Cuff Me

by Lauren Layne

  So full of want was every cell in her body as he gently raked his teeth over her neck, that she didn’t quite comprehend that he’d maneuvered her hands behind her back.

  Not until the unfamiliar feel of cold metal against her wrists, followed by the very familiar sound of a soft click, did Jill realize what had just happened…

  Her partner had just cuffed her.

  She tried to whirl around, but he caught her waist with a gentle scolding noise, then pressed against her, molding his chest to her back.

  “Vin—”

  His hands ran up her sides, then back down until they rested on her hips.

  “Yes, detective?” he said roughly against her ear.

  She twisted her wrists futilely. “Let me go.”

  “Maybe next time you’ll think about the consequences of your actions,” he said, sliding a hand around to press a hand against her stomach and pulling her more firmly against him.

  “My actions—ahh.” She broke off when he started kissing her neck.

  “What was that?” he asked, his lips never breaking contact with her skin.

  She tried once more to turn, but his grip tightened.

  “Don’t. Move,” he growled.

  Jill tried not to move. She did. But when his hands ran up over the front of her breasts, palms teasing her, she arched, wanting more.

  His fingers slowly undid the buttons of her blouse, his mouth never stopping its hot teasing of her neck.

  Vin flicked open the front clasp of her bra, shoving both that and her shirt roughly to the sides before putting his hands on her.

  Jill’s own hands jerked against the handcuffs as his fingers found her nipples, tweaking her in just the right way to find that exquisite place between pain and pleasure.

  By the time his hands moved down to her skirt, his fingers pulling the fabric upward, inch by slow inch, Jill was panting.

  “If I say sorry, do I get these off now?” she asked.

  In response, he placed a hand on her back, pushing her gently but firmly forward so she was bent over the counter.

  He slid down the back of her body until he was crouched behind her, roughly pushing her skirt the rest of the way up over her hips.

  Jill squeezed her eyes shut, torn between embarrassment and arousal. Then arousal won over, because his fingers hooked into her panties, yanking them down so she was completely exposed.

  “Shall I read you your rights, Henley?” His breath was hot on her skin, his fingers dragging slowly along her inner thighs.

  “Wha—what?” She was definitely panting now.

  He pushed her thighs wider apart. “You have the right to remain silent…”

  Vincent slid his hand upward, one finger sliding slightly into her.

  Jill moaned.

  “Apparently you’re forgoing that right,” he said, his teeth nipping at her left butt cheek as his fingers continued to play with her.

  “Vin, you—”

  “Careful, baby. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  He eased his finger all the way inside her then, his other hand sliding around to her front to rub her in slow, torturous circles.

  “You’re a bastard,” she said, pressing her cheek against the cool surface of the counter, even as the place between her legs grew wetter, hotter.

  “Yeah? Tell it to your attorney. Because you have a right to talk to a lawyer—” He broke off at Jill’s cry of pleasure as he slid another finger inside her.

  Vincent was still in control, but he was unraveling fast. She could hear it in his breath. Feel it in the way his hands were shifting from teasing to greedy.

  She parted her legs as far as she could with her panties still around her ankles, silently encouraging him to continue his wicked touch.

  His forefinger centered on her core, rubbing in tight, perfect circles, and Jill’s entire body tensed—begging for release.

  Release he didn’t give her.

  He withdrew his hands, standing behind her. Jill heard the clank of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper.

  Felt the brush of his fingers against her as he positioned his cock at her opening. But not entering.

  She pushed her hips back, and he pulled away slightly. “Tell me what you want,” he said, tracing the sensitive finger just above where the handcuffs held her hostage.

  Jill refused to answer. He already had her handcuffed and bent over her kitchen counter. Damned if she’d give him everything.

  She looked over her shoulder, lifted her eyebrows in challenge as she remained stubbornly silent.

  His eyes narrowed, and his hand slid down to her butt, slapping it just hard enough to cause a delicious little sting. “Jill.”

  She pushed her ass toward him in response, arching her back, and relished his little groan.

  “Sorry, babe. Not good enough,” he said, planting a kiss between her shoulder blades.

  Then he spun her around, dropped to his knees, and tongued her.

  Jill gave a sharp cry, pulling at the handcuffs in a desperate, futile attempt to hold his head against her. But she didn’t need to. His hands found her hips, holding her still as his mouth devoured her in a hungry caress.

  Only when Jill sobbed his name did he stand, nipping her nipple once before spinning her around once more and plunging into her with one firm smooth stroke.

  He paused then, resting his forehead against her shoulder, his breath ragged. He kissed her once on the top of her shoulder. It was a sweet gesture completely at odds with the fierceness of the rest of their encounter, and she turned her head, her lips finding his. Their tongues tangled in a hot kiss until he finally pulled away, his eyes latching onto hers. When she turned around he pulled back before pushing into her, slowly.

  This time when Jill leaned forward, it was of her own volition, and Vincent groaned in gratification. His fingers dug into her hips as he took her hard.

  There was nothing soft about the way he drilled her into the counter. Nothing tender about the sounds their bodies made as they slapped together. Nothing delicate about the way she came apart the second he slid a hand around to her clit.

  But when Vincent found his own release, the way her name sounded on his lips sounded like a prayer.

  And that was everything.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Vincent wasn’t prone to embarrassment. He didn’t think he was hardwired for it.

  But when his vision stopped spinning enough to pull himself away from Jill and unlock the handcuffs, he was damn glad her back was still to him, because he felt oddly shy at the way he’d taken her like an animal.

  Shyness transitioned to regret as he saw the faint red lines around her wrist. “Ah, Jill—”

  She turned toward him, kneeling to pull her panties up before wiggling her skirt back down and giving him a coy look.

  “Don’t you dare,” she said, lifting to her toes and pressing her lips to his. “Don’t you apologize.”

  “But—”

  Her arms wound around his neck and she deepened the kiss.

  Vincent kissed her back, mainly because it was a chance to hold her.

  When they pulled back, he surprised himself by kissing both her cheeks, then set to righting her bra, rebuttoning her shirt.

  When he glanced up, she was watching him with such amused surprise that the embarrassment crashed over him again.

  What was wrong with him? It was just sex. It was just—

  Except it wasn’t just anything.

  Sex with Jill wasn’t just mind blowing. It wasn’t just an intoxicating combination of raunchy and playful.

  Sex with Jill felt a hell of a lot like coming home.

  And even more scary, it felt a lot like it’ll never be this good with anyone else, ever.

  Fuck.

  He moved toward his sauce, unsurprised to see that the bottom had burned a little thanks to their interlude.

  He scraped at it with the wooden spoon, then picked up the champagne
he didn’t really like and tossed back the entirety.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He glanced at her, saw the wariness on her face—realized that she wasn’t just expecting him to pull away. She was counting on it.

  But for tonight, he didn’t want to be that guy. He didn’t want to be the guy that clammed up and was emotionally unreachable.

  He was that guy—he knew that. Knew that he didn’t have whatever other people had that made them good for another person forever and ever. There was no way he’d subject Jill to a lifetime of his frequent need for solitude, or his inability to make the proper chatter at social functions.

  Even if he remembered to occasionally bring her flowers, he didn’t know how to put together all the pretty phrases that women seemed to want.

  But maybe for tonight, he could pretend that he was her man. That she was his.

  He reached out and grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her toward him for a quick kiss, his hand sliding over her back and down to her ass, which he gave a playful tap. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a dirty girl?”

  She let out a little laugh. “I’m the dirty one? Didn’t seem to me I had a lot of say considering I was handcuffed and bent over the counter.”

  His cock stirred at the memory, as well as the steamy look in her eyes. She could say whatever she wanted, but she’d fucking enjoyed every moment of it.

  So had he.

  He bent his head again, and she laughed lightly, dodging his kiss. “No way, Detective. I know that look. You’re feeding me first.”

  “Then we can do a repeat?” he asked, opening the box of pasta and dropping a handful into the water he’d had boiling on a back burner.

  Jill pulled down plates and water glasses. “I’m thinking repeat, with a twist.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Twist?”

  She nipped his shoulder with her teeth as she passed. “Yup. Say, maybe… I’m the one with the handcuffs.”

  He turned to look at her. “Jillian Henley.”

  She shrugged as she set the table. “What? Now that I’ve seen what’s beneath the clothes, I wouldn’t mind having all that solid muscle pinned down for my personal pleasure.”

  To Vin’s surprise, the idea was arousing. He was game for just about anything that would involve her putting her hands on him. All over him.

  Vincent served them both a hefty portion of the pasta, and Jill kept her promise of red wine with dinner, pouring him a glass and topping off champagne for herself.

  As they settled down to eat, Jill’s usual happy chatter mingling in with companionable silence, Vincent was struck with an unfamiliar sense of contentment.

  No… that wasn’t quite right.

  He’d been content before Jill had left for Florida. Back before she’d rocked the boat. What he was feeling now was much bigger.

  He shoveled the last bite of pasta in his mouth and sat back to find her watching him. “What’s up?”

  She pressed her lips together briefly in the way she always did right before she said something he wasn’t going to like, and he instinctively braced himself.

  “Do you want to stay?” she asked.

  He looked at her in surprise. “I thought we cleared that up right about the time I agreed to let you handcuff me.”

  “No, I mean—well yes, I want that. But I mean, do you want to stay and… hang out? Watch a movie? Or TV? Or we could read—”

  Her words came out in a rush, and he frowned. “What’s got you so nervous?”

  She fiddled with her napkin. “It’s just… have you noticed that we’re usually either talking about work, or having sex?”

  “Sure,” he said. “But those are two of my favorite things. And yours too, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I know. And you’re right; I love those things too. And I’m not suggesting less, of either, it’s just—”

  She blew out a breath and met his eyes. “I want to try normal with you, Vin.”

  He swallowed. As far as requests from a woman went, it was about as innocuous as it got. She wasn’t looking for a ring, or to take him to meet her mother, or to go shopping for drapes.

  She wanted to watch a movie with him.

  Hell, it’s not like they hadn’t done it before. There’d been plenty of times where they’d defaulted to watching a movie when their brains were spent after working on a case.

  But this was different, and they both knew it.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Jill that he didn’t do normal. He didn’t do boyfriend.

  But then the thought hit him…

  Why?

  Why didn’t he do normal?

  Why didn’t he do boyfriend?

  He’d never even tried.

  And if he was going to try with anyone, it would be Jill.

  She was worth at least that. She deserved so much more than normal.

  “You’re freaking out,” she said on a sigh, pushing her plate away. “I just wish I knew why—”

  He reached across the table and grabbed her hand before he could lose his nerve. He kept his touch gentle, his thumb gently rubbing against her palm until she calmed and looked at him.

  “I’d like to stay,” he said quietly. “And as for normal… I can give you normal for me…”

  She smiled. “That’s all I want. You don’t have to pretend with me. You know that, right? I know who you are. What you are. Warts and all. And that’s who I want to stay and watch a movie with me.”

  Vincent felt his chest tighten a little. He wanted to take the words and cling to them. Wanted to ask if they’d still be true a week from now when he was in one of those rotten moods where he wanted to be left alone and snapped at her.

  He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t even close.

  But the way she was looking at him now… as though he were everything she’d ever wanted—

  He couldn’t give it up. Not yet.

  Vincent turned her hand over and lifted it to his lips.

  “I’ll stay on one condition,” he said, running a thumb over her knuckles and holding her eyes. “You got any popcorn?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Vincent felt like a chump. An utter, foolish ass.

  He took a step back and surveyed the table. It looked…

  Ridiculous.

  It might be better with a tablecloth, or whatever, to cover up the dented wood table he’d gotten at a garage sale a decade ago.

  But the day Vincent bought a fucking tablecloth would also be the day he died, so that was out.

  Maybe she wouldn’t notice with the candles. They weren’t fancy—just white stubby things he’d picked up for the odd windstorm that knocked the power out.

  But combined with the flowers. Yeah. He felt like a chump.

  He thought about putting them away, but she’d texted saying she was on her way over. If he got caught in the act of un-setting the table, he’d look even more foolish.

  He’d just have to ride it out and hope that she didn’t:

  (a) laugh

  (b) get the wrong idea that this was the type of guy he was going to be.

  He wasn’t the hearts and flowers guy.

  And yet… Vincent sipped his wine and considered the table. Apparently he was that kind of guy.

  Correction:

  Jill Henley made him want to be that kind of guy.

  At least dinner he could pull off without feeling like a complete ass.

  Vincent seasoned the steaks, poked at the potato baking in the oven for doneness, and then refilled his wine.

  There was a knock at the door, and Vin glanced at the table in panic. Did he light the candles now? That seemed cheesy. But if he didn’t light them, it seemed too random… just two unlit candles chilling on his table with those Goddamn flowers.

  In the end, it was decided for him.

  Jill let herself in and was in the kitchen before he even had a chance to think about where he might have stashed his matches.

  He waited with trepidati
on to see if she’d laugh in his face at the table, but she was glancing down at her phone and didn’t seem to even see the flowers.

  Vincent told himself it was just as well that she wasn’t into that kind of thing. It’s not like there’d be a repeat.

  And yet, he felt…

  Deflated.

  Then she glanced up, met his eyes, and smiled—one of those happy smiles that lit up her whole face, and Vincent was gone.

  It didn’t matter if she saw the flowers or laughed at the candles, because she saw him.

  And that was what mattered. All that had ever mattered.

  “Wine?” he asked.

  “Later,” she said, moving toward him and winding her arms around his neck before pulling his head down to hers for a long, lingering kiss.

  “I was thinking…” she said, when she pulled back and gave him a sexy look.

  He kissed the tip of her nose, refusing to feel embarrassed by the dopey gesture. “Yes?”

  She kissed him again, briefly. “Take me out.”

  He pulled back. “Huh?”

  “I know, I know, you hate that stuff, but hear me out. We could get all dressed up, I could put on lipstick, high heels. Go into the city, somewhere fancy, a little overpriced…”

  “I was thinking we could eat in,” he said slowly.

  Jill pushed back. Her smile was still in place but she looked… disappointed. “We always eat in, Vin.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No, I mean literally always. We’ve been seeing each other for two weeks now, and we haven’t gone out once other than crappy diner lunches.”

  It stung. Just a little.

  “Wine?” he asked, pushing the unexpected disappointment aside.

  “Um, sure,” she said, sounding bored.

  “So how was—”

  “Are you ever going to take me out?” she interrupted. “I mean, I don’t need it all the time. I know it’s expensive, and not your thing, but Vin… I don’t want Chinese food and crappy pizza for the rest of my life.”

  Just tell her. Tell her that you’re trying. That you spent an obscene amount of money on the best steaks you could afford, and somehow draw her attention to her flowers…

  But it felt wrong now. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.