by Lauren Layne
He alternated between wet licks and toying nips until she couldn’t take any more, and she tangled her hands in his short hair, jerking his head up to hers where she took control of the kiss, using her body weight to maneuver over him.
He let her, complying when she straddled his hips and began unbuttoning his shirt, only to hiss in frustration at the white T-shirt he wore beneath.
His smile was both playful and strained. “That’s not what you wanted? You were hoping for skin?”
In response, she narrowed her eyes, her hand sliding down over the hard line of his cock and his eyes rolled back. “Jesus.”
Maggie trailed her fingers over his long erection, her turn to torture, before she went for his belt buckle. She made fast work of his button and zipper as well. Apparently faster than he’d been expecting, because his eyes went wide in surprise when she jerked his pants down over his hips, taking his boxers with them.
“Maggie, wait. Let me—”
She didn’t wait.
She kissed the tip of his cock, tentatively at first. She’d done this before but had never really wanted to.
But with him—she wanted to—badly.
Anthony had started to lift his head off the bed, but he dropped it back with a quiet groan at the touch of her mouth, and she felt a rush of triumph along with a fierce stab of desire.
Her tongue came out to touch him, softly at first, then more confidently as his hands tangled into her hair with a muttered oath.
She loved him with her mouth, using his groans and gasps as her guide, tasting him thoroughly. His breathing grew quicker, his hands on her head gripped more firmly, his hips jerking off the bed before he made a ragged, snarling noise and pulled her mouth off him.
She whimpered in protest as she was flipped onto her back, only for all protest to scatter when his fingers slid down under the front of her pants, toying with the lace edge of her panties.
Maggie was reasonably sure her underwear wasn’t any more attractive than last time, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t even think about it, because his thumbnail was teasingly skating around the edge of her panties, getting close to what she wanted but never actually touching her.
“Please,” she said.
“Please what?” he asked, his voice all innocence.
“Touch me.”
“I thought I was.” His fingertip slipped under the fabric just barely and she gasped.
“Oh, like this?” he asked in mock befuddlement. “Is this what you wanted?”
Again with that wicked swipe of his thumb.
“Well, if you liked this, I’m wondering if you’ll like this,” he said, sliding his forefinger all the way under her panties, then sliding it in her, slick and wet.
“Oh my God.” It was all she could manage.
He withdrew his hand, tugging her pants down and off before returning his fingers to her. His eyes flickered to her face only briefly before he returned his gaze to his fingers, watching as he slid a finger back inside her, followed by another one so that he stroked her with two fingers.
Then his thumb found her clit, and Maggie cried out, deciding there was nothing more erotic than watching this man watching his hand work her over.
He replaced his thumb with his tongue, and she realized she’d been wrong. This was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced. His tongue wet and hot against her, his fingers pushing into her with the perfect rhythm.
As with the last time with him, she didn’t see it coming. Not until she was in the throes of it, her cries echoing off the walls of her small apartment, her body arching to the ceiling in the ultimate ecstasy before dropping back down in helpless wonder.
His face bordered on tender as he moved back up her body, pushing her messy hair out of her face.
“You’re…”
She looked at him through hazy eyes. “Hmm.”
“Everything,” he said quietly.
The admission took her breath away but she didn’t have time to dwell on what it might mean, because his hands were under her sweater again, pushing it up as he stroked her, quickly bringing her back to a point of breathless want.
He rolled back only long enough to shed the rest of his clothes, giving her only a second to admire his nakedness before he groaned in dismay. “Tell me you have protection.”
She scooted toward the edge of the bed, rummaging around in her nightstand until she proudly presented a box.
He took it, holding it up with lifted eyebrows. “Unopened?”
Maggie blushed. “I bought it the day after we…slept together.”
Before you decided to start ignoring me.
But she didn’t let herself dwell on the negative thought, instead choosing to take what he was offering, even if it was only right now.
She tugged her ugly sweater over her head and pulled her pants all the way off over her ankles.
He’d made quick work of the condom and she started to scoot back on the bed to make room for him, when he set a hand on her waist to pause her. Then his other hand found the other side, and he was turning her, kissing her shoulder as he rolled her onto her stomach.
“I want to see you like this,” he said hotly against her ear.
He paused, as though giving her time to protest.
Her only answer was to lift her hips, rubbing her butt against his cock and smiling when he swore and swatted her.
Then his hands were on her hips, lifting her as he nudged forward, pushing slowly at first, as though to test her readiness, before thrusting all the way.
They both groaned when he was seated fully inside her.
He reached around her, finding her hands, folding her fingers into the comforter.
And then he took her, fiercely, wonderfully, waiting until she was begging for release before reaching around and fingering her to completion at the same time he let himself come with a harsh string of profanity that oddly turned her on with its rawness.
He pulled out, resting his forehead to her back briefly before collapsing beside her on the bed.
Maggie lay on her stomach, turning her head to face him, unable to stop herself from gently laying a hand against his cheek.
He surprised her by turning his face and pressing a gentle kiss to her hand.
And sweet as the gesture was, it turned Maggie’s thoughts in a dangerous direction.
What if this wasn’t enough? What if he was right to be scared of her and her demands?
What if she did want…more?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
For the first time since she could remember, Maggie woke up to someone else making her breakfast.
And not just anyone.
A tall, broad-shouldered cop was standing in her kitchen, making eggs and bacon, from the smell of it.
Then the sleepiness wore off and she sat up groggily. She didn’t have any bacon. Or eggs.
“Did you go to the store?” Her voice sounded all croaky from sleep. And sex. Lots of sex.
He turned around, his eyes landing south of her face.
Whoops. Naked.
She dove for her sweater on the floor, belatedly aware that it was not what a savvy, confident woman would have done.
Anthony gestured with his spatula toward the laminated weekly calendar she kept on the back of her door. “Says you work the dinner shift tonight. Figured you had the day off.”
She nodded, still trying to reconcile having a handsome man in her kitchen. “Kim asked me to switch with her. But don’t deflect. Where’d the bacon and eggs come from?”
“You didn’t have anything,” he said, pouring coffee into her favorite Real Women Read Books mug, hesitating. “Black?” he asked.
“Sorry, I’m not that hardcore. There’s flavored creamer stuff in the fridge.”
He gave a rueful smile as he added some to the mug. “It feels wrong, all this time you pouring coffee for me at the diner, and I don’t even know how you like yours.”
“That’s different,” she said with a smile
as he approached the bed, mug in hand. “You pay me to know how you like yours.”
“I think I got payment last night,” he said, leaning down to kiss her, settling for her cheek when she moved her mouth away. Morning breath.
“So that’s why I get breakfast, huh?” she asked, taking a bracing sip of coffee. “I traded sexual favors for breakfast and didn’t even know it.”
She glanced at the clock and her eyes bugged out. “That’s not the time. Is it? I have to take Duchess out, poor thing…”
“Already done,” he said, returning to the stove and stirring the eggs.
Maggie glanced to her left, and sure enough, there was her dog, curled up for a late-morning nap.
She scratched her cheek as she quietly tried to take all of this in.
Captain Anthony Moretti had not only made love to her three times, but had stayed the night, then taken her dog for a walk, gone to the store, and made her breakfast.
All with the squad car presumably still parked outside.
“Who’s on duty this morning?” she asked.
“What?”
She took another sip of coffee. “My watchdogs. Who’s out there? Jonas and Corrigan?”
He took a sip of his own coffee and shrugged without turning around. “Yup.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“Yup.”
She resisted the urge to throw her mug at him. “Will it be a problem that you stayed the night?”
“As far as they know, I didn’t. They assumed that I’d shown up early again this morning to discuss the case, and I didn’t correct them.”
“And they don’t think it’s weird that you’re walking my dog?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “They probably do. But I told them I’m a dog person and can’t have one of my own because of my long hours. I’m the boss. They’re not going to argue.”
“Huh,” she said, not sure how she felt about this.
On one hand, she didn’t want him to get in trouble—didn’t want his career at stake because of her.
On the other hand, she didn’t exactly like being some dirty little secret either. She supposed some women might get off on the clandestine, secretive part of sleeping with someone you probably shouldn’t, but she wasn’t one of them.
She was a nice girl who wanted a nice guy who walked her dog. And made her breakfast. Who was kind to his mother.
Oh crap.
She wanted him. All of him. Always.
There was a better than good chance that she was falling in love with him. Might already be there. Fallen. All the way.
Oh crap.
Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.
Maggie squeezed her eyes shut in horror, relieved that he’d turned his back once again to check the bacon and couldn’t see her face. Knew that he’d read it in an instant if she wasn’t careful.
She opened her eyes again, willed herself to reevaluate.
The man had gone out of his way twice now to tell her all the ways he didn’t want a serious relationship.
Had flat out told her that a career would always come first over a woman.
Anthony had all but spelled I will never love you in big, fat neon letters.
She couldn’t be this stupid. Could she? It was just a brief moment of Crazy, brought on by the great sex, and dog walking, and the smell of bacon. It would pass.
“Hey, so,” he said, flicking off the burners on the stove and piling eggs and bacon onto two plates. “I’m off today, and you don’t have to be at work for several hours so I was thinking…”
He grabbed two forks and then walked toward her, handing her a plate before sitting on the edge of the bed.
Duchess immediately wiggled between them, planting her butt directly in the center where she’d have the best chance at reaching rogue bits of bacon.
“You were thinking…?” she said warily when he didn’t finish.
He shoveled a bite of eggs in his mouth. Chewed it slowly, but methodically.
He swallowed. “I was thinking since we have some time, I could read the rest of your book? I was left hanging last time.”
She stared at him, eggs and bacon untouched.
He wanted to read her story.
This wasn’t a phase. The man had gone and done it. He’d made her fall in love with him.
All the way.
He finally noticed her stricken expression, and he set his fork carefully on the side of his plate, shifting to face her more fully, giving her his full attention. “Everything okay? You like bacon and eggs, right? I mean I’ve only ever seen you serve them, not eat them, but—”
“No!” she said, her voice coming out all shrill. “No, I love them.”
She took a bite. Huge bite. Too big a bite, as it turned out, because it took her several seconds and a huge swallow of coffee to wash the eggs down.
“Very good,” she said.
Very good? You dork.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Mmm,” she said around a piece of bacon.
Even Duchess was looking at her strangely.
“If you don’t want to let me read your book, you don’t have to,” he said quietly.
“No, I’d…I’d like that,” she said finally.
And to her surprise, she found it was true.
She’d been terrified last time he’d read her work, but it had also been wonderfully freeing. Since then she’d even gotten the courage to sign up in an online writing community where she’d found a few critique partners to exchange work with.
But she’d always remember that he’d been the first. He’d been the first to read the early chapters; he should be the first to read the last ones as well. “Maybe a little later?”
His smile was slow and wide, as though she’d granted him a great honor.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in companionable silence. He reached for her empty plate, but she batted his hand aside, instead reaching out her hand for his. “I’ll clean.”
Anth played tug-of-war with Duchess on the bed before piling all of her pillows against the headboard and propping his back up against it to read something on his phone.
She was almost done scrubbing the egg out of the pan when he spoke again. “How’s your dad? On the mend?”
Maggie let out a little harsh laugh, although the question didn’t bother her as much as it usually did. “Out of the hospital,” she said. “He had no insurance, and as I’m sure you can imagine, the bills were…extravagant.”
He said nothing as Maggie snapped the dishtowel off the back of its hook, drying the pan with more aggression than necessary. “Oh, and he needs a lawyer. He’s made a list of attorneys with a strong track record of getting people off DUIs.”
She scrubbed at the pan harder. “The man has barely made the effort to take out his own garbage can in decades, but he finds plenty of time to devise ways to dodge a criminal charge.”
“He wants you to pay for the lawyer.” It wasn’t even a question, which bothered her all the more.
She put the pan in its proper spot before bracing her hands against the sink. Heard him come up behind her. Felt his palms, hot and strong on her shoulders as he turned her.
“You don’t have to keep doing this, Maggie.”
Her eyes watered. “I know.”
“What about your brother? Surely he can help with something.”
She laughed and wiped her nose. “He’s in Fort Lauderdale with a new girlfriend. Hasn’t answered his phone since Dad got home from the hospital.”
His thumbs ran over her cheekbones. “How does a family of such utter pricks get someone so wonderful as you? Do you take after your mom?”
Maggie licked a tear from the corner of her mouth. “I hope not. The best thing she ever did was leave. I was twelve. Came home from school, excited to tell her that I got asked to the end-of-the-year sixth-grade dance by the boy I’d liked all year, only to find her loading up her fake Louis Vuitton suitcase into the trunk of her boyfriend’s
new car. I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend.”
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“I get a Christmas card from her every year. She’s currently living in Paris with husband number four and a Pekinese named Bubbles. Her Louis Vuitton luggage is the real deal now. She’d make sure of it.”
His hands were on her arms now, rubbing up and down in kind, soothing gestures. “Promise me you won’t give Charlie a penny.”
She looked away.
“Maggie.”
“I can’t let him go to jail,” she said desperately.
“That’s exactly where he belongs. This latest DUI’s the longest in a string of many. He shouldn’t be on the road.”
She shook him off. “Said the cop.”
“Maggie, I get family loyalty. I understand it. But what has that man ever done for you other than take your money? Do you even have any money left?”
“I’ll make some,” she said defensively. “I’ll take extra shifts. I don’t need much for myself, and I can live cheaply—”
“For God’s sake, you didn’t even have eggs. You eat pie for dinner more often than not, and do you really want to be a waitress at the Darby Diner for the rest of your life?”
She turned away.
“Do you?” he pressed.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” she said, whirling back around. “I want my father not to be an alcoholic, or to at least stick with treatment for more than forty-eight hours. I want my brother to act like a man instead of a pre-teen. I want my mom to not have ditched us, and my ex to not be a con, and I wish you—”
She broke off then, catching herself.
His eyes went wary. “You wish I’d what?”
“Nothing.”
“No, there’s no nothing. You don’t get to start sentences like that and not finish them.”
“Yes, I do!” she said, feeling peevish. “This is my apartment. Mine. And this is my life. You don’t get to barge into it, demanding answers you don’t even care about.”
“I care!”
“Do you? Do you really?”
Do you care enough?
His jaw was tight and they glared at each other for several seconds before he took a step backward. “I should go.”
