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Montana cupped her breasts, holding and squeezing, his eyes never leaving hers. “Yes. Fuck me, Ride me.”
She did as she was told, panting as she undulated forward and backward. Lowering her head, she held her lips just an inch from his and darted out her tongue.
“Tease. Such a tease.” Pulling her forward by her breasts, he French kissed her and lifted his hips up from the couch, meeting every hard thrust with one of his own.
Within seconds her entire body began to shake. She squeezed her cunt muscles until he grunted.
He broke the kiss. “Come with me.”
Giving him a slight smile, she obeyed.
* * *
Montana shifted and opened his eyes. A stream of filtered light cut across his field of vision. He blinked, unable to see anything else. Hearing a rustling sound, he bristled and jerked his head to the left. Then the memory of the night rushed into his conscious state. Destiny. The admittance of his past. Spanking her. What in God’s name had possessed him? He realized he was relief, the release of information so freeing. She was the reason. Things would never be the same between them.
Exhaling, he studied her face in what seemed to be a pensive slumber. Her face was pinched, her eyes rolling back and forth under her closed eyelids. He reached out, determined to wake her, then heard the buzzing of his phone.
Where the hell were his clothes? Oh yeah, in the living room. He remembered grabbing his phone seconds before he’d picked her up, carrying her up the stairs. A quick glance to the nightstand reminded him they’d finished a second bottle of wine. When the phone stopped buzzing, he glanced at his watch. “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. Almost nine. He’d never overslept, missing roll call before his shift.
He grabbed his phone and eased out of bed just as the buzzing started again. Grant. Fantastic. “Hey. Sorry.” When she cried out in her sleep, tossing her arms back and forth, he moved further away from the bed.
“Sounds like you’re not alone,” Grant stated, ire in his voice.
“Sorry, just overslept.”
“Uh-huh. Tell me another lie. Sargent Wallace ain’t pleased, especially since the press is breathing down the Mayor’s neck, which means the Sarge is in a vice being squeezed.”
“I know. I know.” Montana walked toward the window, peering under the blinds. “Anything on Michael Cavanaugh?”
“He didn’t come back to his house, but I did have an opportunity to talk to his ex-wife on the phone this morning.”
“And?”
“No!” Destiny shrieked.
“Dude, are you having sex while we talk?” Grant chuckled.
He narrowed his eyes. She was having some sort of nightmare. “Hell no. What did the wife say?”
“That she had to have a restraining order placed on Michael.”
“Why?” From what Destiny had told him, Michael was losing touch with reality. Perhaps she’d been right about the guy all along. “The kid was losing it.” Maybe the stories from the past were truer than anyone wanted to believe. What if Michael had been killing for years?
“He followed her and I mean everywhere. She couldn’t work or go to the grocery store without him showing up. He seemed to know exactly what she was doing before she did. Scared the shit out of her.”
“Did the order work?” Montana could swear someone was sitting in a car just outside Destiny’s place. He shook his head. She lived on a very public street. Maybe her odd stories were getting to him.
“She said for a little while, until about a week ago,” Grant said.
“Interesting. That’s when Destiny, I mean Dr. Blade noticed his behavior changing.”
“Destiny, eh? You better watch yourself, partner. You still don’t know everything about the good doctor.”
Montana held his breath and walked back toward the bed. She was sweating, her face contorting in what appeared to be agony. He ignored the comment. “Seems like we need to find Michael sooner versus later.”
“Doing my best. The wife gave a couple of ideas, friends of Michael’s. I’ll check. When are you coming in?”
“Thirty minutes.”
