His eyes were out of focus and he didn’t blink to clear his vision. Words started spilling out. “I remember the day you started at the precinct. They toured you through the building and I was just a junior detective then—what was it, eight years ago?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. “You were wearing a red skirt suit and your hair was shorter. You were fresh out of training, way out of your depth. A useless part of the department.”
Cameron felt her draw back slightly. He kept hold of her wrists, tugging her gently back toward him. “At least that’s what I told myself, because for the past eight years I bought into the tough-guy line that the department didn’t need a shrink, that guys like us could handle it afterward if we ever had to fire on someone.”
He could hear the waver in his own voice. She pressed into him. “Cam.”
He shook his head, and the back of his throat burned. He choked out the next words. “I made you into a joke in my head, I discounted every hour we spent in therapy, I woke up every night in cold sweats, firing that same shot over and over.”
Lane’s lips pressed into his throat and he spoke past a sudden constriction, loosening his hold on her wrist to wrap his arms around her. “When that kid ran from the bank, I had him cornered. There was no outlet to that alley. It was just him and me. He’d killed three people.”
This was what he should have been doing those days on her couch, when the midafternoon light had been dappling her office, and he’d occupied himself with drowsing silently over the golden-tinged dust motes floating through the air. He should have been telling her all this then, instead of ignoring her questions. He should have been confessing, instead of constructing vendettas against her while checking out her legs.
She put her arms around him, smoothed her palms over his back. She didn’t say a word.
“It was all surreal, almost slow motion. He already had the gun in his hand. He dropped the money, he raised the gun. I shot him.” The lump was back and, this time, he couldn’t swallow it down. “I was so angry, Lane, that he didn’t stop, that he forced my hand. I was so angry that he’d taken lives and that I couldn’t shake the guilt of taking his.”
His face was wet. He drew in a heaving breath and felt a shudder work its way up from where she rested her head. The sob came gasping from his lips. He couldn’t draw breath. Her hands tightened against his shoulders and he jerked at the friction of his shirt and jacket against the still-tender welts that crisscrossed his back. Then, she was kissing him.
It went on for long moments, and she breathed into him, sighed nonsensical comforts into the slow burn between them. He kissed her back with a desperation that had only half to do with want of her. Pulling back, he kissed her chin, her closed eyes, her cheeks. The taste of salt stung his tongue.
Cameron opened his eyes to find hers spilling over. “Oh, Lane.” He felt even rawer now than he had before, panic tightening his chest. “I’m sorry. I should have let you in. I should have accepted your help.”
She shook her head, peppered his face with desperate kisses of her own. “All over now.”
Her hands were back at his chest, hot on his skin. His fingers found her waist through the towel, and then her teeth were at his neck and he lost interest in whether she even finished her thought. She worked at the remaining buttons of his shirt. Cameron drew in a breath when the soft scrape of her teeth turned to a sharp stab of pain. Last night’s scene and the arousal it had incited came back full force.
“Touch me, Cam.” They were kissing again, rough and desperate, and he pulled at the fold of her towel, pulled until he reached smooth, round, gloriously soft skin. He cupped one exposed breast, rolled her nipple between his fingers. She whimpered into his mouth.
They were inches from her bed. He could pick her up and turn them and be inside her in the next few minutes. He dropped his palms to her bare waist, kicked her fallen towel aside and pulled her against him, so that her skin seared into the exposed vee of his chest. She squirmed and hooked an arm around his neck and a leg around his hip.
His hands dropped to her ass and he levered them sideways, turned through more kisses and a few rough curses until they spilled onto the unmade bed, her astride him. Lane leaned back, gloriously naked, and Cameron looked his fill. The fantasies hadn’t even come close. Lane leaned in, her mouth reaching for his.
*
Cam’s cell phone blasted loudly from his jacket pocket.
Lane stopped short and grinned. “AC/DC?”
He pulled his hands off her, dragging his fingertips along the way, and frustration knotted in her stomach. She levered herself away as he stood and fished for the phone.
“Precinct.” It sounded like a swear word the way he spat it out. As he punched the screen to answer the call, Cameron stepped back, raking a hand through his already mussed hair. Lane took an inappropriate amount of satisfaction out of watching him try to regain his composure, to reorient himself.
“Detective Isley. Talk fast.” His eyes darted as the person on the other end started talking. Lane slid off the bed and grabbed the towel from the floor. He cut his focus to her and shook his head, his eyes darkening.
Too bad. The impressive erection straining the front of his slacks made it difficult for her to focus on much else but the pounding need thrumming through her overheated body. She needed to regain a little composure herself, and sprawling naked on a bed while he was fully clothed didn’t exactly put them on a level playing field.
“Well, we have to have officers from on call. We’ll need more manpower than that.” His jaw clenched. “We’re not going to blow weeks’ worth of work just because we’re a few cops shy.” The voice on the other end answered shortly.
“I’ll be in. Do not let any of those men go until I get there.” He ended the call and they stood in the thick silence. “I have to go.”
“I heard.” Lane watched him tuck away his phone and button up his shirt, the hard expanse of muscle and chest hair that minutes ago been abrading her own skin disappearing from view. His gun was still in its shoulder holster. He righted his tie and scooped his keys from the floor beside her bed, where they must have fallen when they… Her stomach twisted.
“Lane,” he said shakily, “tonight, if you don’t want to be the one in—”
She held up a hand. His logic was solid, even if she was loath to admit it. He was better with a gun, better in situations that had high potential to get out of control. “You were right about the switch. Just go and get the rest sorted out so we can get this done.”
He stepped in and caught her in one last, blistering kiss.
When he drew back, both of them breathing a little rougher, their foreheads pressed together, she whispered, “Go.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you tonight, Lane. I’ll protect you.”
“Who’s going to protect you?”
He grinned. “I’ll do that too. Meet me at the station at nine tonight.”
Then he was gone, and when her apartment door closed softly, she waited long minutes before she was steady enough to go and retrieve the lone cup of coffee sitting on her entry table. Taking a sip from the cooling cup, she mulled over how long it was going to take her to work up the courage to look at what was in that little pink bag.
*
Cameron had sorted out the manpower issue at the station, but now, mere steps from the entrance to Club Limits, it was woman power he was most concerned with—Lane’s. He hadn’t looked in the pink bag he’d been tasked with delivering to her, and it was a good thing he hadn’t.
The outfit she wore for tonight’s scene was so hot that he had trouble keeping himself from pulling off the road, stripping her of the latex skirt and whatever she wore beneath it, and finishing what they’d stopped earlier in the day. He’d managed to keep his hands on the wheel on the way over, but when her hand closed over his as he pulled her from the passenger’s seat, he couldn’t help but dip low to kiss her. She levered her mouth away when he grazed her lips w
ith his, and he growled low in his throat. He heard the car door shut behind her.
“You look edible.” His voice was husky even to his own ears. He slid his hands down the small of her back to haul her against the aching evidence of what the tight gray mini and sheer white linen shirt was doing to him.
She gasped and he took advantage of the quick part of her lips, sealing his mouth over hers and kissing her with a measured aggression that brooked no more teasing evasion. When they broke apart, her face was flushed and her eyes were bright, heavy-lidded.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she countered, running her thumb across his lower lip. The digit was bright red when she drew back—he knew by the blurred, slightly swollen look of her mouth that he had smudged her vampy lipstick.
“You ready for this?” He searched her face, pushing back on a small wave of panic that threatened to rise up in his own throat. Since their encounter this morning, he had been racked with indecision.
He’d debated asking her to pull out of the scene. He warred with himself—they were established, their cover was solid, they were so close—but if things went south, could he pull his gun again? Would he freeze? Could he truly protect Lane?
“I’m ready. I’m ready.” Her lashes fluttered. The repetition made him think that she was still trying to convince herself.
He frowned. “Lane…”
Her kiss cut him off, took him by surprise. She cupped her hands behind his ears, pulled with a force that instantly stoked the simmer inside him to a roar. Her mouth was hot, wet and open over his, her tongue and teeth just this side of dangerous.
Cameron took one step, then two, and they were back against the Mustang. Her leg wrapped around his waist, and he skimmed his fingers up her thigh. He was biting at her lower lip, Lane was yanking his tailored white dress shirt from his waistband, and just when he angled to nip down her jaw to the hammering pulse at her throat, that was when his fingertips reached the slick radiating heat of her and he discovered that she wore nothing under the tight latex of her skirt.
*
Lane was going crazy. She was terrified, true, but only half the reason was the dangerous-drug-den situation they were about to reenter. The other half of her fear came from knowing that Cam was going to have her restrained in some way, and that she would have to trust him. Completely. Did she trust him completely?
The raw, masculine taste and texture of him drove her to all kinds of distraction, and when his fingers parted her throbbing center, she gasped into his mouth and swayed forward, all thought lost. More.
She must have said it out loud, because she heard Cam’s low, throaty swear against her neck just before he pulled back. “Not here, Lane, we’re in the damned parking lot.” He sounded like he was trying to talk her and himself out of a car hood quickie.
He tugged her skirt down, his arm tight around her waist until she was steady on her black patent spiked heels. He glanced around, but Lane saw no other patrons in sight. He turned back to her, straightening the placket of her shirt, tucking a mussed strand of hair behind her ear. The gestures were gentle, his eyes were warm. His mouth was set in a thin, serious line. Was he concerned that they would be seen?
She stilled his fidgeting hands, smiled at him. “Got a little carried away.” She winked at him. His own slow smile flashed back.
“Me too, I just don’t want anyone seeing you.” His face flushed and he stammered slightly.
Lane grinned wider. “You’re about to Dom me in front of a crowd, Cam, people will see me.”
“I know, but that’s in there, and out here, this is us.”
Slightly twisted logic, but Lane’s heart warmed to the unexpected show of chivalry. Had to be hard for a man who was, well, deliciously hard and pressing throbbingly into her hip.
She nodded. “Ok, then, let’s go inside and not be us for the night.”
Fat chance, but Cam’s fingers laced with hers as they turned from the car toward the club and Lane had her answer. She could trust him. She was choosing to trust him.
The inside of the club was almost louder than their previous nights, and they were let in the door with barely a look from the doorman. Lane pulled away from Cameron when they entered the main floor, and at his puzzled look, she held up her small clutch purse. “Got to fix my lipstick,” she shouted over the booming bass of the house music.
Cam’s eyes darkened and he shook his head. “Leave it smudged,” he said, close to her ear. “I like it.” He bit her earlobe and scraped his teeth down its length as he pulled away.
Her skin rippled with new awareness, and her nipples pebbled against the lace of her black bra. He nodded toward the only empty station on the main floor, a St. Andrew’s cross shadowed with barely there, soft yellow light. The wrist and ankle restraints were thickly padded. Even dimly lit and made more comfortable, Lane’s mouth still went slightly dry at the sight, her nervousness spiking.
Cam raised an eyebrow at her and the dark intent in his gaze diminished her nerves. “Go kneel on the platform and wait for me.”
She swallowed thickly and nodded.
“I didn’t hear you?” He crossed his arms and somehow, Lane knew they were being watched. She dropped her eyes, dipped her head.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
Turning, Lane made her way to the platform and knelt, no small feat in her latex skirt and wicked shoes. She sat back on her heels, the spikes digging into her a bit. Cam jostled through the crowd to the bar, leaned over and ordered from the bartender.
One drink came across the bar, something golden that only filled the glass slightly. Cam was turning away when the bartender said something that made him turn back. The two men talked briefly, and both looked over at her. Cam grinned wolfishly and the bartender nodded. Cam left the bar, weaving back to her.
He set the glass beside her and lifted her chin, kissing her softly. His mouth tasted explosively sweet. Lane closed her eyes, willed her hammering heart to slow. Trust him.
“Peach nectar. Delicious, isn’t it?” Cam kissed the corner of her mouth. “Bartender thinks you’re gorgeous. I told him, of course, how right he was.”
Lane took a deep breath, arched her neck.
“He says if I show you off well tonight, he can show us where the real action happens here.” Cam’s mouth feathered over her pulse point, and he brought his hands down to her shirt buttons. The cut was prim, schoolmarmish, but the fabric was almost completely see-through. Lane had been a little more than intimidated by the outfit, but when she’d shown up to meet Cam, the appreciation in his eyes had been more than enough to quell her insecurities.
He was dressed in pair of gray slacks that matched the hue of her skirt and a plain white button-down, tailored to his frame and open just one button at the throat. They matched. They were a set. Partners.
Her partner’s fingers were undoing the buttons on the front of her shirt, exposing a widening vee of skin to the warm air. His mouth was even warmer as he pressed it over her collarbone and downward, over the upper slope of her breast. She rolled her shoulders back, braced herself on flattened palms behind her to grant him greater access.
He undid her shirt completely and swept it off her, tossing it aside. Returning to the teasing brush of lips and tongue over her cleavage, Lane barely noticed that he’d unhooked her bra until the straps fell away from her arms and Cam’s mouth latched roughly over one hard peak. Her elbows went weak and he caught her, an arm bracing around her back.
She’d been worried over how they would ease into the scene, how she would keep her brave face on, how she would feign arousal when she was so gut-wrenchingly nervous. All it had taken was a little foreplay and she was lost to any of their surroundings.
*
Cameron went to his knees and took his time. He wanted to drive her crazy. He went back and forth from one perfect crest to the other, sucking gently enough that Lane arched into him, silently begging. Then, he nipped at her, making her spine jerk, maki
ng her retreat from the small measure of pain.
He could do this all night. In fact, if they didn’t have a ring of complete scumbags to bust, he might have happily spent all night teasing Lane’s breasts until she begged him, out loud, to fuck her. Then he’d do it for a few hours more, until she really meant it.
Her skin was wonderfully smooth. She smelled heavenly, something soft and enticing, mint and ginger and trembling, delicious woman. He hadn’t even touched her below the waist and already she had the flushed, desperate look of a woman on the edge.
“Stand up.” He spoke against her wet skin. He wasn’t asking. She complied with a swiftness that tightened his already aching cock. Getting to his feet, he brushed a hand at the small of her back to guide her to the equipment. He could feel her hesitation when she was steps away.
He recalled the research she’d saddled him with after he agreed to the op—a six-inch-thick binder filled with information on sex and psychology, namely, the practice and reasoning behind anyone wanting to be tied up, spanked and made to like it. The section on the St. Andrew’s cross had been one of the sections she’d highlighted.
Funny, that she was so in-depth, but had pegged him dead-on for a guy who just needed the highlights.
Facing the cross for punishment.
Back to the cross for play.
Cameron came close behind her, admiring the cute little black devil’s tail embroidered up the back of her skirt. He bent to lift her hair and kiss her nape. Her skin was damp there, and salty. He grazed his palms over her waist.
“Turn around and raise your arms.” His heart was hammering so hard that he didn’t think it could beat any faster. He was so, so wrong.
Lane turned, leaned back into the slight recline of the St. Andrew’s and raised her wrists. Cameron caught his breath. The move lifted her full breasts, and his mouth watered to taste them. He licked his lips and his eyes locked on the soft swells as her breath noticeably quickened. Her hair, worn loose, spilled in dark waves over her shoulders. She shook her head and the ends curled over her peaked nipples.
Love Letters Volume 1: Obeying Desire Page 3
