Blood Relations by Michelle McGriff

libido would make a woman do. But there was no way he had intended to shag that woman.
    It wasn’t as if she wasn’t lovely, the way she sat on the corner of her desk, crossing her legs so that he caught sight of plenty of thigh. But he truly had come there to work. Despite his reputation, he really was a serious agent.
    Making up a story, he told her he was an attorney working a civil case dealing with one of the date rape victims, who now felt that because of this rape she couldn’t have an orgasm in her married life. The DA seemed more than willing to help. “Anything for an orgasm,” she joked. Inappropriate though it was, Ovan read through the veneer and into the woman’s true feelings.
    â€œWell, they are very important to some people,” he said, glancing quickly through the pages of the file, realizing only then he’d hit a mother lode of information on Blain Tollome and the case surrounding the date rape drug. There was too much to memorize and much more than he’d have time to read there, in her presence. She was all but breaking a sweat as it was. So he skimmed for more connections to Allen Roman. She noticed his intensity—apparently it aroused her.
    â€œI know my office is small, but do you mind if I close the door,” she said, bringing his attention back, pulling it away from the file. She’d pulled her long, blond mane from its tight bun and allowed it to fall freely around her shoulders. She also unbuttoned the top two buttons of her crisp white blouse.
    Sex. What a phenomenon, he thought, wondering what he had done or said to make this woman want it right at that particular moment. Within a moment or two—allowing for the removal of panty hose—she was bent over her desk with her hand holding down the photo of her smiling husband and two kids. Ovan worked over her back side. She was hungry; he could tell because of the way she violently twisted her hips, hoping to find the spot that would offer release of her pent-up tension. Feeling her desperate need, he pulled from her. She turned to him, red-faced and highly agitated. “No. I didn’t ... yet,” she began, out of breath and overheated. Ovan shushed her calmly.
    â€œI know,” he whispered.
    Changing his condom—he always carried two—he instructed her to turn back toward the desk and squat. Following her down the floor, Ovan entered her slowly while reaching around her waist, using his middle finger to plow through her thick pubic hair until he found her magic button. It was ready and waiting, pulsating like mad and nearly too hot to touch. Gently he stroked it, calming it, making love to it manually while stoking her inner fire with his hardened manhood. It was a technique he knew well, and used often on desperate housewives. Within moments her knuckles whitened from the grip she had on her desk’s edge, while she gave into what was probably the best orgasm she’d ever had in her life, if not her first “real” one. Deep guttural moans escaped her lips as he slowly moved his hips in a circular motion, while stimulating her clit, which grew slippery with her juices. From the outside of her, while rubbing gently on deeper inner lips, he could feel himself stroking inside her and he knew he was hitting the right spots. “Tighten yourself around me,” he whispered in her ear, feeling her muscle contracting instantly. With that, her vagina began to convulse while her mound grew and her lower lips swelled with sexual fever. His hands were soon drenched in her fluids as she came repeatedly, spreading her knees wide to take him all in, gasping for air as she did. Her belly sucked in tight as he now grabbed at her mound, using the palm of his hand and fingers to create suction.
    â€œOh my God,” she breathed, “I’ve never ... you’re so ...”
    â€œI know,” he whispered in her ear, nibbling lightly on her lobe.
    There was a knock