by Coleen Kwan
Brody threaded his hands through her hair, drawing her down to his mouth. “Not that I’m complaining,” he murmured against her eager lips. “I’m crazy for your frisky.”
She flicked her tongue into his mouth, enjoying his greedy kisses. Her legs were still wrapped around him, her thighs squeezed against his, his groin pressing up to hers. As their kissing progressed, the bulge in his groin swelled even further.
“Abigail—” he gasped, briefly breaking off the kiss. “I think I should frisk you right now.”
“Frisk away, Detective.”
His hands got busy, pushing up her sweater and gliding over her back. With lightning speed he unclipped her bra and yanked off her sweater, tossing her clothes across the room.
“Mmm,” he groaned, his eyes going to half-mast as he concentrated on her breasts. “My God, you’re hiding some dangerous weapons…”
Oh lord, she was ready to expire from pleasure. Brody’s lips and fingers explored her mounds, one second delicate and teasing, the next greedy and rough. She loved every moment, every lick and nuzzle and nip. She tugged at his T-shirt, dying to explore his chest and return some of his favors. He obliged her by ridding himself of the T-shirt and sighed out appreciative murmurs as she licked and sucked her way over his pectorals and amazingly firm abs.
She was so busy gorging herself on him she was barely aware of him pulling off her boots, and only looked up when he began working on her woolen pants. Wow, he was a quick worker. He’d probably had plenty of practice parting women from their clothes. Still, she admired his skill as it left her no time for second thoughts.
When he hooked his fingers into the lace of her panties, she scooted a little away from him on the bed.
“Uh-uh. Shouldn’t you be catching up?” She raised her eyebrows at his jeans and boots.
“You’re right.”
He heeled off his boots and leaned forward to grope at something under the hem of his jeans covering his left leg. Her eyes widened when she saw the ankle holster and gun he’d unstrapped.
“Do you carry that on you all the time?”
“Yep. I usually wear it on my belt, but it’s better on my ankle when I’m around you. No point drawing attention to it.” He cocked his head at her. “You’re not nervous, are you?”
“No.” Not of that weapon.
“Good.” He placed the gun and holster on her nightstand and tapped the top drawer. “Speaking of protection, you got any here?”
She blinked before she realized what he was alluding to, and damn if she couldn’t help blushing. “Um, yes, I think so…” Letting her hair fall across her face to hide her blushes, she quickly rummaged through the second drawer of her nightstand. “Will these do?” She held up an unopened box of condoms.
“Abby, the way I’m feeling at the moment I’ll take anything.”
He plucked the box from her, tossed it on the bed and drew her into his arms, kissing and caressing her as he pulled her back onto the quilt. Her brain quickly turned to soup as she kissed and caressed him back. Her hands were drawn to where his black boxer briefs strained, her mouth watering as she coasted her fingers over the impressive package.
“Let me help you with that,” she murmured, clasping the elastic waistband of his briefs before easing them off. When his cock sprang free, she stroked his length, fascinated by his girth, the nubbly veins and the smooth tip. She bent to taste him, and after just a few seconds, he grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her back.
Sweat gleamed off his heaving chest. His eyes burned like stars. “Sweetheart, you’re too much.”
He pushed her back against the pillows, sexual energy pulsing out of him like nuclear fission, turning her muscles to marshmallow. Brody was taking charge, and she loved it. He rained kisses over her body, slowly working his way down her torso to her belly. With his tongue tracing her belly button, he slipped his hand inside the front of her panties. His fingers were firm but gentle as he touched her folds, explored her wetness. She arched her hips, desperate for more, but he held back, the horrible tease.
Using his teeth, he tugged her panties off. She’d never had any man do that to her before, and it was every bit as arousing as she’d imagined. He scattered kisses along the insides of her thighs, his fingers continuing to caress her. When she moaned and wriggled with anticipation, he moved in and used his tongue to circle her center, maddening her and drawing her upward until she was coiled up and bursting with need. She squeezed a knuckle between her teeth but still her muffled cries came out.
“Brody…mad…you…” She wasn’t making any sense, but Brody seemed to know exactly what she wanted.
His tongue stopped its exquisite lapping. She heard the crinkle of a wrapper being torn, and the mattress sinking as he settled his weight between her thighs, and then…oh bliss. As he entered her, it felt as if it was more than just her body he was filling, but a yearning somewhere in her heart she’d never realized she carried until this moment. He pushed into her, careful but insistent, until he was so deep in her and yet not deep enough.
“Beautiful,” he muttered, his eyes shining as he held her close, nose to nose.
He began to move in her, and she went with him, her body responding instinctively, following his lead, riding every wave, her gaze glued to his.
“Brody…Brody…” Her vocabulary had vanished, leaving her with only one word to communicate everything, and that seemed to be enough.
He placed her feet on his shoulders so he could push deeper into her, tiny beads of sweat rolling off his nose to drop onto her chest. He rocked her faster, thrusting her toward her peak, and just at the critical moment, he slipped a hand between their bodies to stroke her center, and that was enough to shoot her to her climax. The waves of pleasure were still rippling through her as she felt him grab her thigh, his body shuddering as he thrust in one last time and pulsed deep inside her, his eyes locked with hers. The fact that he maintained eye contact all through their climax intensified the rush of pleasure gripping her.
Groaning, he lifted himself off her and dealt with the aftermath. She was so zonked with pleasure she could only sprawl on the bed, too exhilarated to move. He patted her hip and rolled her a bit so he could stretch out beside her, drawing her into his arms so her head came to rest in the dip between neck and shoulder.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, maybe even a hint of uncertainty there.
“Yeah…” She hadn’t yet recovered her vocabulary, but her “yeah” seemed to satisfy him.
Squeezing her, he pressed his lips against her hair. “From now on, whenever I visit you, we’re drinking peach schnapps.” There was a smile in his voice, a smile that sent warmth swirling around her heart.
“Brody…”
“Hmm?”
“Brody…” she slurred before a huge yawn came over her. Sated with sex, his gorgeous body warming her, her brain all mush, peach schnapps charging her blood, it was no surprise that she suddenly felt so sleepy.
He chuckled and lifted the quilt over them. “Sleepyhead,” he murmured.
For a long while she lay in a contented haze, drifting in and out of slumber. Brody stroked her arm, his breathing regular and comforting. Some time later she felt the mattress shift as his weight lifted off. She half-opened her eyes to make out his figure crouching over the camera that was aimed at the house across the street.
Typical, she thought. He couldn’t resist doing his cop thing. Still, she did have a very nice view of his very sexy ass. Smiling to herself, she drifted asleep.
Abigail stood back to admire her latest store window display. Balls of red, orange and yellow yarn tumbled out of wicker baskets, while bright fall leaves dotted the cream paper lining the floor. Warm and bright and inviting. Yes, she liked it very much.
From the other side of the empty store, Luna raised her head. “You’re in a good mood.”
&nb
sp; “Am I?”
“Yeah. You’re flitting around and humming like The Sound of Music.”
She had been humming, Abigail realized. “Must be the weather.”
Luna snorted. “It’s miserable out there. Plus, we’ve only had two customers this afternoon, and this is supposed to be our busiest day. But you’re floating about with a gigantic grin on your face.” She stalked across the store toward Abigail. “Which must mean only one thing—you’re finally getting some nookie from Brody.”
Abigail turned pink. Was it so obvious? “Okay, you got me,” she laughed, holding up her hands.
Luna clapped her hands in glee. “Ha! So when did it happen?”
“Wednesday night…” Abigail couldn’t stop the smile from splitting her face. “Thursday night…and last night as well.”
“Three nights in a row? It must be pretty good, then.”
“Yes…” Abigail sighed. It was more than good, it was sublime.
Luna’s eyes narrowed. “You’re actually falling for him, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not!” Abigail drew back, shocked by her friend’s suggestion.
“You aren’t?”
“Definitely not. Nope. Not a chance.”
“Why so adamant? Brody makes you happy, so why shouldn’t you fall for him?”
Because Brody wasn’t really her boyfriend, and there was no possibility he’d ever want to be her boyfriend. But she couldn’t explain that to Luna without blowing Brody’s cover.
“Because I know what’s good for me,” she said. “Brody’s fun for now, but he’s not a keeper.”
Even if she wanted to keep him.
“I thought you came here to check your surveillance camera?”
“I lied. I came here to check out what color panties you’re wearing today.”
“Well, now you know.” She smiled up at him, rubbing her foot along his calf.
He felt himself growing hard again, even though less than fifteen minutes had passed. That smile of hers always got to him. When he wasn’t with her, he dreamed about that smile, dreamed about her full lips smooshed up against his, or drifting over his chest, or closing softly around his shaft. Yeah, he brought up that last image frequently, especially when he was in the shower.
It was Sunday night, and he’d spent every night since Wednesday here in Abigail’s apartment. Tonight would make it five nights in a row, something of a record for him. He couldn’t remember when last he’d been so keen to spend so much time with a woman.
Bending his head, he brushed his lips against hers, and she instantly responded, her mouth sweet and warm, dragging him into her spell once more. God, she was catnip to his beast.
He broke off the kiss and rolled off the bed, pulling her to her feet with him. “Let’s have a bath together,” he said. He’d seen the big, old-fashioned claw-foot tub in her bathroom and was eager to try it out with her.
Laughing, Abigail held his hand as she led him to the bathroom. She flicked on the taps, and soon the tub was filling up with warm, steamy water. She lit some candles and switched off the main light.
Brody drew in a quick breath at the sight of Abigail’s body bathed in wavering, golden candlelight. With her soft russet hair streaming about her shoulders she looked like a goddess, he thought hazily, his mouth hanging open in admiration.
She stared back at him, a pink blush moving up her cheeks as she handed him something. “Here, you’ll need this.” Her lips curled up as her gaze darted beneath his waist.
His lengthening cock twitched when he realized she’d given him a fresh condom. Gathering up her hair, she pinned it on top of her head with a barrette and turned to him with a smile.
“Ready?”
He climbed into the tub and sat down, the water rising above his waist. When she joined him, he eased her onto his lap, facing him, legs straddling his hips.
“Comfortable?” He waited until she nodded before picking up the soap. He was going to enjoy this…
He soaped her breasts slowly and thoroughly, pausing every now and then for a lingering kiss. Abigail arched her back, offering herself to him as she murmured her pleasure. When the sight of her wet, gleaming breasts became too much for him, he put on the condom, lifted her by the hips, and sheathed himself in her warm, willing flesh.
By the time they were finished, water had sloshed onto the floor, and the bathroom was humid with steam and sex and moans. They dried off, mopped up the tiles, and when they were done realized they were starving.
Abigail made them omelets with fresh herbs from her windowsill pots and a side salad of rocket, tomato and cucumber. They ate at the kitchen table, and once more she brought out the china plates, linen napkins and good cutlery.
He wolfed down half his omelet before he caught Abigail gazing at him.
“I thought you had lunch at your mom’s earlier.”
“I did.” Today it had been roast pork, and the crackling had almost chipped a tooth. He waved a fork and grinned at her. “But all this exercise has made me starving.”
He wondered what his mom would say if she could see him here, eating and drinking so daintily. “Elbows off the table,” she’d growled at him so many times. She’d be proud to know he hadn’t once put his elbows on Abigail’s Formica table.
But the situation wasn’t what he was used to. He’d been living on his own for years and had settled into a comfortable bachelor routine that suited his busy work schedule. He’d recently moved to an apartment about fifteen minutes drive away, following his transfer to the second district. His new apartment was Spartan, but it had everything he needed.
He wondered what Abigail would think of it if she ever saw it. He hadn’t even thought of inviting her over; all their nights together had happened here. A little ball of discomfort lodged somewhere beneath his stomach at the thought of Abigail in his apartment. The idea jarred him; she just didn’t fit in that environment.
“What are you thinking about?” Abigail said, interrupting his uncomfortable musing.
“Hmm?” he stalled for time.
“You seemed very lost in thought.” She smiled.
He pushed his fingers through his damp hair. “Uh, nothing. Just thinking about my apartment.” Shoot, why’d he mention his apartment? Given the opening, she might try to bamboozle him into asking her over.
“Where is your apartment anyway?”
“Over near West Park.”
“That’s an easy commute to work for you.”
“That’s why I moved.” He lifted a shoulder. “The detectives’ division used to be centralized in the main city police headquarters, but six months ago the powers that be decided to post us at the local stations, and I ended up in this district.”
“You didn’t like the reorganization?”
“Some people didn’t, but I don’t mind. I think it’s better this way. We’re closer to the uniforms and what’s going on in our patch. We get to handle different cases too. Only downside is, we don’t build up specialized skills. So it’s pros and cons either way, but I’m happy for now.”
She eyed him thoughtfully over her omelet. “You’re very focused on your job, aren’t you?”
“It’s not just a job, it’s a way of life.” He shrugged. “I’m a cop. It’s who I am.”
“Your raison d’être,” she murmured to herself.
“Are you trying to turn me on with your French?”
She didn’t smile as much as he wanted. “You don’t need anything or anyone else. Being a cop is everything to you.”
Was that a touch of sadness in her eyes? Why did she have to make him feel bad about who he was? Uneasiness rolled in his gut.
“I don’t know if it’s everything.” He placed his hands on either side of his plate, his gaze square on her. “But it’s more than enough for me.”
“You don’
t have to look so worried.” She sat up straighter, lining up her fork and knife, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “I’m not trying to weasel into your life, Detective.”
She was all prim and proper again, and perversely he wanted to pull her onto his lap and weasel into her clothes one more time.
Rising to her feet, she gathered his used plate and carried it with hers to the sink.
“I know exactly what’s going on here,” she said as she turned on the taps and reached for the red-and-white apron hanging behind the door. “I know we’re not dating or anything. I know this is just…uh, fooling around, I suppose.”
Guilt squirmed in him. He was no good at relationships, and he’d hurt a couple of women while discovering that. He still felt bad about those women, because the failures had brought it home to him that maybe he was exactly like his father—useless at marriage and commitment. He didn’t want to end up like his dad, hurting a good woman and three innocent kids. So from then on he’d steered clear of women wanting something more permanent with him, until he’d run into Abigail.
With her, all his usual caution had evaporated. With her, he couldn’t resist temptation. But she knew him too well, and she was reminding him of exactly what kind of man he was, and he didn’t like the picture she drew.
He pushed to his feet. “Abigail, I know we’re not dating, but this isn’t some random hookup for me either.”
She fastened the apron over her head and tied the strings behind her back. His attention was riveted by that damn apron with its soft frills. Underneath, she wore black pull-on tights and a matching black camisole. Turning her back on him, she started to wash the dishes.
“Isn’t it?” She twisted her neck to throw him a questioning look over her shoulder.
God, that apron always got to him. She always got to him.
“No. You’re…special, Abigail.”
“I don’t feel special,” she murmured, sounding uncertain.
He stepped up behind her until he was only an inch from her back. His body heated as her proximity worked its magic on him. “Abigail, you’re incredible, gorgeous, beautiful. Haven’t I told you enough times already?”
