Trouble (Bad Boy Homecoming Book 2)

by Avery Flynn

  Drew left out the part about Leah being more pissed off than Beauford Lynch watching Maisy Aucoin's cat prance through his backyard.

  "If anything happens—”

  "It won't," he cut off Isaac. "You knew me back when we played ball together in high school and when I was still on the force in Fort Worth. I'm good for this."

  Isaac let out a sigh but he didn't argue. He couldn't. Drew was damn good at his job and they both knew it.

  "I heard you're joining back up in Fort Worth," Isaac said.

  "That's the plan."

  "Well, seeing how you're going to guard my sister with your life then I'll buy you a beer when you get back—Lord knows you're gonna need it."

  Drew grinned. "I’ll be there."

  "Just don't fuck this up."

  He glanced up at Leah, standing with her back to the hall closet and her arms crossed underneath her luscious tits. His cock automatically started thinking very happy thoughts despite the death glare she was shooting him. Fuck, she might kill him, but Wynn and Miller wouldn't get within touching distance of her. No matter what. "Never."

  He ended the call and handed the phone back to Leah, his fingers brushing against hers. That small connection was enough to remind his dick and the rest of him just how good it felt to touch her. She slid her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans and then rubbed her hands together as if she'd felt that sexual charge too. Judging by the way her nipples pressed outward against her thin T-shirt, she had. At least he could take comfort in the fact that they both were waging a war that had nothing to do with diamonds, paid muscle or anything else outside of his front door.

  "You always think you know what's best for me," she said. "Isn't that how you put it that summer?"

  No one slid the knife home quite like Leah. "And I was right."

  They were total opposites. He couldn't understand her. They'd have only made each other miserable if they'd tried to make it work—especially long distance. So when the call came about the job with the Fort Worth PD, he'd gone and left only a texted goodbye.

  "Of course." She strode up to him, stopping only when they were toe to toe, her tits practically touching his chest and her luscious mouth within kissing distance. "The perfect Drew Jackson is never wrong."

  Not when it came to Leah. He'd been right. He knew because if he hadn't, he would have forgotten her long ago. So why was he about to fuck things up? Unable to stop himself, he dropped his hands to her hips and jerked her against him.

  "Exactly," he said right before crashing his mouth down on hers.

  4

  Leah

  If there was any sense of fairness in the world, Drew Jackson would suck as a kisser. Really suck. It would be all jabbing tongue and slobbery lips. But as Leah's mama had told her years before, life isn't fair. And Drew's kisses were the kind that short circuited her brain and electrified her body, making her forget everything else but him and how he made her feel. His hands cupping her face, making her skin tingle with anticipation. His lips, strong and hungry against her own, untying a knot of lust she'd kept on lockdown as well as she could around him. His hard body pressed against hers in all the right places as he backed her up against the hall closet door until there wasn't even a millimeter of space between them as his lips moved from her mouth to the column of her throat, making her toes curl inside her boots.

  "It's not fair," she said, her voice low and desperate.

  He laughed against her skin, a soft tickle before the sharp nip of his teeth against the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Sweets, when has that ever been part of the equation when it comes to us?"

  The bastard was right. There was nothing but trouble between them, so she might as well get it out of her system once and for all.

  Her hands were on his shirt, yanking it out of his pants almost before her brain had caught up. Wasn't that the story of her life though—especially when it came to Drew. She slipped her hand up underneath and her fingers rose and fell over the defined lines of his six-pack abs. It was good, but it wasn't enough. She wanted—needed—to see, to lick, to touch more. Before she got a chance though, he wrapped his hands around her wrists and pulled them up high.

  "You're killing me," she said with a groan. God, he loved to play his games.

  He adjusted his hold so he held both of her wrists in one hand and reached around behind his back, sin in his eyes and a dangerous smirk on his face. "No, what I'm going to do is much worse."

  It was too much for her lust-fogged brain to unravel, right up until he pulled a pair of sheriff's office-issued handcuffs out from a loop on his jeans, snapped them around her wrists with a solid click and draped the short, two-link chain between them over the hook extending from the top of the closet door.

  She yanked on her arms. They stayed put in their upright, fully extended position. A different kind of heat sizzled across her skin. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

  Smart man that he was, Drew took a few steps back and out of range of her legs. "Are you uncomfortable?"

  She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "I'm pissed."

  One side of his mouth curled up as he unbuckled his belt, drawing her attention down to that part of his anatomy she either wanted to kiss or kick—her brain couldn't decide, but her body had already made up its mind. Warm, liquid desire had her body aching for him even as she couldn't get within touching distance unless he decided she could. Something about that state had her body buzzing.

  "You're pissed?" he asked, not bothering to cover up his amusement. "How unusual for you."

  "I wonder why when it comes to you."

  He answered that with a shrug before taking the five steps it took to get into the living room, laying his handgun on a side table next to the couch, and then coming back to stand in front of her in the hall. His gaze stayed on her face as he began unbuttoning his shirt, but Leah was nowhere near as disciplined. She couldn't stop her attention from traveling south with his fingers as he slipped each tiny button through the hole, revealing the expanse of his chest. She had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from moaning. His low, throaty chuckle snapped her attention back north to the smug look on his face.

  "You're such a jerk." She yanked on her arms. "Uncuff me."

  "Not yet, Sweets, I have plans," he said, leaning in close and dipping his head down so that his lips almost touched hers.

  Everything went so still as anticipation swept through her that she swore even her heart stopped beating for a moment before starting back up with a rush that had her entire body tingling. Only a last desperate surge of self-preservation kept her from rising up on her tiptoes and falling into the kiss. God, this man undid her. She could do this—do him—and keep her sanity but only if she was careful. Something dark and hungry flashed in Drew's eyes before he blinked it away, breaking the moment, and his lazy smirk returned. He brushed her lips with a barely there kiss, before squatting down and going to work on the laces of her Doc Martens, leaving a mixture of need and confusion in his wake.

  He pulled one boot off and tossed it to the side. "Why do you wear these things?" he asked, untying the other.

  "They're comfortable." At least they were right up to the moment when Drew decided to leave all the parts of her she wanted him to touch alone in order to take off her damn boots.

  He took off the other boot and dropped it with a loud thunk. "They could knock out a bull."

  "You know," she said, her frustration at his deliberate pace sneaking into her voice. "In the right light, with your hair a little messed up, you do look like you have horns."

  There went that one-sided smirk of his again as he stayed on his knees in front of her and redirected those talented fingers to the top button of her jeans. "Are you flirting with me, Leah Camacho?"

  "Not when I'm cuffed to a door when I'd rather be fucking you out of my system."

  "Is that what we're doing?" The button popped free, but he lingered, brushing the rough pad of his thumb across the b
are skin above her zipper.

  Her breath caught as she fought giving in to the moment. A little enjoyment was one thing. Falling back into bad habits was something completely different.

  "Could it ever be anything else?" she asked, ignoring the flutter of hope she knew better than to ever listen to again.

  Answering with a non-committal shrug, Drew peeled off her jeans, leaving her now very damp panties in place. "How much do you like that shirt?"

  "Don't you dare cut it off. It's my favorite." Soft black cotton that hugged her boobs without squashing them against her chest as if it had delusions of being the most unforgiving king of sports bras, her shirt had been on heavy rotation since the spring.

  He toyed with the hem, the back of his knuckles skimming across the curve of her belly. "You'll change your mind."

  "Cocky bastard." The insult was sixty miles shy of sounding as tough as she wanted but with Drew taking his sweet time about touching her, making her every sense tune into him and only him, that was about as badass as she could get at the moment.

  "Nah." He leaned forward until his mouth was only millimeters from the patch of skin right above the hot pink bow on her panties. "Confident."

  Anticipation thick enough to choke on swirled around them. He was fully dressed and on his knees in front of her. She was half naked, handcuffed to a closet door, and so turned on she was about to have an orgasm even though Drew had spent more time taking off her Doc Martens than caressing any part of her that actually ached for his touch.

  His gaze flicked up toward her and something dangerous flashed in his dark eyes that sparked an answering call within her. And in that single moment that stretched to an eternity, she knew--just as sure as the stars were prettier in Texas than anywhere else in the world—that Drew Jackson was nothing but trouble. Even worse? God help her, he was her kind of trouble.

  Drew

  Long legs, big tits, smart mouth, devious fucking brain. He'd compared a lot of women to Leah Camacho since that summer. None had come close. Now he had the real thing and he almost didn't know what to do with her. Check that. He knew exactly what to do with her, the question was what to do first.

  "You're killing me with these," he said, hooking a finger into the waistband of her hot pink panties. Watching the pulse point in her neck go into overdrive, he nudged the ridiculously girlie material down low enough that he could see she kept everything trimmed but not bare. All the better. "Such a bad girl on the outside with your tough chick boots and badass black, but look at you underneath." He kissed the spot below her belly button. "So soft." Another brush of his lips going lower. "And unless things have changed, which I highly doubt, you are very, very wet."

  He stopped right above the line of tight curls, held his breath, and waited for her answer, his cock hard as a lead pipe.

  "Yes," she said in a breathless whisper. "Wet."

  The temptation to rip the flimsy lace away and lick her slick pussy until she came on his mouth had him fighting for control. "For what?"

  "You."

  Almost exactly what he wanted to hear. "More specific, Sweets."

  "Your tongue. Your fingers. Your big, fat cock."

  "All of it, huh?" The scent of her arousal when she rocked her hips toward him made him ache. "Come on, Sweets, you have to say it."

  She let out a harsh groan. "All of it."

  In one smooth motion, he slid the hot pink fabric down her smooth legs. She kicked them away and spread her stance without him even having to ask.

  "You're eager tonight," he said, kissing his way across from one hip to the other, coming close but never quite getting to that one spot he knew she so desperately wanted. "But I have a lot of time to make up for. A lot of fantasies to play out. This," he stood up and wrapped his fingers around each one of her bound wrists, "was one of my favorites."

  "Why?" she asked, the word ending with a moan as he kissed and nipped his way down the long column of her neck.

  He left the question unanswered, distracting her by grasping one hard nipple poking against the cotton of her T-shirt and rolling it between his fingers while she shut her eyes and let her head fall back against the door. The look of wanton abandon on her beautiful face was almost more than he could take, but she needed to know who was in control here. He was. And if he wasn't, then everything was fucked because no one had ever made him lose control like she had. That was dangerous for his career and his sanity. Cops and pot dealers—even legal ones—didn’t make for long-term lovers, especially not when they lived states away from each other.

  What the fuck are you thinking, Jackson? This isn't forever. It's tonight. Maybe the weekend. She's gone as soon as the reunion is done, so cowboy up and grow a pair.

  Needing to stop his brain from spinning the kind of fantasies he couldn't allow himself to have, he cupped both of her tits through her shirt, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure that had her arching her back in ecstasy. Oh yeah. This is what his girl liked. A little rough. A little loss of control. A little tease and tickle.

  "Too bad about this shirt." He lathed his tongue across one of her protruding—but covered—nipples. "I remember just how much you love to have these beauties played with. You were always so responsive when I'd use my teeth, suck them hard into my mouth, rub the hard stubble of my beard against the soft flesh. I understand though. It's obviously a very important shirt."

  Leah groaned and knocked the back of her head against the door. "Just do it."

  He managed—just barely—not to beat his own chest in triumph. "Do what?"

  Giving him a glare that would kill most men, she said, "You know."

  "Say it." Asshole? Him? Hell yes.

  "Either uncuff me," she yanked her arms, making the cuffs rattle, "or cut my damn shirt off."

  Saying I told you so was a temptation he avoided. Leah's legs were still free and, no doubt at this range, she could do some real damage with her knee. So instead, he took a step back and let himself take a long, slow up-and-down look at the one woman who'd gotten away who was now shackled to his hall closet door. That he'd shoved her out of his life with both hands by being a complete jackass wasn't lost on him, but sometimes doing the right thing sucked. No one knew that more than him. Tonight wasn't about the right thing though, it was about rocking her world so she'd remember him with the same ache with which he remembered her.

  "Don't worry, I'll save you," he said. "It's all part of the job."

  He fisted her shirt, but instead of going to get his utility knife, he slid the soft material up her arms until it was bunched around her wrists and half hanging from the same hook that held her cuffed wrists upright.

  Sentimental sucker.

  More like horny bastard who didn't want to leave Leah's side long enough to walk over to the kitchen and grab a utility knife.

  The view almost made him swallow his tongue. Her tits were perfect. Scratch that. The same boobs on anyone else would be impressive but not nearly as incredible. That it was Leah who he could to touch, to lick, to kiss, to hear moan in ecstasy—that is what made all the difference. Her shirt out of the way, he was confronted with a second obstacle: Her sheer, hot pink bra. Too desperate for any other option, he lifted her tits out of the cups, shoving the material down and to the side and then lowered his lips to her perfect blush-colored nipples. She writhed and moaned as he sucked the bud into his mouth. Refusing to leave the rest of her alone as he grazed his teeth across her sensitive flesh, he slid his right hand lower, sinking between her slick, swollen folds.

  "Oh God, yes," she called out, her voice as tight as the rest of her was soft and pliant to his touch.

  Fuck. This was better than he remembered, having her like this; hot, wanting and desperate for him to give her exactly what she needed.

  "What do you want, Sweets," he asked as he circled a fingertip lightly around her extended clit.

  "I want to come."

  "On my fingers or mouth?"

  "Your dick," she said equal parts se
xy surrender and stubborn demands. "I want to feel you inside me."

  He glided a finger into her tight opening and then another. She squeezed him hard enough that the head of his already impossibly hard and aching cock became slick with pre-come. Sinking his dick balls deep inside her sounded like heaven right about now, but he'd be done too soon and he wanted to take his time with her. So instead of answering her, he withdrew his fingers from her sweet heat, dropped to his knees. His mouth was buried between her legs, lapping and sucking and teasing as he slipped his fingers again inside her, curling them to rub up against the bundle of nerves right there. This wasn't about finesse. It was an all out pleasure assault. He wanted to take her as high as he could, as fast as he could, before both of them lost their ever-loving minds. Circling her clit with his tongue. Rubbing his beard against her soft flesh just hard enough to tantalize. Fucking her with his fingers while she rode his face like she wanted to get to that orgasm as much as he wanted to take her there. As her moans became higher, he sucked hard on her clit and her thighs began to shake on either side of his head. Then, he added the press of his thumb to the spot right underneath her clit and she broke, her climax tasting sweeter than anything else in the world as he licked her until she begged him to stop.

  Looking up at her, as loose and limp as she could be still cuffed to his closet door, his brain and his body went to war. Smart thing was to walk away while he still could. Too fucking bad he never could do the smart thing around Leah.

  He uncuffed her and carried her into his bedroom, lying her down on his bed. Her dark hair flowed across the pillows, her naked body open to his perusal. Her full pouty lips were curled just enough to let him know she was up for more—exactly like he'd imagined her in a million jerk-off fantasies. Staying three steps back from the bed, he started to undress.