“I know,” he hisses. “I won’t.”
“What other things?” I manage to ask as his finger finds my clit.
His breath runs hot over my neck. “All of this and more.”
“More?” I can barely form the word. I’m edging toward an orgasm already. It’s all the pent up need I’ve felt since the last time his hands were on me.
“You know.” He glides his finger down. “Move your leg.”
His tone is rough, needy. It’s filled with raw desire.
I rest my leg over his. My panties are askew, half exposing my pussy. His heavy cock is pinned between us; rigid and thick.
“That’s it.” He slides a long finger inside of me. “You’re going to fuck my fingers. You’re going to use me.”
“Oh God,” I pant, pure need taking over.
I reach down to grab hold of his wrist as I grind myself against his hand while he mouths silent words into the heated skin of my shoulder.
I ride his hand shamelessly, moaning with each thrust, groaning when he slides another finger inside of me, and then another.
“I’m going to come,” I whisper in a trembling voice as the orgasm bears down on me.
His lips move from my shoulder. “You’re mine. Only mine.”
The words push me to the edge. I clench around his fingers as I climax with a loud cry.
He groans, his body shakes and I feel the warmth of his release as it hits my skin.
“Jesus, Matilda.” His breath is ragged. “That was incredible.”
It was. It was intense and emotional, raw and powerful.
“Sleep,” he whispers as he pulls me close again. “Sleep in my arms and dream about me.”
“I always dream about you.”
“Never stop.” There’s a tremor in his voice. “And I’ll never stop dreaming about you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Sebastian
“You can’t solveanything by sitting on your ass, partner.”
Partner.It’s one of the last times I’m going to hear that word coming from Brant. He’s packing up his desk. This is his last shift and then he’s Chicago bound.
“You’d know that better than anyone, wouldn’t you?” I bite back. “You spent more time in that chair the past few months than I’ve spent in mine the past four years.”
“I solved a case or two.” He places a framed picture of Remy into a cardboard box. “Homicide isn’t in my DNA like it is in yours.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My chin lifts.
“Everyone on the force knows that your grandfather paved the way.” He looks over at the lieutenant’s office. “He held down this fort. Your dad made it to Detective Third-Grade. You were destined to land in that chair. It’s called fate, Sebastian.”
My grandfather was at the helm of homicide for more than five years before he took early retirement. The rigors of the job followed him out the door.
He suffered a fatal heart attack right after I joined the academy.
