Chapter 14 #3
“In my boot,” I tell him. “And I’ll be keeping it securely on my person this time, Officer Decker. So don’t even think about frisking me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He skirts around my bike and heads down the driveway. “This way.”
“Isn’t this trespassing?”
“Technically, yeah. But the place is empty. Owners haven’t been back here in years.”
Against my better judgement, I follow him down the dark driveway.
The white siding of the farmhouse is worn and peeling, the weathered wraparound porch rotted out and missing several planks of wood, and most of the front windows have been boarded up.
All the farms around here started falling into disrepair like this even before I left town.
The fields left uncared for, the homes decrepit and dying.
“Why don’t you tell me about the trouble you’re in?” Decker says.
“What makes you think I’m in trouble?” I ask as we round the sinking structure and wander towards the overgrown field behind it.
“You’re scared.”
I snort, ignoring the truth in his words. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“Maybe not. But I can tell when someone’s running. When they’re keeping a secret. Plus the drugs and cash were a dead giveaway. So I’ll ask again. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?”
I lift my chin. “Playing cop again?”
“Bad habit.”
When we get to a low wired fence, Decker climbs the closest wooden post and hops over, then turns back and offers me a hand. I take it, careful not to let the barb snag my jeans as I kick one leg over, and then the other.
Decker’s hands steady at my waist as I hit the ground with a light thud.
“A little farther.” He releases me, then strides forward and is quickly swallowed up by the impossibly tall grass.
I trip on the uneven ground as I tread in after him, but a heartbeat before I faceplant, a warm hand catches mine, and he tugs me up.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
When I tug to free myself from his hold, he tightens his grip and silently leads me through the overgrown field.
The only light guiding us comes from the bright full moon illuminating the night sky.
It makes it difficult not to stumble in the deep divots littering the ground, but each time I do, he’s there, steadying me.
Finally, the jungle of overgrowth thins, and we find ourselves in a small clearing. A tiny pasture tucked out of sight.
“What are we doing out here?”
He shrugs. “I walk out this way when I need to think. It’s quiet. I like the quiet. Especially during weeks like this. All the fucking tourists drive me crazy.”
I step closer, pressing my chest to his, and when he snakes his arms around me, I don’t pull back. Craning up my neck, I ask, “And what do you need to think about?”
“You’ve been on my mind, Grace. More than I’d like.”
His admission makes me pause, and his touch makes my skin heat. His hands move along my sides, down my back. Never stilling. Always moving, like he’s feeling for me. His thumb finding the skin under my jacket, circling, exploring.
With a thick swallow, I push up on my toes and press my lips to his ear. “What exactly has been on your mind?”
His body goes rigid, his thumb finally settling.
“The shot I took at you?” I murmur. “The state of your house when I left? Or was it Friday night? When you had your fingers between my legs?”
“All of it,” he rasps. “But that last one has stuck a little more than the others.”
Hand between my legs, fingers inside me, dominating grip at my throat.
I might not like who Decker turned into afterward, but that moment between us has been replaying in my head for the last forty-eight hours.
I can’t help it. My mind keeps fixating on what might have happened had we not been disturbed, what he’d have felt like inside me, how hard he’d have fucked me.
Decker is watching me with a ferocious intensity. And I can’t help myself. I brush my lips against his. Then I pull back, waiting. For a moment, he just stares, eyes searching mine. Then he grips my chin roughly and pulls me into a kiss.
And god.
God.
His fucking kiss. It’s demanding, punishing.
He dominates every corner of my mouth, causing goose bumps to rush over my skin, heat to pool in the pit of my belly.
Pulling back, he tugs my bottom lip with his teeth.
Then he takes a breath and dives back in, one hand finding my ass, the other tightening around my throat as he yanks me to his chest.
Decker takes my mouth like it fucking belongs to him.
And I think it might. A man who moves his lips like this, his tongue? I’d let him own whatever part of me he likes if it meant showing me what else he could do with that ungodly mouth of his.
Circling my arms around his waist, I move my hands under his shirt and explore the hard ridges of his abdomen. Lightly, I drag my nails over his skin, moving lower, teasing the edge of his jeans.
A deep growl rumbles up his throat, the sound sending a pool of heat rushing between my legs. If I’m not careful, I’ll get sucked up in this. Lost. Consumed. Though this kiss has got me thinking that maybe being consumed by Lincoln Decker wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
I break away and splay a hand over his pec, pushing back, my chest bouncing as I try to find my breath.
“That was one hell of a kiss,” he says, his words ragged.
Tilting my head, I say, “Take off your jacket.”
His eyebrows hit his hairline. “I didn’t bring you here for that.”
“I know. But like you said, the last walk we took together worked out for me. Maybe I want to return the favour.”
He hesitates, but only for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he unzips his jacket and tosses it to the ground.
“Now your shirt,” I direct.
Without bothering to pause this time, he pulls it off, revealing all those perfect muscles I can’t seem to clean from my mind.
I again examine his skin, hands wandering over his broad chest and the raised gash slicing down the center of it, then lower, to the washboard etched into his abdomen.
He watches my every move, focus fixed on my travelling fingers.
Decker is built like a fucking god. If I wasn’t still a little hurt, a little pissed, I might spend a little more time touching him.
Maybe even get on my knees like I implied I would and even the score.
Instead, while I’ve got him distracted, I dig my hand into the front pocket of his jeans and scoop up my keys. And his.
He doesn’t notice. Because with my other hand, I’m undoing his belt and pulling open his zipper.
I step back, keys safely tucked into my closed fist, and give him a sweet smile. “Pants down.” When he complies, pants at his ankles, I say. “Underwear too.”
Slowly, he tugs, sliding them down his hips. Lower. Lower still. Revealing tamed black curls, the top of his?—
He stops abruptly, and I dare a look at his face. It’s marred with suspicion all of a sudden. Like he knows what I’m about to do.
“Gracie,” he growls.
With a step back, I jingle his keys between us. “ Now we’re even.”
His eyes flash in warning. “Don’t?—”
I wind up and throw them as far as I can behind him. Then I take off towards the farmhouse. By the time I’ve mounted my bike, keys in the ignition, Decker is hitting the long driveway. Pants up but missing his shirt and jacket.
“When I catch up to you,” he yells, “that pretty ass is mine.”
“Sure we can’t just move past all this? ” I call out.
“Not a chance in hell.”
I grin as I fire up the engine. Then I slam down my visor and tear back onto the road.
Like I said. I know how to leave a man in the dust.