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I groan as my body wilts, and he laughs.
He grips my hips with strong hands and rocks me up and down his length. Sitting up, he kisses me with such tenderness. “Watch.”
He jerks his chin to where we’re joined and I drop my gaze. Grip firm, he rocks our bodies in time. His growl vibrates through me as I stare open-mouthed at his cock disappearing inside me. It’s one of the most erotic things I have ever witnessed.
“Was fucking made for you.”
Arms draped over his shoulders, I rock my hips harder, reenergized by the sight of us coming together.
“That’s it, baby.” He palms my ass, spreads my cheeks, and impales me on him. “Fuck. Me.”
I ride his body hard, his thrusts meeting mine with equal intensity. When he tries to assume control by guiding my hips, I shove him into the mattress and pin his hands above his head. Bounce up and down his cock like it’s my new favorite toy. Ride him harder and faster than any fucking cowgirl ever could.
Releasing his hands, I palm my breasts and pinch my nipples in time with my rocking hips.
“Fuck, I’m not going to last.” His fingers paint rough lines up my belly. Then he sits back up. Grips my hips and slams me down on him painfully. “One more, sunshine.”
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Our bodies crash together over and over and over. Heat crawls across my skin and resonates deep in my bones.
“That’s it, baby,” he croons. “So fucking beautiful.” His fingertips dance over the fire on my skin.
My body detonates without warning. Frantic and forceful, it steals the oxygen from my lungs.
Lips at my ear, he growls and holds me down on him. “Holy fucking hell.” His hips jerk, his cock twitching inside me as his orgasm consumes him.
My eyes fall shut as I nuzzle the crook of his neck, our fevered breaths the only sound in the room. One of his arms bands around my waist, his other hand trailing up the length of my spine to clutch the back of my neck. For endless minutes, we sit like this. Unmoving. Silent. Reveling in the moment.
I had sex with Travis Emerson. The best damn sex of my life.
Now what?
His hold on me tightens, as if he hears my thoughts. Turning toward me, he kisses my cheek. “We’ll figure it out, sunshine.” Another kiss. “Promise.”
A simple vow, yes. And somehow, I trust Travis. With my body, my heart, and my safety.
TWENTY
TRAVIS
Gravel crunchesbeneath my tires as I pull onto the shoulder. Pepper sits taller in the backseat, eyes scanning the forest, guard up as she waits to be let out. Silence greets us when I cut the engine. An eerie chill slithers its way around my bones that has nothing to do with the early December temperature.
I grab my police-issued jacket from the passenger seat and slip it on, followed by a pair of leather gloves. Police vest secured around her torso, Pepper paces back and forth on the bench seat. Her soft whimper bounces around the SUV’s cabin. Her eagerness to get to work evident in her body language.
Tugging on a beanie, I exit and round the car. Once Pepper is leashed, she hops down and sits at my side while I double-check my gear. The second she hears the locks beep, she stands and inches toward the woods.
“Let’s see if we missed anything, Officer Pepper.Such,” I command in German. Lengthening the leash, I give Pepper a wide berth to sniff and search as we enter the forest.
After almost a month of sifting through evidence, we are no closer to catching the killer than we were the day the woman in the woods was discovered. Or, as Chief announced to a crowded bullpen yesterday,Ihaven’t made any progress with the case. Never mind the fact that my partner, Wooler, and other officers with less urgent grunt work have been tasked with helping.
The way Chief sees it… if an Emerson is on the case, an Emerson is held accountable. Period.
Roadblock or not, I need this case solved. I need this sick fuck off the street and behind bars. Yesterday. Not only to appease my father and get him off my back, but also for Kirsten.
I have zero proof the man behind the letters is the same person responsible for the death of our victim. Not an ounce of DNA or a single fingerprint to search for a match. No note was left with the body, so there’s no cross-referencing the handwriting.
But from the moment Kirsten told me about the notes, a sixth sense prickled in my gut. With each passing day, that inclination grows stronger. Twists low in my belly. Exists just out of reach in my mental periphery.
