I glide my hand up and down quickly, grunting, biting down.
Fuck.
I’d flip her around. Sit her down and bury my hands in her thick legs, kiss up her thighs as I got closer and closer to her core. I betI’d smell her slickness first, tangy temptation drawing me closer to her slick folds, her folds swollen and eager.
I’d suck on her clit. Push my tongue against it. Then look up into her golden eyes and watch her melt for me, her sassiness giving way to something else, something primal.
She’d widen her eyes and…
Fuck, I’m so close. My cock’s slicker from precome than it is from the shower water.
I imagine the moaning sound she’d make. Her thick legs closing around my head, trapping me against her soaked and beautiful slit…
Then it hits me.
Now of all fucking times.
It hits me square in the chest, as a blinding light erupts in my mind’s eye.
I release my cock, my eyes popping open. I stumble back until I hit the shower wall.
I’ve seen Elle before. Her name is Elara Vance, and she’s the reason I left the force. She’s the daughter of Maris and Daniel Vance. I’ve seen Mira too. Hell, I was the one who found her huddled in her room, knees to her chest, sobbing.
I was the one who carried her out of that madness.
I climb from the shower, suddenly sick at my rock-hard dick.
How has it taken me this long to recognize them?
Sure, it was a dark, chaotic night. I only saw Elle briefly when she was in the back of an ambulance. When I carried Mira out, muttering comforting words, my focus was elsewhere. On the bloodbath inside. On the evil act Lucian Conti had committed.
I grab a towel and roughly rub myself down.
Before, I thought I should stay away from Elle because I’m trouble. And I need to stay focused.
But now, it’s more than that.
I need to stay away because she’s been through enough already.
CHAPTER 4
ELARA
Iam not my past.
I silently repeat the affirmation as I stare down at the dead raccoon. My stomach turns, but not because of the stench or the sickening fact of it. My stomach turns because this isexactlythe sort of thing Lucian used to do.
Kneeling, I force myself to look at the dead animal. What are the chances it just wandered onto this porch and dropped dead from the gash in its neck? Maybe it got into a fight, fell on a sharp stick, then limped toward our cabin, confused and in pain. Or maybe some sicko left it here.
Get your act together.
I stand and clench my jaw. It’s a bright summer morning, birds chirping, the comforting sounds of nature all around us. I’ve got business to take care of in town. I can’t waste time hemming and hawing over a stupid raccoon. I need to get rid of it.
Going inside, I grab a handful of trash bags and return to the porch. But every time I look at the raccoon, I see him. I see Lucian. I see his smirk, feel his fist slamming into my face.
Suddenly, I’m leaning against the porch railing, sweating, nauseous, struggling not to fall, breath coming too fast.
Is this seriously happening?
