“You’re welcome, hoe,” I tease softly as I head toward the hallway.
She snorts and flops down, the pillow now tucked beneath her head as she settles in. The blanket shifts with her as she curls into a cocoon, already halfway to unconsciousness.
I flick off the overhead light, the room falling into soft darkness, then call out, “C’mon, Max.”
He hops down from his spot on the couch without hesitation, nails tapping lightly on the floor as he trails behind me. I glance back once, watching Khloe’s chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm, her breathing steady. The apartment is quiet now, the chaos of earlier replaced by the kind of peace only late-night comfort can bring.
But my mind? It’s anything but quiet.
By the time I push into my bedroom and close the door behind me, the cozy calm of the night is already slipping through my fingers, replaced by a low, thrumming tension that’s been building all damn day. It pulses just beneath my skin, coiled tight in my stomach and burning low between my thighs.
Emilio. Fucking. Perez.
Just thinking his name sends a ripple down my spine. I grit my teeth.
I hate that he’s in my head like this. Hate that every time I close my eyes, I see that stupid, smug smirk, those golden brown eyes, the tattoo inked across his arm that I keep imagining wrapped around me. His voice—deep, clipped, irritated—keeps replaying in my head like a song I didn’t ask to like.
And the worst part? My body doesn’t care that he’s an arrogant asshole who treated me like an inconvenience. It wants him anyway.
I shed my clothes slowly, one layer at a time. The oversized t-shirt hits the floor first, followed by my leggings, then my panties, already damp with my arousal, which only pisses me off more. Max hops up, circles the foot of the bed twice, and settles with a sigh, chin on his paws. I slip beneath the sheets completely bare and let the coolness of the microfiber chase a shiver up my spine.
For a minute I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the A/C and Max’s breathing. Once his breathing evens out, I reach into the bottom drawer of my nightstand and pull out my black rose-shaped vibrator. I long-press the button, and once it turns on, I readjust the covers over myself, the soft hum making my thighs twitch in anticipation.
I don’t fight it anymore. I can’t. I let my mind go exactly where it’s been aching to go.
Emilio cornering me against a wall. Voice dark and low in my ear, telling me to shut up before he makes me. His hands on my waist. His mouth at my throat. That lethal gaze holding mine as he presses closer and growls that he’s thought about ruining me for days. Since the first moment I opened my mouth and challenged him.
I press the vibrator against my clit and gasp, the contact electric, sharp, and immediate. My back arches, hips twitchingas the pleasure rushes through me like a wave I’ve been holding back all day.
Fuck, yes.
Heat floods my cheeks, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep quiet. My fingers curl in the sheets beside me as I adjust the vibrator just slightly. My eyes flutter closed, and a soft, breathy moan escapes my lips as my mind gives in to the fantasy completely.
His left hand pinning my wrists above my head, dragging his mouth down my throat, growling things I shouldn’t want to hear. Telling me how badly he wants me. How long he’s imagined ruining me as his right hand slides between my legs. His fingers circling my clit before slipping inside my pussy. His pace slow at first, then rough. Hungry.
My toes curl as my orgasm hits fast and hot, stealing my breath. I clamp a hand over my mouth, muffling the sound that escapes, and ride it out in silence, teeth sinking into my knuckles. My thighs tremble, and my chest rises and falls in uneven waves.
When the tide recedes, I collapse into the pillow and blink up at the ceiling. My heart beats loudly in my ears as I try to catch my breath.
God, I’m so screwed.
Because I don’t just want Emilio Perez.
Ineedhim.
And that was going to complicate things.
NINE
RAELYNN
Standingin front of my dresser, I stare at my reflection like it might offer some guidance. I’m caught in that weird limbo of both dreading and looking forward to my shift today.
Rodriguez had called me yesterday afternoon, just before Tessa and I arrived at her parents’ house—they had gently demanded that we spend our Labor Day with them, as it had been several months since our last visit—to let me know that I would be doing another ride-along. Who was it with? She didn’t say, but my gut told me it was most definitely going to be with Officer Grumpy.
Part of me is excited—being back in the field, getting to observe real work, maybe learning something new, especially since I had spent my Thursday last week sorting through dispositions and arrest records and dusty ass files for five hours. But the other part? The part that still feels the sting of Officer Perez’s dismissiveness and the fact that my horny ass got off to thoughts of him the other night? That part is dragging its feet.
Still, I get dressed—leggings, a red V-neck top, and my boots. Simple but clean. Professional enough for my internship, but comfortable enough to survive five hours in and out of a patrolcar, but maybe not the heat. My hair goes into a high ponytail, and after a quick once-over in the mirror, I grab my bag, call a soft goodbye to Max, and head out.
