Chapter 13 #2
"I pictured exactly this, so many fucking times.
Sitting in this chair while you made me feel good, just…
like…this." I toy with her hair, trail it through my fingers.
"I imagined you…fuck, fuck. I imagined you walking into this office, closing the door, shutting the blinds, and sucking me off.
" I close my eyes and hiss as she sucks hard, the intensity making my hips lift of their own accord.
"I…I would be in my shower jerking off thinking about you and I'd almost be listening for the door, wishing you would walk in and take over.
I'd lie in bed at four in the fucking morning, unable to get back to sleep, and I’d think about you slipping under the covers and taking my cock in your mouth and—ohhhh fucking hell, honey. Jesus, your fucking mouth."
Her eyes smile, since her mouth is busy.
Her eyes stay fixed on mine, and she guides my hands to her hair.
When I clutch her head and press her down, she groans and goes faster, deeper, tongue swirling busily as her mouth travels up and down my throbbing, aching shaft.
I growl helplessly, and she slaps a palm over my mouth.
I feel the pressure building inside me, release boiling in my balls, pounding and pulsing in my cock, and yet I hold back, not wanting this to end—this fantasy come true. How many times did I jerk off picturing Lacey Grey on her knees in this very office?
And here she is, gleefully taking my cock like it's her last meal. God, she's eager. I've known a couple of girls who seemed to actually like doing this, but not many. Most will if asked, but if given the choice would rather not, which is understandable.
Lacey seems like she's enjoying this almost as much as she did the orgasm I just gave her.
She keeps one hand over my mouth and her eyes laser-focused on mine, and with the other, she cups my balls, teases them with her fingernails, caressing and massaging until the wild pressure becomes furious desperation.
I can't stop my hips from lifting, yet she only takes my helpless thrust in stride, backing away and letting me thrust, and then resuming the slide of her lips, now shallow and fast around the head, and now slowly and lazily sliding down to my root, always changing things up, keeping me guessing from second to second, until I'm gasping hoarsely into her hand, growling in my throat, clenching my jaw till my molars hurt.
I'm literally seconds from exploding, the pressure in my balls and shaft and belly swelling and hot and intense—
A fist raps on my door twice, sharply. "Sheriff?"
Lacey springs to her feet, drags a wrist across her mouth, and adjusts her clothes faster than belief would merit while I roll my chair up to the edge of the desk, hiding my giant naked hard-on.
I wiggle my mouse to wake up the screen and tap my password in while calling, "Enter." I pretend to be busily at work, typing rapidly—good thing my monitor has one of those filters so you can only see what’s on the screen if you’re looking directly at it, because I’m typing pure gibberish into a blank Word page.
Lacey has her silly little Motorola Razr out, and she's studiously peering at it like there's some vitally important message on her circa 2005 dumb phone. She sells the nonchalance, though.
Deputy Miller, a few years out from retirement, adjusts his round wireframe glasses as he peeks his graying head in.
"Heya, Sheriff, sorry to bother you, but uh…
Deputy Mosely is here to see you. He ain't on the schedule today and I can't for the life of me figure out how he knew you were here when no one knew you was even in comin' in. "
"I, uh…" Need smashes through me like wildfire; I was literally seconds from coming down Lacey’s throat, and it's taking every last shred of self-control I possess to not rip into Miller.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale slowly through pursed lips and puffed-out cheeks. "Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Send him in."
Miller slaps the inside of the doorframe. "You got it." He leaves the door cracked as he goes to bring Mosely.
I lean back in the chair and wrench my Louisville slugger back into my jeans, wincing and hissing as I shift, trying in vain to ease the ache. "Fucking goddammit."
Lacey rubs my shoulders. "I'll take care of you later. I promise."
My gaze snaps up to hers; there was a hint of trepidation in her tone. "Work obligations happen, babe. It's okay."
"But you didn't get to—"
"No," I interrupt, covering her hand with mine as it rests on my shoulder. "And it's rough, not gonna lie." I let heat swell in my expression. "Your mouth is fucking heaven, Sweet Thing. But it's not your fault."
"I—I know that, Cole."
I search her face and see the lie I'm not sure she's even aware of.
"No, I don't think you do. We'll talk more after I hear what Mosely has to say.
" I smile at her. "I know what this is about, and you can stay if you like.
I ran my cold case theory by him. I think he must have some questions or found something out, if he's hunting me down at—" I glance at the clock on my computer screen. "Seven-oh-eight on a Saturday morning."
"Oh. If it's a whole private law enforcement guy thing, I can find something to do."
"That's what I'm saying, babe. It's an off-book investigation at the moment.
I don't have enough to justify reopening the case surrounding Dad's death, nor anything solid on Amber Brunner’s disappearance.
So it's up to you. I told you pretty much everything, but Mosely is the only other person with whom I’ve discussed this outside the guys, and I'd appreciate it if you kept it that way. "
She bends over behind me and slings her arms around my neck, nuzzling my jaw at my earlobe.
"I know you have to say it, Cole, but I hope it's obvious that I would never, ever discuss with anyone—even the guys—anything you ever told me about work.
Just like if I were to be a lawyer, I would discuss cases with you and expect that the details would stay between us. "
It hasn’t escaped my notice how we're acting with each other. We've fallen right back into couple behavior without even trying, and we still have a lot of big conversations to have.
But I can't deny anymore that my feelings for this woman never abated, never changed. I just don't know what everything that's happened in between means for us.
Her breath is hot on my ear as she whispers. "I'm very upset that I didn't get to finish you off, CoCo." She moves to the other side, nibbling my ear. "I promise, as soon as I find a chance, I'm going to start all over again and I'm not stopping until I've swallowed every…last…drop of your cum."
At that precise moment, Mosely enters my office with a quick, perfunctory tap of his knuckles as he nudges the door open further.
"God fucking dammit, Lacey," I snarl under my breath. “That's just cruel."
She sniffs a soft laugh and pats my shoulders. "I think we need some food. The Good Egg isn't far. Could I borrow your truck?"
I dig the keys to my personal vehicle out of my hip pocket and toss them to her—even as I do so, I can already hear the town gossip chain jangling with the news that Lacey Grey is driving my truck around town and procuring breakfast at seven on Saturday morning.
I guarantee you, by ten, I'll have half a dozen messages and voicemails asking if we're back together and what exactly the fuck happened.
She catches the keys deftly, one-handed, slipping her index finger through the ring and twirling them a couple times before catching the keys against her palm. "Deputy Mosely, would you like anything?"
Mosely's eyes widen. "Uh, ma'am?"
"From The Good Egg. Coffee, breakfast sandwich?"
He looks at me as if for permission, and I hold up my hands. “Don't look at me. She wouldn't offer if she didn't mean it."
"I…um, I wouldn't hate a sausage-egg-and-cheese biscuit sandwich and a black coffee." He glances at me again as if to make sure I'm still okay with this. I cover a grin of amusement with one hand. He's a funny guy.
Lacey snags her purse off the guest chair in front of my desk and slings it diagonally across her torso as she exits the office—I notice the way she assesses the rest of the department, counting heads, I’d wager.
"She's coming back with food for everyone," I say, rapping a knuckle on the desk. "Watch."
"But…she doesn't know any of us. Why would she…?"
I cackle. "Carter, that's Lacey Grey. She grew up here. Miller's known her since she was in diapers, and I think he actually used to be a deacon at the church her folks belonged to. Connors she went to school with, Aimes too. In fact, everyone here she knows to some degree."
"Oh." He watches her weave through the bullpen, pausing to talk to Miller and Connors; his eyes are glued to her ass as she saunters out of the building.
I don't blame him—that woman has one hell of a glorious backside. It's a big, round, firm, juicy peach, and those jeans are skin-tight, molded to her curves like they're all but painted on. Any straight man with a pulse is gonna stare at that thing as it passes by.
Hell, I'm staring right along with him—and Connors, and Miller, and I assume Velasquez too.
Mosely shakes his head as if returning to his senses, and his eyes flick to mine, widening comically; I must be smirking, making him realize I caught him staring. "Sir, I—um. I…I mean, I—"
I take pity on the poor kid. "Don't worry about it, kid. I get it, and you weren't the only one." I jut my chin at Miller and Connors at their head-to-head desks; Miller quite literally taps the underside of Connors' jaw, which is hanging open. The doofus is all but drooling.
This makes Carter snicker a laugh, but he sobers quickly, shaking his head. "I just couldn't look away, sir."