Page 61 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

SOUND CARRIES, DEAR

Maggie

When I returned from the Rose Room, I found Graham pushing the cot from the guest room across the hall and into my bedroom.

What the hell?

“Lonely?” I asked, a smirk smearing across my face.

“Thought we could have a slumber party.” He flashed me a shit-eating grin and shoved the cot over by the door.

“If anyone comes for you?” He muttered, locking the legs into place. “They’ll have to get through me first.”

He took the sheet I handed him and circled to the far side of the cot. That’s when he bumped the toe of his combat boot against something hard.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My pink toolbox.

He clocked it—but didn’t say a word. Just kept going, the bastard.

I had definitely shoved that back under the bed. How the hell did it migrate?

Once the sheet was tucked in military-tight, he finally looked back at the toolbox. Then at me. That slow, cocky smile spreading across his face hinted that I should’ve been worried.

Oh no. No, no no.

“What are you doing?” I asked, heart pounding and magma rising in my cheeks.

“Curious, princess,” he said, dragging the box closer with the toe of his boot. “I wanted to ask the other day.”

A moment passed and his eyes flicked to mine. “May I?”

Reluctantly, I nodded.

He popped the latch and opened it slow— too slow—like he was unboxing forbidden treasure, but I already knew what was inside.

He pulled out one of my silicone grinder pads. The raven skull surrounded by red roses gleamed under the low lamplight. He turned it over in his hands, examining it.

“What is this, ” he asked, grinning like he already knew and just wanted to hear me squirm.

“T-that’s a… that’s a grinder pad,” I managed, doing my damn best not to choke or beg him for another round right then and there.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, flipping it in his palm. “And what does it do?”

He ran two fingers—index and middle—right along the edge of the raven skull. The exact spot my cunt would press when I ground down on it.

My breath caught.

“Well?” he asked, voice lower now.

I swallowed, flustered. “I think you know exactly what it does.”

He stepped in—too close. Dangerously close. His body heat rolled over me, slow and suffocating in the best way. That half-smirk curved his lips like he was already imagining what I’d look like on my knees for him.

“Show me.” He said. Not a request. A fucking command.

My insides clenched. I bit the inside of my cheek, then turned and quietly closed the bedroom door behind me.

Was this really about to happen?

I grabbed the pad from his hand and let a slow smile pull at my mouth. “Actually… that one goes on you, ” I purred. “Right here.”

I pressed my palm against his thigh, just above the knee and squeezed.

“Like this.”

I guided him to sit, then dropped to my knees in front of him—my fingers working the nylon straps around his leg like I’d done this a hundred times. But I hadn’t. Not like this. Not with him watching me like that.

Snap. One buckle down.

Snap. Second one, tight.

His eyes never left me. I couldn’t tell if he was curious—or if he was about to make me demonstrate. No words. No diagrams. Just action.

I’ve screwed plenty of guys—hell, technically even him—but this was different. Like my nerves were electrified and my skin was too tight, waiting for his next move.

“What’s this big cup at the top for?” He asked, running a finger around the edge.

I grinned and reached into the toolbox like I had a magic trick to share. Nope—just my Hitachi. His eyes went comically wide.

“Where the hell are you sticking that?” He laughed, half-shocked, half-turned on. “It’s huge.”

I smacked the head to my palm. “You’ve never used one of these?”

“No.” He shifted, adjusting himself with a slight wince. “I don’t exactly have a harem of women to try things on.”

My gaze dropped, completely unrepentant, to the growing bulge under his utility belt—taser, cuffs, backup rounds. Oh, the irony.

“I only do first dates. And first dates don’t involve power tools,” he said, holding up both hands like I caught him breaking protocol.

“They do with me.”

He blinked once.

“Guess I’m old-school. Vanilla, even.”

God, those hands. Big. Strong. Gorgeous. I wanted them everywhere.

I raised a brow. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here to teach you some modern techniques. You know… for science .” I flipped the vibrator on—bzzzz—then off again, teasing him with the sound.

He laughed—nervous, but willing. Those pointed canines flashed when he grinned, and I swear to God if he ever bit me, I’d thank him.

I pressed the vibrator into his hand, then dragged my hoodie over my head. His gaze darkened.

Button by button, I opened my jeans and shimmied them down, kicking them aside like they were in the way of fate.

He swallowed, eyes raking over me like I was the first full meal he’s had in years, “You are so goddamn beautiful.”

I paused, fingers twitching toward the softness of my stomach. “I’ve got a few extra curves… lots of guys don’t like it…a diet of baked goods and takeout will do that.”

His eyes snapped to mine. “Good.” His voice dropped. “It’s mine now. More to grip while I fuck the doubts right out of that pretty little head.”

Oh, my god.

Wet. Instantly.

I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra.

“Come here.”

I did as he commanded, stepping between his legs, and resting the vibrator in his lap.

He ran his hands over my love handles, squeezing them as he pulled me in.

“I want you to know,” he said, squeezing a handful of my ass. “I didn’t move the cot in here to fuck you.”

“I know.”

Graham ran his hands down my back to my hips where he hooked his thumbs into my panties and slid them down so I could step out of them.

“But I hoped you would.” The words tumbled out of my mouth.

“Climb on.” He whispered, positioning me so I was straddling the grinder.

His hand slid across my lower back and pulled me closer, pressing my clit flush against the grinder pad. A rush of heat shot through me—up my spine, down my thighs, pooling thick and hot between my legs.

I moved slowly, grinding against his leg, the silicone cool and maddening beneath me. I felt the stiff line of his cock straining harder against his pants, growing with every pulse of friction.

Catching my bottom lip between my teeth, I reached for his hand, guided it to the vibrator, then into place on the pad’s slot.

He didn’t hesitate. Just flipped the switch. A deep, low rumble kicked on, and the moment it hit, a moan escaped my throat. Pleasure rippled through me, raw and immediate.

“Oh—that feels good,” I whispered, voice tight and trembling.

Graham pulled me closer, his mouth finding the swell of my breasts. He kissed them like it was a promise, like he wanted to devour every inch of me, slowly.

I palmed him through his black cargo pants, feeling the heat and thickness beneath my fingers. My grip tightened, just enough to make him groan—low and guttural, right against my skin.

“Max— fuck,” he breathed, the sound of it hot against my neck.

He pressed the button again, kicking the vibrator up a notch. The rumble deepened, and I gasped—loud and sudden. My head tipped back as I wrapped my arms around his neck, grinding into his thigh, chasing that edge with shaking thighs and clenched teeth.

I hovered there on the brink, but didn’t give in.

Not yet.

Pulling back, I broke contact, my clit throbbing from the denial.

“What’re you doing?” He murmured, voice rough.

I smirked. “Your turn.”

I slid the zipper down and freed his cock—hot, thick, and more than ready. My fingers curled around him, slow strokes teasing the tip. His jaw tightened and he drew in a sharp breath.

His eyes locked on mine, stormy and dark, steady even as his chest rose with each breath. I flicked the vibrator’s button twice more. The motor buzzed like a piece of lawn equipment.

“Jesus, Max,” he groaned. “You’re gonna chip a fuckin’ tooth with that thing.”

We both cracked up. I shut it off and set it aside.

But I wasn’t done. Not even close.

My hands moved to the damn vest—like trying to undress a tank. Before I could get far, he grabbed the Velcro himself and tore it off with one sharp rip. The sound alone sent a jolt right through me.

He peeled out of it, dropped the vest, and unbuttoned his shirt. I helped him out of his white tee, tugging it off like I was unwrapping a gift on my birthday.

And holy hell—I’d never get sick of seeing this man without a shirt—he was carved like temptation. Broad chest, inked sleeves, abs that hinted at a sweet tooth and sin. Real. Solid. 100% devastating.

I ran my hands across his chest, then unbuckled the grinder from his thigh, letting it drop. He didn’t stop me, just watched, quiet and waiting.

I pushed him back onto the cot, trailing a finger down the center of his chest to his belt.

“Christ,” I muttered, struggling with the thing. “This is heavier than my toolbox of silicone.”

He barked a laugh and helped yank it free. The gear hit the floor with a heavy thud. Then the holster. The pants. And finally, those black briefs.

Every inch of him was glorious.

But I didn’t smile. Not this time.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” I whispered, eyes fixed on him. Gunmetal. Sapphire. Trouble.

“I want you to make me forget what happened today. I want you to be the only thing on my mind.”

I wanted him to take his time with me. To move slowly, to be careful, to kiss like he meant it. Like I was more than just a fuck.

But I also wanted the opposite.

I wanted him to ruin me. To make good on every filthy promise in his voice. I wanted fast, hard, and messy. I wanted to be the thing that undid him—the place he poured every ounce of pain, rage, and burnout into. The antidote to all the bullshit he carried as a cop. The grief. The gore. The ghosts.

I wanted him to use me until he couldn’t remember anything.