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Layla and I have no trust for each other.
We’re building on heat alone.
“Tell. Me. I’m. Wrong,” I repeat.
She freezes underneath me but I’m not moving. She’s much more delicate than I thought. Her body lithe and almost too skinny beneath me.Breakable.
The way I usually like them, but she’s got enough meat on her hips to make her a soft cushion. She’d be malleable when I finally thrust into her and easy to toss around. Not exactly a spinner because she’s got muscle, too, more than likely from working out for her job.
Fuck.
This angle is bad for both of us because it brings my dick into close contact with her heat. The core of her practically burns through my pants.
With each heaving inhalation, her breasts arch closer to my face. Easy, I think, too easy to dip and grab a budded nipple between my teeth, to bite down and see what kinds of sounds she’ll make.
This side of the lot is mostly hidden from the street by the weird angle of the buildings on either side of us. Which gives us the perfect amount of privacy for what I want to do.
“What can you possibly have that I want? It’s going to have to be the best information of your life, because I’m the cop here. I don’t need you,” she argues.
Her eyes are darker than coal.
All lies. She’s mastered one hell of a poker face.
She also hasn’t answered my demand.
“You said there was a lighter on one of your victims. But I didn’t put it there.” I toss out the information almost casually.
Information she's not sure whether to believe or not. As if she’s not convinced if I’m the real killer or not. Layla goes still and her lips pucker in a way that has me picturing her sliding them up and down my erection.
I’m going to need to drive for hours to get her out of my system at this rate. I had to come grab her from the Velvet Underground to maintain control. I want to win. Want to see her lose and smash through whatever control she believes she has.
And get the information I need for my boss.
That’s it.
Plus a deal that might benefit both of us, and once I’ve helped her, once I’ve done my job for Broderick, then I’ll move on. Sated and ready to put the delectable detective in my rearview mirror.
Why am I not so sure it will work anymore?
Thinking about her and enjoying this is as much as I’m able to allow—it’s not what I need.
I can almost see her mind working, gears clicking. “If you didn’t put it there,” she says slowly, “then who did? What are you not telling me?”
“Ah, so Idohave something you want. Is it a deal?”
She huffs and rolls her eyes.
“My offer stands for two minutes,” I tell her. “Information in exchange for you. Then I’m kicking you out of this car and driving off. You won’t see me again. I won’t go back to the club.”
More lies and these ones are on me. I know myself well enough to know I’ll find a way to run into her no matter where she goes.
I know the way she looked at me.
That first night on the stage, I felt Layla’s eyes on me from the crowd, watching every thrust into the Sub onstage. Watching every movement I made and then coming to corner me afterward. I know how to manipulate those kinds of looks because I’ve been doing it my entire life.
I had to stay absent from the club long enough to add fuel to the fire of her interest. To make sure she deserved me enough to have this conversation today and give myself enough time to pull on a few strings.
I don’t need to know her to understand she won’t be able to resist the temptation to find out more information on her father. And this case.
