Knox

by Lane Hart

  I’m angry at myself for letting him touch me and not saying or doing a damn thing about it. I swear it’s like my body has been hijacked and I’m no longer in control of what happens to it. He’s my boss, and I have to let him do what he wants; right? It’s not like he’s forcing me, holding me down and taking me against my will. Not until he stops kissing me and presses the side of my face down onto the stack of papers piled on top of his desk. Moving behind me, he invades me a moment later without any warning. I guess the warning was when he undressed me, and I didn’t stop him. The good news is that I don’t have to tolerate him kissing me anymore now that he’s getting what he wanted all along.

  It soon becomes obvious that his dick is still too soft and I’m too tight, so he rubs himself through my folds and tries again and again to penetrate me with more than just the tip. Finally, after it seems like an hour has passed, he succeeds with a groan of triumph.

  Feeling him moving in and out of my body isn’t something I ever wanted, but hopefully it’ll be over soon. He’s not even big enough to hurt me. I barely notice he’s there other than the occasional grunts and whispered curses when the front of his hairy thighs slam against my ass. Occasionally, his free hand that’s not forcing my head down slaps at my bra-covered breasts like they’re speed bags hanging in a gym.

  It could be worse. At least I don’t have to look at him. With him moving behind me, I can pretend he’s someone else, someone young and hot that I want.

  By this time tomorrow, tonight will just be a distant memory and I’ll have the promotion I worked so hard for.

  Only, I’ll always know from this moment on that it wasn’t my hard work that earned me my detective badge. It was sacrificing a small piece of myself that I can never get back.

  Chapter Two

  Detective Jade Horton

  November

  Having a man blatantly stare at my breasts is nothing new. This is, however, the first time a man I’m questioning about a murder has stared at my cleavage for five solid minutes while making incredibly inappropriate comments about my boobs.

  In his defense, my boobs are no longer constrained and hidden by the starchy blue police uniform. Thanks to the detective badge on my hip, I now get to wear my own outfits, suits in particular, to dress the part of having more authority. No doubt my bosom is much more apparent behind my gray suit jacket that I keep open for easy access for the gun in my holster, which is why I’ve received more lingering looks at the girls lately. And apparently, the cream blouse I’m wearing today is so thin that, under the florescent lights of the interview room we’re in, you can see the lace of my lavender bra. Or so I’ve been told by the man sitting across from me. I’ll have to check that for myself in the mirror the next time I’m in the ladies’ room.

  It’s only fair that the roughneck brawler gets a peek through my shirt since I just saw every inch of his beautiful tattooed nakedness when I showed up at his apartment to bring him and his two buddies in for questioning. Even forty-five minutes later, I bet I could still pick his magnificent morning wood, proudly jutting from between his muscular thighs like the most indecent invitation I’ve ever received, out of a lineup with every other penis in the city. It was just that unforgettable.

  So, while he’s been sitting here staring at my tits, I’ve been thinking about his cock. It’s all pretty fucking ridiculous and…unexpected.

  I’m at a point in my life where I hate men. All of them. Well, except for my stepfather Wyatt and my two stepbrothers. Otherwise, I have zero use for the male species. Or so I thought until I laid my eyes on the Holy Grail of masculinity.

  If God gave me clay and told me I could create my ideal man from scratch any way I wanted, I’m pretty sure the finished product would come in second next to this fighter, Knox Engle. Even his ridiculous pompadour hairstyle with bright blue streaks through those dark strands works for him. I’m pretty sure anything would look good on him. The guy should’ve been given a free pass by the criminal justice system to never have to cover his nakedness in public. It’s a tragedy for articles of clothing to hide his perfection from all of womankind.

  No, wait. I take that back.

  I want to lock him in my bedroom and toss out all fabric that could possibly cover him, even the curtains, so that only I can see what lies beneath anytime I want.

  The problem is that he would eventually open his mouth and ruin everything.

  He obviously knows how sexy he is, and I bet today was the only day of the entire year that he didn’t have a pretty girl warming his bed.

  Why didn’t he have anyone in his bed when I stopped by to bring the guys in for questioning?

  Had he already kicked her out? Or did he fuck her at her place and then sneak out while she was well sated and asleep? I start to ask him where he was last night, but that question would be way out of line.

  “You ever let a man slide his cock between your tits until he cums all over them?” the cocky fighter asks, making me cough out a nervous laugh as he licks his lips like he’s imagining doing just that. The warmth and ache deep inside of me are proof that this attraction I have for the bad boy with a filthy mouth is a real and tangible thing, a sensual longing, not just a passing thought.

  For the first time since the night in the chief’s office, I’m turned on. Not that I was then, but ever since, no matter how hard I try to forget the details of being bent over his desk, they’re always there, lurking in the back of my mind. The last few weeks it’s been impossible for me to feel something below the waistline of my panties. Despite how high I turn up my vibrator, I’ve remained unaffected and drier than the desert. I even bought a porno video from the sex shop, trying to replace my memories with absolutely anything else and had zero luck.

  Apparently, my drought is officially over.

  Too bad it took a witness in a murder investigation to get me there. One who is completely off limits from anything but fantasies.

  “In case you forgot, I’m the one who is supposed to be asking the questions here,” I remind him, pushing aside the image of us back in his bedroom, him naked, with me on my knees. I try my best to appear unaffected by his words and hope I succeed; that the dirty thoughts burning me up from the inside are not plastered all over my face.

  “If you answer my questions, I’ll answer yours. The good ole tit-for-tat deal,” Knox replies with a smirk. He finally ends the staring contest with my chest and lifts his deep blue eyes lined by long, dark lashes to mine, waiting for my response. While his eyes hold a hint of mischief, they’re also soulful, secretive and determined, like he’s seen a lot of shit in his nineteen years but only a search warrant served on the damn devil himself could force him to reveal them to me. Good thing I like a challenge and don’t mind sitting here looking my fill at his bare chest and abs until he breaks.

  That’s right. I brought him in for questioning wearing nothing but his jeans because I didn’t want to cover his beautiful torso.

  “No,” I tell him, refusing his offer.

  “No, you haven’t ever let a man fuck your tits, or no, you’re not going to answer my questions?”

  I sigh, causing the breasts in question to rise and fall, scraping my achingly hard nipples against the front lace of my bra. “If I answer, will you actually give me some helpful information about this case?”

  What’s the harm in answering a few of his naughty questions other than the off chance that the liquid lava bubbling inside me may boil right over? Knox is the distraction I need right now. After only having two lovers in the past six years, one I’ve tried very hard to forget the last few weeks, I need new ammunition to fuel my lonely nights. The shirtless, muscular man sitting in front of me is the first I’ve ever seen in real life with a six pack of abs and those mouthwatering V indentions that lead to a very long, very thick cock. It’s the kind of body that takes hours of dedication in the gym, and no other man I’ve seen naked has bothered to adhere to that sort of discipline. And “well endowed” doesn’t even begin to
do him justice…

  “Yes,” the walking sex fantasy says. I force my eyes from his abs and back up to his blue eyes that are so devastatingly stunning and sincere that they make me think he would agree to anything I wanted from him. That’s probably just wishful thinking.

  “Yes, you’ll answer my questions?” I say once I remember what I just asked through the haze of lust.

  “Yes,” he replies, lifting one corner of his full lips. “But only if you answer mine honestly. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  “Then fine,” I grumble with a roll of my eyes, thinking he may actually be able to call me on a lie. “No, I’ve never done…that.”

  “You’ve never squeezed a dick between your tits?”

  “Wow. You do know that this interview is being recorded, don’t you?” I remind him, ordering my face not to darken.

  “No, it’s not,” he counters with a smug grin. Nodding to the far-right corner behind me, he says, “The red light on the camera isn’t on.”

  Dammit.

  I forgot to turn it on before I came in. And somehow, he’s known it the whole time, which is why he’s been running his mouth with a steady stream of perversions. Guess this isn’t his first time in a police interview room. I’m not surprised.

  Rather than lie about the interview being recorded, which I’m actually relieved it’s not, I clear my throat and tell him, “Now it’s your turn to answer my question. Do you know Robert Kelly?”

  “Sort of. We go to the same gym, but I’ve never talked to him outside of it.”

  Now we’re finally getting somewhere.

  “When was the last time you saw him at the gym?” I ask.

  “First, I get to ask you another question,” he replies. “What’s your favorite way to fuck?”

  Jesus! This guy is relentless. If I didn’t need answers so badly to solve this case, and if he were anyone else, I would knee him in the balls so hard they would never descend again. As it is, he’s hotter than sin, so he can get away with more than most, and now I finally have a chance to arrest a known Italian mob boss. Once I take Mario Guerra down, I can try to transfer to another precinct on my merits before the chief can screw me over by running his mouth.

  “On top,” I answer.

  “You on top?” Knox asks as he places his still cuffed hands on the small table to lean forward with interest, causing his thick biceps to tighten and look even bigger. “Because you like to be in control,” he adds as a statement, not a question. “Do you like to restrain your lovers too? Tie them down so you can have your way with them? Or better yet, use handcuffs?” he asks with an arched eyebrow while holding up his cuffed wrists.

  So what if he just verbalized one of my hottest fantasies that I’ve never fulfilled? It was a lucky guess based on my profession.

  “My turn,” I reply rather than answer any of his additional questions. I lean back in my chair to put more room between us to try and cool my hormones. “When was the last time you saw Robert Kelly at the gym or anywhere else?”

  Copying my posture, Knox slouches in his metal chair and shrugs his wide shoulders. “Robbie hasn’t been to the gym in a week or so I guess. I don’t know for sure since I don’t take attendance. Now, do you like to be tied up?”

  “No,” I quickly reply since that one’s a no-brainer for me to answer. “Does Robert Kelly fight for Mario Guerra?”

  “You’ll have to ask Robbie that one,” Knox responds. “Do you prefer your fingers or a vibrator to get yourself off?”

  My lips part with a small gasp at that question before I can stop the response. For some reason, the answer seems much more intimate and personal than all the others. Embarrassing even.

  “That’s none of your business,” I warn the asshole while crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Final answer?” Knox asks with a smirk. “Because if so, that’s also my answer to any other questions you have for me today.”

  Son of a bitch. Is my dignity really worth getting more information out of his filthy mouth? Sure, I could throw out a lie; but for whatever reason, I think he’ll know and call me on it.

  “Fine,” I mutter in defeat. Then ever so softly I whisper, “Vibrator,” under my breath so that no one passing by in the hallway will overhear.

  “Nice,” Knox says with a self-satisfied grin. “Is your vibrator as big as my cock? You do remember how big it is, right? Pretty sure you couldn’t look away.”

  With a heavy sigh, I ignore those comments and continue with my line of questioning. Although it takes a few seconds to remember where we were because I’m comparing the two objects side by side in my mind, certain his dick is bigger.

  Moving on…

  “Do you fight for Mario Guerra?”

  Knox’s dark, unshaven jaw clenches at that question, telling me he doesn’t like it. After I’m certain he’ll refuse to respond, his expression suddenly turns serious. “If any of this gets back to him, I’m as good as dead.”

  “To who? Mario? It won’t,” I assure him, my heart pounding either with worry that I could be putting him in danger or because I know we’re finally getting somewhere. Probably both. “You were right. Our conversation is not being recorded, and I’m obviously not taking any notes.”

  “You need to level with me, detective. Before I say another word, should I get an attorney or some shit? I don’t want to spend tonight, or any night for that matter, in a cell.”

  “No. All I want is information. I promise that you won’t be charged with any crimes if you can help me get to Mario,” I tell him honestly. My job is to find and arrest bad guys; and in my gut, I know that Knox isn’t one of them. No, he may not be a saint, but he’s not a murderer either.

  With a nod that he believes me, Knox blows out his breath and says, “Yes, I have on occasion fought for Mario.”

  Holy shit.

  That’s the first component I needed to establish a racketeering case against Guerra, and all it took to get it was answering a few personal questions about myself. Sure, I’ll need to convince Knox to testify against Guerra, but that is way down the road. First things first, I need Guerra in handcuffs.

  I’ve barely started to celebrate my small win when Knox says, “Is it cold in here, detective? Because, fuck, your nipples are hard.” He lifts his cuffed hands to tweak his own nipple before asking, “Do you think you could come from just my mouth licking and sucking on them?”

  Holy shit. He’s no longer asking about things I’ve done with other men or to myself but about what my response would be to something he would do to me. And honestly, as swollen and needy as I am in the very neglected space between my legs, I think I could come right here in my seat from just hearing him ask a few more questions like that one.

  Why?

  Why of all the men in the world does this guy have such an effect on me?

  I hate the fact that there’s a part of me that desperately wants to let him put his mouth on me, among other things. He may not be a killer, or even an arsonist like his friend, Cain; but he just admitted to being part of a criminal organization. Not just any criminal organization but the Italian mafia that I’m trying my damnedest to bring down!

  “Detective?” Knox prompts, tapping his fingers on the table to get my attention after I continue to remain silent, knowing anything I say he’ll use against me.

  “Maybe, if your mouth is actually good for more than just talking shit,” I admit without looking at him since honesty is our rule and I figure that with my next question, this inappropriate game of ours will probably be over. I don’t want it to end, but it’s time for me to stop fantasizing about the gorgeous man sitting across from me shirtless and in handcuffs like an offering from the sex gods and remember what my job is. “Were you aware that Robert Kelly recently turned in your friend, Cain, for an arson investigation resulting in a death that occurred several years ago?”

  “Nope,” Knox answers way too fast without even considering his response.

  “Are you sure about
that?” I ask him with narrowed eyes as I search his lying face. Shutters have gone down on those stunning blue eyes that will no longer meet mine.

  “You know who can answer all these questions of yours better than me? Robert Kelly,” Knox tells me as he squirms in his seat.

  “You think so?” I reply.

  “I do,” he answers with a nod.

  I don’t get the impression that Knox knows Robert Kelly is dead. His quick answer was in the present tense, not past, so he obviously thinks he’s still alive. Unless Knox is a really smooth criminal who is a pro at lying to cops. One way to find out…

  “Hold that thought,” I tell Knox before I push my chair back to get to my feet, the scraping sound echoing around the now silent room.

  “You owe me three questions,” Knox calls out as I grip the doorknob to go grab the photos from my desk. “When was the last time you came? Who got you off? And how many times did your legs shake?”

  Without turning around, I throw out my answers. “I don’t know when the last time was, but the next time will probably be tonight, myself, and at least twice.” Then, I escape the small room that’s starting to overheat to grab the manila folder that will no doubt quickly defuse the lust clouding the room.

  Chapter Three

  Knox

  Fucking hell.

  When I woke up to the sexy woman standing in my bedroom this morning, I thought for sure I was dreaming.

  The detective is too fucking gorgeous to be real, as tall as a runway model with long, smooth locks of auburn hair that fall over her breasts and down to her narrow waist. Even in the gray pantsuit that usually looks hideous on female politicians, the outfit on her is sophisticated and sexy. The black grip of the gun she has tucked away into her shoulder holster and the shiny badge on her hip reminds anyone who has doubts that she may be hot, but she’s also a professional badass.