It really did work. I used the oxygen to my benefit, just like he said that I should.

Okay, so things at Easton's and Darcy's weren't as bad as they had been at Trace and Lindsey's, but shit, I knew that Lindsey had filled Darcy's head with pre-conceived notions about me.

The good thing was that Darcy didn't give me pink post-it notes with daily chores scribbled on them. She at least had a housekeeper and gardener at her disposal, so that took me off the hook.

Still, it seemed that Darcy didn't want to hang out much, or really converse a lot. Easton was always traveling, but hell, at least I wasn't constantly being lectured.

I was getting an income from my internship, although it was nothing to brag about for sure. Trust me, I wanted nothing more than to be on my own and not accountable to anyone else, but that just wasn't going to happen any time soon. I had to bide my time and save money along the way.

I glanced up at the clock. It was nearly five-thirty. At six I officially had to clock out, take a shower and dress for my office job at the bureau that was part of my internship training.

Once my training was complete, I would have an opportunity to apply for a permanent position with the bureau, and receive a bump in my salary. But hell, that wouldn't be for another eight months.

I commenced doing squats with the weights, just as my mentor/trainer Darin came bouncing into the weight room.

"There's my girl," he called out, flashing me a smile.

Okay. That's…different.

I'd spent a good deal of time pissing off Darin Murphy. Now for whatever reason, he acted pleased to see me. This immediately put me on alert.

Darin Murphy had been with the bureau for several years. Most recently, he'd completed an assignment in Alaska, of all places. I got the feeling that he hadn't much cared for it. Now his assignment was to torture and humiliate interns, although he liked to refer to it as “coaching.” Though whenever he made said referral, I would always make sure to refer to him as "asscrown" in my head. And smile.

He was a hottie for sure, complete with an Irish temper that, unfortunately, I had been on the receiving end of more than once. He called me a 'slacker' amongst other things, and in all honesty, he was right.

"Cadet Matthews," he said, coming up closer, eyeballing me to make sure that I was in the correct position and really challenging my muscles. "Glad to see you made it in on time this morning. I think you were mistaken when you told me that you weren't a morning person."

He followed that with a sexy wink.

Sweet Jesus - he is flirting . . . kinda . . .

His teasing statement was because I had actually used that lame excuse when he had jumped my ass the previous week about clocking in late for my seven a.m. personal workouts. So, like I said, my punishment was being assigned to an earlier time slot for the next few weeks. Not only that, but it was also now on "my time," meaning I wasn't on the payroll clock like I had been when I was scheduled at seven.

I had to hang with it or get kicked out of the program, and as much as this part of it, and agents like Darin Murphy who loved to bust the chops of newbies for the pure pleasure of it, was clearly not my cup of tea, I was still determined not to fail.

Why?

Because that's what everyone expected me to do, my parents included. I sort of had a history of failure.

"Morning, sir," I addressed him, continuing my repetitions, inhaling and exhaling in timed rhythm.

"Hey, just wanted to let you know that Agent Carpenter said you're doing a good job in learning the database over in the lab. He said you're actually fairly knowledgeable with the analytical instrumentation as well. I have to admit, I'm surprised a little."

I looked over at him, quirking a brow as I finished the last repetition. "I do have a B.S. in Physics from Cal State," I replied, putting the free weights back into their empty slots in the rack.

"So I saw when I reviewed your file," he commented, giving me a boyish grin. "With a 3.87 G.P.A. to boot. Impressive. So, I gotta ask: why did you apply for the Visiting Scientist Program internship? Why not just apply for a job with the bureau and start making real money?"

I wiped the back of my neck with the towel. "Because I'm not twenty-three yet, Agent Murphy. I'm only twenty-two. But, by the time I finish this internship, I will be twenty-three. I guess I figured having the successful completion of the VSP on my resume just might bump me up a notch or three."

He cocked an eyebrow at me, and a devilish grin followed. "The operative words being 'successful' and 'completion,' Cadet Matthews," he retorted, turning and heading back. "That's totally in your court, babe."

And it totally was.

And I knew it.

But why did Darin Murphy care?

Apparently, Memorial Day was some sort of a customary celebration in D.C. I mean, yeah, I can recall growing up and having a long weekend to mark the start of summer. I even remember going to the local Memorial Day parade, but this holiday certainly seemed to be more than that here—at least with my semi-relatives it was.

"Hey Paige," Darcy greeted as I strolled into the kitchen a little after ten a.m. to get my first cup of java. "Want to help me with some of this food? I could use someone to make the deviled eggs."