I’d been so busy, so preoccupied that I had put aside the constant pounding need the distance between Xavier and I left in its wake. Whenever I was separated from him, I felt the desire to find him again. It was as though I needed this contact, this connection, all the time. Xavier’s teasing carried on, his pace steady and slow as his eyes glazed over with lust, watching my face intently. His full lips were parted, his tongue every now and again slipping out to moisten his lips as though he were fighting the urge to taste me. My head lulled back in pleasure as the intensity continued to build. Electricity rippled across my skin as my muscles tensed and Xavier shifted so that his thumb was applying pressure to my clit and he could slip a digit inside me.
A moan fell from between my lips, coming from deep within my chest, and I fell forward until my forehead was pressed against his. Without hesitation, Xavier’s other hand left my ass and roamed up over my breast until it was placed against my throat. It tightened around my neck, holding it steady enough so he could firmly press his mouth to mine. Our tongues danced together, his teeth biting down on my bottom lip and tugging deliciously as my orgasm forced me to clench around his fingers, refusing to let go.
Xavier’s lips lifted into a cruel smile against mine and he removed his hand and replaced those beautiful, expert fingers with his thick cock. The change in size was a shock, but one I was more than willing to accept in my post climax haze. I let out an uncharacteristic squeal when he thrust himself inside me fully until I felt as though I never wanted to move, never wanted to be empty ever again.
Xavier gripped my ass and started to pound, lifting me and dropping me back down on him. He ground his hips, each time his pelvis hitting my overly sensitive clit with glorious intent, until I wanted to rip my hands free of their constraints and grab him by his hair.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he grunted, stalling inside me and digging his fingertips into the supple flesh of my backside, keeping me still and held tight against him. I wriggled, desperately needing him to move. I needed release again. I had to have it, or I felt as though I’d go insane right here in this back seat.
“If my hands were free…” I began, breathlessly, unsure where I was going with my empty threats.
“You’d what, darling?” Xavier smirked cheekily, a dimple appearing on one cheek as he gazed up at me, his cock twitching inside me and making me squirm even more. “Kill me?”
I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
“Careful, little one,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss against my lips. “I can do this all night.”
The car came to a stop, letting us both know we’d arrived outside my flat, and Xavier let out an agitated growl so low that his cock vibrated against my walls, causing me to shudder.
“Seems we don’t have all night,” he said, running a soothing hand down over my soaked hair before pulling back and thrusting inside me again and again until I was begging him. Whether it was to keep going or stop, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that another orgasm was fast approaching, and it was almost too much to handle. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him not to stall once again, grab my hips and bring our movements to another halt. Despite that, I continued grinding myself against him as he rammed into me, my wrists burning from the belt tied around them and the muscles in my shoulders yelling with the strain.
“Surrender, Quinn,” Xavier purred in my ear, his mouth trailing kisses down across my neck. My stomach tightened when his hand slipped between us and his adept fingertips began massaging gentle circles over my overly sensitive clit. Within seconds I was overcome with a guttural scream so loud I was certain half of London had heard it. My climax crashed down hard, a tidal wave of relief hard enough to knock me back. Xavier held onto my hips as his hand left my clit and shifted to hold the back of my neck, keeping me upright while he quickened his pace. He jutted, the last few thrusts coaxing wave upon wave of pleasure from me until he came with a roar, his icy face nestled between my breasts.
As the delirium of my climax passed, reality started to set in and I wanted to run for the hills. The relief that I had felt just a few minutes ago seemed to vanish, all but disappearing and being replaced by a deep sense of regret. Just like the other night at my flat, I didn’t want to look at Xavier for fear of what I might see. The way he was refusing to look up at me with those blue eyes of his told me he might have been feeling the same way. Which caused a slight ache in my chest I refused to pay attention to.
Silently, he sat up straight and reached up to undo his belt, releasing my hands. I rubbed at my now bruised wrists, marked by the expensive leather. Strangely, despite his sorrowful expression, he placed a gentle kiss on the inside of each wrist. With expert motion, he removed himself from inside me and grabbed his shirt, which he pulled over my head without asking.
“I ruined yours,” he muttered, his voice still gruff from the noises he’d made. I slipped my arms into the soft cotton and hugged it closer, my thighs still sitting at either side of his hips. I chewed my bottom lip and glanced down, struggling not to look at his chest—chiselled and pale, a trail of curly dark hair leading down to his now softening cock. I wanted to lean forward and taste his skin with lazy kisses. It was painful to consider that despite my feeling of regret, I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to put distance between us.
Xavier finally looked up at my face, his eyes locking with mine. “Stop biting your lip.” He reached up, his thumb pulling my bottom lip free of my teeth and lingering there for too long, massaging the bruised skin. Without thinking, I leaned forward and pulled the digit into my mouth, sucking it against my tongue while our eyes were still joined. Xavier watched intently, his lashes fluttering as though he were drifting to sleep. Between my thighs, I could feel his cock hardening again, readying for another round I wasn’t prepared for but wanted, nonetheless.
“You need rest,” he snapped, pulling his hand away and pushing my hair back from my face, holding my head still. “You need to be careful around me.”
“Why?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, I had to be careful. There were a thousand ways this man could kill me.
He smirked, lifting me from his lap and placing me down on the seat beside him as he retrieved my discarded underwear from the floor of the car. He picked them up and passed them to me delicately, all while looking as mischievous as the devil himself. “Because you are poison, and I’d do anything for just one taste.”
Chapter Twenty Three
Despite not being coherent enough to make sense of Xavier’s words, they continued to roll around in my exhausted mind. At this point, I’d given up trying to decipher most of what anyone told me unless it sounded like it was important to Jocelyn’s case and Xavier’s post fucking pillow talk didn’t fit that bill.
Xavier’s car had driven off as soon as I had stepped out of the backseat, presumably because the driver was scarred for life. The entrance to my lacklustre building was dimly lit and as miserable looking as ever. The rain had thankfully died down a little, though, so I didn’t have to rush to search for my keys in the pocket of my jeans, which were currently slung over one arm since there hadn’t been enough time or room to put them back on in the backseat of Xavier’s car.
Just as I grabbed the key fob and moved to press it against the buzzer, a police officer pushed through the door and nodded a silent hello in typical Englishman fashion. That sort of tight-lipped, awkward hello that everyone in the UK was familiar with. I frowned, knowing it wasn’t exactly unusual to have the police visiting this part of London but also aware that it was strange for him to be on his own.
I held onto the open door and made my way inside; the musty scent of damp and years of grime filled my nose, and I grimaced. Home sweet home.
As I climbed up the stairs, I simultaneously tried to tuck Xavier’s shirt under my butt to preserve what was left of my dignity. When I reached my front door, however, I was in for an even bigger dose of embarrassment.
Detective Jack Amanya was standing
with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark eyebrow raised in my direction—funnily enough, he didn’t look too pleased.
“Jack,” I said with a too-wide grin. “What do I owe this pleasure?” The door to my flat was wide open. Inside were any number of police officers and from what I could see, they were already going through my things.
“Quinn, did you visit Lily this morning?” Jack asked, his posture stoic and unmoving.
I smiled awkwardly and nodded. “I did.”
“Can I ask why?” He took one cautious step forward.
“Because she’s my client, in case you forgot? I wanted to see how she was doing and update her on the case.” I paused. “Pretty standard stuff, Jack.”
Jack looked over my shoulder and laughed, shaking his head. “Is it also pretty standard to tell a victim of a crime being investigated by police that she’s to withhold information from said police? Doesn’t sound so standard to me, Quinn.”
Oops.
“That’s not what I said,” I began, pursing my lips and trying to consider my next words very, very carefully.
Jack silenced me, holding up his hand and walking over until he was right in front of me. His gaze studied my outfit until he scoffed. My face reddened from a mixture of embarrassment and anger, knowing he was about to use that against me, too.
“You’ve been running with some pretty interesting people these past few weeks, Quinn. Don’t you think it’s convenient that the intruder at Lily’s apartment didn’t injure you too? In fact, how did you know she was in trouble at all? And I swear if you say coincidence, I’m calling bullshit on that one.”
“You saw me that morning, Jack. I did get injured,” I replied, harsher than I’d intended before remembering that the injuries from the run in at Lily’s were long gone.
“You look just fine to me,” Jack shrugged.
“Can you get to the point, Jack? Why have you got half the Met in my flat?” I snapped, getting sick and tired of his bullshit. I tried to peer around the doorway to see what they were looking for, barely making out the officers looking through the records Xavier and I had got from Seamus. Shit.
“We received a tip that you had withheld information from the police regarding an open missing persons case, specifically a letter from a suspect. Not only that, but you’ve interfered with a victim in a home invasion, also relating to the same missing person’s case. We believe you’ve violated your agreement as a private detective and could be involved somehow.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I chuckled. “Jack, really?”
“You fucked up, Quinn. I have to take you to the station.” For the first time since I’d arrived at my flat, he looked apologetic. I shook my head in disbelief, unsure how the hell they’d found out about the letters I’d received relating to Jocelyn’s disappearance and clueless what they were going to do with all the records from the gates that Seamus had given me and Xavier that were now strewn across my living room.
Then I remembered the blade in the small brown bag over my shoulder and fought against a smile. I’d have to get Seamus a fruit basket or something. Or some of that herbal tea he liked so much.
“Can I at least get changed first?” I asked, keeping the irritation in my tone so as not to raise Jack’s suspicions.
He nodded reluctantly. “Fine, but don’t touch anything and keep the door open.”
I walked inside and heard Jack called a few seconds later. “Watch her, please.”
My bedroom hadn’t been ransacked just yet, and I took my time getting changed, placing the brown bag with the blade on my dresser before discarding Xavier’s shirt, ignoring the glance from the male police officer as I stood with just my underwear on in the dark room. I kept my back to the wall to hide the scars on my back while I stepped into a clean pair of jeans and pushed my arms into a long-sleeved top—a pair of dry socks and my boots back on my feet and I was just about ready to try Seamus’ toy out. All I needed was a split second of privacy. I turned my back to the police officer as I set the bag over my shoulder, slyly pulling out the small bronze blade. The handle was adorned with jewels and patterns that I’d never seen before. It was beautiful but rusted, as though it hadn’t been well looked after, or perhaps it was just very old. Far older than anything I’d ever held in my hands.
I studied the dirtied tip and thought back to when I last had a tetanus booster, but pushed the worry to the tail of my mind as I tried to picture Thatcher’s office. It was the only place I knew to go to, at least as the first port of call. If Jack had come for me, he’d be going to Thatch next—I had to give him some fair warning.
We were good at our jobs; we just weren’t great at following the rules. The police didn’t like that very much, even though it got the job done when they couldn’t. I placed my finger on the tip of the dagger and pushed down until I felt a pop. With the skin broken, I squeezed the wound until it seeped crimson and knelt as though I’d dropped something. Luckily for me, the police officer hovering in the doorway was about as docile as a lamb to slaughter and wasn’t paying attention.
With the office in my mind, I swiped the blood on the ground and gripped the blade in my other palm. Within seconds, the air rushed around me and the very earth in front of me shifted and blurred. The gate was open.
I didn’t even bother to stand up, merely threw myself forward as quickly as I could until I felt the gate close behind me. My only regret was that I wished I had seen Jack’s face when he realised I was gone. Riddle me that one, Detective Jack Amanya. How does a woman escape from a four story high flat in the centre of London with a buggered fire escape and a police officer supposedly watching?
Good luck.
The gate spat me out at the back of the office as opposed to at the front door or inside like I’d pictured, but it had worked. I hadn’t ended up in Purgatory like I’d feared. Although Seamus had made the place sound like a party, I didn’t have time for that tonight. I stood up and ignored the stinging from my skinned knee and the discomfort of my now damp jeans.
Carefully, I placed the dagger back into its pouch and briefly considered trying to find something a little more stylish or presentable to keep it in before heading around the corner to the front of the office. The lights were on, which was a good sign, but the door was locked. In my haste to get through the gate and escape whatever police investigation was going on in my house, I’d forgotten to pick up my keys. I settled on forcing open the front window and hoisting myself up, calling out to Thatch as I went. There was no answer, but there was a hastily written note placed on his desk.
Quinn, got your note, tried to text you but can’t work damn phone. Shite. Away to the Friar’s for my dinner, Barb promised she wouldn’t pester me this time. Come join us, you could use a night off. Thatch.
I crumpled up the note and shoved it into the pocket of my jeans and groaned when I realised I’d have to launch myself back through the bastard window, but at least I’d have the chance to down a drink before I had to go and ask Xavier for help. As if my life wasn’t complicated enough, I was now on the run from the police. Fabulous.
Before I left the office, I opened Thatcher’s desk and pulled out the bundle of keys he kept there and put them in the bag with the dagger. There was nothing in the filing cabinets that the police would be interested in, but if they couldn’t find the keys, they’d presume that we were hiding something in there. Meaning that’s where their attention would be drawn to first. A little trick Thatch had thought to tell me a few years back after he’d had a run in with a newly qualified Jack.
From the next drawer, I got the flathead screwdriver and went through to the living room. With a shove, I shifted the sofa I’d slept on last night and knelt on the rickety floorboards. They were dusty and suspiciously sticky, which had me wrinkling my nose a little, but I slipped the screwdriver between the boards and began forcing them up. Some of them cracked, which wasn’t ideal, but most came up in one piece.
There were two or three files, matted with
spider webs and thick with dust, and I pulled them up and placed them under my arm. I’d need to find a bag or something to put them in at some point, or maybe Thatcher would prefer to get rid of them all together. I’d never read them. All I knew was that if the police came sniffing around for any reason, this was what I was supposed to do. I trust Thatcher enough to not ask too many questions.
For all I knew, I was going way over the top with this whole thing and Thatcher was going to go off his head in a rage when I got to the Friar’s and told him. Just as I was about to put the floorboard back in place, I noticed a small shoebox and grabbed that too, taking a quick look inside out of curiosity. A few photographs, some pieces of torn paper and a triangular crystal in the most hypnotic shade of black. I held it for a moment, studying the way it caught the light and shimmered, flashing brief bolts of green and blue before swallowing the colours whole as if they’d never existed. Gently, I put it back down inside the box and shut the lid.
I took the box and the files, grabbed a paper bag from the kitchen and shoved them carelessly inside, knowing I was running out of time. By now, Jack would know I was long gone and this would be the first place he’d look. It’d only take him fifteen, twenty minutes to get here on blue lights if the traffic was decent and I still had to climb out the window. I put the floorboards back haphazardly, knowing it didn’t matter, and moved the sofa to its original place.
It was easier getting out the window than it was getting in, even with a bagful of stuff. Hastily, I ran down the road towards Friar’s, already trying to ready myself for opening a second gate to get to Omen afterwards. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d need to go to Xavier and explain what was going on with the police. He was the only one that could keep me hidden long enough for Jack to lose interest in me as a suspect. Jack didn’t have enough to hold me, and he wasn’t technically arresting me—all he had was a warrant and a suspicion. Not to mention a small grudge that I wasn’t planning on sleeping with him again anytime soon.
Silver Vein: Beneath the City Sleeps Book 1 Page 19
