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I shake my head and stop lapping at her right before she can crash into her release, even though it physically hurts me to stop.
Rising, I slap two fingers against her clit in a punctuation to our time together. “Get dressed. We’re done for the night.”
She’s flushed as well and angrier than a pit viper. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“One night. Those are the terms you set out and I’m all about fairness, love. I’ll keep to the lines you’ve drawn.” I shoot her a shit-eating grin before wiping her wetness from my upper lip and slipping the finger into my mouth. “But you’re goddamn delicious.”
I let her see her wetness on my face and in my facial hair. Give her the opening to rage against me.
Layla jerks her pants up, one step away from roaring at me. “Get me some worthwhile information, Blackwell, or I’ll arrest you and make your life a living hell the next time I see you.”
I give her space and reach around to flick the button to unlock the car doors.
“You’re a sonofabitch,” she seethes.
I shoot her a lazy smile. “If this is the way you get when you’re not allowed to come then I can’t wait to see how you react when you do.”
She points a finger and jams it into my chest. “You’re not touching me again.”
“Not only will I touch you again,” I say slowly, “but you’re going to beg me for it. And when you scream my name until your throat is raw you won’t want anyone else.”
“Bastard.”
Layla is dressed and out of the SUV in the next moment, slamming the door and hurrying off into the night without a backward look. I’m hard enough to cut glass and spend a few minutes alone in the backseat stroking my cock to completion.
It’s not a big deal to let her change the rules. She will want me more than once. I’m sure of it.
But…even releasing the reins this much is foreign to me.
Sleep, I think as I climb back into the driver’s seat. Sleep will reinforce my ruthless control so that I can deal with the problematic detective.
And hopefully I won’t dream about the way she tastes.
TWELVE
layla
The stench of old,sweat-drenched mats combines in intricate layers with cologne, gun oil, and stale coffee. It’s home. It’s the gym of the 9th precinct station house where I’ve carved out a career path for myself despite the numerous officials at the police academy who told me I’d never make it. Not with my attitude.
Hit. Hit.Hit.
The punching bag is my opponent today because the rest of the guys using the gym are too chicken-shit to go against me when I’m in this kind of mood. Some of them know me well enough to recognize the desperate need to work off my frustrations, while the others claim they’ve got their own routines to follow.Cowards.
I attack the punching bag, one punch after another, my muscles loose and limber, and the constant noise of the gym drowns out my thoughts.
I’m certainly not imagining Gabriel’s face on the punching bag.
Not remembering the way he maneuvered me into giving him… I pause, grabbing the bag.
Giving him what we both wanted.
Except he’d held out on me and left me so close to coming I wanted to cry. Or scream. Or both.
And the way he went down on me—
I’ve never been a fan of oral sex for the sheer fact that none of my partners have touched me in a way I found pleasing. I’ve kept things mostly above the belt. Not only did I let Gabriel dominate, but he did such a fucking fantastic job with his tongue, I’d wanted more. So much more.
I shove those thoughts aside and attack the bag again.
