Why was that so fucking hot?
Fuck it, I’ve got immunity.
“Had my cousin zip-tie an AirTag to your truck. He has a spreadsheet of all your regular stops. When I crawled out of the lake, I knew this place was my safest bet.”
“And what were you planning on doing with that spreadsheet?”
A slow smirk hitched up one side of my mouth. Truth was, I’d spent a year imagining all the ways in which I’d kill Rafferty and/or let him fuck me into the mattress.I still might.
“I see.” He spread his hands wide. “Go ahead then. Give it your best shot.”
My cock, which had lost its shyness, twitched at his bravado.Down, boy.
“I’m injured and unarmed, Detective.”
His eyes tracked down my decorated body, and he sent me a lazy grin. “Yes, because that’s why you’d lose.”
“Fuck you,” I said, but there was no heat to it.
That reminded me: in addition to providing updates as to Rafferty’s whereabouts, Kyler had also discovered that Rafferty had filed for a divorce from hishusband.
Having followed me for months—without my knowledge, I was ashamed to admit—he had to know my sexual tastes were…diverse.
“Tell me this, Jesse,” he said, smirking. “How’re your ribs feeling?”
I barked out a laugh and rubbed an inked hand over my belly, a purposeful move that his eyes watched with keen interest. I was taunting him because his question annoyed the fuck out of me.
“God, I hate you,” I muttered, mostly frustrated with how much he saw and how much that turned me on.
Fuck it. Let him see how turned on I was. Let him try and deny how much I affected him.
I let my hand drift to my cock, testing my boundaries, curious if his eyes would follow the movement.
They did, and he wasn’t subtle about it.
“Not all of you hates me,” he said, with his smug eyebrows.
I stretched the foreskin over my cock, pleased when his mouth twitched. Doing this with him watching was way better than doing it alone in my cell.
“Of course I hate you,” I said, my voice breathy. “You’re the reason I got busted.”
“No, I’m not,” he said, his eyes drifting up the length of my dick as it hardened. “You begged your father to not use Jimmy Shoes in the first place. You’re mad at him, not me.”
I stared at him, my mouth open in protest. I mean…yes. I was mad at my father. Furious, in fact. Not only did he ignore my very good advice, but he also didn’t even take my call when I got arrested.
Rafferty winked.
Motherfuckerwinkedat me.
“You seem to be recovering quickly from your ordeal,” he said, amusement playing on his plush lips.
“Nothing that a brisk rub down and a hot shower couldn’t fix.”
When he didn’t respond, I gave myself another stroke. “You got any soap in this place?”
Wordlessly, he opened the linen closet, fished out a brand-new box of Irish Spring, and tore open the thin cardboard—all without removing his gaze from my body.
“This feels a little on the nose,” I said, extending my free hand beyond the shower curtain.
