Five more days… The Doubted, An FBI Psychics Story

FBI Psychics Story

The Doubted, An FBI Psychics Story

due out 5.29

She didn’t remember how she’d gotten here. She barely remembered anything after she’d climbed out of the shower, frustrated with the tangles in her hair and even more frustrated with the itchy feel of her skin, caused by the motel’s cheap soap.

She knew she’d started to cry.

She knew that he’d brushed out the tangles in her hair.

She knew he’d held her.

And now she knew, intimately, how that big, long body of his felt pressed up against hers.

But she had no idea how long she’d cried, why she’d started, when he’d picked her up or lain down on the bed with her. Her brain was just a muzzy mess.

She had no desire to move, either.

His breath was a warm caress on her face and neck.

His body was incredibly strong under hers, and as she pondered that—the heavy, hard strength of him—she became aware of something else that was heavy and hard.

His cock was pressed up against her hip.

He’d tugged the edge of the sheet over them, tucking it around her body so she wasn’t lying there in just a towel that barely covered her.

The sheet was miserable protection.

The towel was miserable protection.

Even his jeans didn’t provide much of a barrier.

She felt him pulse against her and she flexed her hand before tightening it into the material of his shirt. An answering pang echoed out from her core and blood rushed to her face.

Maybe it was the adrenaline thing—she could very well be running for her life—but Nyrene’s mind started to rush and race with images of the two of them stretched out over the bed, his body crushing into hers as he moved back and forth between her thighs.

This man had terrified her.

This man had all but called her a liar.

And he’d rushed into the bathroom when she’d sent everything flying to the floor, his weapon in hand, his eyes fierce.

Instead of telling her to get over all the things she might well have to leave behind, he’d tended to her with gentle hands, drying her hair and combing away the tangles.

Now he held her.

It was insane to want him. Insane…and she knew it.

But she didn’t care.

She’d tried to be careful her entire life.

She had gone to school and become a nurse. Her parents had said it was a nice, secure job.

She had bought a boring car and always drove the speed limit.

She’d dated the right kind of guy—an accountant who drove the speed limit and had regular dental check-ups and tipped exactly seventeen percent, regardless of the service, good or bad.

Her life had been normal and predictable. Then she discovered her boyfriend wasn’t the good, stand-up guy she’d believed, but a married bastard with kids in multiple states.

She’d had somebody slam into her as she drove home. She’d willed herself not to cry until she was inside her house.

Then the headaches, the…visions, and Dev.

She’d tried to be good her whole life and now she was in a motel with a man who made her burn, and in the back of her mind lurked a knowledge. You can’t go home if you end up dead, Nye.

Slowly, she lifted her head. The strong line of his neck was in front of her, not even an inch from her mouth. Opening her hand, she kept her palm flat against his skin while his heart banged harder and faster.

She’d never taken chances. Fear kept her from going after the one thing she’d always wanted and now she was running for her life.

She didn’t even think it through. She just closed the distance between them and pressed her mouth to his neck.

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