"You need to hire a good lawyer, Miss Kendall," he says after a moment's hesitation, giving no hint as to whether he believes me or not.
A soft, bitter laugh breaks from my lips. "How am I supposed to hire a lawyer? I can barely afford my rent most months, and I can't teach while I'm under investigation." I glance over at him, wiping away a stray tear. I've already cried in front of this man far too much. "You're telling me that someone I know, someone I trusted, is responsible for using my identity to hurt a kid, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it."
He pulls up outside of my building and puts the car in park before turning to look at me. "Why can't you afford your rent?" he asks, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
I laugh again, my disbelief obvious. "Do you know how much it costs to live in San Francisco, Detective? Between rent, utilities, and necessities like food, I barely make enough teaching to scrape by here. And I'm still paying off my dad's medical bills and my student loans, so what extra I bring in singing goes to paying off those debts."
"Then why stay here? You could teach anywhere."
"Because my kids need me," I whisper, unlatching my seatbelt.
"Kids?" One of his brows shoots upward again.
"My students. People move to San Francisco to live the high life, not to teach, especially not at one of the worst performing schools in the state."
"But not you," he says, the words so soft, I have to strain to catch them.
"Most schools weren't lining up to hire a former fashion model straight out of college. I wanted to make a difference, and Bryan Gleeson was willing to take a chance on me." And now I'm on the verge of being charged with manslaughter. Sighing, I push the car door open and climb to my feet.
"Thanks for the ride," I mumble and grab my laptop before turning and hurrying up the sidewalk. Gentle gusts of air blow in from the bay, drying the tears on my cheeks, but more fall to replace them. My hands are shaking so badly, I can't even get my key in the door.
"Here, let me," Detective Lewis says, materializing beside me.
I jump, startled at his presence when I didn't even hear him exit the vehicle. Before I can tell him I'm fine, he wraps his hand around mine, stilling the shaking and sending a powerful jolt through me. I immediately drop my gaze to our hands, noticing the way his engulfs mine, so much bigger, and so much warmer. Even though he's holding me gently, his fingers are rough to the touch, calloused.
"What―?"
His thumb rubs slowly across my knuckles.
My gaze flies to him to find his eyes locked on our hands. I'm thrown off-balance by his expression―like he can't look away from the sight of his darker skin on mine―by the way he smells, and by the heat unfurling in my belly.
The overwhelming desire to throw myself at him and let him ease the ache currently gnawing at my heart rushes through me. For a split second, I don't even care that he thinks I'm the equivalent of a murderer. I just want him to make me forget.
What am I doing?
I jerk backward, pulling my hand quickly from his.
My heart slams against my ribcage in a frenetic beat as he clears his throat and shakes his head slightly as if to clear it. Without a word, he inserts the key into the lock and pulls the door open, standing aside for me to enter.
"Um, thanks again," I say, my voice shaking. Ducking my head, I hurry toward the stairs.
"Miss Kendall," he calls from behind me.
I don't turn around, instead jogging up the stairs, my laptop bouncing against my hip with each step. I just want to get inside before I do something completely stupid. His opinion matters to me for some reason, and he already thinks the worse. I don't want to give him more incentive to drag me off to jail.
He seems to have other plans.
I hear him following me, his steps steady as he calls my name.
The sound sends panic thrumming through me. I pretend I don't hear him and keep going, quickly racing away, praying he gives up and goes back to his car. I burst out of the stairwell on the fourth floor, breathing heavily. Hurrying toward my door, I reach into my pocket for my keys. Except I don't have them.
He does.
"Why me?" I groan, dropping my head to the door as defeat courses through me.
I'm still standing there when he steps up behind me less than a minute later, so close the heat of his body scorches me. A shiver rolls through my body at the feel of his warm breath blowing just inches from my neck. Fine strands of my hair shift with each exhalation from his lips.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to run from a cop?" he asks, his voice pitched low. He doesn't sound angry though. He sounds…turned on. Before I can react, he cages me in with his arms, one resting on the doorframe beside my head while he unlocks the door for me with the other. He leans in, so close I can feel his lips shaping his next words against my ear. "Do that again and you won't be able to sit down for a week, kitten."
A whimper rolls from my lips, heat blasting through me at his threat. My core clenches, my stomach contracting.
I spin around to face him, banging the back of my head against the doorframe in the process.
His eyes are on fire, lust and frustration turning them a stormy gray.
"I―"
"Inside," he commands, leaving no room for argument in that single word.
I swallow convulsively as he pushes the door open and backs me inside, stalking me.
I have no idea what he's going to do when the door closes behind him. Spank me? Fuck me?
A case of nerves―or overpowering desire―makes me tremble.
He notices. Something flares in his gaze, that same wicked something that drew me in at Mitch's and again at the Red Room. That naughty, bossy bastard who knows exactly how to bring a girl to her knees. The one who knows precisely how far to push to make her beg for it, and how much pleasure she can handle before she breaks. That look should be illegal. He hasn't even touched me and I think I'm going to come.
Sweet Jesus.
I back away another step and then another, eyeing him warily as I try to decide if I should make a run for it and pray like I hell I get a door locked between us before he catches me, or if I should stay right where I am and let him show me all those filthy things that glint in his eye tells me he's so, so willing to deliver.
"Stop," he says, kicking the door to my apartment closed.
I immediately stop walking backward and drop my gaze to the floor. The laptop bag in my hand goes with it, falling with a dull thud to the carpeting beside my feet.
Detective Lewis strides toward me, barely making a sound, or maybe he's stomping and I just can't hear him over the pounding of my heart. He stops in front of me and wraps his hand around the side of my neck, tilting my chin up until my gaze meets his.
"You're a submissive little thing, aren't you?" he asks.
Submissive?
What?
"I'm not…"
He must see the shock on my face because his eyes widen and then that wicked smirk tips the corners of his lips up. The dark, smooth sound of his laugh rips through me, exactly like it did on the phone the other day. His finger sweeps across my bottom lip.
"Oh, kitten, you are definitely submissive," he says, flashing me that dimple.
"I'm―"
He cocks a brow and I instantly stop talking.
Okay, so maybe I am a little submissive. Just a tiny bit.
"Your mouth drives me crazy," he mumbles, running his thumb over my lip again. I think he's talking to himself more than me this time, his gaze distracted, following the path his finger takes. "I can't stop thinking about getting in there. Bet those lips would feel like velvet around my cock, wouldn't they?"
Those murmured, filthy words pull a low moan from somewhere deep inside. I can't look away from him. The heat in his gaze, the way his lips move as they shape each syllable, and the sight of his pulse thrumming in his throat…it's almost hypnotic, ensnaring me. I can't drag myself away from him. I don't want to pull away.
&nbs
p; "Didn't expect you to be able to sing like a fucking goddess. Christ, that voice, kitten. And then you stood up there and called me out in front of everyone for staring at you? Like I could look away. Like anyone could. Not gonna fuck you though," he mutters. "Not yet. Just need a taste before I help you…"
Before I can fully process the desire to cry out in disappointment over his decision not to fuck me, or ask what he means by 'help me', his mouth is on mine. After one moment of relief for the mouthwash and breath mints he had tucked away in his car, my brain ceases to function.
He kisses me like he can't get enough, his lips sweeping across mine in gentle brushes before an animalistic groan vibrates in his throat and he goes deeper. His tongue plunges into my mouth to dance across mine as he pulls me closer, one hand tangled in my hair to angle my head, the other on my ass, lifting me into him.
I cry out when he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. The slight sting left behind has me thrusting my hands into his hair as I try to climb his muscular body. His scent is all around me, and it's good. God, he smells delicious, like heat and liquid sex.
"Knew it," he mumbles against my lips. "Fucking knew you'd go wild as soon as I had my hands on you."
He shifts against me and his erection presses into my stomach. He's massive, thick and hard as a rock. My entire body feels like it is on fire as he goes deeper again. Our tongues dance together before breaking apart and then coming together again. He holds me close to his body, keeping me in place with that hand in my hair as he palms my ass, kneading and massaging.
He's hard everywhere, his body firm and unyielding as muscles bunch and ripple with each movement he makes. The silk of his tie is cool against my overheated skin, the fabric of his suit as soft as Egyptian cotton.
"Can't wait to get in here too," he mutters and cups my pussy in the palm of his hand.
My nails dig into his scalp as a keening cry breaks from my lips, an orgasm bursting to life out of nowhere, overtaking me. Heat spirals out from my center, flooding through me in a soft wash. I moan and tremble my way through it, so far gone, I can't stop myself from grinding against his palm, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure I can.
"Fuck, kitten," he groans loudly against my mouth before once again sweeping his lips across mine in gentle passes. He's breathing hard, his heart pounding against mine. Those sweet, sensual little pecks go on for what feels like an eternity as he brings me slowly back down to earth, holding me securely in his arms.
When I'm able to breathe again, I don't want to open my eyes and face reality, so I don't. Instead, I nuzzle my face into his throat and hum, sated for the first time since he smirked at me from that dark corner at Mitch's. He holds me tightly as his heart rate slows and steadies.
"Fucking perfect," he mutters into my hair, and then he's sweeping me off my feet.
I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me across the living room like I weigh nothing at all. He doesn't even break a sweat. He lays me out on the sofa, and I expect him to follow me down and continue where he left off, but he doesn't. He presses his lips to my crown, and then his heat is gone.
I manage to pull my eyes open in time to see him striding across the room toward the front door. Confusion funnels through me.
He's leaving? Just like that?
"What―? I―?"
He shoots me a look over his shoulder. With his cheeks flushed with arousal and his eyes dark, he looks like sin. The words of protest die in my throat. I lick my lips, and I can still taste him on them. My heart rolls, my stomach bottoming out. I lift my fingers to my face, pressing them against my swollen lips as if doing so will lock his taste in and keep it there.
Desire flares brighter in his eyes as he watches me. He exhales a ragged breath and shakes his head, smiling.
"Behave," he mutters, and then he's gone.
chapter six
black widow
"I'm coming!" I yell, stumbling through my apartment while rubbing my eyes. It's barely even light outside, and I tossed and turned all night, my mind refusing to shut off and stop analyzing what happened between me and Detective Lewis before he walked away yesterday afternoon. I replayed the scene a thousand times after he left, becoming more and more aroused each time. Nothing helped ease the ache.
Why did he walk away?
Why did he kiss me in the first place?
I don't know the answer to either of those questions and they're driving me insane.
The loud rapping on the door comes again as I unlatch the chain.
"Hold your freaking horses!" I shout, irritated to be woken up when I only just fell asleep a couple of hours ago.
Whoever is on the other side of the door stops pounding long enough for me to unlock the deadbolt and fling it open.
"Morning," Detective Lewis says, leaning against the doorjamb with a cup of coffee in each hand and a smirk on his face. He's dressed casually today, in jeans and a dark t-shirt. His tattoos once again peek from beneath his sleeves. He's foregone shaving. The scruff on his face makes him even hotter than usual. He's all rough and rugged, and what is he doing here?
"What are you doing here?"
He throws his head back and laughs at me, the wicked sound making my belly flip.
His laugh is incredible.
Before I can decide if I'm offended he's laughing at me, confused that he's here, or happy to see him again, he straightens up and holds out a cup of coffee like a peace offering.
"Wasn't sure how you take it," he says, his hungry gaze running up and down my body. Desire flares in his eyes as he takes in my tank top and tiny shorts, turning them that same dark, stormy gray from yesterday. "But I'm thinking you got about as much sleep as I did last night, so it's strong."
I take the proffered coffee, gaping at him.
"You gonna invite me in?" He cocks a brow at me, smirking again.
"Didn't think I needed to," I grumble, lifting the cup to my nose and inhaling the rich scent. "You didn't wait around for an invite yesterday."
He narrows his eyes on me, clearly not amused by the sarcastic edge to my comment, but I'm not nearly awake enough to heed the warning inherent in that look.
"Sure, Detective Lewis," I enthuse loudly, holding the door open wide for him and rolling my eyes. "Come on in."
He steps inside, crowding me even though there's plenty of room for him to go around me. My nipples immediately pucker as his scent wraps around me. God, why does he have to smell so divine? I can't deal with him smelling that good this early in the morning, especially not with those tattoos on display.
He crowds closer, until he's right up in my personal space, his breath washing across the side of my neck. "Dreamed about that smart mouth all night," he mutters right beside my ear. "So don't fuck with me if you don't want me giving you something to fill it with, kitten."
Jesus. That mouth. That filthy, sexy mouth.
A shiver rolls down my spine, and a little whimper escapes my lips.
He hums as if he's satisfied by my reaction and steps away, giving me room to pull the door closed. I take a moment to turn the deadbolt, trying to marshal my thoughts before I face him again.
What is he doing here?
And why is he so fascinated with my mouth and filling it?
"Nice place," he murmurs when I turn to face him.
I just stand there, inhaling the scent of fresh, hot coffee and watching him over the rim of the cup as he takes in my space. My apartment isn't large by any means and I can't exactly afford designer anything, but I'm proud of what I've managed to do with the place. While small, the living room is inviting, the large windows covered with thick curtains I keep flung wide open most of the year, allowing natural light to flood into the room. The dark furniture is deep and comfortable, the carpeting plush. Photographs of me and Erin, my family, and a few more artsy shots of San Francisco, as well as artwork from my students, adorn the walls and shelves scattered throughout the room.
The place looks lived in
and cozy instead of cramped and crowded. Detective Lewis wanders around, examining my photos as he sips his coffee. He looks comfortable here, at ease. And he's completely overwhelming me.
"Seriously, why are you here, Detective Lewis?" I ask, watching him carefully scrutinize a photograph of me and my sister―one of the last ones we took together before she and my mom died in the car wreck that paralyzed my father. With our arms looped around each other and big, happy smiles on our faces, it's hard to tell that we were two years apart.
He replaces the photo on the shelf and turns slowly to face me, that one brow cocked again. "I know what you look like getting off on my hand, kitten. Call me Cam."
I blanch, sloshing hot coffee all over my hand. It burns like fire. Hissing, I fling it off, managing to splatter it all over my tank top in the process.
Detective Lewis―Cam―shakes his head, smirking at me again.
"What?" I snap, setting the coffee cup down before I do even more damage, and slam my hands down on my hips to glare at him. It's early. I'm tired. And he's pissing me off and confusing me in turns. "Stop laughing at me!"
He chuckles, the sound rolling over me, causing my nipples to harden again. I throw my hands up in the air and stomp toward my bedroom to change when his gaze immediately drops to my chest, his eyes darkening. He snags me around the waist as I try to pass him, jerking my body into his. I try to push him off, but trying to move him is like trying to move a mountain. He's hard all over, easily holding me captive against him.
I growl and briefly consider kicking him.
"Stop fighting me, kitten," he murmurs against my ear, nipping my skin with his teeth and then soothing the sting with a flick of his tongue. His scruff feels heavenly against my sensitive skin.
"What is your game?" I demand, giving up and going limp in his arms. My voice trembles, though I'm not sure exactly why I feel like crying. I think he's toying with me, and I don't like the way that thought grinds in my chest, making my heart ache. "What do you want from me?"
All Over You (All Falls Down #3) Page 6
