Intoxication: Blue Line Book Three

by Brandy Ayers

  Chapter Six

  Camille

  The cabin was dark and anything but quiet. Camille thought being in the middle of the woods would mean the silence would be deafening, but instead she found just the opposite. Bugs chirped, owls hooted, all manner of unknown animals rustled and moved outside her window. After spending nearly a month in the warehouse basement, where all she heard was the stomping of boots on the floors above her head, all the noise made her edgy.

  She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Jon was just on the other side of the wall sleeping. At first, things between them had been a little awkward. Mostly because she had no idea how to interact with a man she found so damn attractive. Camille had only focused on one thing her entire life, school. Determined to never be a burden on her parents, she had decided early that she would excel at school, get into a great college, then a medical program, and become a doctor so she could support herself. So she had never really noticed the guys around her. Sure, she had a crush or two over the years. But never anything that made her really sit up and take notice.

  Until Jon.

  That one brief glimpse of him the day she got arrested had been earth shifting. It was as if everything she had previously known realigned into a picture which brought everything else into focus.

  The crunch of leaves just on the other side of her wall interrupted her daydreams about Jon. She quieted her breathing, straining to hear any sounds from outside that might seem out of place. Another shuffle of leaves and a branch breaking made her leap from the bed and plaster herself against the door. Her hand gripped the knob, ready to turn it and sprint at the slightest indication that someone had been trying to break into the house.

  Camille’s lungs burned with the effort to hold her breath; to not give herself away. A soft thud, almost like a door closing, sent her scrambling out of the guest bedroom Jon had deposited her in and down the hall before her brain could catch up with her feet. A cold sweat poured down her temples, matting her hair to her face. The hall seemed to stretch on forever. The kitchen, she just needed to make it to the kitchen and she would be able to grab a weapon to defend herself.

  Just as she was about to break free from the long corridor, a hulking figure stepped out into the arch separating the bedrooms and the rest of the open cabin. A scream tore up through Camille’s still raw throat. The sound burned across the sensitive flesh, but not even the pain of freshly healed wounds tearing open could quiet her pleas. “Please, no.”

  Unable to stop her socked feet in midflight, her body slammed against the threatening form, iron-like arms banded around her small frame, holding her to the attacker’s broad chest. Camille thrashed and scratched at his skin, but the man held strong, unwilling to let her get away. She hoped and prayed that Jon would wake up, come out to see what all the noise was about.

  Her mind reeled, the shock of being found again shutting it down to protect herself from further torture. Her body went slack, and she gave into the fate of never being truly free again. Of her own impending death at the hands of the sadistic bastards that had held her for so long.

  Instead of being dragged from the cabin, and away from her protector, as she expected, the man holding her slumped to the ground, pulling her between his thick thighs, and soothing her with a gentle hand down her hair. A soft shushing helped to calm her from the adrenaline rush of her fight or flight response.

  “It’s okay sweetheart, it's just me. No one will hurt you. I will never let another human being lay a finger on you in anything but love.”

  Jon.

  Thank god, it was Jon. Not Rich, or his goons.

  Once her adrenaline seeped away and her brain calmed slightly, Jon’s spicy scent enveloped her. His warm back and arms chased away the cold fear. Twisting in his grip, Camille threw her arms around his neck, and burrowed her face into his chest, heaving and sobbing as the safety of his presence set free her bottled up emotions.

  Camille quickly realized this was the closest they had ever been. While in the hospital, Jon had held her hand, touched her leg and face, but he always kept a respectful distance. But now, they were so entwined Camille felt like she could get lost in his grip.

  Lost in the best way.

  “I’m sorry, I heard noises, I thought you were in your bedroom asleep. I thought they had found me.” She babbled on and on, talking into his shirt, and he simply held her until she finished.

  After her words had all ran out, Jon cupped her cheeks and drew her back slightly to look into her eyes. “No one will find you here. No one will hurt you ever again. I swear to you I won’t let that happen.”

  Camille bit her bottom lip and nodded confidently. She felt foolish now, of course no one would know about the cabin. Jon had said it was totally off the radar. But still, the fear had yet to totally loosen its grip on her heart. She knew it would take a very long time before she stopped jumping at every little thing.

  “Jon?” She kept her voice soft, low, trying to lessen the ache she felt there from her weeks of screaming and crying.

  “Yes, sweetheart?” Jon’s gruff voice grinding out the nickname he had given her made her heart beat double time.

  “I don’t want to be alone. When I’m alone my mind starts playing tricks on me.” She sucked in a deep breath, knowing he would fight her on her request. “Can I sleep in your bed? With you?”

  Jon groaned and leaned his forehead against hers. “Camille, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I want nothing more than to take care of you, and I’m more than willing to stretch the letter of the law if it means keeping you safe. But having you in my bed crosses all kinds of lines.”

  Camille fought back the tears that burned at her eyes again. She refused to let them fall. Of course Jon wouldn’t want to share his bed with a frightened, neurotic, naive girl half his age. She’d never shared a bed with a man before, never shared her body either. But she still knew that there were things men couldn’t control. Things they liked. She was endlessly curious about those things. Her life had been very sheltered both thanks to her overprotective parents, and her own preference to be alone studying, rather than out partying. But Jon had awoken something inside her that she had never bothered to think about before.

  Given the circumstances, she knew her feelings were highly inappropriate, but she couldn’t control it any more than she could control the weather. Jon Gallo was a tall, muscular, wall of hotness that she wanted to climb and rub herself all over. Of course, he wouldn’t want the same things, he was a man that could probably have any number of women, not some underdeveloped twenty-two year virgin.

  Jon must have seen the tears pooling behind her eyelids, on the verge of flooding down her cheeks, because in the next breath he pulled her into his arms once again, pressed his lips to the top of her head, and whispered, “Okay, you can sleep with me. But just tonight. Just until you get used to the sounds of the woods.”

  “Okay.” She would take it. If one night was all she got with the warmth of Jon next to her in bed, then she would ingrain the memory into her brain to recall whenever she needed a respite.

  “But let’s sleep in your room. I gave you the bigger bed, and I don’t think you want to try and fit into the twin I was going to take.”

  Camille’s heart glowed with happiness. Jon had sacrificed his own comfort to make sure she would have the best. It made her already racing heart speed up another notch. Unable to voice her gratitude, she simply nodded and allowed Jon to pick her up, cradled against his chest. She desperately wanted to stroke the hard muscles under his t-shirt, but managed to keep her hands still and firmly pressed just above his thudding heart.

  Back in the room, Jon laid her down so gently it brought more tears to her eyes. “Blanket, or no blanket?”

  “Blanket. Even before the warehouse I used thick blankets through the whole summer.” She drew in a deep shuddering breath. “Now it feels like I can’t get warm enough.”

  “We’ll take care of that sweetheart.”

  F
lashes of Jon’s body draped over her, warming her skin in place of the blanket flashed through her mind, and she felt all of the blood in her body race for both her cheeks and her pussy. Why did she have to be so attracted to him?

  Once Jon had her tucked into the thick quilt that had been folded at the foot of the bed, he rounded the room, and climbed onto his side. He didn’t cover himself with the blanket, instead laying ramrod straight on the mattress with his hands firmly folded over his stomach.

  “Do you want to share?” She lifted the corner of the blanket closest to him in invitation.

  “No thanks, sweetheart.” He spoke to the ceiling, never turning his head to look at her. “I run pretty hot at night. If I had anything over me I’d be sweatin’ by dawn.”

  Camille bit her bottom lip and lowered her hand, feeling quite silly for the burn of rejection seeping through her body. It wasn’t anything personal, so why should she be upset?

  Lids tightly closed, Camille tried to fall asleep, but it just wouldn’t happen. Her brain wouldn’t shut off, and she couldn’t get comfortable. At the hospital, Jon always had a hand on her skin at all times. Since they had left, he’d barely touched her at all, other than the hall incident. She missed his touch. She couldn’t relax without it.

  After her third try at finding a more comfortable position, Jon peeked at her from the corner of his eye. “What’s going on over there? Can’t sleep?”

  “No, I just can’t stop thinking.” She was silent for a moment before an idea occurred to her. “Will you talk to me. Just talk about anything. Tell me another story about the antics you and your brother got into?”

  With a simple nod Jon started in on a story about his brother pulling the mother of all pranks at school, and Jon’s refusal to help. Around the time his brother snuck the lobsters into the fish take in the principal's office, Camille began to drift off to sleep. Jon had relaxed back into the pillows a little, one arm behind his head, the other laying on top of the blankets next to his hard body. In her half-awake state, Camille reached out and entwined their fingers, holding his much larger hand in her tiny palm.

  ****

  Camille shifted on the bed, and a low moan vibrated beneath her. Her eyes flew open, and were greeted with Jon’s chest pressed beneath her cheek. Awareness crept in bit-by-bit, and she blushed at the position she somehow found herself after one of the best nights of sleep she had ever had.

  Almost half on top of Jon, her head was nestled between his shoulder and neck, while her face rested just above his heart. One hand had somehow snaked up under his shirt, and rested on his ribs, the other arm was wedged between them, still holding his hand. A leg was flung over his hips, the other plastered against his leg so she appeared to be in a bit of a modified straddle over his lower half.

  From the feeling of his hard dick pressing against the back of her leg, he didn’t seem to mind their sleeping arrangement all that much.

  She laid absolutely still, not wanting to move a muscle and disturb the man she clung to. The warmth of his body beneath her sent a rush of pure lust, like she had never known, through her body, pooling into the apex of her thighs. She wanted to rub against him like a cat in heat. Cover herself in his masculine scent, embed it directly into her skin.

  “Mmmm, sweetheart.” Jon shifted, his arms to wrapped around her waist and dragged her more fully astride his body. He buried his face into her hair inhaling deeply. “You always smell so good.”

  Jon’s rough hands traced down her body, coming to rest on her hips, guiding them to rub along his stiff cock. Her breath hitched in her throat, she tried to force down the moans building in her chest. But the smooth slide of him against her core refused to be ignored. The sounds spilled from her lips, directly into Jon’s ear.

  All movement stopped. Embarrassment surged through Camille until she was sure her face glowed bright red. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the pity painted on his features.

  “Sweetheart.” His term of endearment for her was whispered, laced with regret now instead of the heat that had filled his voice while he was still half asleep. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

  Slowly he slid her off his body, hissing as her leg brushed against his arousal.

  “No, I’m sorry. I guess I’m a cuddler. I’ve never had the opportunity to find that out before.” She laughed nervously, trying to play off the awkward situation as no big deal.

  “Shit.” Jon sat up on the edge of the bed, his hands buried in his hair.

  Camille recalled the way he had said her name, said she felt good. She hadn’t imagined the longing in his voice, had she? “Do you dream about me, Jon?”

  “Fuck, Cami, you can’t ask me that. I can’t answer that.” Jon stood, and strode with purpose from the room. “I’ll get breakfast started.”

  Legs curled up in front of her, Camille wrapped her arms around them and buried her face in her knees to hide the giddy smile on her face. Chief Jon Gallo, sexiest man alive, and tough cop, dreamed about her.

  Chapter Seven

  Jon

  Jon reached into his jeans to readjust his seemingly constant hard-on. The past three weeks had been a lesson in restraint and torment. He looked up from where he was chopping wood and glanced over at Camille.

  Fuck. Bad idea. Once again she was on her knees in the vegetable garden she had taken ownership of. Her tight, round ass was swaying back and forth in the tiniest jean shorts known to man, pulling weeds from between the long ignored rows of produce. Sweat dripped down her back, making the white tank top she wore near translucent. His cock throbbed as images of what else she could do while on her knees flashed through his head.

  No. He would not go there again.

  After the first night in the cabin, Jon had tried to get Camille to sleep alone. But each morning he woke up to find her wrapped around him like a vine growing on a tree. She always claimed she either didn’t know how she ended up in his bed, or that she had been scared and didn’t want to be alone. After the first week, Jon gave in and they had been sleeping in her much larger bed ever since.

  Even with the extra space, she still ended up plastered to him by dawn. Not that he minded. Truth be told, he fucking loved it. Even if he did wake up every morning with the worst case of blue balls known to man. For the most part they both ignored the giant tent in the blankets. Jon would always get up first, rub one, sometimes two, out in the bathroom before showering and going to the kitchen to make breakfast. Soon after, Camille would roll out of bed and hit the shower herself.

  Jon had no doubt that Camille wanted him. The girl had no poker face whatsoever. But even as obvious as she was in her desire, she also had no clue how to flirt, which Jon found strangely sexy. She also had no idea how every move she made affected him, drove him crazy with animal lust. Thankfully, his poker face was much better

  Guilt surged through his system as he stared at her sweaty body working the earth. Hell, he hadn’t even realized there was an old vegetable garden in all the underbrush, but she found it one day while they were cleaning up the back property. It must have been a holdover from Sophie’s teenage years. Camille had lovingly brought it back to life, and Jon couldn’t help feeling like she did the same for his withered old heart.

  He shook his head and turned back to the chopping block. Damn, he really was a doddering old fool to be thinking such whimsical thoughts.

  A tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him that he was only forty-five, not eighty. And he was in better shape than a lot of men half his age. Why couldn’t he make Camille his? But then reason pushed its way back into his thoughts. Camille deserved a man her own age, one that could relate to her and be with her until they were both old and grey. She shouldn’t have to start her life with a man that was already well on his way to silver fox status.

  “Jon, look!” Camille’s excited voice floated to him from across the clearing that they called a backyard. He damn near fell over when he turned to see her skipping across the few yards that separated them, a br
ight smile on her face. “Strawberries! I grew strawberries!”

  She came to a skidding stop in front of him, her perfect tits bouncing as she practically vibrated with excitement. It had been truly amazing to see Camille come out of her shell over the last few weeks since they had arrived at the cabin. She still had her dark moments, when she sat and stared out the window for hours on end, or woke up screaming from a nightmare. But more and more she had these long periods of true happiness. It felt as if Jon had been given a front row seat to the most beautiful sunrises every time she laughed, and he would do damn near anything to make sure she kept having more of the light, and less of the dark.

  “That’s great, Cami.” She beamed up at him, blushing slightly at the shortened version of her name.

  “Here taste. The little ones are actually super sweet.” She held the bright red berry up to his mouth, but he found himself craving the sweet taste of her skin more than any fruit.

  He opened his mouth, and she slid the berry into his mouth, still gripping the stem with her fingers. Her skin brushed against his lips as he bit down on the juicy flesh and flavor exploded onto his tongue. Jon doubted any man alive possessed the fortitude to resist the erotic images this moment elicited. He wondered how the color of her nipples compared to that of the strawberries. Were they lighter, more dusky? If he licked them, then blew cold air against their surface, would they contract to the same size as the tip of the fruit?

  “Good, right?” Camille held his gaze, not allowing him to look anywhere other than her brilliant hazel eyes, her tight curls fluttering around her face in the warm summer breeze.

  He could only nod. Fuck, he was one hundred percent fucked. There was no way on earth that he would be able to resist her much longer. The end of his patience was growing nearer and nearer. If McCracken didn’t get Formosa and the rest of the guys to wrap this case up soon, Jon had no doubt he would find himself in bed with Camille, only it wouldn’t be nearly so innocent as the past three weeks.