Chapter Seventeen
Juliet
Vitaly’s been a walking orgasm in an apron all week.
Family dinner is locked, loaded.
The boys are vibrating like virgins on prom night because fresh-meat hazing is a sacred tradition in this house.
They even tidied the playroom.
Lube alphabetized, floggers dusted, swing oiled.
Orion’s been roasting Callum that he’s finally getting promoted from ‘baby of the family’ to ‘middle child who needs therapy.’ Elliot went full Freud and asked how Callum feels about losing his crown. Noah keeps saying that Vitaly’s nervous.
God, I love that for me.
He’s so fucking precious.
But today? Today is Reid-shaped.
Tall, broody, badge-carrying, morally bankrupt Reid.
My dirty little detective left a single pink rose on my desk this morning. And a glossy 8x10 of me riding Vitaly’s cock in the bakery back room. Note scrawled on the back in that sharp handwriting:
I’m watching your ass. You’re welcome. —R.
Like it’s a favor.
Like I don’t already know where every inch of him is, always.
How cute.
I took the rest of the day off. Obviously.
Right now he thinks I’m in my office being a good girl, filing TPS reports.
Oh baby, you wish.
The only thing I’m filing is a restraining order against my own self-control.
Tracker says he’s four minutes from the burger joint.
Just like he always is this time of day when he works.
He’ll be sitting in the back, at one of the umbrella tables.
Eating a disgusting greasy triple decker bacon wrapped cheeseburger monstrosity. Paperwork spread on the table. A basket of onion rings. And coffee.
He needs some homecooked love.
God. I can’t wait until Vitaly and Elliot get in the kitchen together.
To be fair, he’s a civilized savage. Like my other darlings.
Never talks with his mouth full. No drippy meat beard.
Just clean hands, sharp eyes, and a jaw that could grind me to dust.
Florist first.
One pink rose. One teddy bear. The heart stitched between its paws says mine.
Gas station next.
Heath bars and Tic Tacs. Reid’s guilty pleasures.
Message received?
I watch you too, baby.
And unlike you, I don’t leave evidence.
He’s like me.
And that’s why the moment he sees this shit?
He’s going to come in his pants like a fucking romantic.
By the time I get to the burger place he’s already at his table, eyes down on his papers.
I pull my long coat tight, covering my pretty soft pinks in drab grey.
His driver window is cracked because Reid is arrogant enough to think no one would dare.
Cute.
I open the door and slide into the driver seat.
The gifts go on the passenger seat.
Oh.
Oh yes.
I spot the stack of Moleskines in the center console.
Neat. Labeled. Begging to be violated.
It’d be rude not to.
I tug them out. Flip one open.
Snort.
First one?
Boring-ass procedural bullshit.
Witness says... timeline... affidavit... snooze.
My phone buzzes. It’s the group chat.
Callum: Baby when’s our Russian arriving? Orion’s getting weird about the timeline.
I text back one-handed.
Me: Tomorrow. I’m asking Reid out the next day.
Elliot: Group or solo destruction?
Me: You all get one solo date. I have to sample the equipment before I bring it home.
Orion: No way with balls that big is his dick mediocre.
Noah: Shouldn’t we invite Vitaly to the group chat?
Callum: Is Reid gonna be in here?
Elliot: One thing at a time. Family night with Vitaly.
Me: I’m baiting Reid now. TTyL
I put the phone down. Pick up the second notebook.
Oksana. Timelines. Surveillance.
Russian names circled, a few question marks, arrows connecting Krestov to Volkov.
Bingo.
That’s why you’re following me.
I’m work. I’m a goddamn case file.
How fucking dare you.
And why is that the hottest thing I’ve ever read?
I scan it.
Nothing interesting.
Just enough breadcrumbs to prove I’m the cookie he can’t stop chasing.
But. Oksana in two of men’s lives?
Bitch is done.
Third notebook?
Jackpot.
Header: Juliet Lovelace.
Page after page of me.
Sleeping. Laughing. Bent over the kitchen counter while Callum fucks me from behind. Timestamped photos. Lipstick swatches. One page just says ‘mine’ written over until the pen tore through the paper.
He’s going to fuck me into a religious experience.
On the car? You naughty boy.
With cuffs.
Then I see it.
Tucked in the back.
Noah’s schedule. Orion’s gym routine. Elliot’s office hours. Callum’s warehouse address.
He’s not just tracking me. He’s tracking all of them.
I go very still.
Oh.
Oh, this changes things.
He’s investigating.
Not obsessed.
Well. Both.
But one of those comes with a badge and consequences.
Does he know what Callum is? Does he know what I did to Tammy?
I scan more.
There it is.
He watched Orion and Callum with Adam.
Fuck.
He has proof. But filed no report.
So either he’s choosing me...
Or he’s building the case that destroys us all.
And I need to know which.
I pull a pen from my purse.
On the last page. The one he’ll flip to after I stroll over to his table? I write:
Dinner. The Italian place on Main. 7 Wednesday.
Come collect the other panties in person. Or I’ll come collect you. Your choice. But we both know you’ve already chosen.
Your move, Detective. But next time you want to play hide and seek, remember: I don’t lose.
And I really, really like winning in handcuffs.
— J
P.S. Your car smells like me now.
You’re welcome.
I glance up.
He’s at his table.
Jaw working that burger, completely oblivious that I’m currently fingering his entire soul.
God, that jaw.
I want it between my legs until I forget English.
I hike my dress just enough, slip my hand into my panties. The white lace ones that are already soaked through from reading his obsessive little diary.
One glance up.
He’s licking grease from his thumb.
My hips jerk. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Slide two fingers inside myself. Eyes on him.
Fuck my own hand to the rhythm of his jaw working that burger.
It takes maybe thirty seconds. I’m that far gone. I come hard, thighs clamping around my wrist, breath fogging the driver window. A strangled little whimper slipping out.
When the stars clear from my vision, I peel the ruined panties down my legs. And tuck the warm, wet lace right between the pages of his Juliet notebook like a pressed flower made of sin.
Page marked with my scent, my come, my victory.
A perfect mirror for his gift.
Let him open that notebook and drown in me.
Let him jerk off with my panties wrapped around his cock and my taste on his fingers while he reads my dinner invitation.
I catch my reflection in the window.
Flushed. Wrecked. Dripping.
Vitaly would gently wipe my forehead. Make me tea. Ask if I’m okay.
Reid would take a picture and use it as evidence.
Vitaly is cream and safety.
Reid is gasoline and danger.
That’s why need them both.
Completing flavors.
I leave the Tic Tacs on top like a cherry on his mental breakdown, spritz the driver’s seat with my perfume.
Crotch height, obviously
I smooth my dress, fix my lipstick in the rearview, and stroll out bare underneath, air kissing every sensitive inch of me like a promise of what’s coming Wednesday.
At my car I drop the coat. Pink dress, no bra, nipples staging a full revolt. Lipstick fresh.
I stroll past to table like I own the sidewalk and every dirty thought in his head.
Drop the Heath bar right on his precious case files.
His eyes snap up. Recognition. Hunger. Panic.
All in one delicious second.
I steal an onion ring, bite slow while I hold his stare.
“Checkmate in two, Detective.”
He cocks his head. Confused.
That’s right lover.
I turn and walk away.
He doesn’t follow.
He just sits there, leaking adrenaline and pre-cum in equal measure.
He’ll show up Wednesday.
Wearing my perfume.
With my panties in his pocket.