49. Harper
HARPER
Luke's mouth is on mine, and for a moment I forget everything.
The evidence room. The files. My father's signature on every single case that destroyed someone's life. I forget that the man who taught me about justice has been obstructing it for five years—that he’s been lying for God knows how long.
The only thing I know right now is Luke.
His tongue slides against mine, claiming, demanding, and I kiss him back desperately because I need this. I need him to make me feel something other than this crushing weight in my chest.
When he pulls back, his eyes search mine. "You gonna let me take care of you, sunshine?"
I want to be tough and say I’m fine, and at the same time I want to beg him to take care of me. So all I say is, "Don’t call me that."
He smiles, and I know he understands me. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "You have to be quiet. I’ll have to stop if you make noise. You understand?"
"Yes," I whisper.
Luke's expression softens for just a second before heat replaces it. "Christ, I can’t get enough of you."
He kisses me again, harder this time, and I arch into him as much as the restraints allow. His hand slides under the shirt, palm hot against my ribs, moving upward.
The handcuffs bite into my wrists as I pull against them instinctively. The metal is cold, unyielding. I can't move my arms—can't protect myself or hold anything together.
When his thumb brushes the underside of my breast, I gasp into his mouth.
He swallows the sound and deepens the kiss, his hand cupping me fully now, moaning softly when he feels I have no bra on. He breaks the kiss and sits back, his hands finding the hem of the shirt. "Arms up—oh wait." He grins, wicked and playful. "Guess you can't do that."
I need his skin on mine. I need the heat and pressure and reality of him but there’s too many layers between us. “Get it off.”
“I plan to.” He pushes the fabric up slowly, exposing my stomach, my ribs, my breasts. The cool air hits my skin and my nipples tighten immediately.
"Fuck, Harper." His voice is rough and reverent. "You're so goddamn beautiful."
He lowers his head and takes my left nipple into his mouth.
I bite my lip hard to keep from crying out. His tongue circles, teases, then he sucks hard enough to make my back arch off the bed.
"Quiet," he reminds me as he moves to my other breast.
This time when I gasp, he covers my mouth with his hand. The pressure is firm but gentle. A reminder. A command. I moan against his palm, and he rewards me by biting down gently on my nipple.
Pleasure spikes through me, sharp and electric. My hips roll involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking him.
"That's it," Luke murmurs, releasing my breast to kiss down my stomach. "Let me see what you need."
His hands hook into the waistband of my sleep shorts, dragging them down my legs in one smooth motion.
And then I'm completely naked. Bound. Exposed.
At his mercy.