Anticipation
A Heart & Handcuffs Anthology
Megan Mitcham
Lindsay Cross
Copyright Warning
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The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Published by MM Publishing LLC
Edited by Lacey Thacker
Cover Design by Deranged Doctor Designs
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Anticipation All Rights Are Reserved. Copyright 2015 by Megan Mitcham
First electronic publication: May 2015
Digital ISBN: 978-1-941899-12-0
Introduction
CLIMAX
BY
MEGAN MITCHAM
Chapter 1
Lindley glowered at the dick. How many times had it gotten her off? Once a day faithfully for the last three months. The three-speed pliable pink silicone worked every single time. It wasn’t the vibrator’s fault she’d stopped utilizing it to sate her desire. Nope, that was all her. In a misguided flash of genius she’d decided to cease self-pleasuring in hopes her husband would see her desperation and take up his slack.
Their slack, really.
Her clit pulsed in rebellion. She scissored her legs, frantic to stem the aching need. The silky sheets caressed her more intimately than Fox had in far too long. Her lips swelled from the misinterpreted contact. Hell, these days, blotting after a pee was like negotiating a live explosive. One false move and her lady boner reared its tiny head. And always at the most inappropriate times.
She dragged her gaze from the guaranteed orgasm and glanced at the clock’s mocking red numbers. Ten-thirty-eight p.m. Lindley shoved the nightstand drawer closed so hard the lamp on top shook. A long huff heated her open mouth. She folded her arms and flounced back against the pillows.
The emerald-green teddy plumped her already-ample rack. Her crossed arms nearly shoved the things to her chin.
And he wasn’t here to see.
Lindley shut her eyes against the sting of emotion. Curse it all, but Brendan Fox’s face stained her lids. What a handsome bastard. Boyish dimples balanced a jaw sturdy enough to crack bone. Intense green eyes countered a supple mouth. She sighed.
She’d forgone orgasms for two weeks because she wanted Fox to give them to her. But the man with the thick, hot cock she needed shoved so deep inside her she’d choke … was late. As usual.
A shrill scream sliced through the electronic beat of Usher’s intro to Climax. The woman’s Hollywood horror-film screech built to a crescendo and then died as quickly as it had started.
“Gah. I want to climax,” she said to the air.
Lindley rolled onto her side and grabbed her phone before the text message alerted again. If she heard it again, she might just belt a shriek of her own. The screen lit and the bubble revealed her father-in-law, not Fox, had sent a message. She swiped the screen and read.
Me and the boys are finally settled around the campfire. Don’t you worry little lady. I’ve rationed them to one whiskey apiece. You and Bren have fun. Your kids are in good hands. And if you two want to give me a granddaughter as payment for the weekend, I won’t protest.
She pressed the button to dictate a response. “I can’t make a baby by myself. And besides, I’m too old to think about having another one.” Her index finger stabbed the delete button. She tried again. “I suppose whiskey is a safer habit than women. You kids be safe. And you’ll have better luck getting another grandchild out of your other son than you will me and Fox.” Send.
Her phone howled almost immediately.
I’ll have better luck living forever than getting Wes to settle down and you know it.
Lindley thought to respond, but the soulful lyrics caught her attention.
* * *
Going nowhere fast
We’ve reached a climax
We’re together, now we’re undone.
Won’t commit so we choose to
* * *
Run away, do we separate
Don’t wanna give in
So we both gave up
Can’t take it back
It’s too late we’ve reached the climax, climax
* * *
Well, when she’d put the song on her sex-my-man-up playlist those weren’t the lyrics she’d expected. She’d been thinking it was more a sure-fire get-off song like Nice and Slow. But boy, didn’t this one match their situation far more accurately.
Up until a few months ago, they’d been one of those couples that couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Not in the gross get-a-room way. After all, they had ten and thirteen year-old boys who freaked if they shared a mouth-to-mouth kiss in public. But they’d always held hands, touched feet, made eye contact that sometimes got them shooed out of the room.
Every year of marriage had only amped their passion. Give them a locked bedroom door and they could make fireworks. Silent but incendiary blasts.
Up until a few months ago.
Suddenly too irritated to carry out the seduction scene she’d so elaborately planned, Lindley stood to extinguish the one-hundred candles she’d lit along the path to their bed. Damn good thing she’d bought the snuffer to go with the obscene amount of wax and glass holders.
As she walked along, starving the flames of oxygen, she also collected the series of four-by-four prints that started at the top of the gently spiraling stairs. Lindley had commissioned her best friend and famed photographer Lacey Richelieu to shoot them on her last visit home. On the bottom step she stopped and shuffled through the artful black and whites in the order Fox should have seen them.
One. She sat at the breakfast table. Steam rose off a mug of coffee. A quarter-folded New York Times rested loosely in her left hand. Her hair sat atop her head in a sculpted bun. Black-rimmed glasses set low on the bridge of her nose. One of Fox’s white shirts covered her chest, his tie cinched tightly around the collar. Her eyes bore into the camera. The vibrant red of her parted lips translated to black in the classic art medium, matching the power tie.
Two. The paper lay strewn across the table, forgotten. Her head arched. The point of her chin angled toward the sky. Her knuckles were white from her grip on the tie spooled around her hand. Tension held it taut from her neck to her solid hold. Sunlight streamed through the shot. It hit just so, illuminating the erect bud of her nipple prodding the smooth press of the shirt.
Three. A milky swath of skin created a V at the center of the picture. The tie looped over her shoulder. The shirt created a perfect frame in the tight shot. The bulging rounds of her breasts created a dark hue in the valley between them. Primly manicured nails atop her short, narrow fingers toyed with the next button.
Four. Gentle curls caressed the tops of her shoulders and collarbone. The seam of buttons hung off her right arm, an arm that extended toward the junction of her thighs. It disappeared at the crook of her elbow behind the black column table. Her breasts laid bare
, save for a tiny strip of white covering her left nipple and devious fingers hiding her right in an expert pinch. Her mouth gaped. Her lids hung low. Long lashes rested on her cheek.
“Damn,” Lindley breathed.
Her body hummed with renewed excitement.
She didn’t flip to the final shot. If she did she’d be on her ass with her legs spread from banister to wall, coaxing that thrill to a zealous pitch. The final step onto the hardwood floor threatened to crumble her resolve. Her slick flesh rubbed between her thighs. She grabbed the carved ball at the end of the staircase and gasped.
The faint rattle of the garage door lifting shocked her back to reality.
“Finally, he’s home.” She sighed.
Lindley held fast to the railing and focused on the eloquent speech she’d worked up yesterday for when Fox saw her propped on her knees in the center of their bed. But with the pounding of her heart she couldn’t hear the thought-out words of seduction.
“You can wing it.”
The door to the kitchen opened and then closed. “Honey…” Brendan’s forceful baritone boomed from the entry. It seeped through her skin and right to her marrow.
She drew a deep breath, and then another. “In here.”
His heavy footsteps allowed her to track his movement from the sidebar by the door, where he put his coat and keys. He thumped to the refrigerator like he always did and grabbed a handful of grapes she kept in a bowl on the bottom shelf. Next he stalled at the sink for a gulp from the glass he kept next to the basin. The crystal clanked against the marble countertop.
Lindley shoved her hands behind her back and loved the way the posture and the teddy lifted her breast. Her nipples beaded in preparation for his touch, puckering the sleek material.
The grating trill of his phone sliced through her desire and their home.
Is nothing sacred? Not even his weekend off after working nearly a month solid? Don’t answer it. Don’t answer it, please.
His not-so-muffled curse detonated in the kitchen, followed by, “This better be—”
Her shoulders slumped. They wouldn’t have called him unless this was an emergency. Lindley knew it, and still it nearly stole her will to fight for their passion. Their marriage and love could be maintained with an occasional stolen glance. But their sexual intensity hung by a raveling thread.
Tears gathered. The high rectangle of their front door and the windows framing it distorted to a wavy fun-house attractions. When the clop of his shoes drew nearer she suck back the emotion and steeled herself.
His frame blocked the light flooding the foyer. It cast a monstrous shadow that prodded the embers of her lust. She swallowed and shifted her gaze. Rumpled waves of onyx hair shown on the top of his head. His eyes hid in the darkness, but his attention centered on her. The force of it robbed her lungs of air.
“Mother fuck.” Fox growled the words.
A small shard of hope plumed. If she elicited that reaction from him, all wasn’t lost.
“What’d you say?” Fox’s chin dropped. He glared at his balled fist. Back and forth his head shook. “I was just godammned there. How did he do it? Fuck, when?”
The front of his overcoat flapped with every expanse and contraction of his wide chest. His gold badge and the stars on his collar flashed in the low light. The neck of his loosened black tie hung low around his neck. He flattened his fist and waved it in the air. “I know you can’t. I’ll be there in ten.”
Fox nodded. His head raised. Their gazes met in the murkiness of their situation. His mouth slacked for a beat. “Make that fifteen.” The muscles in his jaw flexed, showing off an impressive shadow of hair. “We’ll get it back because we know who the hell took it. Put out the APB on White and James.” His nostrils flared. “Quit talking and do it.”
Lindley couldn't tell if any of those former telltale signs of Fox’s were arousal or anger. These days they seemed almost one in the same. So, she climbed onto the bottom step, bringing her body closer to even with his six feet four inches, and then stilled, watching him.
He shoved the phone into his coat pocket and stalked forward. His gaze dragged up her legs, skirted the round of her hips, dipped at her waist, curved at her breasts, and finally landed on her face. The breath stalled in the back of her throat.
Both his hands formed fists and his gaze eclipsed to black. “I came home with good news…now it’s all shot to shit.” In the light, a web of creases around his eyes tightened. “Lindley, you look amazing.”
She didn’t want words. She wanted action. She needed him to rip the teddy off her body and pound her into the steps. “Thank you,” she whispered.
In the suspended silence, Fox’s phone trilled. It may as well have been a fatal gunshot to the heart. She recoiled from the impact.
“I’m sorry. I have to take this.” His mouth clenched, accentuating the sexy line of his jaw. He ripped the phone from his pocket. “What?” A frantic voice murmured on the other end. “Apparent cause of death?” His breath hitched. “What caliber?”
She stiffened.
Not a body. Not tonight.
About the time Fox disconnected, the chorus for Drowning Pool’s Bodies drifted down the stairs from her phone. Fox’s gaze met hers.
“Who died?”
“I’ll explain when we get there.”
Lindley shoved the pictures at his chest. His big hand settled beneath them just before she released her hold and turned. She stomped up the steps, making sure to swing her hips as much as she possibly could.
“Don’t wait for me. I have to get dressed.” She peeled the nighty off and crooked the tiny straps over her fingers.
Fox cursed again.
A devious smile curled her lips.
Chapter 2
Fox slammed the door of his SUV in the parking garage of the Greenwich Public Safety Complex. He banked the need to open it and hurl it shut again and again, and headed for the evidence room. Mother fucker. He still had a boner the size of a stretch limousine. All he wanted to do tonight was get balls deep inside his wife. It had been too damn long. It was nobody’s fault.
No, it was White’s and James’…and his.
Betrayal cut deep. Fox jabbed the button for the elevator and folded his arms to keep the bleeding at bay. The car arrived and he stepped inside. He pressed the button for the basement. As the car descended, his stiffy and mood sank with it.
Thankfully he never worried about marital treachery. No matter how bad their sex life, Fox had no doubt their love and commitment would endure. Lindley’s tenacity matched his own. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her. That, and her sweet smile, salute-worthy rack, and ability to make him fall to his knees and eat her out with a bat of her long lashes.
Until a few months ago.
Yellow crime-scene tape cordoned off the exit. He ducked under the flimsy barrier. A sea of black clogged the corridor. Luckily, his people kept their cool and only a crime-scene tech in a white cotton suit and one of the detectives on the case stood behind the bulletproof glass and door.
“Where’s Dex, the night-shift guard?” Fox barked.
The small crowd shifted. Tommy, his second in command, cupped his hands to the metal door of a one-person bathroom. He bracketed his mouth and hollered, “I’ll let him know.” His best friend turned around. Dark circles that hadn’t marred the man’s face the day before clouded his normally upbeat disposition. “Dex said forget the door jack and leave him in there. He’s too embarrassed to show his face around here anyway.”
“Why the jack?” Fox asked.
“The bastards broke off the lock slide on the inside before stuffing him in the shitter,” Tommy explained.
“Why hasn’t anyone picked the lock? You guys are a bunch of cops, not saints.” Fox shook his head and stepped closer to the door. A piece of silver protruded from the keyhole, where they’d jabbed a key into the hole and snapped it off. “Never mind.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the floor. “Dex,
stand back,” he called.
“Yes, sir,” the young guy called through the door.
Fox balled up every bit of rage, lifted his foot, and drove it, along with his two-hundred-forty pounds, just below the lock. The impact radiated up his thigh, jarring his bones.
“Chief, that’s a concreted steel frame and reinforced metal door,” someone in the throng pointed out.
“But the bolt’s only quarter-inch steel.” Sweat beaded his forehead. He reeled in and struck again. The lock gave and the door swung wide. A tiny clank sounded in the bathroom. Cheers and claps filled the hallway. Fox stepped into the bathroom and extended his hand to the young officer. “Your pride and some money aren’t worth your life, Dex. I’m sure your mom and girlfriend will agree.”
The kid wiped his hands down the front of his pants, and then accepted Fox’s hand. “But, sir, it wasn’t just some money. It was the five million we took from Chino’s crew.”
Fox bolstered his voice, so the men in the hallway could hear. “It’s just money, money we’ll recover when we find James and toss his ass behind bars with some of the pieces-of-shit he put away.” Applause erupted again. He stepped into the corridor. “But we won’t find him down here. So, let’s get to work, people.”
The mass trickled up the stairwell and onto the elevator car.
“Bet that’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” Tommy chuckled. “Show-off.”
He shook out his stiff leg. “Just because you work out like a pussy, doesn’t mean we all do.”
Tommy stiff-armed him and he shuffled several steps before catching his balance. Fox had him in fitness, but Tommy had him in bulk all day long and twice on Sunday.
“Dipshit. Go fill out some paperwork or something,” Fox scoffed.
“I will, later. You’ve given me enough to fill a fucking museum.”
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