Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
Lincoln/ Seven Years Ago
T he ice cubes in the tumbler of amber liquid clink against the glass as it’s raised to a pair of red lips. They’re not the subtle kind of red either, but a sultry shade meant to draw attention to the heart shape of the top lip and the full bottom one. The brown-haired bombshell wants people to look at her, and it’s working.
“Macallan,” I appreciate, sliding onto the bar stool beside the slender girl who I can only hope is around my age. I set my glass of cheap IPA down on the counter. “That’s four-hundred-dollar whiskey you’re drinking.”
One of her dark tweezed eyebrows arches as she turns, letting her whiskey-colored eyes roam over the length of me inquisitively. It takes her a long moment to answer after giving me a thorough once-over. “A man who knows his stuff. I’d almost be impressed if we weren’t in a bar.”
Chuckling, I give her a cursory glance.
Her long brown hair rests in waves just past her shoulders. She’s lean and unafraid to show off her results in painted-on clothes that leave little to the imagination. I’d also bet good money that the tits in her low-cut top are either padded or fake based on the way they sit. And I’ve had enough girlfriends in the past to know what expensive perfume smells like.
This woman wreaks of materialism.
Not usually my type, but a guy can look.
And I am. Thoroughly.
“Are you finished?” she asks, taking another slow sip of the top-shelf drink, her lips wrapping along the edge and pulling my attention back to their fullness.
I flash her a grin, unfazed by being caught.
Beautiful and sassy.
A dangerous combination.
“What’s your name?” I ask instead of indulging her.
“Georgia,” she drawls, the southern accent she uses either watered down or fake. There aren’t many southern belles that settle near the city because it’s a different atmosphere here in Middle Point. You’d have to do well or know the right people to live on the outskirts of the Big Apple.
Those amber eyes lined skillfully with makeup flicker between my fresh buzz cut, the same style I’ve worn since getting out of the military, and my lopsided grin. “Georgia Del Rossi.”
All I do is watch her. The last name rings a bell, but I can’t place it.
Her eyes lift to my hair again before she dismissively turns forward in her seat, picking up the glass and glancing at the dive bar’s TV, playing a sports game I’m sure she doesn’t give a shit about. “Why do you ask, Officer?”
This time, I flash her a grin that she ignores completely.
“What gave me away?” I ask, still impressed that she’s drinking her whiskey neat without so much as making a face as it goes down. Not even my friends can handle doing that without bitching about the burn.
Her eyes stay trained in front of her, her body stiff as she watches the game. “I can spot a cop a mile away. You all look the same.”
Swiping at my lips to hide my growing smile, I nudge her arm with my elbow. “Familiar with law enforcement?”
Finally, her gaze shifts back in my direction, those eyes absentmindedly raking over me. Their path warms my skin the same way my third IPA does, and I like it. Way too much. “I’d wager to guess that I’m better acquainted with Captain Chamberlin than you are.”
I’m impressed that she knows the captain’s name, and I’m not entirely sure that’s a good thing. “In this profession, that’s probably not a bad thing, sweetheart,” I muse, knowing any officer who’s had a run-in with the captain probably isn’t going to be employed for much longer if Chamberlin can help it. “And, for the record, I work for the sheriff’s office, not under Chamberlin with the State Police.”
Her tongue darts out, dragging along her bottom lip as she nods once. “Ah. So you’re on the low end of the totem pole then,” she answers plainly, lifting her drink to her lips to hide a secretive smile.
The challenge in her eyes only sparks my own, and I can feel my dick twitch from the banter. Damn, I need to get laid. Hallman, one of the deputies I work with, has been hounding me about letting him set me up with his girlfriend’s friends, but I never take him up on it. I’ve been set up before where the outcome isn’t desirable for anyone, and all it does is make things awkward when it doesn’t work out.
“I don’t know if I’d say that,” I reply with a flirty smile. “Our handcuffs work the same at the end of the day. Care for a personal demonstration?”
Even under the dim lighting, I can see the faint pink settle into her cheeks that has nothing to do with the makeup she caked onto that pretty face. It’s a reaction that only encourages me.
Leaning in to crowd her personal space, I drop my voice. “I think you’d like that, Georgia Del Rossi.”
My eyes go to where her throat bobs, half of my lips curling upward at the way she leans into me almost subconsciously. “Who likes being put into handcuffs?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Her cheeks turn redder as her body shifts closer. I don’t think she realizes she does it, but I do. You can always figure out if somebody is interested based on their body language. Her legs are slightly turned toward me, angled in a way that invites more.
“You haven’t asked me for my name,” I point out, taking a swig of my beer.
“I don’t care what it is.”
Humming thoughtfully, I watch as her eyes dip to my mouth and back. When she realizes I caught her, her bottom lip draws into her mouth.
I bump her foot with mine. “I think we both know that’s not true.”
She stares down at her drink, which is nearly empty, before looking at the time on her phone. I wonder if she’s about to make an excuse as to why she has to leave or tell me to go fuck myself.
“It’s Lincoln,” I tell her, holding out my hand.
Her gaze dips down before peeking up at me through her lashes.
“I don’t bite.” I wink. “That hard.”
Narrowing her eyes, she takes my hand and squeezes it gently. Her painted pink nails are sharp, digging into me as she tightens her hold in challenge. “There are plenty of other women here for you to flirt with, Lincoln.”
“True,” I appease, my thumb brushing the back of her hand. “But then you’d get jealous. Wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Pulling back her hand, she grabs the rest of her drink and downs it in one go. Her hair cascades behind her as she takes the drink like a shot. It turns me on. I know women who can handle their alcohol but never whiskey. Especially not one of my favorite kinds.
My eyes go to her hair, and my fingers twitch with the desire to wrap around it. I wonder if it’s as silky as it looks. If she’d like it if I pulled it. The possibilities are endless.
“Why me?” she asks, sliding the empty glass toward the bartender.
Good question. “Why not you?”
Georgia doesn’t answer. Instead, she grabs the purse hanging from the back of the chair and sets it in her lap, digging through it and pulling out a tube of red lipstick.
I watch as she reapplies, my eyes tracking the movement along her plump bottom lip before she rubs them together. I picture what they’d look like wrapped around my cock. Would they leave a stain? God, I fucking hoped so.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” I note. The Barrel has a specific clientele—cops and bikers being the main two. Once in a while, criminals will show up. I’ve been offered drugs almost as much as I’ve been offered blow jobs here. I haven’t taken up either offer, though there were times I was tempted for the latter.
She sets her lipstick back into her purse and pulls out a black credit card, sliding it over to the bartender. It’s not her name on it but a man’s name. Nikolas. Her father? “My friend and I were supposed to go out together, but she bailed on me for a guy.”
My answer is genuine. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs, waiting for the receipt and signing her name on the bottom. She stares at it when she says, “It’s officially my birthday.”
I look at the clock. It’s midnight—12:02.
“Happy birthday,” I tell her almost immediately. “How old are you?”
Her lips tilt up slightly. “Twenty-one.”
“And they served you?” I question. The Barrel tends to be pretty lenient, so I’m not surprised. But they also got hit with a massive fine after they were raided and checked for serving underaged people a few years back. The department that did it got over fifty fake IDs from the clientele that night. They had to close for a few months before reopening under new rules.
Georgia puts her card away before turning to me with watchful eyes. “What are you going to do, Officer? Arrest me?”
A thoughtful noise rises up my throat as I picture her in handcuffs. Only handcuffs. “I guess we’ll see how the night goes.”
Her teeth bite down into her lip again, suppressing a smile.
I lean my arms on the edge of the counter. “Do you want another drink? On me, of course.”
My salary definitely doesn’t cover expensive top-shelf liquor, but I could probably scrape together enough for a glass of blue label.
“No.” Her lips curl downward. “Thank you,” she murmurs, almost as an afterthought.
Sadness dulls those unique eyes.
“What is it that you want for your birthday, Georgia?”
When her gaze finds mine, there’s indecision in the hues that roam over my face. “I don’t think you can give me what I want.”
Curiosity blooms in my chest. “Oh? And what is that?”
For a long moment, Georgia is silent. Contemplative, perhaps. Her tongue dips out, trailing over the seam of her lips again. I watch each little movement, being taunted by her whether she knows it or not. “I want to escape.”
My mind comes up with at least three different positions I’d like to put her in, making me a hell of a lot warmer than before. If an escape is what she wants, I’ll give her one. “I think I can help you.” Brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, I ask, “So the real question is, do you want to go to your place or mine?”
She swallows again, stares at me, and then down at her purse. I’m not sure what she’s thinking for the few moments of silence before she picks up her phone, does something on it, and then tucks it away. When she stands, I’m at eye level to her chest.
My ears perk up at the magical word that comes next. “Yours.”
I let reason evade me as I lead her out of the dive bar and toward my motorcycle parked off to the side. When we stop next to the Harley, I offer her the only helmet I have and say, “Trust me,” when I see the skepticism on her face.
“I’ve never been on one before.”
I’m half-tempted to make a sexual joke, but something in me softens when I see the nerves on her face. “I won’t let you fall. Okay?”
She looks at me, wariness tilting her lips.
Then, under her breath, I hear, “One night.”
I help her put the helmet on before she hesitantly climbs onto the back and wraps her arms around me.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up to my apartment building. I wish I weren’t riled up from something as simple as her arms around my waist, but the second she touched me, my dick jumped to life, straining behind the layers of clothing, knowing it’s moments away from sinking between a pair of sexy thighs.
As soon as we’re off the bike, I help her out of the helmet, grab the back of her neck, and pull her into me for a clashing kiss until a startled noise rises from her. I take advantage of her open mouth to explore it, letting my tongue and teeth wander and play and nip.
When I pull back, I tip her head back by her hair to look me in the eye. “You’re going to do exactly what I say, and if you’re a good girl, I’m going to let you come. Do you understand?”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, a shaky breath exhaling from her parted lips. When she nods, it’s the green light I need to give us both some much-needed relief.
I put a little more pressure on her hair. Silky like I thought. It’s going to look great around my hand as I watch her deep-throat me. “I didn’t hear you, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” she gasps as I dip my head to the crook of her throat and nip the skin above her pulse.
I lick the spot I bit and feel her shiver under my touch. “Good. If an escape is what you want, then you and I are about to have a very long night ahead of us.”
As soon as the front door clicks closed behind her, her back is against it with my mouth on hers. She’s responsive, her hips arching against mine that pin her between me and the wood. My hands grip her sides, sliding over the perfect curve of her ass as hers slowly explore my back, mapping out every inch until they find their way to my hips and hesitate to go any lower.
Biting her bottom lip once hard enough to get a stifled gasp, I trail my lips over to her ear and do the same to the lobe while my fingers grab hold of the hem of her shirt. Breaking apart, she lifts her arms for me to strip her, her black bra soon following behind the other piece of fabric thrown somewhere behind me onto the floor.
Definitely not fake , I note of the perky round breasts that my palms greedily knead. Pinching the nipples that pebble in the cool air, I harden when I hear the subtle noise Georgia makes.
“Do you like that, pretty girl?” I ask, playing with her nipples as her jaw quivers. Lust and something else coats her face. Nerves? No. Somebody like her, as beautiful as her, couldn’t be nervous.
Dipping my head, I take one of the hard buds into my mouth and suck, getting another drawn-out moan from her as she threads her fingers through my hair. I allow her to play, to comb through what little is on my head, and trail her fingers downward to mold around the back of my neck, squeezing, massaging, then lowering to my collarbone as if trying to figure out where to leave them.
Moving from one breast to the other, I work skillfully to undo her jeans, slowly sliding them and the thin scrap of black material she calls panties down her thighs. A matching set. She knew damn well what she was doing when she walked into the bar.
When she’s bare to me, I step back and take her in. “Beautiful,” I murmur under my breath. Her hands move to cover her before I stop them. “Don’t. I want to see you. Better yet—” I drop to my knees with a devious smirk on my face as I look up at her. “I want a taste.”
“What do you—”
She doesn’t get the question out before my lips graze over the carefully groomed area between her thighs. Her words get caught in her throat as my tongue darts out, doing exactly what I tell her I will.
Within minutes, she’s panting over me, one of her legs draped over my shoulder where I put it for better access and all but clenching my head as I massage her ass with my palms while licking, flicking, and sucking the nerves that build her to the brink of insanity.
And I fucking love it.
Her sweet taste.
Her desperate noises.
The way her body responds to every little thing I do to it. Her sensitivity drives me up a wall, and before long, I’m so painfully hard that my cock is practically begging for relief. So, I give it what it wants.
It takes seconds to discard my clothes as I guide Georgia to the couch, guiding her on her hands and knees on the cushions and stuffing two pillows under her stomach so she’s ass up in the air. And damn, is it a great fucking view.
Humming, I cup her and lean down, biting one of the cheeks. “If we had more time, this ass would be mine. You’d be begging me to fill it.”
Her eyes quickly bolt over her shoulder, panic widening the bourbon-colored orbs.
Chuckling, I caress the red spot I left with my teeth. “Don’t worry. We’ll save that for another night. I want to make sure you’re good and ready for me when I claim your ass. Until then, your pussy is mine.”
Cementing the statement, I line myself up behind her and fill her in one fluid motion until I’m seated in the tightest, hottest heaven that I’ve ever felt before.
Georgia freezes, making a garbled sound muted by the couch cushion she buries her face into as I pump into her. Her hand reaches out, gripping the edge of the corduroy fabric until her knuckles turn white. At first, I think the noises she makes are hot—out of control, like she’s trying to hold them back because she’s embarrassed.
But then I look down and notice the blood.
“Did you get your…?” I stop myself when I see the smear of red on her thighs, then realize how tense she is. I’ve seen it before, in high school, when inexperience was something I shared with my first girlfriend. “Georgia…”
Very gently, as gently as possible, I pull out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, staring down at the blood caked on my dick. Helping her turn onto her back on the cushions, I see the vulnerability in her glassy eyes that wasn’t there before.
She swallows, experimentally moving and wincing at the pain I created between her thighs moments ago. She closes her eyes, squeezing the lids once before opening them to meet mine. The fresh glaze of tears kills me. “Because in the family I was raised, virtue is everything.”
I study her face, swiping at a fallen tear as it rolls down her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “What does that mean?”
It’s my job to read people; I never would have guessed that she hadn’t done this before. She came to the bar with a purpose. Gave me that look—the take me home look that instantly hardened my dick. Hell, she was wearing matching panties.
She lets out a quiet breath and wraps her bare legs around my waist, pulling me back down to her. “It means I’m free .”
She leans up and pauses only a moment before she kisses me, using the heels of her feet to push me back in, where I’m already nudging at her entrance. I can feel her lock up, her body flinching as she arches up to allow me in deeper, past the pain from the first time.
“Are you sure?” I ask against her lips.
She loosens a small breath before nodding, experimentally bringing her lips back to mine and exploring my mouth.
The invitation is all I need, though my movements are far more calculated this time. My kisses become gentler, coaxing her to relax as my hand finds its way back between her thighs to toy with her nerves and loosen her up. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Her little gasp as I tweak her clit is the response that stirs something primal inside me, and I spend the next hour making sure her body is sated before burying myself inside her fully again, letting her search and explore and feel comfortable with every position I put her in throughout the sleepless night.
It means I’m free.
I fall asleep thinking about those words.
When I wake up to my phone going off well after the sun has risen, I feel the cold sheets beside me and call out to her groggily.
I sit up and look around and realize I’m alone.
The only thing left of her is the scent on my pillows and the blood droplets on my sheets.