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“Is the body already at the morgue?” he quickly asks.

“On its way,” the detective replies.

“I can be there in thirty minutes.”

“No,” I quip.

“Yes!” he retorts, not at all intimidated by my severe stare. The one that has made bigger, more powerful people avert their eyes and shudder with uneasiness. No, he glares at me, and my dick is suddenly hard as a metal pole. Fuck, he’s perfect.

“Is everything alright?” I hear the detective inquiring through the line.

“Certainly. I can finish the autopsy in two hours, three tops.” Micheal’s eyebrows bunch up, perhaps in confusion at my smirking expression.

“Great. I’ll contact you later. And doctor?”

Michael hums in response.

“Thank you. We really appreciate your work.”

“No need to thank me, Detective. It’s my job,” he swiftly says before hanging up. “What the hell was that?” He turns to me, crossing his arms on his chest. And I wish he wasn’t wearing that stupid shirt, because I want to know if the blonde hair sprinkling his pecs also covers his forearms.

I shrug. “You’re in no shape to go to work.”

“My foot is much better, and I can work from my chair. Plus, you weren’t so worried about my health a few minutes ago while you were battering me into the mattress.”

“If I wasn’t, you’d still be under me on your hands and knees, filled with cock and hitting your head on the headboard from how strong I was pumping inside you,” I growl, grabbing his throat in a possessive grip. “And I will. As soon as you feel better.”

“I feel better,” he whispers, licking his lips eagerly and wiggling his sweet butt on the bed.

“Don’t tempt me, Michael.” His name is wrapped in a warning. “You’re not ready for what is coming, yet.” I slam my lips against his and give him a fast, dirty kiss. After biting on his juicy lower lip hard, I let him go. Love to see the imprint on the plump edge. And the dark mark I left on his shoulder almost makes me roar with satisfaction.

“Alright, but I’m going to work,” he lets out breathily. His cheeks are flushed, and lips swollen. My work is done, for now.

“No, you’re not.”

“Raph, I don’t know why you think you can dictate my life. But, newsflash, you can’t. I’m going because this serial killer needs to be stopped, and if there’s anything on the body that—”

“Serial killer?” Now,thatis interesting.

“Look, I already said too much. I need to go.” He shifts to the edge of the mattress and, distracted by his irritation, puts some weight on his hurt food, wincing. I round the bed and quickly lift him into my arms.

“I feel like Cinde-fucking-rella. Put me down.” He grunts, but it sounds muffled with his head against my neck. He fits perfectly against me.

“Not yet, piglet.”

He leans back just to show me his rolling eyes. And I have to hide a smile. He’s not afraid of me in the least. People are usually uneasy around me. I guess that, on some level, they feel the predator underneath. Unless they’re blinded by my superficial appearance, they behave cautiously.

With Michael, the reason is entirely different. That reminds me, I need to talk to Meg ASAP. She has a lot of explaining to do.

But right now, I need to take care of Michael. I walk to the bathroom and only there do I let him go.

“Wash. I need to make a call before we go to the morgue,” I tell him.

“We?” he asks, looking all cute and confused.

“Yes, we.”

“You can’t come with me.”