by Sarina Bowen
“No, Trouble. I don’t have so much as a paper cut. My ass is numb but I’m sure it’s not fatal. Nice of you to ask, though.”
While it’s tempting to leave him in whatever situation he’s in, I’m also dying to see what Rosie’s done. And—let’s be honest—I’m also dying for him to see me in this getup I’m wearing. So he’ll remember exactly what he’s given up.
That’s what gets me onto the patio, where I shimmy carefully over the divider (because leather isn’t cheap) and make a very ungraceful plunk onto Mac’s deck on the other side. Good thing that the director of Pierson of Interest didn’t see me just pull that stunt. She’d make me do another take.
I’m moving stealthily, like any self-respecting bad-girl would. Mac’s sliding glass door is already open. Almost as if someone left it this way, knowing I’d be walking through.
Hmm.
I tiptoe across the living room. The bedroom door is open, too. Taking care to stand back, out of sight, I peek into the room.
And there is Macklin Maguire, spread eagled on his bed, arms handcuffed overhead. He was right—he’s not going anywhere like that. My mouth falls open, and I quickly catalog two problems with this whole scenario. 1) He’s clothed, and 2) We’re not together anymore.
I’m fairly sure I can change one of those things.
I clear my throat and Mac swings his rugged chin to catch me staring. “Holy shit,” he breathes, because I’m wearing a leather bustier, leather pants, and my black stilettos. Okay, this may be an old costume leftover from summerstock when I played Sandy in Grease, but it’s a fucking great outfit. “That getup is…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. One glance at his pants, and the bulge that pops up there says everything.
“You happy to see me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“God, yes,” he says. His eyes take me in from head to toe. Then he closes his eyes. Maybe he just doesn’t want to look at me. And that hurts a bit. It does.
“I don’t know, Mac. It’s nice that you’re happy to see me. It’s nice to hear you yelling for me. Except you’re only yelling because you need someone to unlock you.”
He shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” I snort. “You’re going to pull a Houdini and free yourself?”
“Nah,” he says, and then a slow grin forms on that irresistible mouth. “I’m yelling for you because I need you. I get it now. The handcuffs are just a mild inconvenience.”
“So you don’t mind if I turn and leave again?” I yelp.
“Oh, I’d mind very much.” His eyes are warm and lazy. “Come closer.”
I hesitate. Maybe it’s a trick.
Except I know better than that. Mac never tricked me. Even though he let me down, he never lied to me. I don’t do relationships. I hadn’t wanted to hear it.
I still don’t.
“What do you want, Mac?” I need to cut my losses and go.
“You,” he whispers. “Just you.”
“For what?” I’m so confused right now.
“For everything. Dinner. Lunch. Breakfast. Hobbit-style snacks. Fruity drinks. Party dates.” He looks up at the ceiling, as if considering. “Not too many parties. A man can only change so much. And I don’t think karaoke will ever be on the table. I probably have a few limits.”
“But none of that sounds like you.”
“I know. But…” He actually tries to beckon, but the handcuffs clank against the metal bed frame, so it doesn’t quite work. Instead of getting frustrated, he actually chuckles. “Come here already. Jesus. I need to kiss you so bad it hurts.”
There’s a new tightness in my chest, and I’m pretty sure this bustier is only half responsible. “Don’t tease me, Mac. If you don’t want a commitment, I have to let you go.”
“Don’t let me go,” he says immediately. “I get it now. You make me crazy. You’re a whole lot of trouble. You challenge me. You kick my ass. And I’m so fucking hungry for you right now my cock is about to rip out of my pants. And I’m not running anymore. You’ve caught me.”
I think about it for a second. “What does that mean...exactly? I’ve caught you? This isn’t a game of cat and mouse, Mac. I’m done with games. And I’m done with emotional drama. What are you offering me?” I take a step closer.
“I’m offering you everything you see before you. Which is, admittedly, just a guy who’s chained to a bed. But I’m loyal, I can hold my liquor, and I always say what I mean.”
“And what do you mean right now?” I press.
“I love you so fucking much, Meg. That’s the bottom line. If we can’t fix this right here and right now, then I’m going to do something really stupid.”
I take another step closer to him so now I’m standing right next to him, looking down at him, all beautiful and defenseless before me. Like a caged animal. It’s very Ben Hur. “What would you do?”
“I’ll...gnaw off my hand so I can get at you.”
“That’s graphic,” I say.
“Too much?”
“A little.”
We both smile at each other.
“Meg. If we don’t fix this right now, I’m going to be lost all over again. And it’s been really nice to finally feel found.”
“You feel found with me?” I lean over and put a hand in the center of his broad chest, because I have to touch him.
“I feel more than found. I feel like I’m finally whole. Like you’re my missing…”
“Handcuff key?” I offer.
He tips his head back and laughs. “I was going to say missing piece. But if you felt like unlocking these things, it would be easier for me to kiss you.”
“Would it?” I kneel on the bed. “You don’t kiss with your hands.”
His handsome eyes get hot. “I kiss with my whole fucking body when it’s you I’m kissing.”
“Oh. Well. In that case.” I smile. “In that case I’d like to see you try it without your hands.” I throw a knee over his thighs, straddling him. “I always thought it would be fun if you cuffed me. But it might be even more fun to be in charge.”
His clear eyes consider me. “You think you’re in charge right now?”
“Of course.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I can lead from any position. Just saying.”
“Can you now?” Just to prove that I’m driving, I finally lean down and kiss him.
He groans as our lips meet, his mouth beckoning to mine. And he shifts his body in a way that makes me fall against his chest.
It’s heaven. It’s amazing. It’s everything I’ve been missing. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tilt my head to make our connection even more perfect.
It wasn’t bluster when Mac insisted he was still in charge. As our kiss deepens, my thinking goes fuzzy. I let his bossy tongue rule mine. His kisses roll together like waves on the beach, and I can’t find the willpower to pull back or stop.
Then he lifts his hips off the bed, showing me exactly how much he wants me. I’m suspended on his tight body. And there’s a very ambitious erection between my legs. We grind into deeper, hotter kisses.
I moan against his mouth.
“Unzip me,” he barks. “Do it now.”
And I don’t think: hey, I’m in charge. I think: yay, unzipping! But whatever. He can win on this point. It’s a crime he’s wearing that T-shirt, too. I don’t think I’m strong enough to tear it off his body.
But there are other pleasures. I reach into his boxers and wrap my hand around his girth.
“Fuck yes,” he snarls. “More. Tighter. Taste me.”
Again, I do not play it cool. I lean down and take his tip against my tongue. And then I moan at the first salty-clean taste of his skin.
There’s a clang of metal against metal. “Fuck. I want my hands in your hair.”
I moan, because that sounds pretty good. Those cuffs are starting to be a drag.
“Suck it,” he whispers. “Show me your pretty ey
es.”
I raise my head a few degrees until our gazes lock. And his expression goes from hot to warm and sweet.
“Love you,” he says. The words just roll off his tongue. “Can’t wait to show you how much. Now lose that leather. It’ll probably show up in my dreams later anyhow. But right now it’s in my way.”
I’m unzipping it three seconds later.
“Good girl. You’re going to have to find a condom. And untie all those laces across your tits.”
You know what? Sex is more fun when nobody is chained to the bed. Or maybe it’s just a matter of getting naked first. I’ll have to find out some other time, though. “Where’s the key, Mac?”
“What key?” He laughs. “It’s on the dresser.”
I pounce on it. In order to free Mac, I have to climb into his lap, stick my chest in his face and reach for his hands.
“Oooh, stay right there,” he says, kissing my cleavage.
“Oh, man.” I close my eyes a moment as his lips graze the swells of my breasts. “You’d better cut that out, though. If I drop this key behind the bed, we’ll have issues.”
He groans. “Hurry then. I already have issues. I’m going to burst unless we’re using this headboard in a more exciting way.”
Amen to that. Luckily, I’m able to free him quickly. The click of the cuff opening up is the best sound I’ve heard in weeks. Mac lets me free both his hands. But then he’s a blur of motion—tossing the cuffs off the bed, whipping off his T-shirt, rolling the two of us over.
“You okay?” I ask from my back, staring up into his beautiful gray eyes.
“Never better. I can’t feel my arms, but I’m thinking I don’t care right now.” He leans down and kisses me deeply, until we’re both panting. “Now take this off,” he says, tugging on the bustier. “I need all of you spread out underneath me.”
“Do you now?”
“I do. Oh, and one last favor?” he asks. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Just one? I freed your ass from bondage, and you’re still asking favors?”
“Deal with it.” I get another kiss. “Can you leave the stilettos on?”
“Sure,” I say, untying the leather strap at my breasts. “But you’ll owe me a favor. Fair’s fair.”
He rolls his eyes. “We can’t be back to this. I mean—I could still have you arrested.”
“On what charge?”
“Driving me crazy without a license.”
“I plead guilty, then.”
He kisses me.
30 Two Months Later
Maguire
I’m tugging my ill-fitting uniform into place when I hear Meg’s voice out in the hallway. “Copper! Emergency! Help!”
I take off like a shot, darting through my apartment, flinging the door open. I’m at her side in less than five seconds. And I’m happy to say that the “emergency” at hand is just a matter of too many grocery bags. Meg has staggered out of the elevator, arms full. My first act of mercy is grabbing the bag that’s perilously close to sliding out of her grip.
“Oh my God, thank you. I don’t like to pull the helpless female card, but it would be a crime if one of these bottles of wine broke.”
“I hear you, babe.” I relieve her of two shopping bags, leaving her with just one to manage as she reaches for her keys.
“My hero.” She gives me a grin and then a head-to-toe once-over. “New uniform? That’s a funky shade of blue.”
“Yeah,” I grunt. Hopefully she won’t look too close. The uniform is part of a surprise I have brewing. So I change the topic. “Feeling hungry? I think you bought out the store.”
“I bought three kinds of chips. Grapes, cheese, and some fancy crackers…” She leads me into her apartment, where we deposit the bags on the counter. “…Red wine, white wine, rum, guacamole, and—my piece de resistance—little frozen pigs in the blankets. All I have to do is put them on a cookie sheet and bake them for 22 minutes!”
“A miracle!” I chuckle. Meg still doesn’t cook and it’s doubtful that she ever will. She says that’s why God invented frozen foods.
Let’s just say that I do a lot of the cooking around here. And she mixes the drinks.
“I’m having a spur of the moment party.” She’s pulling a metric ton of snack foods out of those grocery bags. “Look—this is for Hemingway Daiquiris.” She holds up a pink grapefruit. “Just in case I can entice you to blow off your event tonight.”
“Ah.” The very last of Meg’s episodes on Pierson of Interest airs tonight. Meg and I watched the first five of them cuddled up on the sofa together.
But I don’t plan to watch this one. Even if I haven’t told her exactly why. Anyway, tonight there’s a town meeting at City Hall that I plan to attend, because police relations is one of the items up for discussion. Meg knows this already, and she doesn’t really blame me for missing her show.
Even so, I move around the kitchen island to a place where I can stand right behind her at the counter. I wrap my arms around her.
And because I can’t help myself, I place a soft kiss on the back of her smooth neck. And then another one. She stops fiddling with the groceries and leans back into my embrace. We’re quiet for a moment together. I’m used to this now—to being half a couple. It doesn’t even feel strange anymore. She feels right in my arms.
Hemingway said once: “The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” And he was a really smart man. I trust Meg, and I trust us. And I’m about to show her how much.
“Listen, Trouble,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I can’t watch your show tonight.”
“I know you are. But you can watch later.”
“No, I really can’t.”
“Of course you can! I’m recording the episode.”
“I get that. But what I mean is that I really can’t bring myself to watch it. I have no trouble watching the scenes where you chase down the bad guys. And I didn’t even mind those scenes where that asshole put his hands all over you.” Well, I minded. But I kept it to myself. “But I just cannot watch a scene where you get killed.”
Meg turns around suddenly in my arms, and her face is full of surprise. “Mac, it’s fake. I’m standing right here.”
“Doesn’t matter.“ I shake my head. “I don’t want that image in my mind. I love you too much to watch that.”
Her eyes fill. “You are really something else. Have I told you that?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, because I hate making people cry. “Look, when are all of your friends coming over?”
“Not for an hour.”
“Oh. Phew. Because I have a present to give you.”
“Really?” She bats her damp eyelashes at me. “I love presents. Is this a literal present? Or a naked present?”
“Well…” It’s honestly a little of both. “You need to sit on the couch and wait. I have to go get something. Or I guess we could do this later. I went out on a limb and I’m having second thoughts already.”
“Pfft!” she brushes that idea away. “With that build up, you have to give it to me right now. I love danger.”
Of course she does. “I’ll be right back.”
Now, I’ve done a little research into what’s about to happen. And, yes, a little research means I asked Lance. The man drives me insane, but sometimes all those sexy books he’s reading are full of suggestions. And I’m banking that this is a good suggestion. Or I’m going to punch him in the throat.
Maybe that’s harsh.
If this doesn’t work, he’s buying me a meatball sub, at least.
It’ll work though. Meg once asked me if I’d ever done anything really crazy for love. The truth is, I’ve never let go long enough to be crazy. But she makes me want to free fall.
So here I go.
I dim the lights.
“What’s going on?” she calls.
Then I connect the mini disco ball to my iPhone, lean into the room and set it on the counter.
Then I hit
PLAY on the song I’ve got queued up.
It’s a raunchy, down and dirty hip-hop song.
I’m hoping she recognizes it.
Then I hear her laughing. “Oh my God!” she cries. “Is this the song from when I was a serving wench and I thought you were a…”
She doesn’t finish the thought. She doesn’t have to.
Because tonight, right now, I’m not a cop. Not a real cop.
Nope.
I’m a down and dirty stripper, and I’m gyrating to the music as if I’m trying to screw something to the floor. Maybe I am.
Meg’s face lights up. “Over here, Copper! Me! Me!!”
I strut over to her and grind up close to her, but not touching. I can feel the music leading me. Or maybe it’s just the pull I feel from Meg.
“Mac,” she breathes. “Are those...”
I think maybe she’s noticed that this is no regular cop’s uniform.
Honestly, Lance is a wealth of information.
I stand in front of her and rip my shirt off. It literally rips off. There’s velcro instead of buttons.
“Oh, oh!” she cries. “Please, please please tell me that your pants rip off too!”
I’m too busy flexing to do anything but wink at her. She reaches for me and I pause just long enough for her to grab ahold of my removable trousers and give one big tug.
This time, the pants fall right off of me.
Huh.
That is super handy. Easy access.
Meg is in hysterics. I get a little concerned that this is going all wrong and I stop for a second, then she cries out, “Don’t you fucking stop dancing, Copper!”
And then she’s giggling some more. “What on earth are you wearing? Shouldn’t you be totally naked? What is covering your...junk?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask. And I thrust at her. If you’re going to go free fall, you might as well be wearing a red thong that has a sling for your balls. I give a little jiggle. I turn a little so she can see the little pocket. “This is for you,” I say.
“You’re giving me your dick? This is the best day ever!” she squeals.
I’m still grinding.
“The POCKET,” I say.
“Oh. Oh!” She grabs me by the hips and brings me close to her. Her eyes and mouth are at the perfect position. One quick grab of this thong and I’ll be straight up against her lips.
