“Like you mean it.”
She punched my palm, this time putting some of her frustration behind it. The wheelchair rolled back a little way. That frustrated her even more: she slapped the brakes on and then hit me again, even harder.
“Good.” I held up my other palm alongside the first. “Keep going.”
She still looked reluctant but that last hit had given her just a taste of the release that was possible. She punched the other palm. Then the first again. And then she started alternating: left, right, left, slowly at first but getting steadily faster as the excess energy began to pour out of her. Her pummeling became savage, bitter, her fists stinging my palms, and I knelt there and soaked it up, urging her on with my eyes, drawing the frustration out of her. At last she whacked my palm and let out a long yell of anger that made my heart ache—
She stopped and rocked forward in the chair, panting, her fists still touching my palms. “Better,” she admitted.
I nodded, relieved, and gazed at her, taking in her hair, all mussed and dotted with chalk dust, her cheeks flushed from the workout. She chose that moment to lift her head and suddenly, I was looking straight into those amazing green eyes….
And it hit me, full force. Everything I’d been holding back.
For days, I’d been grimly restraining myself, using all my strength to resist. But for one brief moment, I was so relieved that she was okay that all my defenses were down. The need picked me up like a wave and carried me, unstoppable. The blood was singing in my ears.
Without consciously willing it, my hands closed, capturing her fists. She swallowed. The room went silent.
I mustn’t do this. I knew that.
But letting go of her hands was impossible. And every second I stayed in contact with her, the desire built and built—
We stared at each other, neither of us daring to breathe.
And then, simultaneously, we lunged at each other.
32
Yolanda
OUR LIPS MET and the white-hot shock of it flashed through me. Then the pleasure rumbled through me like thunder, vibrating right down to my fingertips in pink waves.
I’d spent way too much time, since I’d met him, watching those lips. I’d focused on the way that full lower lip pressed against the hard upper one on the p of suspect and, especially, on the B of FBI. And now that softness was working at my lower lip, stroking over it in a way that made my whole body go weak. Meanwhile, that hard upper lip was attacking firm and fast, demanding I open up. And I did.
One, two, three beats of my racing heart. Then he broke the kiss and we were staring at each other from just a few inches away, both silently asking the same question. Did we really just do that? I’d gone heady. It couldn’t be real. But my throbbing lips said it was.
Then we were kissing for the second time. He was so big, so out of control, that he would have knocked me back against the back of the chair if I’d let him. But as soon as his lips touched mine again, it was as if a current had been switched on inside me. My spine went rigid and I was bolt upright against him, pressing back, drinking in the feel of him. My hands groped and found his shoulders and a tremor went through me as my fingers slid out, out, out, marveling at the size of him. My lips flowered open under him and then the tip of his tongue was teasing mine. My hands came alive, tracing the glorious, solid swells of his biceps over and over.
We broke and stared at each other again. This time: yes, this is real, this is definitely happening. I was panting, half-drunk on the feel of him, and my lips were so super-sensitive I couldn’t speak. But we didn’t need to speak.
Both of us glanced at the big leather couch at the same time.
He kissed me again, full-on and animal. Then his arms hooked under mine and suddenly I was being lifted up out of the chair, my ass skimming the thick leather arm of the couch before I gently touched down in the center seat. He moved closer, his kiss pressing me back until my head pushed against the top of the couch and he was kissing down into me. I was pinned, sandwiched between him and the couch and there was no better feeling in the world. The pleasure was rolling down my body, making me twist and thrash against him. And then I heard the creak and felt the cushion dip as he climbed onto the couch. His knee speared down between my thighs: so thickly muscled, so big and solid. My breathing went shaky.
His hands found my hips and then slid under my jacket and all the way up my sides, the warmth of him throbbing into me through my blouse. They skimmed the sides of my breasts and the pleasure leapt and danced, slamming around inside me. I slid my fingers deep into his thick black hair, tangling them in it, then drew in a shuddering breath as his pecs pressed against my breasts.
My hands slowly slid from his head down to the back of his neck and then to his back. When I felt how he’d gone hard, how every muscle was like rock in his excitement, I melted: I wanted to just cling to that hardness forever and mold myself to him. He hunkered over me like a beast, huge and unstoppable: after all that time restraining himself, he was finally loose. His kisses came faster and faster, both of us breathless—
He suddenly hooked his hands under my arms and pulled me along the couch, twisting me around so that I was on my back. I got my hands behind me and helped, lifting and scooching, as impatient as him. He lifted my legs up onto the seat and then—God, I was lying full-length and he was climbing atop me, knees straddling me.
He was big anyway but from this angle he looked massive, looming over me, those wide shoulders and broad chest filling my view. He gazed down at me and there was no battle in his eyes anymore, no conflict. His course was decided. There was only one way this would end.
I saw his eyes go to my blouse, then my skirt. I swallowed. Which one first? I could hear my heart pounding.
He seemed to make up his mind and slid a hand up my leg, under my skirt. He gave a shocked, little intake of breath when his fingers brushed the bare skin of my upper thigh and he realized I was wearing hold-ups, not pantyhose. His eyes gleamed, delighted.
Then he reached down with his other hand, stretched my blouse away from my body and popped the first button one-handed. He wasn’t going to choose, he wanted both, now.
He slid his hand up between my legs. My skirt rose higher. There was a sudden stab of cold fear as I realized he was about to see the scars on my legs. He glanced down at them, then up. Our eyes met—
And all I saw there was lust. He’d seen them. He didn’t care at all.
His fingers stroked me through the front of my panties and I drew in a strangled groan. He growled in response, torn between just taking me and savoring the moment. He started to rub me, tracing the shape of my lips through the thin material of my panties, and I ground my ass in response. He stared down into my eyes and slowly smiled. He was enjoying seeing me get more and more turned on and the thought of that turned me on even more. The pleasure was taking over, aching currents of it whirlpooling out from where his fingers stroked, and I bit my lip and closed my eyes.
Seeing me bite my lip seemed to do something to him. His other hand came to life again, popping button after button on my blouse. The instant it was unfastened, he spread it wide, baring me. I opened my eyes and saw him gazing down at my breasts and then, with a growl of victory, he shoved the bra cups up and out of the way and just...feasted. There was no other word for it, his eyes just ate me up and it made a depth charge of hot pride sink all the way down and detonate between my thighs. And then he was lunging forward again, his head dipping towards my chest and—
I sucked in my breath and grabbed his head with both hands as his mouth enveloped a nipple. God, he knew just how to do it, too, just how to swirl with his tongue and bite using the softness of his lips and the hard edges of his teeth. He used both his hands, cupping my breasts, squeezing them, and my world descended into licks and sweeps of his tongue, kisses and sucks and hot pants across my spit-wet skin. Then it got even better because he slid his knee up between my thighs and suddenly I was rocking against him, grinding
myself towards the brink. He crushed my breasts together with his hands and alternated between them with his mouth, faster and faster, and I could feel the hot hardness of his cock through his pants—
He broke off and looked down into my eyes and something passed between us. Yes.
His hands dove under my skirt and then my panties were sliding down my legs and off. He reared up onto his knees and before he could work his belt, I had hold of it, jerking the leather through the loops, my eyes locked on the bulge just beneath it. His pants came free. He shoved them down and—
Oh. I swallowed and a hot throb went right down my body, ending between my thighs. I actually felt myself twitch. I tried to look up at his face but my gaze kept being drawn down. It matched the rest of him, big and solid and determined, ready to plunge into me and—
“Go slow,” I said. But even that came out breathy and urgent. I flushed. Go slow. But hurry.
He pushed my skirt up a little higher. Nudged my legs apart and lowered his body between them and oh God that feeling of his weight pressing down on me, of being spread—I grabbed at his shoulders, then started frantically unbuttoning his shirt, needing him skin on skin. I heard a condom being rolled on, then the first hot touch of him against me, hot hardness slipping on wet flesh—
My head rolled back against the couch arm as he began to move into me. He did go slow. He had to, because he was big. But I was soaking and every tight millimeter sent silver pleasure right up my spine, lashing and twisting and feeding a deep, molten core. He dipped his head, his lips close to my ear, and growled, “Been dreaming about doing this since I met you.”
I blinked and panted. He’d been dreaming about me, too? “How was I?”
He pressed forward with his hips and we both gasped. “Fantastic.” Another push. “Awesome.” He groaned. “Not as good as this.”
He lifted himself a little and planted his hands on my shoulders, pinning me in place. I looked up into his eyes and gulped. The lust on his face took my breath away: he needed all of me, now—
I quickly nodded. I did, too.
I saw his muscled ass rise as he drew back a little and then—
Both of us cried out in pleasure as he thrust hard, deep. I grabbed for his shoulders and clung on, my body flexing against him as he filled me, inch after glorious inch. I moaned as I felt him reach my very limits, the coarse hair at his base grazing my lips. We lay there gazing into each other’s eyes. I could feel every breath he took, every throb of his pulse.
He laid kisses on my forehead, waiting until I was used to him...and then slowly, he began to move. Each time his hips drew back, it was a loss that made me groan. Each time that muscled ass drove him into me, I went wild, my hands slipping under his shirt to rove across his back. He lowered himself, taking his weight on his forearms, and it got even better: now his pubis ground against my clit each time he moved, and his chest stroked my breasts.
As he started to go faster, it felt like each out stroke was sucking silvery pleasure into my core and each in stroke was compressing it into a ball as dense and hot as the core of a star. I pulled on his shoulders, drawing him down to me, and we kissed long and deep, panting against each other’s lips as his hips rose and fell.
It built until I moaned. Until my hands grabbed and clutched at him, fingers digging deep into the tan muscle of his shoulders, his back and finally his ass. The pleasure was scrunching down tighter and tighter, becoming so intense I couldn’t keep still: I stretched up and matched him kiss for kiss, laying them on his lips and cheeks and neck as he did the same to me. The leather couch was firmer than a bed and as he sped up even more, I bit my lip in ecstasy. Every bit of force he used was going into me, instead of being lost in the mattress, and it was incredible. There was a glorious, dark pleasure in being...hammered. Slammed.
Pounded.
I could feel the orgasm thundering towards me and I knew he was close, too: every muscle in his body had gone hard. I kissed his lips, open-mouthed and desperate—
He took his weight on his elbows and cupped my face in his hands, holding me still for a second as he thrust. I was so close to coming, I had to blink a few times before I could focus on those clear blue eyes.
When I did, I saw something. An openness I’d never seen in him before. We were together, in a way I knew I wouldn’t be able to explain to anyone else. More than boyfriend/girlfriend. More than lovers. More than partners.
We trusted each other. And to both of us, that was worth more than anything else in the world.
He gave a low growl and buried himself inside me a final time and then we were wrapping each other in our arms, binding ourselves together as we came. We were so close, I could feel every shudder and jerk, every gasp and groan, and I wasn’t sure which were him and which were me.
When it was finished, we lay there, neither of us willing to loosen our grip.
Inseparable.
33
Calahan
AFTERWARDS, we went up to the roof and sat side by side on one of the stone benches. It was a clear night and, even with New York’s light pollution, there were still plenty of stars to see. But I couldn’t stop looking at her.
It was more than just her beauty and her spirit. I felt...awed by her. When you boil it right down, what I do—stopping people from hurting each other—is about the simplest, most earthly thing you can do: hell, people have been enforcing the law since people first started living in towns. I glanced down at the city. My job took place down there, in dirty alleys and dirtier boardrooms, wrestling with people, be it in a fist fight or a courtroom. But Yolanda...she was up there, doing things in her mind that I couldn’t hope to understand. I had to tell her.
The wind blew her hair and I reached across and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “What you do,” I said, struggling to put it into words, “is amazing. You know that, right?”
She shook her head. “What you do matters. Catching killers matters. Math...most of the time, it’s just obscure papers being read by other academics. It doesn’t make any difference to ninety-nine percent of people. And then when I see what the killer twisted it into….” She shuddered and I put my arm around her and pulled her tight into me. “I think we need more people like you, less like me.”
“Bullshit,” I said calmly. She turned to look at me in shock and I gently lifted her chin so that she was looking up at the stars. “Without math, there’d be no space travel.”
I kept my fingers under her chin. When she spoke, her soft skin rubbed against me and it was difficult not to just grab her and pull her down to the floor for another round. “I never figured you for someone with one eye on the stars,” she said.
I shrugged. “With some of the stuff I’ve seen people do to each other, down here...I kinda like the idea of someone making a fresh start, up there.”
The wind was getting up and she shivered. I went downstairs, grabbed my raincoat, and wrapped it around her like a blanket. Then I pulled her sideways so she was cuddled up against my side.
I stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head and she smiled, but her gaze was focused on an apartment building a few blocks away, its windows almost all dark. “They don’t know,” she whispered sadly.
I knew what she was thinking because I’d thought the exact same thing, hundreds of times. I hugged her even tighter and put my head next to hers so she could feel my nod.
There’s a weight that comes from being a cop. You see a city at night and it’s like watching a child sleep, unaware of all the danger that exists. They don’t know and that’s good, because they’d go crazy if they did. It’s not their job to know, it’s ours. But it can be lonely.
I hated that Yolanda had crossed over to my side. The urge to protect her had gotten even stronger, after what we’d just done. It was like a physical ache. But for the first time, I had someone to share things with. Becky had always calmed me and comforted me but she’d still been a civilian. After everything that had happened, Yolanda was effectively a cop.
The wind whipped across the roof and Yolanda shivered again and stuck her hands deep into the pockets of my coat to warm them. Then she frowned and pulled something out. “What’s this?”
It was the torn-off corner of a wrapper, in a plastic evidence bag. “I forgot about that,” I said. “Picked it up at the first crime scene. I’ll put it into evidence tomorrow.”
She cuddled into me and it was a while before she spoke again. “Sam,” she said. “This—I mean, what we just did...it’s not just…?” Before I could answer, she took a shuddering breath and continued, “Because if it is, just tell me. It’s okay, I’m just saying I want to know—”
I grabbed her hand, knitted my fingers with hers and squeezed. “No,” I said. “It’s not just that.” I kissed her knuckles and she relaxed against me. But inside, guilt was eating away at me. I was telling the truth. I didn’t want this to be a one-night stand or a fling or a friends-with-benefits. I wanted to be with her. But….
But she didn’t know what I’d done. If I didn’t tell her, the secret would gradually poison us. Secrets always do. And if I did tell her, she might hate me.
She deserved a proper relationship and that’s what I wanted to give her. I just wasn’t sure I could. And before I could even wrap my head around that—
“We need to talk about last night,” she said quietly. “In the bar.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was just, uh...I’d had a bad day. I was drunk. Thanks for getting me home.”
Silence for a few seconds. Just long enough for the hairs on the back of my neck to start to stand up, for the cold horror to rise in my belly.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” she said.
I turned to her and she turned to look at me. I could see it in her eyes. She knows.
It felt as if my stomach fell the whole forty stories to the ground. I finally knew how a suspect must feel, when I tossed the evidence in his face in an interrogation room. I was exposed, every layer stripped back right to my core. But I still tried to brazen it out. “I was feeling low, that’s all it was—”
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