Chapter Twenty-One
Reid
The place is packed enough for cover. Quiet enough that if she moans too loud the couple two tables over will hear every second of it.
It’s ten til seven. I’m at a back corner table. Wine ordered.
She’s mine.
The only question left is how many times I make her come before she admits it.
So why does this feel like a fucking performance review?
Where are we left if she determines I’m not a good fit after all?
Doesn’t change that she’s mine.
Not for me.
I’m dressed like it matters. I’m dressed like I’m testifying in my own murder trial.
Black suit, black shirt, sapphire tie.
The one I wear when IA needs convincing I’m still their man.
She’ll notice. She’s got cop eyes.
Then she walks in and the room forgets oxygen exists.
Pink silk dress, second-skin, cut high enough that if she takes one wrong breath, I’ll see heaven. Heels sharp enough to use as a shank. Hair down in spirals I’ll measured with my fist in the dark.
Every man in here turns.
Every man in here signs his own death warrant.
After a word with the hostess, she glances in my direction.
Locks on me across the room and smiles like she’s the one holding the gun this time.
My cock jerks so hard the table jumps.
She crosses the room and slides into the seat across from me.
“Detective,” she purrs.
“Reid works better when you’re screaming it.” I pour her wine.
She pulls my notebook out of her purse and sets it between us like a loaded weapon.
“I’m wearing the bookmark,” she says, voice low enough the waitress two tables away blushes.
I lean forward. “Good. Because I’ve been wearing your perfume on my cock since Tuesday.”
The waitress approaches, takes one look at the tension crackling across the table, and visibly rethinks her life choices.
We order without breaking eye contact.
I get the steak. Rare.
She gets the pasta.
The second the waitress flees, Juliet leans in. “So, Detective. How many laws have you broken for me this week?”
I smile, slow. “All of them.”
“Why did you kill him?” she asks, voice curious. Not accusing.
I don’t look away. “He said your name like he had the right. Then he told me what he was going to do to your face when he was finished. So I finished him first.”
Her pupils blow wide.
Fork frozen halfway to her mouth.
“Jesus, Reid.”
“You asked.”
She sets the fork down, leans in. “You’ve been jerking off with my panties, haven’t you?”
“Every night. Made me hard that you didn’t chase. Starting to wonder where I ranked.” I smile, slow. “Until you broke into my car and fixed that.”
Her foot slides up my calf, heel scraping. “I don’t rank my men. They’re mine. Different flavors. You’re the one that tastes like danger and control.”
“Speaking of flavor,” I say, eyes on her mouth, “I assume you know how to come on a tongue that just confessed murder.”
She laughs dark and delighted, and her heel digs into my thigh under the table. “Eat your steak. I want you well-fed when I ride your face later.”
I cut a piece, hold it out on my fork.
She leans forward and takes it straight from the tines, teeth grazing metal, eyes locked on mine.
“Good girl.”
She swallows. “You won’t top me either. Not the way you think.”
“I don’t share the driver’s seat,” I warn.
“Elliot and I manage just fine. Two tops, one bed, no casualties yet.” She twirls pasta around her fork like she’s imagining my cock. “But tonight I’m all yours. No audience. No rules except the ones we break together.”
I lean in until our mouths almost touch across the table.
“Listen carefully, pet. You’re going to finish that wine.
Then we’re leaving. My place. I’m cuffing you to my headboard with the same pair I used on my last arrest. And I’m not stopping until you’re hoarse from screaming my name and the only thing left of your lipstick is on my cock. ”
Her breath catches.
“And Oksana?” she whispers.
“Stays breathing until I decide otherwise. She’s no Tammy Walters. You go near her, I’ll spank your ass raw, then fuck you in the evidence locker just to remind you who you belong to now.”
She bites her lip hard enough I want to taste the blood. “Threat or promise?”
“Both.”
She flags the waitress without breaking eye contact. “Check, please.”
I drop three hundreds on the table and stand, buttoning my jacket to hide how hard I already am.
She slides out of the booth, dress riding high enough I see the lace tops of her stockings.
At the door, I crowd her against the wall, one hand on her throat, thumb stroking her pulse.
“Last chance to run, Juliet.”
She grins, wicked and gone.
“I don’t run from what’s mine, Detective. Take me home and ruin me.”
The moment my apartment door closes behind us, I pin her against it.
Hands above her head, wrists gripped tight in mine. Her breath is sugar and wine, hot against my throat. I press my body into hers until she’s trembling for friction.
“I meant every word I said.”
She smirks. “So did I. Now prove it.”
I grab the cuffs from the drawer.
“Bedroom. Strip. Leave the heels.”
She walks like a fucking weapon.
Dress peeled off without shame. Lays it over the back of a chair like we’re civilized people.
Then climbs onto the bed without being told. Stretches her arms above her head and smirks at me from the pillows.
“You cuffing me?”
I lock her wrists to the headboard, one click too tight.
She moans like I just slid inside her.
I strip slow.
Let her see the control. Let her feel it.
And then I crawl over her, press my mouth to her ear. “Scream my name all you want, Juliet. No one’s going to save you from this.”
She arches, wrists pulling taut, lips parted on a gasp.
My name, broken on her tongue.
That’s the moment I know I’ve got her.
And I’m not giving her back.
Her wrists are cuffed. Ankles open.
Heels still on.
Lipstick smudged. Hair wild.
And she’s looking at me like I’m the crime scene she wants to crawl inside.
“God, look at you,” I say, running my hands down her arms, tracing every exposed inch. “You’re fucking perfect like this.”
She stretches against the cuffs.
The links rattle like music.
“Touch yourself,” I say.
She doesn’t move. Just raises an eyebrow, cocky. “Hard to, when you’ve got me locked down.”
I grin, slow and dark. “Exactly. Which means you’re going to have to beg.”
She tests the cuffs again.
Moans, low.
I drag my mouth down her body, biting as I go.
Shoulder, breast, stomach.
She’s already flushed, already arching for more.
I spread her legs wider.
Bury my mouth between her thighs.
Her legs lock around my head.
I pin her open with my forearm and eat her like the case depends on it.
She thrashes.
The cuffs bite into her wrists.
She begs without words. Hips chasing every stroke of my tongue.
“Reid,” she gasps. “Fuck, I, fuck.”
I pull back. Just to watch her unravel.
“Mine,” I growl, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Your taste. Your screams. Your fucking cunt. Mine. Do you hear me?”
She’s wrecked.
Eyes glassy.
Legs trembling.
“I said, do you hear me?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, Reid.”
I line myself up, press the tip against her slick entrance, and hold still.
“I want to hear you say it.”
She glares. “Say what?”
“Say you’re mine.”
Juliet lifts her head, hair falling wild across her face. She licks her lips and grins like the goddamn devil.
“I was yours the second you followed me into that mall.”
I thrust into her so hard the headboard slams the wall.
And finally, finally, she screams my name and shatters around my cock.
Wrists yanking hard against the cuffs, legs locked around my waist, mouth open in a perfect O of surrender.
“Fuck, that’s it,” I growl, gripping her hips tight enough to bruise. “Squeeze me just like that. Jesus, Juliet.”
She convulses once, twice, then goes limp beneath me.
A wreck.
A masterpiece.
I don’t move.
Not yet.
Just watch her breathe through the aftershocks, eyes glassy, mascara streaking like war paint.
Then I unclip the cuffs, and pull her up by the throat. “On your knees.”
She obeys, still panting, hair a tangle, lips swollen from kissing and biting and begging.
I stand at the edge of the bed and stroke myself once, twice.
“Open wide, pet. Show me how you say thank you.”
She does.
Tongue out.
Eyes locked on mine.
A filthy little promise in the shape of a girl.
I thrust into her mouth slow and deep, both hands in her hair.
“Look at you. All those sharp edges and you’re softest like this.”
She moans around my cock, hands braced on my thighs, throat relaxing to take every inch.
“Fucking perfect,” I say, hips rocking faster now. “You were made for this.”
She gags, drool slipping down her chin.
I hold her there for long enough to watch her eyes water.
“Touch yourself,” I order.
She whimpers and does. One hand between her thighs, the other bracing on my waist.
And that’s fucking it.
I come hard, deep in her throat, her name breaking out of me like a confession.
She swallows every drop. Licks her lips. Smiles like sin incarnate.
She collapses back onto the bed, breathless, flushed, wrists still pink from the cuffs.
I grab a towel from the bathroom, damp it, and clean her gently.
She watches, too tired to tease, too fucked-out to move.
“You okay?” I ask, quiet.
She nods. “More than okay.”
I press the towel to her wrists.
Pull a blanket over her, tuck it around her hips, and slide into bed beside her.
She scoots closer, curling into my chest like we do this every night.
She’s already half-asleep, but her hand finds mine under the covers.
Holds tight.
Like she’s memorizing how this feels before she burns it all down.
I don’t say anything.
I just hold her.