It looked like it ached to be inside her. He motioned for her to move back on the bed so he could stand on his knees between her open thighs. He inhaled a sharp breath as the head of his cock sank into her warming depths. Inch by inch, he pushed his cock into her silken wet cave. Now he was being tortured. He opened his eyes and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed, her lips parted slightly. Her tongue darted out to lick them and he felt his cock twitch. He pulled his cock all the way out before sinking deeply back inside of her. He groaned. It had been a mistake to do that. Her pussy was like wet silk against the head of his cock and the tightness that wrapped around him seemed draw sharp sensations out of him. He wanted her to cum. He wanted her to have pleasure. Lifting her hips, he clutched her ass in his hands and started to thrust deep and hard within her. He knew he was moving right on her g-spot. Her hips bucked and the moans in throat grew louder. This was the fifth nightclub in as many nights that I and my covering force had visited. I wasn’t here looking to get laid, although I planned to do that too after duty hours. I was here hunting. Six nights ago, in response to Robert’s phone call, I had driven from the scene of my recent tryst with a female accountant named Sandy in Kentucky up to Washington, D.C. I had parked a few blocks away from the J. Edgar Hoover Building and walked to a little used entrance on the side of the building. I had shown my Agency credentials and finally been let in after several phone calls and a 20 minute wait. But then the Agency/Bureau feud goes all the way back to the 1940’s. When I was in the OSS I once got caught in the middle of it, but that’s a story for another time. I was shown into a windowless office. From the pictures, knickknacks and the nameplate that read ‘Special Agent R.A. Dale’, I figured out it was Robert’s office. I sat down behind his desk and put my feet up on it, just in time.
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