Detective Channing Sharpe
Virginia Beach Police Department
Second Precinct
“Psst, Kelly. Look at this dumb shit.” Sharpe tossed a crumpled piece of paper at his partner and nodded for her to look over her shoulder.
Kelly lifted her head from where it was resting on her palm and turned to see what he was offended by now.
“What, are we in fuckin’ high school?” he fussed. “Where is she supposed to put that big-ass thing, huh?”
Kelly rolled her kohl-lined eyes. “I don’t give two shits about a goddamn Valentine’s Day myself, Sharpe. But damn, man. I’m not hating on the ones who do.”
“Have your bullshit gifts sent to your house.” Sharpe stood and yanked his leather coat off the back of his rickety chair. “Now I have to stare at that massive rose bush and six-foot teddy bear for the rest of the shift.”
“Why are you even here, Sharpe?” Kelly snapped at him. “Go home, man. I have to be here. You don’t.”
He wasn’t answering that. She already knew why he hated going home.
“Isn’t it time for you to take another cigarette break?” His partner slammed shut the file she’d been reviewing for over an hour while Sharpe scowled at nothing.
It was his resting bastard face. His mouth only turned one way: downward. He was starting to believe he’d been born with no smiling muscles.
“There’s only four hours left of the night, Sharpe, fuckin’ suck it up.” Kelly grabbed her stained Virginia Tech mug and kicked his chair on her way past. “Be gone when I come back.”
Sharpe flipped her off. “Witch,” he yelled at her back. He wouldn’t dare call her the B-word. He preferred to keep his front teeth.
He didn’t hate February fourteenth. He felt nothing for the day that brought him a myriad of bad memories.
Boyfriends he’d ignored out of obligation to the badge, Valentine’s dinners he’d missed because he’d lost track of time. Gifts that were never given because he always forgot.
This so-called holiday was for kids who thought they knew what love was or couples who were new and still on their best behavior.
Sharpe made his way through the mostly empty station, ignoring the handful of unwed officers on duty tonight. He threw open the station doors and released a long exhale before starting up the dark walkway.
His attitude cooled the moment he was outside. He preferred this time of night. Quiet, empty, as if he were the sole survivor after an apocalypse.
Sharpe turned down the alley behind the station, passing overflowing dumpsters and puddles of what he hoped wasn’t vomit.
He stopped when he was clear of the glow from the streetlights. He wanted to stand in the dark because it was always how he felt inside.
He removed his crumpled pack of cigarettes and lighter from his back pocket, but he paused with his smoke halfway to his lips.
The only smells that should be back here were trash, urine, pungent Chinese food from the restaurant next door, and rat shit.
Sharpe closed his eyes, his dick flexing at the citrusy-lavender scent drifting past him, the scent he’d been jerking off to every morning.
Motherfucker .
He leaned against the cold cement wall and shook his head in disbelief.
He finished lighting his cigarette before he asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Lincoln stood on the opposite side of the alley, nestled farther into the dark.
“Not bad, Detective.” That suave, sexy voice was a lot closer than he’d thought. “You couldn’t see me, but…”
“I could smell you,” Sharpe finished.
“Good evening.” Lincoln was right in front of him now, his minty tobacco-scented breath brushing Sharpe’s lips.
“Why are you here?” Sharpe repeated, trying but failing not to react to the surprise and the closeness.
Lincoln pressed one hand against the wall, his forearm brushing Sharpe’s ear.
“Why do you think I’m here?” Lincoln fucking purred against his earlobe. “I’m a gentleman, and it’s Valentine’s Day…I came to see my Valentine.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Sharpe scoffed.
Lincoln chuckled, dark and seductive. “You know nothing, Detective.”
Sharpe almost growled at the way Lincoln used his title.
“But I can damn sure teach you.”
There was no way Lincoln couldn’t feel the lead pipe stabbing his pelvis because he could damn sure feel Lincoln’s.
He tried to act annoyed at this unexpected visit, but his cock and pounding heart were all evidence to the contrary.
“How long have you been out here?”
“For as long as it took.”
Sharpe hated that the man liked to speak in riddles.
Instead of insisting on a straight answer, knowing he wouldn’t get it, he brought his cigarette to his lips. He inhaled, and the glowing embers illuminated Lincoln’s gorgeous face.
Those soul-piercing blue eyes almost made him choke.
“That’s quite enough of that.” Lincoln eased the cigarette from between Sharpe’s fingers and took his own slow pull before tossing it aside.
“You’re here pretty late, Detective. I assume later than needed.”
“Your point?” he rumbled.
Lincoln nudged Sharpe’s stance wider and made himself comfortable between his legs.
“Fuck,” he grunted, an exhilarating panic clenching his gut.
Lincoln was so close. A glaring warning rang in Sharpe’s mind.
Lincoln turned his head, his soft lips grazing his neck.
“That anxiety and pain you feel in the pit of your stomach.” Lincoln pressed his hand between Sharpe’s pecs. He went silent as if he were listening to something inside him. “That pounding behind your rib cage is your heart sensing healing within its reach, but…”
Sharpe closed his eyes and took a slow, calming breath that didn’t work.
“You’re doing all you can to combat it.”
“Lincoln.” Sharpe groaned at the ache and the truth.
Lincoln’s dick jerked along with his, and again, he was helpless to stop the moan of pleasure.
Narrow, confident fingers wove through the mess of Sharpe’s hair, idly massaging the back of his neck.
“I feel your heart screaming out to me,” Lincoln whispered, his breathing shallow and erratic.
Sharpe could’ve pushed Lincoln away anytime, but some invisible force kept him rooted in place, his fists clenching at his side.
“I haven’t seen you since the masquerade.”
Lincoln nestled into Sharpe’s throat, his hot breath sending chills down his spine.
“Since you ran from me.” He caressed the curve of Sharpe’s jaw. “Did you think I’d give up? Hmm? You thought I’d just forget about you and move on?”
Yes.
“That won’t happen.” Lincoln nipped him on his bristly cheek. “But you’ve tried to forget me, haven’t you? That’s why you’ve been working seven days a week.”
Sharpe wanted to be outraged at the invasion of his privacy, but his voice was barely a murmur. “You been watching me?”
“Yes,” Lincoln answered without hesitation.
He should’ve been pissed, but he wasn’t.
Lincoln’s lips grazed his ear, his breath hot and chilling at the same time.
“If you were at Belladonna, I would never allow your job to be your priority. Nothing and no one would occupy your mind…but me.”
The words slid over Sharpe like fire and ice, searing straight through his armor. His knees threatened to give out, his heart hammering so hard he swore Lincoln could feel it. The bastard was too close, too sure of himself—pressing in with that casual dominance that made Sharpe’s pulse thunder.
Lincoln’s body heat was everywhere, drowning out the cold edges of his perpetual discipline.
Sharpe was a man who lived by order, control, and fearlessness, but Lincoln’s intensity made him tremble. And it riled him that it was desire and not fear.
He’d never be able to let Lincoln go if he got even the tiniest sample of him.
And that terrified him.
Why doesn’t he just give up like everyone else?
“Mmm, I can hear that.” Lincoln hummed. “Stop making assumptions, Detective, and come back to Belladonna.”
And just when you do, Sharpe’s mind snarled, you’ll be tossed out on your ass after being so-called healed. Another notch in this pretty boy’s belt. Another lost cause filed away.
Sharpe squeezed his eyes closed at the headache starting behind his left eye. Stop .
“Channing. Stop listening and just look at me.” Lincoln brushed kisses against his closed lids.
If you fall for his schemes, you’ll be back to square one.
Lincoln’s lips were so soft and warm. He wanted more.
What the fuckin’ fuck am I doing?
Lincoln gripped him tighter at the base of his neck and slid his other arm around his back, up under his leather coat.
Sharpe’s vision went white-hot. His instincts screamed to shove him off, to regain ground.
But his soul? His starving, restless soul wanted nothing more than to collapse into it and surrender.
His jaw locked, but his body betrayed him—leaning, craving, straining toward Lincoln’s heat. The scent of him, clean cologne, smoke, and ocean air, seeped through Sharpe’s defenses.
His cock ached, hard and demanding, a need chipping at every piece of the wall he’d built.
Lincoln’s voice came again, low and straight to the weakest parts of him, where no one else was permitted.
“You won’t scare me off, Channing. If you push me away…I will return.”
“Why?” he growled. “You can have any fuckin’ man you want.”
“Why the fuck do you think I’m here? Hmm?” Lincoln pushed his lower body into his. “You think I’ve been sitting in the alley for the last three hours because I like the fuckin’ smell.”
Sharpe’s breath tore from him in a harsh groan, his head pounding, chest clenching.
Because goddammit…he wanted to believe Lincoln.
“I ain’t what you want.” He meant to say it with some backbone, but it sounded more like an agonizing plea. “I’m the one no one wants. I’ve been with some—”
Lincoln crushed his lips to his, as if he didn’t care to hear what else he had to say.
It wasn’t cautious or polite. It was the kind of kiss that said, “ Will you shut your goddamn mouth already ?”
Sharpe stiffened for half a second, fists clenched at his sides, but Lincoln’s mouth wouldn’t let him overthink what was happening. Lincoln’s insistent tongue pushed raw recklessness straight into him.
It burned, breaking him open.
And too soon, Lincoln pulled away just enough to whisper.
“I don’t care about your past, Channing. And you shouldn’t either.” Lincoln cupped his jaw. “Not when your future is right in front of you.”
Sharpe nuzzled into Lincoln’s hot palm before he could stop himself.
“I want back what you took from me.” Lincoln pushed his forehead harder into his.
Sharpe was half-delusional, his dick hard as fuck.
“What?” he croaked.
He couldn’t see Lincoln’s hand in the darkness, but he easily made out the heart he drew in the center of his chest with his fingertip.
“ This belongs with me, Channing, and I want it back…now.”
Sharpe’s wants and rational mind were engaged in a painful game of tug-of-war. He didn’t know which side would win, nor which he wanted to win.
All he did know was that he was terrified.
A soft, warm kiss was placed against his lips, chaste but no less powerful than the first one.
Lincoln pulled open one side of Sharpe’s leather coat and stuffed something into his inside pocket.
“A little something for my Valentine.”
Lincoln backed away inch by inch, taking his hypnotizing scent and touch with him.
“You know where I’ll be…don’t make me wait too long.”
The vibration in his chest from the rumble of Lincoln’s motorcycle was enough to distract him from completely losing his shit or doubting that really had just happened.
God-fuckin-damn.
Sharpe dropped his head against the cold brick and pressed his palms into his eyes.
Once his dick calmed and the blood recirculated back to his brain, he removed what Lincoln had shoved in his pocket.
He wrapped his hand around the small cardboard-like box, already suspecting what it was.
Anyone over forty would know.
He took out the box and rolled his eyes before prying open the top flap.
He hated to admit that the sweet smell of the old-school heart-shaped candy was bringing back some not-so-bad feelings. Nice ones he used to have before he allowed life…love…to defeat him.
Sharpe popped a couple of pieces in his mouth, wondering what saying was on them: Be Mine or Kiss Me .
He was about to return to the station to finish the shift until he remembered he didn’t have to.
Lincoln was right. He was working even when he wasn’t required. All because he was trying to ignore what his soul was calling for.
Healing and restoration.
Belladonna .