by Eden Butler
“Go deeper, baby.” Mollie’s back arches, and she lifts her legs back around his waist. “Go deep as you can.”
“Fuck. Don’t talk like that. You’ll undo me.” And he doesn’t mind her small laugh or the how loud her voice becomes. “You like this?” he asks, slamming into her, loving how she clenches, even though her legs spread further and further apart as she opens up to him.
“I fucking love everything about this.”
And then, there are no words, there is nothing but the sweat slick sound of their bodies coming together and the intoxicating pleasure, loud moans and heavy pants that move through that room. It goes on this way for minutes, could have been days, Vaughn can’t tell. There is suddenly too much sensation—Vaughn’s heart beating a quick rhythm, Mollie’s hair slapping him in the face when he shifts their position, her tongue, his, when they can’t go for more than two seconds without kissing. And when Mollie’s nails pierce hard, deep lines in his flesh and the tightness around his dick becomes both pain and pleasure, she lets go, as they both soar, and suddenly, oblivion is marked by the bright light behind his eyes, by the loud growl of their voices ringing out.
They break apart, chests pounding with their deep inhalations, limbs trembling and moist with sweat and Vaughn doesn’t know what just happened. Oh, he knows what happened, but he isn’t sure that he’s ever experienced anything like it. He was a Marine for a long time and even before Caroline, there had been many “on leave” hook ups, many mornings when he woke up in some foreign country with strange bodies nestled against him. He had been with a lot of women, but none of them, even his poor Caroline, had left him feeling utterly completed; body, heart spent so that he thought he’d burst from the pleasure.
Mollie’s eyes are closed and small shudders move her arms and legs and Vaughn smiles, unable to fight the feeling of wanting her again, wanting her always. She exhales and her breasts move, small pebbles of tempting flesh that are impossible to ignore.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her, bringing her gaze straight to him.
“For what?”
“I can’t stop touching you.
And when he descends on her, touching her, kissing her again, Vaughn knows he’s never spoken anything truer. This, he thinks, might be a problem.
Morning after sex. Hmm, I like the buzz. Mollie’s limbs still tingle from the sensation of Vaughn inside her, the lick of pleasure that fine Marine brought her, the way they slept—legs, arms twined together. The light outside the window is dim, and the sun has yet to rise and through barely lifted eyelids, Mollie can see two finches fighting over something on the windowsill. Normally, she’d just be getting in at this hour, back when she was still a DJ, but Vaughn left the bed more than a half hour before and Mollie missed the hard ridges of his body against her.
She hears him outside the door, speaking to someone who clearly makes him unhappy and when she hears him shout “Fine, fine, I’ll do it” a sudden well of worry crawls up her throat. She’s never heard Vaughn yell like that, not when he was conscious, and Mollie wonders if this has something to do with last night or his sister. Or both.
The doorknob twists slowly, and Mollie pulls the covers over her naked shoulders, not yet ready to end her sated half-sleep. If she leaves this bed, the buzz will end. She’ll wake and Vaughn will tell her they have to return to reality. She doesn’t want to go back, not just yet. She doesn’t want to hole up in some hotel room with her Marine sleeping on the sofa. She doesn’t want to hear the endless questions her friends will have; they’ll expect details on where she’s been and why she needed to speak to her father so suddenly.
A dip on the mattress and Vaughn rustles her shoulder. “Mollie.” The worry expands with the sound of his voice. She doesn’t like how clipped his tone is, how distant. “We have to get going.”
Another nudge and she turns over, pulling the covers with her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He answers too quickly and doesn’t look her in the eyes. Mollie reaches for him, manages to touch his arm, but then Vaughn pulls back, stands at the foot of the bed. “Viv wants us back today. The detectives investigating your robbery are asking questions. She doesn’t like how thorough they’re being.”
“Isn’t that their job?” When she slips from the bed, naked, not bothering to cover herself quickly enough, Vaughn stares at her, eyes hungry, raking over her body.
He blinks, catches her eye as though he’s just remembered that she asked him a question. “It is, but Viv believes there are moles in the department. She has a guy on the inside and he told her they’d been asking about you.”
“Asking what?” Mollie’s temper flares when she moves to her suitcase and Vaughn turns from her. I don’t need this shit right now.
“I’m not sure, but she wants us to go into the precinct in Cavanagh. Try to feel out the detectives. They, uh, left a message for you on your phone.” He lifts Mollie’s phone toward her, but still wouldn’t look at her.
“You snooped in my phone?”
“Viv said they’d probably be trying to contact you.” Vaughn’s gaze whips to hers when she jerks her phone from his fingers.
She is dressed in khaki shorts and white tank top with lace trim on the bust, and when Vaughn looks over her outfit, quick, not focusing for too long on her body and Mollie’s irritation begins to swell. “Hey,” she says, standing in front of him, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I just think we need to get on the road.”
“Bullshit, Semper Fi.” She reaches for him again and this time when Vaughn makes to jerk out of her touch, Mollie digs her nails into his skin. “Spill it. Right freaking now. What the hell is your problem?” He opens his mouth, twisting away from her touch. “And if you say ‘nothing’ one more time, I’m gonna show you where Autumn learned to take Declan to the ground with one knee.” She pushes on his chest and Vaughn sits on the bed.
“Last night…”
“Last night? You mean last night when we changed each other’s religions?” Mollie can see the quirk of a smile moving the corners of his mouth but then he leans on his knees and looks down at the floor, erasing his humor as quickly as it came.
When he speaks to her, his gaze trains to his fingers. “It was a mistake.”
“Which time? The first? Or the three afterward?”
“Mollie, I’m serious.” He at least has the decency to glance at her when he says that.
“Well, forgive me, Sergeant, but I’m trying to figure out how you can go from touching me like a starving freaking man about to attack a juicy steak to acting like a tumble or two was the worst thing you’ve ever done.” Vaughn rubs the back of his neck and Mollie suddenly knows that this isn’t his choice. Her father, his sister, someone got to him and she realizes he’s a chicken shit if he lets them dictate to him how to “handle” Mollie. “Must have been one hell of a scary phone call.”
“What did you hear?” Vaughn comes off the bed so fast, Mollie barely has time to step back before he is in front of her.
“Nothing much, just you screaming in the hall.” She curls her arms around her waist and sits on the bedside table. “Was it Viv?”
“I made a promise, Mollie.”
“Yeah? Well I didn’t.” She doesn’t care that she probably looks like an idiot, that her mouth is likely stern, hard and that her eyes are lowered into a “fuck off” glare.
“Hey,” he says, touching her arm. When she jerks away from her, he follows, then he has hold of her arms, walking her toward the wall so that she is trapped under his massive arms; caught frozen in the low cast of his gaze at it works over her face. “I said it was mistake. I didn’t say it was a mistake I won’t be repeating.”
Mollie doesn’t understand him, this. Vaughn wants her, she knows that, but he is a Marine, by-the-books and needing a mission, wants to be needed. It pisses her off. They were close, so close to something special, but he won’t let go. It seems that Vaughn has constructed a wall right between them, usi
ng her safety, his job as a way to keep her just on the other side.
He has her against the wall, looming down at her with his breath hard and panting, with his inhales making his chest move against her. She knows this isn’t him angry; this is Vaughn frustrated, exasperated by their situation and she feels it too. She wants to jump in his Jeep and run away, together, far from the danger that lurks, from her father, from whoever it is that is helping Vaughn to construct that damn wall.
“I have to protect you. I have to keep you safe and I can’t do that if all I’m thinking about is being inside you and I want to, Mollie. That’s what I want, to be inside you, have you around me. But right now I can’t let what I want cloud what I need and if that means I keep my hands off of you, just for now, then I’ll do it. You have to understand that.”
The mission, it’s all comes down to the mission and Mollie hates it, hates that someone else’s choices are keeping her from what she wants most. The anger bubbling in her chest is irrational, stupid, but Vaughn is the only one here, the only one she can lash out at. “I don’t have to do a fucking thing but breathe in and out and stay clear of the assholes trying to kill me.” Vaughn steps back when she pushes against him, threatening him with a finger on his chest. “Everything else is fair game.”
He pushes her finger away, gripping it in his fist. “You can be pissed at me. You can hate me, but I won’t touch you again until I know you’re safe.“ Mollie has learned Vaughn’s looks in the short weeks they’ve known each other. She know when he is teasing, when his eyes move over her face and land on her mouth, just the way they are now. She can tell with that one expression that he is firm, determined to push away what he wants for what she needs: protection. His large fingers touch her jaw and he moves her face toward him, mouths a whisper apart. “Even if it kills me, I’ll keep you safe.”
He kisses her, lips coming down to hers until she thinks bruises will appear, but Mollie knows this is a small, fierce way for him to tell her they are not done; that the goodbye is only temporary. Still, that stubborn Malone temper won’t let her arch into him or moan at the pressure of his lips, his tongue against her. It would be too much of a loss of control, the one thing she wants Vaughn to do. And she can’ take that, not anymore, his up-and-down, ‘I want you… I don’t want you’ dynamic of their relationship so far. He holds so tightly to his control, to his incessant need to do what he thinks is right, no matter if that “rightness” keeps her at arm’s length. It’s that surrender of control that Vaughn seems adamant not to release. Finally, she pushes him back, keeping her hand flat on his chest to hold him off.
“That’s fine, Vaughn. I get it.” Mollie descends on her dirty clothing, scattered around the room. She knows she is ranting, likely looks a bit unhinged, but she’s too angry, too focused on throwing her clothes into her suitcase to care.
“Just like that? No argument at all?”
“Yep. Just like that.” She picks up the bottle of Jack, careful not to touch Vaughn as she reaches for it. “Besides, why the hell would I wanna keep doing some guy who clearly can’t think for himself?” Her suitcase closes with a snap, but it is forgotten when Vaughn’s eyes flash, fire and anger working between those narrowed lids and the grim frown of anger pulling down his mouth makes her retreat.
“What did you say?”
Despite his intimidating stature, Mollie isn’t scared. She’s dealt with burly alpha men her whole life. Besides, she knows Vaughn would never hurt her. Not in anger, anyway. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I not speak loudly enough? I said…”
He rushes her, pins her to the wall again and Mollie has to close her eyes when his hot breath moves down her face. A tight grip on her hands, brought over her head and she is instantly wet. “Get this straight, I do think for myself. I am thinking for myself and when your father and my sister agree that anything other than professional between us puts your life in danger, I’m inclined to agree with them. What happens if all that shit in my head makes me careless, if thinking about the way you taste, the way you feel, knocks me off my guard? And I don’t need anyone making me feel like shit for doing the right thing, least of all a spoiled, foul-mouthed little girl.”
Mollie wishes he’d slapped her. That might hurt less. She flinches at his words and though she knows he is pissed, that’s she’s likely pushed him into saying something he didn’t mean, Vaughn still loosens his grip on her to allow her to break free from him.
She lifts her chin, moves away from the wall, from him and the apology she knows is working from his throat. “Then let’s go. I have a life to get back to. Other kiddies on the playground who require my assistance.”
“Mollie, stop it…”
“No, it’s fine. You’re right. You have a job to do.” She picks up her bag, pulls it over her shoulder, rubbing her cheek against her shirt to cover the quick tears that have fallen on her face. When Vaughn tries to take the suitcase from her, she moves away, out of his touch. “Despite what you might think of me, I’m not simple. I caught your meaning loud and clear.”
TWELVE
Detective Ryan is former military; at least, that’s what Vaughn whispered to Mollie when they saw the man on the phone as they waited outside his office. She didn’t respond to his comment. She didn’t really care if the cop was a Purple Heart winning hero who took out a hundred insurgents with a toothpick and a wicked left hook. She did not want to be here.
Everyone in the precinct had been nice enough. Mollie thinks she even spotted the cop who took her statement the night of her burglary. She couldn’t be sure. Bottom line for her: they are all cops and hence, the enemy. She can hear her father’s nagging voice in her head, a constant mantra that she still couldn’t shake all these years later: “we don’t trust cops, Mimi and we damn sure don’t talk to them.” She wonders if Viv had told her father she was sending his daughter into the lion’s den. She thought if he knew, he’d have a fit, but maybe his opinions had changed over the years. Maybe, since he was working with the other side of the law he’d always tried to avoid, that he wouldn’t mind so much her being here, foot shaking, gaze working side to side. He’s been on the inside surrounded by cop-types for ten years. Nope, he’d still mind.
Her hands would not unclench, her back would not relax. Vaughn sits too close to her, keeps looking too frequently at her face. Why, she doesn’t know. He is the one pulling away from her. He is the one following orders like a good Marine. When he stretches his arm over the back of her chair, something he did too often, Mollie leans forward and glares at him. She looks down the hallway, then into Ryan’s window across from them and when she sits back against her seat, Vaughn’s arm is not there.
Fine. Whatever. Cool, Semper Fi.
“Ms. Malone?” Both Vaughn and Mollie stand when Ryan opens his door and calls her name.
“That’s me.” She walks in front of Vaughn, arms held in a curl around her waist as they follow the detective into his office, then she stands by the chair he motions her toward in front of his cluttered desk. There are endless stacks of files all over the metal surface and two empty paper coffee cups that are stacked inside each other. There is a black suit jacket on the chair he wants her to sit in, and Mollie picks it up, catching a whiff of cologne, a scent she always finds delicious.
“Sorry about that,” Ryan says, taking the jacket from her. “Please, sit.” He turns, nearly walks into Vaughn when he tries to shut the door. “And you are?”
“Staying.” Vaughn doesn’t bother to explain and instead sits next to Mollie, though he does keep his arm from moving behind her.
“Okay.” Ryan pushes back his chair and digs through the files, flipping pages back, shuffling manila folders until he comes to a file in the middle of worn pages. Mollie spots her name on the visible tab and her arms curl tighter. As Ryan opens the file and his eyes move down the page as he reads, Mollie notices that the detective is young, likely pushing thirty, maybe a little over that. He has light brown hair and bright green eyes that nearly disappe
ar when he smiles. Ryan isn’t like the other cops Mollie has met either; she can see he is very fit with wide shoulders and thick forearms against the rolled up long sleeve shirt he wears. His tie is green, and makes the color in his eyes pop. “So the robbery occurred three weeks ago, correct?” When he looks up at Mollie, he smiles, nothing that makes her think he is flirting, but it is a friendly gesture that has Mollie relaxing somewhat.
“It was 15 June at 1900 hours. Two suspects, one who burglarized her apartment, the other knocked her out.” Vaughn’s voice grates on Mollie’s nerves. Being her bodyguard is one thing. Speaking for her? No. That won’t work.
“I’m sorry, who are you to Ms. Malone?” Ryan’s voice isn’t sharp and he isn’t being rude, but Mollie can tell that the detective is a bit annoyed that Vaughn has taken it upon himself to answer him.
“Sergeant Vaughn Winchester. I am Ms. Malone’s… um, companion.”
Ryan leans back in his chair and throws his pen onto the desk. “So, is Ms. Malone capable of speech or is that a companion’s job?”
Vaughn stretches his arm, flexing his bicep as he moves, again, behind Mollie’s chair. “She can speak. But, to be honest, detective, you didn’t ask her anything that isn’t in that file, I’m sure.”
Oh God, Mollie thought. Pissing contest.
“There’s a good many things we can learn from the victim’s statement Mr. Winchester.” Ryan scribbles something on the file, flips a few pages and then looks back up at Vaughn. “Were you present at the robbery?”
