Chapter 6 Tom #3
She did, draping it over the back of a nearby chair as she continued her exploration with unabashed curiosity. She drifted toward the bookshelves, running her fingers along the spines. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding about the reading. This is like a personal library.”
“I’ve been collecting for a while.”
Ever since I was a child, really. It was a rare indulgence, the one area where I allowed myself excess.
“I can see that.” She pulled out a volume, examining it before carefully putting it back in its place.
“Let me get you something to drink,” I said, moving toward the kitchen.
She followed after me, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. I pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, acutely aware of the way she’d leaned against the counter to observe me. I handed her the glass, and she took it with a small smile, her fingers brushing mine.
“You really are a gentleman, aren’t you?” She hummed softly, as if pleased by the idea. She took a sip, her eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass. There was heat in them, unmistakable now. The drive had sobered her up, burned away the slight buzz, leaving only intention.
She set the glass down on the counter and stepped closer. “Tell me, Doctor Hayes,” she said softly, her voice taking on a different quality—lower, more intimate. “Are you going to keep being a gentleman, or are you going to kiss me again?”
I reached for her, and this time there was no hesitation, no question hovering between us.
I pulled her close and she came willingly, her hands sliding up my chest to curl into my shirt.
The kiss was deeper than before, more urgent, her mouth hot against mine.
She tasted like whiskey and want, and when she made a small sound in the back of her throat, something in me unraveled completely.
My hands found her waist, pulling her flush against me until there was no space left between us. She responded by pressing even closer, one hand moving to tangle in my hair, tugging slightly, kissing me like it was a competition she intended to win.
She broke away just long enough to murmur against my lips, “Bedroom?”
“Upstairs.”
“Lead the way, then.”
It took us some time to get there. We stopped every few steps, unable to keep from reaching for each other, hands roaming, mouths finding skin. I pressed her up against the wall next to the stairway, my hands in her hair, her leg hooking around mine.
By the time we reached the bedroom, my heart was pounding hard enough that I could hear it in my ears.
We undressed each other slowly despite the urgency thrumming between us, taking our time, the air charged with anticipation.
I slipped her shirt over her head, my fingers finding the clasp of her bra.
Her hands were working at my buttons, pushing the fabric off my shoulders.
When we finally fell into bed together, her skin was warm against mine, almost feverishly so. Her nails raked down my abdomen as her mouth found the sensitive spot below my ear.
“Aren’t you full of surprises? Who would have thought this was what you were hiding under all those wool sweaters and cardigans? I didn’t take you for a gym-junkie.” Her hand continued to trace a path downwards, and my breath caught in my throat. “Not that I’m not complaining, of course.”
She broke away to hook her thumbs into her underwear, sliding them down in one smooth motion.
My gaze traveled over her body in silent appreciation.
She was beautiful—athletic and lean, her body shaped by discipline rather than vanity.
It felt like a personal failing, suddenly, that I had no talent for art.
She deserved to be captured properly on a canvas, rendered in charcoal or paint.
She would have made an exceptional subject in any medium.
Detective Sawyer reached for my boxers next, and I lifted my hips, letting her strip them away. Then she was pushing me back onto the bed, climbing on top of me. She straddled my thighs, and I could feel the heat of her, close but not quite touching where I wanted her to.
She leaned down and kissed me, hard and demanding, her tongue sliding against mine.
I groaned into her mouth, my hands finding her hips, her waist, wanting to touch everywhere at once.
She bit my lower lip—hard enough to make it sting—before breaking away to kiss down my jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.
I felt her smile against my throat when I made a sound I couldn’t quite control.
Her hands continued to explore, one sliding up to my shoulder, the other moving down between us to wrap around my cock.
I hissed at the contact, my hips jerking involuntarily. She stroked me slowly, her grip firm and sure. “You’re very responsive,” she observed in a low voice. “I like that.”
I couldn’t form words, could only focus on the sensation of her hand moving, the pressure and friction building something hot and urgent in my gut. She watched my face as she worked me, clearly enjoying the effect she was having, the way I was coming undone beneath her touch.
When I was fully hard and aching with it, she positioned herself above me. She sank down slowly, taking me in inch by inch, and I watched her face change—her eyes darkening, her lips parting, a flush spreading across her chest.
The sensation was overwhelming. She was tight and wet around me, and it took everything I had not to thrust up into her, not to take control.
I held back, however. Something told me that wasn’t how she wanted it to unfold.
She was setting the pace herself, taking what she wanted, and I was more than willing to follow her lead.
When she’d taken me in fully, she paused, adjusting, her hands braced on my chest. “Fuck,” she breathed. “You feel so good.”
I could only grip her hips as she began to move.
She started slow, rolling her hips in a way that made me see stars, finding the angle that worked best for her.
My hands mapped her body—her thighs, her waist, up to her breasts.
When I thumbed across her nipples, she made a sound that went straight to my cock, and I felt her clench around me.
“Do that again,” she said, and I complied, rolling the hardened peaks between my fingers. She gasped, her movements becoming less controlled, more frantic. She picked up the pace, riding me with growing urgency.
I watched her—the way her body moved, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. Her face showed everything she was feeling without filter or guard. She was beautiful like this, uninhibited and demanding, taking her pleasure without apology.
I’d never wanted anyone this much. The realization hit me with startling clarity. This wasn’t just going through expected motions, searching for a physical release. I wanted her, wanted to make her feel good, wanted to be the reason she was making those sounds.
One of my hands left her chest to slide between her legs, and my fingers began working her clit in quick, tight circles. She moaned, her head falling back. Her movements became more erratic, desperate. I could feel her getting close, the way her body tensed as she clenched rhythmically around me.
“Yes—fuck, yes, just like that—”
I thrust up to meet her, unable to stay still any longer, and she cried out.
The new angle hit something that made her shudder, and she came suddenly with a sharp cry, her whole body going rigid, her inner muscles clamping down around me in waves that almost bordered on painful.
I watched her face as she shattered, unable to look away from the raw pleasure written there.
Before I could fully process it, she was moving again, riding through the aftershocks, her movements focused and purposeful. “Your turn,” she breathed, and then she was doing something with her hips, a rolling motion that hit every nerve ending at once.
The pressure that had been building suddenly became unbearable. I gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, thrusting up into her, chasing my own release. She encouraged me with breathless words, told me how good I felt, how she wanted to feel me come, and it was way too much—
My vision whited out for a moment, pleasure crashing through me in waves that seemed to go on forever. I felt her contract around me again, milking every last pulse until I felt like I might actually lose my mind.
When I finally came back to myself, gasping for air, she was still on top of me, a satisfied smile on her face. She looked smug, rightfully so.
“Well… I have to admit, this wasn’t how I expected my day to go.”
I huffed a laugh, still trying to catch my breath. I hadn’t either.
She braced her hands on my chest and rolled over, falling next to me with a small huff. I pulled her closer, feeling her settle against me with a contented sigh. It wasn’t long until I felt her beginning to squirm, however.
“I should probably go,” she said, her breath warm against my throat.
Something inside me instantly hated the idea. “Stay,” I found myself saying, before I could think it through. “For the night, I mean.”
She was quiet for a moment, then, “Yeah. Okay.”
Relief flooded through me, though I couldn’t quite explain why it mattered so much. She could have left—should have, probably, given the complications this would inevitably create. But she was here, warm and solid, and I found I didn’t want to let her go just yet.
We lay there in comfortable silence, her breathing gradually evening out. My own thoughts drifted, circling back to the note, to the reason I’d gone to the precinct in the first place. She was safe here. Whatever the note had meant, whatever threat it implied, it hadn’t materialized tonight.
Tomorrow I’d have to think about it more carefully, analyze what it meant, what I should do. But for now, with Detective Shay Sawyer sleeping in my arms, I let myself just be.
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