Thirty Ella #2
I arch against him, my nails scraping down his chest. Panic takes hold inside me, but my body is already quaking around him. “This is temporary, remember?” I gasp out.
“Not anymore. I’m done fighting this.” He pulls out and then powers back inside me.
I can’t think. Not when he’s taking me like this, his eyes a deep brown with those intriguing flashes of copper. “You’re just caught up.”
“Hmm.” He kisses me, his mouth hot as he continues to thrust.
I let him take me over, my mind going quiet.
Then he stops.
My eyes focus. “What are you doing?”
He cocks his head to the side, fulling embedded in me. “Waiting for your agreement.”
“Ha. Like you need agreement. What if I don’t give it?”
“Then you don’t come.”
My mouth gapes open. That isn’t what I expected. I tighten around him, enjoying the flare in his eyes. “The police are waiting.”
“I’m waiting.” He slowly, torturously, pulls out of me and slides back in. He grasps my wrists in his much larger hand and lifts them above my head, trapping them against the floor. “I’ll make you scream until you agree. One time, two times, it doesn’t matter.”
My abdomen turns over, and wetness spills from me. “The police will hear.”
“Good. They can come watch.” His expression turns wicked.
I know not to challenge him, because he’ll accept. My body feels strung tight. I wrap my legs around his waist. “Let me get this straight.” I’m panting but I can’t stop. “You’ve gone from wanting to fuck me out of your system to fucking me into submission.”
His nips along my jawline. “Close enough.” He pulls out, shoving back in, making me arch again because it’s just too delicious.
Tortuous. Determined. His gaze captures mine.
“I won’t hurt you, Ella. More importantly, I’ll never let anybody else hurt you.
Mercy isn’t in me. I’ll never hesitate. I promise. ”
My heart stutters. Actually pauses in my chest. “I don’t know if I can trust like that.”
He bites my earlobe.
I shudder.
“I’m not giving you a choice.” With that, he starts hammering inside me, pushing me up, holding me when I detonate. I cry out his name, my eyelids closing as sparks fly behind them. He locks inside me, his body tightening as he joins me.
I blink my eyelids open.
He grins. “I could’ve gone a couple more times for you, but the cops are here.”
I’d forgotten. Just for a second.
He withdraws and pulls us both to our feet, carrying me into the main room to toss on the bed. “Get dressed.”
“Stop being so bossy.” I roll off and hurriedly go through the stack of clothing he’s bought for me.
I yank out a pair of jeans and a soft white-and-pink-checkered flannel.
Girl cut. My fingers tremble as I button it up.
I have no clue how he knows my size, but every piece fits perfectly.
Socks follow, then brown boots that feel right.
When meeting the police, one should wear boots. “Do cops usually show up here?”
“Never. The fact that my men let them up to the apartment says something.” He runs his hands through his thick, dark hair, brushing it away from his face.
The gesture is rough, impatient, and Lord help me, I notice the lines of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw.
He’s handsome. Strikingly so. If he ever lost Malice Media, he could probably model.
Then I really study him. No. Probably not. Models lean boyish with a hint of edge. Justice is all edge, all dangerous weight. There’s nothing boyish about him.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, breaking free of the thought. “Let’s go.”
He’s already pulled on jeans and a dark gray T-shirt that stretches across his chest in a way that makes me want to curse. He pads barefoot toward the repaired hall. Barefoot. I swear it’s a power move to meet the police in his own living room without shoes, as if to prove he doesn’t need them.
Me? I’ll take the boots. Just in case somebody needs kicking. Or I need to run.
We almost reach the living room when he grabs my hand. His grip is solid, immovable. I try to pull free, and he just tightens, dragging me with him.
“Why the fuck are you in my apartment?” Justice asks without preamble.
Two people stare at us. One is an oversized man, trench coat straining across his gut. The other is a slimmer woman in a fitted black suit. It’s sharp, expensive, and she wears it like armor.
“Sorry to bother you,” the woman says. “I’m Detective Caldwell, and this is Detective Ashner.” Her eyes flick from my wet hair to Justice’s damp mess and then back to me.
Heat rushes into my cheeks.
“We were in the shower,” Justice says unnecessarily.
Oh, man. My fists curl.
“I see,” Detective Caldwell replies, her voice neutral, but her gaze sharp. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to speak with you separately.”
“I mind,” Justice says.
This is odd, but I’m feeling impish. “I don’t mind at all,” I say cheerfully.
He gives me a look. I give him a smile. I’m done letting him dictate everything. I’m not entirely sure how far I can push him, but I want to find out.
“I prefer to stay here,” he says.
“That’s too bad,” Detective Caldwell returns. “Ms. Rendale, we’d like for you to come with us.”
I think about it.
Justice cocks his head, staring at me. His expression is unreadable, and I honestly don’t know what he’ll do.
I don’t know if he’ll take them out or let them walk, and that uncertainty twists in my gut.
My guess is not—surely people know where these detectives are—but it has been a long day, and even if I get free, at some point Justice is going to catch up with me again.
“I think I’ll stay put.” I cock my head. It’s a good thing Justice’s men somehow fixed the place quickly. “Why are you here?”
“How’d you get that bruise on your forehead?” Detective Caldwell asks suddenly.
My hand twitches toward the mark. I hadn’t really thought about it. I must’ve been hit by one of the falling ceiling tiles. It felt like debris was everywhere when Justice had blown his way into TimeGem. I force a laugh. “A rough pickleball match.”
“Pickleball?” Her voice drips with disbelief, and her eyes narrow as she studies me, then they cut to Justice. “You both are pretty battered and bruised for not having any problems.”
“I was in a car accident,” Justice says, his tone even, almost bored.
She squints, stepping closer. “I didn’t read a report about that.”
I angle my head, and my stomach flips when I see the long scrape, purple bruising spreading across his skin. That definitely hadn’t come from a car. That had occurred during the explosion when he rescued me.
“It happened too fast and I didn’t see the other car,” Justice deadpans. His expression doesn’t change. “It’s been a rough day. You have one second to tell us why you’re here.”
I plaster on a smile. This is really weird. “What’s going on?”
Ashner’s phone rings and he answers it. “Yep. We’re here now just waiting for you to call.”
I glance at Justice. His face is stone, no expression at all.
“Are you sure? Okay, thanks.” The detective slides the phone back into his pocket, then turns and walks toward us. His shoes click sharp against the polished floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask again.
He looks straight at Justice. “We’ve had a witness file a report attesting to the fact that you murdered Horace Whimple and buried his body at your estate. We’re executing a search warrant right now, so we thought to bring you in at the same time.”
I shake my head. They were making sure we stayed put until the warrant was served? Horace is dead? Who’d kill him? “That’s ridiculous,” I blurt out.
“Why?” Detective Caldwell demands, her focus snapping to me. “Are you saying your boyfriend here is too innocent to kill anybody?”
I cough out a laugh because I can’t help it. “No.” We all know who Justice is. “I’m saying he’d never be dumb enough to bury a body on his own property.”
Justice gives me a look. “Stop trying to help.”
Fair enough.
“Listen, Mr. Beathach.” The trench-coated detective’s tone hardens. “You’re going to have to come down to the station with us. I suggest you call your lawyer on the way.”