Page 49 of Executing Malice

“Hey!” I gather and shuffle already neatly stacked papers. “What are you doing here?”

Reed, still grinning, quirks a brow. “Can’t I come see you at work?”

My brain stutters with the first brush of big hands against my calves. They ignore the subtle twitch of my leg and start a journey upwards, taking the hem of my skirt up over my knees. Over my thighs. I instinctively clamp them together.

“Of course you can. It’s just the middle of the afternoon. I figured you’d be busy.”

Reed stops when there is only the desk between us. The sun catches the badge pinned to his chest and the silver glints with a stubborn sheen that nearly blinds me.

“It’s a pretty slow day for crime,” Reed states with a downward twist of his lips.

I start to arch my eyebrows when unyielding, demanding palms clamp down on my firmly closed knees and force them apart. Wide. I don’t have to look down to know he has a clear, uninterrupted view of my white panties and the wet stain his cum is creating at the crotch.

Heat radiates beneath my cheeks, even as I kick out. Not hard. Enough to nudge the asshole with the toes of my slippers. My efforts are met with a tug of my knees pulling me to the edge of my seat, forcing me to a partial recline that probably isn’t weird, but feels wrong when Reed is standing right there.

Crap, Reed.

I should probably say something to him.

“Are you allowed to say that?” My fingers sink into thick strands and tug when my biker nuzzles the soft flesh of my inner thigh. When he plants a hot, moist kiss as high up as he can without leaving his cramped space. “Aren’t you jinxing yourself?”

The bottom of my chair is grabbed and I’m pulled deeper under. I have to pretend to shift and adjust to evade suspicion, but Reed has turned his head in the direction of the windows overlooking the streets. He has his hands on his belt while he watches the passing crowd.

“I’m ready to commit some crime just to have something to do,” he says wistfully.

I try to nod sympathetically, but I’m more concerned by the broad shoulders wedging themselves between my sprawled legs and the head demanding entrance.

I try to swat at him. I manage a light smack on his forehead that is met with a tightening of his fingers digging into my thighs and the sharp, unexpected assault of teeth.

“Shit!” I yelp, jolting hard enough to hit the underside of the desk with my knees.

Reed spins back around to face me, piercing blue eyes widening with surprise and concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

The asshole at my feet soothes the sting with a lazy flick of his tongue.

“Nothing. I just ... I’m upset for you,” I pant. “No crime. That’s messed up.”

Reed stares for a second too long like he’s trying to determine if I’ve lost my mind.

“I get it’s weird to want crime. I’m just tired of not having anything to do,” he grumbles, folding his arms. “I had to break up a fight this morning over grass length.”

I’m trying to listen. I’m staring hard at Reed’s mouth while a second mouth is latched to my flesh, sucking in a way I know is going to leave a mark. On my right thigh, the heavy weight of his palm lifts. It drifts up. My spit makes an audible gulp with the hook of his fingers in the crotch of my panties.

I bite harder on my lip. Taste blood.

Reed is still talking. His lips keep moving and I’m staring at them, unfocused. It’s taking all my effort not to let my lashes fall closed with the first tease of my clit.

Between his earlier punishment on the table and last night, the freshly punctured nub is sore. The light skim has mybody flinching. My knees twitch to close and protect me from further abuse. I grunt and cup a hand over my mound.

I think he gets it when he pulls his hand back, but rather than stop, he drifts downwards. His fingertips find my soaked opening and circle. And like a whirlpool dragging ships to their death, he drifts in to just the first knuckle of one finger.

His digit is thicker than mine. Even one has my breath hitching. It stills entirely when he slides in. My moan catches in my throat.

“I measured it and it was the length required. Not that anyone believed me. By the time I left...”

A second finger.

He’s no longer holding my legs apart. I’m doing it for him as he works my channel with the slow, methodical pumps of a man who has nothing but time on his hands.