Page 194 of Detectives in Love

“You two go and rest now,” she says, turning toward her apartment. “If you need anything, Boris and I are here.”

We nod, and then Xavier takes my hand and pulls me upstairs.

CHAPTER 19. KISS AND CONTROL

As soon as the door closes behind us, Xavier presses me against it, his hands already on my hips, his lips dragging under my jaw as he sucks a kiss into the skin.

I moan, reaching for him—my hand finding the bulge in his pants, cupping it, feeling just how hard he is for me.

Xavier groans, grinding into my hand. His mouth crashes into mine, his tongue sliding in, taking without asking. I move against him, rolling my hips, dragging our cocks together through the fabric—a rough, aching friction that makes us both moan into each other’s mouths.

“Xavier,” I breathe, my voice trembling. “Fuck me. Please.”

I can’t wait. After everything this week—every high, every crash, the constant fear of losing him—I’m too wound up to be patient. I just need to feel him. To know he’s mine. To have him inside me so I can believe it’s real.

His whole body tenses. His eyes go dark—darker than I’ve ever seen them—and he presses me harder into the door, like he can’t get close enough.

“I’ve been dreaming of hearing you say that since that dinner after the Carver case,” he growls in my ear.

I pull back just enough to see his face, desperate to know he means it. I just stare at him, stunned—my heart stumbling, then kicking so hard I feel it everywhere.

Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Did he want me this whole time? Has he been in love with me for that long?

He’s watching me too, suddenly hesitant, like maybe he said too much—but all I can do is smile, completely thrown by his words.

“You wanted me then?” I ask, my pulse loud in my ears.

He nods once, his cheeks going red, but his eyes never leave mine.

“And every fucking day since,” he whispers, voice rough—as if it’s been stuck in his throat for too long.

My breath catches. My whole body feels electric. I crash my mouth back onto his, feeling so stupid for not seeing it sooner.

I reach for his zipper, hand shaking slightly, but he catches my wrist before I can pull it down.

“Bedroom,” he says, his fingers threading through mine as he pulls me with him.

We barely make it down the hall. His lips find mine again—hot, searching. Every time our mouths part, it’s only for breath. My body’s humming, my cock a dull throb in my jeans, every step making it worse.

In the bedroom, he crowds me, backing me toward the bed. He pulls my sweater over my head, then my shirt, his mouth brushing my collarbone as I help him tug his own shirt off.

For a second, we just stand there, chest to chest, skin on skin, both of us breathing hard.

Then he pushes me back, and I fall onto the bed.

He climbs over me, kissing me again—slower this time, deeper. His hand finds my zipper and drags it down. I lift my hips as he pulls my pants and briefs off, and now I’m lying there, completely bare, the cold air hitting my skin all at once.

Xavier sits back, eyes roaming over me like he’s seeing something he’s wanted for a long time. His gaze drifts over my chest—taking in the scars, the bruises on my shoulders, the dark marks along my sides, the bandaged thigh. His expression shifts—dazed, almost stricken, like the sight physically hurts. Like he doesn’t know where to put what he’s feeling.

“Come here,” I whisper, reaching for him.

That’s all it takes.

He leans in, still half-dressed, and kisses me again, hungry, almost desperate. I pull at his waistband, fumbling the button open, sliding both his pants and boxers down over his hips. He kicks them off, and now we’re skin to skin.

His cock presses against mine—thick, warm, already wet at the tip. We both gasp at the contact. I can feel him pulse against me, feel the way I shift into the rhythm without thinking, hips rocking up just enough to drag us together.

He lowers himself over me, his mouth finding my neck. He licks a path down, unhurried, until his mouth finds my chest.