10. Jasper #2
That's when I get my first real glance at what the hell she's wearing as her peach-shaped ass moves in front of me.
A pair of tight-fitting dark jeans, that mold to her legs and make her ass look ripe enough to eat, and should be illegal in all fifty states.
I follow the line down her body, tracing the curve of her spine and the rigidity of her posture, then to her dainty feet, where I see a pair of white sneakers. "Lyssa, what the fuck are you wearing?"
Her whole body stiffens up as if I've hit her, and for a moment, I think she's going to ignore me, so imagine my surprise when she comes to a sudden halt and instead turns around.
Her brown eyes are alight with fire and rage, her breathing rapid and her jaw clenched.
"Shut the fuck up, Garnier, and focus on the job we have to do and not my wardrobe! "
Holy shit. My previously deflating cock instantly reacts to her anger, and the look of pure malice across her features, and a chuckle breaks before I can swallow it. "Jesus, Lyssa, you use that filthy mouth to kiss your mother?"
I know instantly it was the wrong thing to utter, as a stillness comes over her before her eyes narrow. "My mom abandoned me in the system when I was born, so I doubt she cares how filthy my mouth is."
My stomach plummets to my feet with devastation at the information she unwillingly imparts, and I instantly feel like a massive pile of shit. Fix it, my brain is screaming. "Fuck... Lyssa... I..."
She gives me her back and utters over her shoulder, her voice so frigid that it makes me cold even under the bright sunlight. "Save it, Garnier. I do not care. It was a long time ago, and it doesn't bother me."
I want to yell back that it bothers the fuck out of me, and go searching for her cunt mother that did that to her.
Instead, I watch her approach Stephens, dismayed at how badly I just fucked that up.
Why do I always have to put my foot in my mouth when it comes to her?
With other women, I'm suave, a professional flirter, and have never had an issue charming their panties off.
Scarlett Lyssa just has to stare in my direction, and I feel like a hormonal teenager with gangly limbs, attempting to talk to his crush for the first time.
I'm so lost in my reprimanding thoughts that I miss the first part of her conversation with Stephens, and only clue in when I catch him giving her the once-over.
Irritation and the desire to snap his neck instantly burn through my veins, and if I didn't know better, I would think I was jealous.
He attempts to mask his surprise and delight at her shoes, but fails when she catches his expression.
His glance instantly turns in my direction, and I feel my neck getting warm at the way he's looking at me, as if he could at any moment jump my bones.
He should be more subtle. I know I use my charm with him to get what I want, but still, Lyssa picked up on it.
I peek to see if she's reacting, but she's not even looking in our direction.
"There seems to be more rage with this one.
Even with the burns, I can see Ashmaker...
I mean, ummm... the killer took out his rage on him.
I count no less than ten deep stab wounds across his torso, possibly more, but until I get him on my table, it's hard to tell.
" Stephens watches her, as she approaches the body like a scientist observing one of his lab experiments, and it instantly puts me on edge.
Mine blares through my mind, and has me clenching my hands into tight fists to avoid throttling him.
I'm so busy picturing ripping Stephens' head clean off his shoulders that I miss their whole interaction, and whatever Scarlett has just asked him.
I glare at him until his eyes widen dramatically, and it must give him an inclination to my thoughts, 'cause the coward instantly puts distance between himself and her.
Scarlett leans forward, and I watch as she discreetly takes a picture of something on the concrete wall just above Weston's body.
Why is she being so sneaky? I close the distance between us and use my larger body to shadow hers, my breath skating across her pale flesh, causing goosebumps to break out. "You got something, Lyssa?"
Hmmm, not as unaffected as you'd like me to believe, huh, Scarlett.
I can work with that. I'm just about to press my luck, by wrapping my arm around her waist, when a voice breaks through the moment and rudely interrupts us.
"Agents? One of the neighboring businesses thinks they might have caught the perpetrator on their security camera. "
It's like a shot of heroin to my veins, and I instantly notice that Scarlett has a similar reaction.
We both switch courses to follow the uniformed cop with ready anticipation.
Maybe this will be the break we need to catch this fucking lunatic.
We step through the dirty puddles, and all of a sudden, Scarlett releases the most adorable yelp as she slides and almost topples over.
The only thing preventing her ass from meeting the ground is my quick reflexes, and the way I've grabbed her. "Steady there, Scarlett."
She glances over her shoulder, her dark hair whipping across my face in the process so that I get a great whiff of her shampoo.
Damn, something exotic with coconuts. What are you doing to me, Scarlett?
I try to defuse the intensity happening between us, fully aware that we have too many prying eyes on us right now.
"It's a good thing you're not wearing your usual sexy heels, you'd probably break an ankle in this alleyway, and then I'd have to carry you. "
She doesn't reply and instead moves herself away from my grasp, as if my touch somehow branded her.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and she's biting her pouty lower lip again.
I shift my aching cock discreetly, the tip already leaking precum and making a mess of my boxers.
At this point, I'll be disgracing myself any second, and coming like a prepubescent teenager in my pants.
We step into the small, rundown shop, and I hear Scarlett's sharp exhale.
I've always suspected that she has issues with mess and disorganization.
She's forever tidying up the way I leave our files, and often her left eye twitches adorably when she sees all the half-drunk coffee cups I leave littering about my desk.
"Charming," I mutter at her reaction, not at the state of the place.
I couldn't give a shit how messy the shop is, just that it's affecting her.
"Over here, Agents," the uniformed cop hollers, but I decide this is the perfect moment to test one of my theories.
I press my much larger body flush against hers, knowing there's nowhere she can go, unless she climbs over the pile of parts in front of her.
My rock-hard cock strains against the zipper of my pants, as it finds the delicate place between her glorious asscheeks, and I force myself not to groan at how good it feels.
I lean my neck and head over her shoulder, which isn't hard to do since she barely reaches my chin, and I pretend I'm sweeping my glance around the shop with interest. My cock flexes against her warm flesh, and her body goes ramrod straight.
"Garnier!" My name on her lips is almost my undoing.
Fuck, I wonder if she would scream it if I allowed my hand to slip down the front of her pants to caress her clit.
I'll bet she's nice and tight and gets soaked for me.
How many fingers will she take before it's too snug to move?
I'll have to stretch her out so that she can take my huge cock.
"Yes, Scarlett?" I purr and lean my head closer to her neck, inhaling her lemony-sage scent.
"You know, I never realized how short you actually are without those heels.
Petite, bite-sized, even." A grin pulls at my lips, and I decide, if this is the moment I perish, I might as well go out in a blaze of glory.
I rub my whiskered chin against the top of her head, messing up her hair, and a sound of outrage flees her.
"I really like this version of you, Scarlett, it makes me feel all huge and manly. "