I turn and walk away.
He doesn’t follow.
He just sits there, leaking adrenaline and pre-cum in equal measure.
He’ll show up Wednesday.
Wearing my perfume.
With my panties in his pocket.
Chapter Eighteen
Reid
I slide into the driver’s seat and the air hits me like a hand around the throat.
Thick. Sweet. Her. My cock knows before my brain does.
Twitches the second the scent hits.
There’s a teddy bear. Mine, indeed.
Fucking rose?
And breath mints.
Then I see black lace. Folded like a love letter between the pages of the Juliet notebook. The one I keep in the console when I’m not actively losing my mind over her.
She was here. In my space.
Reading every deranged page while I sat twenty feet away eating a goddamn burger like an idiot.
I flip to the last page and there’s her handwriting, looping, lethal.
Dinner. Trattoria on Main. Wednesday 7.
I press the lace to my face before I can stop myself.
Inhale like a junkie.
She’s soaked through them.
She came in my fucking car while she read how many nights I’ve watched her sleep.
My hands shake on the wheel.
This is past the point of no return.
Hell, I think we blew past that sign weeks ago and neither of us slowed down.
I’m a detective with an open IA file, a badge I’ve already pissed on a hundred times, and a fixation that could end with my body in a shallow grave or my soul in her hands.
And I’m still walking into that fucking restaurant Wednesday night, wearing the cuffs she wants.
I’m going to let her ruin me in front of her whole unhinged little harem if that’s what it takes.
Because the alternative is never touching her.
