Page 73

I swear under my breath.

He rounds his back slightly and lowers his hand to my inner thigh, dragging his fingers up and stopping.

Just.

Shy.

Of.

Where.

He.

Should.

Be.

“Can’t go any closer?”

My mouth waters like a creek bed.

I shake my head, tightening the grip on his vest. “Nope,” I say with strained control. “Not if you know what you’re doing.”

He slips his finger under the elastic at my inner thigh and repeats the zipper motion. His fingers in my underwear slide up—slowly—across my hip, rounding to the peak of my ass. A lake that could rival the one outside pools in the spot I very much want him to swim in.

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“Ah.” His hand retreats to my waist and my thighs pinch and rub on reflex, desperate for friction of any kind. “Too bad.”

A needy whimper climbs up my throat that I swallow down.

“Well, I don’t know what’s in your head, Scotty, but maybe I’ll tell you what’s in mine.” His voice is low as his lips hover over mine; he could kiss me, but he doesn’t. I reach my mouth toward him, he pulls away.

Damn him.

“At night, I think you forget that you have a house made of windows and walk around in only your panties. Black. Lace. Tiny.”

I swallow thickly. “Really? You spy on me, Officer?” I lick my lips. “What else do you see?”

“You calling me,” he continues, gripping my hips tighter as if to remind me he’s in control. “And telling me you need help with something, even though you don’t. Because you just want me to see you. When I show up, you’ve put on a shirt. Mine.”

I force myself to breathe, every muscle below my belly button clenching with fury. Like if they aren’t contracting my body will completely disassemble.

“Then I kiss you, pressing you against the windows so everyone can see that you’re mine. That you’ve chosenme. And—”

“You’re an exhibitionist now?”

He chuckles against my skin. “Well, you’re begging me; what else can I do?”

I chase him with my hips; he holds them still.

“A gentleman?”

“Hardly.” He pushes himself against me and makes one thrust of his hips—even with the duty belt and vest, I don’t miss that he’s as turned on as I am. And there it is: my first whimper. He pulls away; my whimper turns to a whine. “Stop interrupting me. Where was I? Right, peeling the little panties down your legs. I taste you first. I want to be gentle with you—just a kiss. But that flavor of you on my tongue?” A growl rumbles somewhere deep in him, and I writhe between his hands, gripping his vest so tightly he staggers toward me a step. “I can’t be gentle—I’ve been hungry for the very thing you have for years. I’m starving; you let me eat. I use my teeth; you like it. Love it, because you scream.” His hands travel from my hips to my waist until they wrap around my ribs; his thumbs rub across the bottom curves of my breasts until my nipples get so hard it feels like my skin is cracking open.

With one hand firmly gripping my hips, he uses the other to lift my shirt up, high enough on my chest it renders me fully exposed.

He moves so slowly that the anticipation physically hurts. Whatever he’s about to do, yes, please. And then some.