Tie Me Down

by Tracy Wolff

  The tone of his voice made it obvious the subject was closed, and part of her resented his need for privacy. He’d stripped her bare last night, had ripped away every protection she had, yet he balked at answering a few basic questions about his life. It pissed her off, had her wanting to push back just to see if she had the power to make him crack.

  But before she could decide from which direction she should push, Cole reached a hand out to her and she took it without knowing why. She should have ignored it, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. For just a moment he’d looked vulnerable, his pain so real that it took her breath away.

  She wanted to ask him about the pictures, to demand an explanation for what she’d seen. But she wasn’t ready to go down that road yet. Once she did, she knew the intimacy between them would disappear like it had never been and she wanted—needed—just a few more minutes of it before all hell broke loose. It had been so long since she’d felt this close to another person that she couldn’t bring herself to ruin it. Not yet.

  When he tugged, she didn’t resist, and suddenly she was straddling his lap without being sure how she’d gotten there. Without knowing how she felt about it.

  “Open up.” She obliged, and he fed her a piece of croissant dripping with jam. She closed her eyes as the sweetness hit her tongue, took her time savoring the rare treat.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Are you close to your family?”

  Opening her eyes abruptly, she found him staring at her, his gaze heavy lidded, his eyes even darker than usual. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt herself grow wet when minutes before she would have sworn sex was the last thing on her mind.

  “I’m an only child,” she murmured, struggling to hold on to the conversation. “My parents died in a car crash years ago. Drunk driver.”

  He stiffened, and the hand on her back turned from sexual to soothing. “I’m sorry—that’s terrible.”

  She shrugged, gave the flip answer she’d been using for years—the one designed to hide her loneliness from the world. “Yeah, well, shit happens. Right?”

  “I guess.” He paused long enough to make her nervous, then asked, “So is that why you became a cop?”

  “I became a cop because there are too many assholes in the world and someone needs to do something about it.”

  He laughed. “That’s the same reason I became a filmmaker.”

  “I bet.”

  “No, really,” he said as he leaned forward, dropping kisses along the curve of her neck until she relaxed. “So, what are you going to do with your day off?”

  She laughed, surprised at how husky the sound was. “Not you.” She shoved at his chest. “I’ve got to work.”

  He pulled back, looked at her quizzically. “I thought you said you didn’t have to work today.”

  “No, I said it was my day off.” She climbed off his lap. “But some psychopath is killing girls on my watch—I can’t just kick back and relax while he does it.”

  “When you put it that way, I guess you can’t.”

  “You guess correctly.” She tore off another piece of croissant, popped it into her mouth. “But thanks for breakfast. It was great.”

  He let her get as far as the doorway before he grabbed a handful of hair and dragged her back against him. “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?” He licked a path up the nape of her neck, smiled as Genevieve shivered and pressed her hips back against his cock.

  “I was certainly hoping it wouldn’t be.”

  “That’s my girl.” He walked her over to the kitchen table, bent her over the chair he had just vacated. Slid a hand under her robe to caress the slick, wet folds of her sex. “Are you sore?” he asked as he slipped a finger inside of her, loving how wet and hot she already was.

  “Not too sore, if that’s what you’re asking.” She braced her hands on the nearby table, spreading her legs to give him better access.

  “That’s exactly what I’m asking.” He slid another finger inside her, groaned when she clenched around him. Felt sweat drip down his back as he fought for control. Fuck, she really was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

  Genevieve moved restlessly against him, seeking a deeper penetration. But he kept his touch light, almost playful. Pulled out and stroked a gentle finger over her clit.

  “Cole.” It was a complaint. A demand. But he merely laughed and brought his second hand up to deliver a sharp smack on her curvy ass.

  She jumped, cried out. Turned her head with eyes wide in shock. “What are you doing?”

  His only answer was to do it again, this time thrusting two fingers inside of her, hard, as he did so.

  She gasped and arched her back, clutching the edge of the table as if she didn’t trust her knees to hold her. As she did, his fingers slid deeper, changed angles and rubbed against the sweet spot deep inside of her.

  She moaned, her body running like honey around him. She was so responsive it blew him away, so hot that he burned with the need to see just how fast he could send her up and over.

  He pulled his fingers out, pinched her clit between his thumb and middle finger. Delivered another, sharper slap to her sweet ass while at the same time tapping her clit with his index finger.

  She jerked against him, screaming, her fingers reaching back to grab his cock through the thick material of his jeans. He groaned, thrust against her though he knew better. His dick was on fire, burning for her, and her unexpected touch had taken him all the way to the jagged edge of his control.

  She laughed, low and mean, as her fingers worked his zipper down. His cock leapt from between the parted denim and she palmed him, rubbing while he thrust helplessly against her soft hand.

  Shit. He was as ready to go off as a sixteen-year-old with his first girl. How could she do this to him so easily? Make him lose control when he’d always prided himself on his staying power?

  He pulled away in self-defense, then smacked her harder than he had before. Waited to see how she would react. When all she did was wiggle that luscious ass of hers and press more firmly against him, he swore he’d found heaven.

  Fumbling in the back pocket of his jeans, he grabbed a condom. Tore it open with his teeth. Rolled it on in a fever of need. Then sank into her waiting heat with a shudder of relief.

  Genevieve came at the first thrust of Cole’s cock inside of her. How he’d gotten her so hot so quick, she didn’t know, but each tap of his hand on her ass had sent heat shooting through her like fireworks.

  She’d wanted to protest on general principle, but it had felt so damn good that she’d kept her mouth shut and let him have his way. That last smack had driven her to the edge, and the utter joy of having him within her again had taken her right over.

  Then he was pulling out, robbing her of the last sweet waves of her orgasm. She pressed back, tried to take him again, and he laughed darkly. Then pushed himself inside her, one slow inch at a time.

  She shuddered, tried to move back so she could take all of him, but he stopped her with a steady hand on the small of her back. Held her in place so that her screaming nerve endings felt every inch of his invasion.

  And it was an invasion, a slow, deliberate conquering that she recognized even through the incredible pleasure. Cole laying claim, establishing dominance, challenging her to deny his possession.

  It was the last that had her bucking beneath him, smiling in triumph as she dislodged him.

  “Genevieve.” His voice was low, warning, as he brought both hands to her hips and pulled her sharply against him until he was as deep inside of her as he could go.

  Her muscles clenched involuntarily around him, her body in thrall to his mastery even as her mind rebelled at the limits he set for her. For them. Twisting her hips, she slid away from him again, shimmied until he’d once more slipped from her body.

  One hand came down in a sharp crack against the bare skin of her bottom while the other tangled in her hair.
He leaned forward until he covered her, until her breasts were pushed tightly against the unforgiving surface of the table and her back was wedged just as tightly against his heavily muscled chest.

  “Take me,” he demanded, his voice low and harsh in her ear. “Take me now.”

  He slammed into her so hard she rocketed up onto her tiptoes. Then he was pulling out and slamming into her again and again. He was wild, out of control. She’d challenged him, defied him, pushed him past his limits until the only drive he had was to mark her. To dominate her. To show her who had the upper hand.

  And it was delicious, every thrust a shocking invasion. Every slam of his cock a test of her own limits as unimaginable pleasure rocketed through her.

  He was moving quickly now, each thrust fast and hard. She closed her eyes, clutched the table, tried to center herself in the maelstrom she’d released. But there was no escape, no control, no salvation. Only Cole and the wicked, inescapable, unbelievable things he was doing to her.

  The pleasure rose, tingled, burned, spreading from her cunt to her stomach, up through her breasts, down her arms and legs until no part of her body was unaffected. Until all that she felt, all that she was, was wrapped up in Cole and this unbelievable moment out of time.

  Another orgasm rose, sharp and undeniable, yet she tried to push it back. She didn’t want this to end, wasn’t ready to let this perfect moment slip away.

  But Cole’s fingers were clenching in her hair, scratching down the delicate skin of her back while his breath shuddered in and out. He was on the edge, holding on through sheer will alone, waiting for his release until he’d sent her careening into her own climax.

  It was cruel to make him wait when staving off her own release was nearly killing her. But she shoved the heat down for a few more seconds, reveled in Cole’s brutal pounding, in the agony and ecstasy that came with being possessed by this man.

  “Come for me, Genevieve.” His voice was dark, distorted, and it sent shivers of electricity through her already primed body as he repeated the words she’d used on him last night. “Come for me now!”

  And she did, her body shattering into a million pieces, flying far beyond her scope of control as unimaginable ecstasy roared through her.

  Cole came about a half second later, his body stiffening and jerking as he pulsed inside of her, his semen coming in forceful spurts that only intensified her own climax. His hands clenched her hips, held her still as he poured himself into her.

  “Cole!” She screamed his name as she went under yet again, the contractions building on themselves, over and over until it was both agony and ecstasy. Total fulfillment and complete devastation. She was laid raw and open before him.

  Cole collapsed on top of her, his big body covering every inch of her sensitized skin. It was too much and not enough and she went into sensory overload, her body so far beyond her control that it could have belonged to a stranger, for all the attention it paid to her.

  And when Cole dragged his teeth along her back, licking his way down her spine, she somehow came one final time. Her body shooting into the stars until all that was left of her was a mindless bundle of sensation.

  When she finally came down and managed to catch her breath—not an easy feat with a six-foot-five, 270-pound man on top of her—she said with a grin, “Well, good morning to you too.”

  She felt his lips curve against her back. “Good morning, Genevieve.” Then he was easing out of her, taking off the condom, pulling away and moving toward the bathroom.

  Just normal postcoital stuff, so why did she suddenly feel so bereft?

  Shoving the ridiculous feeling to the back of her head where she could pretend it didn’t exist, she settled into her chair and drew her knees up so that she could rest her chin on them. Picked up a croissant and began to pick at it with studied casualness while she waited for Cole to come back.

  Now that her sex drive was well and truly glutted and her brain firing on all synapses, she figured she couldn’t put things off any longer.

  Which was why, as soon as Cole returned, she shot off, “You never did answer my question last night.”

  He leaned against the counter, his body suddenly tense as he watched her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Which question was that, sweetheart? ‘Where’d you learn to fuck like that?’ or ‘Could you do it some more?’ ”

  She narrowed her eyes, refused to blush at the reminder of her blatant demands. “The one where I wanted to know what the hell you were doing researching my department and various sexual homicides from the last few years. How’d you even know about them?”

  “They’re in the newspaper. I found them when I was looking at back issues.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, well, most of the general public isn’t really into researching those kinds of stories. What makes you different?”

  He was silent for long seconds, then sighed as he crossed the kitchen and sat down next to her. “I’m doing a documentary on the sexual violence endemic in New Orleans. For centuries, sex and violence have gone hand in hand in this city, and I’m trying to find out why.”

  “Sex and violence go hand in hand all over the world,” she countered. “Not just here.”

  “True.” He inclined his head. “But there aren’t many places where it’s as blatant as it is in this city. You of all people should know that.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re the only woman working homicide in the entire French Quarter. You can’t convince me all the sexual perversity you see on the job doesn’t bother you.”

  “Of course it bothers me.”

  Silence stretched between them as she contemplated Cole’s words. She wanted so much to believe what he was saying, but was afraid the woman was overwhelming the cop. “Do you really expect me to buy that? You looked me up, researched me. What does that have to do with your documentary?”

  “I wanted a female perspective on murder in the French Quarter. You’re it.”

  She fought down the hurt his words caused. “So this was all for your movie? Picking me up at the bar, taking me home? What did you do—follow me from the precinct that night? What a brilliant plan to get the perspective you needed.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that!” His hands were urgent as the gripped her arms and tried to pull her closer to him. She resisted, but it was more difficult than she would have imagined.

  “Then explain it to me, because I don’t understand.”

  “I took you home despite my project. I tried to walk away a dozen times, told myself it was stupid even while I was doing it. But I wanted you too much to stop—would have done anything to have you.”

  “Including hiding the evidence in your closet?”

  He flushed, but his eyes never wavered from hers. “I shoved it there before I went out that morning. I was afraid you’d find it before I had a chance to explain and think I’d used you. Which, of course, is exactly what you thought when you did find it.”

  “Actually, I thought you might be the serial killer I’ve been looking for for the past few months.” She watched him closely as she spoke, wondered how he was going to react to her words.

  She didn’t have long to wait. Color drained from his face and the look he shot her was full of horror. “You couldn’t have.”

  She shrugged. “I did.”

  His grip loosened and he shoved away from her, began to pace the kitchen with agitated strides. “Genevieve, you don’t honestly think …” His voice trailed off, and she could see the last several hours replaying in his head. “You slept with me when—”

  “I found out who you were yesterday afternoon and things started to fall into place. But I still wanted to hear it from you.”

  He stopped, pinning her with his midnight gaze. “Well, you heard it. Now do you believe it?”

  She took her time answering, letting him sweat. He’d put her through the wringer yesterday, and—wrong or not—she was more than ready to get some of her own back today.

  Finally, when
the air between them was so tense she feared one wrong move would shatter them both, she said coolly, “I wouldn’t have slept with you if I didn’t.”

  His shoulders sagged in relief. “Well, thank God for small favors. I’ve seen the pictures from the Robbins homicide. The idea that you thought I was capable of that—”

  Cole broke off in midsentence, as if aware that he’d said too much.

  “How do you know about Jessica Robbins?” she demanded, everything inside of her running cold. “Her murder hasn’t even hit the papers yet.”

  Anger flashed between them. “Not the way you’re implying, obviously. I hacked the NOPD database.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “That’s illegal, you know.”

  “So arrest me,” he snarled. “If you’re going to try and find me guilty of something, I’d rather it be a crime I actually committed.”

  “Why would you do that?” She lifted her coffee cup to her mouth, then slammed it back down without taking a sip. “Why the hell would you hack the database?”

  Something flashed in his eyes and then was gone. It had happened so quickly that she couldn’t identify the emotion behind the flash, but she could tell he was hiding something. The knowledge only served to make her angrier. But she bit back the anger—she hadn’t been a cop for ten years just to let Cole get the best of her. Even if he was the best lover she’d ever had.

  “I knew something big had happened—just from the way you were acting last night at the bar.” He shrugged as he answered her question. “I wanted to know what it was.”

  She studied him for long seconds, her instincts warring with her logic. He seemed so sincere, so self-assured that she had a hard time believing he was lying. Even more, she didn’t want to think he was lying to her—not after last night. But still, his voice was shaking as badly as his hands.…

  “I can’t afford to just let you go blithely on your way about this.” She kept her voice and eyes cool, though all she wanted was to fling herself at Cole and beg him to tell her the truth. “Not when I have a serial killer preying on women and killing them in ways that seem particularly interesting to you.”