by Mazzy King
“Can I have you on your stomach?” I murmur in her ear. “I want to feel that soft ass pressed against me while I drive you fucking crazy.”
“Only if you spank it and pull my hair while you’re at it,” she tells me saucily, rolling over onto her belly.
I lower my mouth to the smooth slope of her back and run my tongue along her spine, from the base of her nape down to the crack of her ass. I angle her hips up, running my fingers through her thick, juicy folds. Oh, she’s ready for me…
I guide my cock to her. That first moment of her body opening just for me, just enough to let me squeeze in, and that second moment of that exquisite grip like a vise on my dick, has got to be comparable to walking in the gates of heaven. It sends a ripple of goosebumps over my skin, a surge of electric pleasure shooting through every fiber of my body.
As I knew it would, her ass looks and feels amazing pressed against me while I work on her pussy. Hazel arches her back, letting out a little grunt as I find my seat deep inside her and pull back, drawing every inch of me out slowly so she feels it all, so I feel all of her. I manage to keep up the torture for a few minutes, feeling her clench around me tighter and tighter.
Finally she pushes herself back onto all fours, back arched and thighs wide. She gazes at me over her shoulder, her hair tousled and sexy, eyes full of desire.
“Give it to me, hotshot,” she teases.
My brother Saint has a rep for being the exact opposite of his name, but I have my own little inner demon, that apparently is only prompted to show itself when a sexy, curvy, spirited woman I’m desperately in love with taunts me.
I bite my lower lip, grasping her hips tight in my hands. “Just remember—you asked for it.”
I give her everything I have, using my thick, slightly curved, eight-inch cock to its full advantage. I find her G-spot over and over with the tip of my dick, working it relentlessly until she explodes, droplets of her exquisite juice soaking my thighs. I fuck her through it. She doesn’t tell me to stop, so I won’t.
Her ass ripples under my enthusiastic smack, and she moans, somehow growing even wetter. Locks of her hair slide over my fingers as I grip a firm handful near her scalp, bracing myself to drive us both home.
“Come for me again, baby,” I tell her. “One more.”
“Fuck me like this.” She shifts onto her side and lifts her leg. I pull it over me, so the back of her knee rests on my shoulder. She’s spread wide open under me and grips two handfuls of the bedsheets. “I’m so close, Jax, don’t stop!”
I will myself to hang on. But she’s so slippery and tight, and my dick feels like a cannon with the lit fuse dangerously close to the gunpowder.
Her head drops back. “Fuck! That’s it!”
Her body seizes like a too-tight guitar string, and with just a few more deep, hard strokes, she snaps. Hazel cries out as her body trembles, and I gratefully bear down on her, feeling my dick harden to the point of no return before I burst inside her with a roar.
I brace myself on my hands so I don’t crush her, struggling to catch my breath before I drop besides her. “Was that satisfactory, ma’am?”
“It was a good effort.”
I lift my head. “Huh?”
She bursts into peals of giggles. “Just kidding. You’re…wow. Amazing doesn’t begin to cover it. I didn’t know I needed that…but I needed that.” She runs her fingers up my arm. “I needed you. Jaxson, what you said last night…”
“Which part?” I ask her softly, playing with her hair. “The part where I told you how beautiful you are? Or the part where I said I’m in love with you?”
She sucks in her breath, rolling onto her side to look at me. “Yeah. That part.”
I tighten my jaw. “If that was too much, I’m sorry—but only if I made you uncomfortable. I can’t apologize for being totally honest with you.”
She cups my face. “I don’t want you to apologize. I want you to know how much that meant to me. I told you last night I have really strong feelings for you. I didn’t want to scare you away by calling it love. It’s still hard for me to…be vulnerable. I’m working on that.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say quietly, making sure she hears me. “Not a thing. You don’t owe me words you’re not ready to say. You’re not obligated to do anything. If I can make a request, all I want from you is to let me love you. To let me help heal you, in whatever way I can. If that means giving you space, I’ll do that. If that means you need me nearby more often than not—baby, you’ve just answered my prayers. But all I want you to do is tell me what you want. Tell me what’s good for you, and I will move heaven and earth to give it to you, as long as it’s legal and within my power.”
I wasn’t joking about the last part, but she smiles a little, then starts giggling, and then we’re both laughing, holding each other, and it’s the perfect moment.
She quiets, then sighs, blinking thoughtfully. “Okay. I can do that.”
I kiss her forehead. “Then I’m yours to command, Your Grace.”
“You’ve been watching a lot of Game of Thrones. First…we need to love on Cookie for being such a good girl. Then, can we get coffee and head to my place so I can tend to the lieutenant and shower and change? He’s probably so royally pissed I didn’t come home. And then…”
I stroke her hair away from her face. “And then?”
She grins at me. “We need to get you a Christmas tree, Officer Grinch.”
I chuckle. “Can’t argue with that.”
We finally haul ourselves out of bed. Cookie, who has spent the night on the floor just outside my bedroom, is overjoyed to see us. After we let her out, I change my clothes, we head out to grab coffee, then drive to Hazel’s place.
Her home is a cozy two-bedroom split-level, and she is certainly no Grinch. Her holiday decorations are tasteful and attractive, and I feel pretty good about giving her free rein at my house. I help her clean up the mess her cat caused, and then I come face to face with the lieutenant himself, perched on the kitchen counter, his tail swishing back and forth as he studies me through narrow yellow-green eyes.
“If you feed him, he won’t want to dismember you,” Hazel explains. She points to the pantry closet. “He eats freeze-dried raw nuggets. Just add some warm water and then break them up with a fork when they’re soft. Make sure the water isn’t too hot or too cold, or Lieutenant Dan will be pissed. Okay, off to shower!”
She whisks out of the room, her giggles following her down the hall.
I laugh to myself. She’s bossy, and I love it.
I fix the lieutenant’s meal as directed and dubiously set the ceramic dish before him. The cat gives his food an equally suspicious sniff, then, when he’s determined I haven’t poisoned it or whatever, he digs in. When I stroke his back while he eats, he purrs.
Okay. Best buds.
My phone suddenly vibrates in my pocket and I quickly pull it out.
Sergeant O’Brien’s calling.
I frown. Sarge never calls his officers on their off days. He’s a huge believer in work life balance. He told me a long time ago he’d only bother me on my off day in case of an emergency.
This is the first time in almost eight years he’s called me on my off day.
Chapter 8
Jaxson
I answer swiftly. “Sarge? What’s up?”
“Hey, Jaxson,” he says. “Are you busy?”
“Um…” I glance down the hallway. I can faintly hear Hazel singing in the shower. “Yes and no.”
“Well, if you can, I’d like to meet with you to talk. In person.”
He’s phrasing it in a way that leaves the option open, but I know better. Something’s up.
“I’m on my way,” I tell him. “Am I meeting you at HQ?”
“Actually, why don’t you meet me that pub place, Dregs? They do a great Philly cheesesteak for lunch.”
Sarge wants to meet…for lunch?
Now I’m really concerned.
I
agree to the meet and head to the bathroom. Hazel is has a towel wrapped around her middle and is applying something that smells nice to her wet hair. She smiles at the sight of me and turns to face me.
“Oh, Officer,” she says in a breathy voice, her hands in the air. “I didn’t mean to rob the bank. The money’s under my towel. I won’t fight you, I promise. Is there anything I can do to get out of a ticket?”
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have missed a single beat. But worry gnaws at my insides, so all I can muster is a weak smile.
Hazel drops her hands. “Sorry—you’re probably so sick of cop jokes.”
“No, no,” I say hastily, putting my hands on her shoulders. “I mean—yes, but not with you.”
Hazel tilts her head, studying me. “You all right?”
“My sergeant just called me,” I tell her. “He said he needs to meet with me. I think it’s important—he’s never, ever called me on my day off before.”
Her brow wrinkles. “Oh. That sounds serious. Um—do you need to go?”
I nod. “I’ll call you later, okay?” I lean forward and kiss her lips.
“Okay,” she says, a note of concern in her voice.
I turn and jog toward the front door, pausing to scratch Lieutenant Dan on top of his head. He slow-blinks at me, and then I hurry out the door.
Saint likes to tell me I need to loosen up and pull the stick out of my ass. He’s one of the most laid-back people I know, except when the situation calls for the utmost seriousness. I tend to be serious most of the time. In fact, the lightest I’ve felt in years has been the past eighteen hours with Hazel. But now, that seriousness falls back over me like a blanket. I’ve always been a direct person. I don’t like throat-clearing when it comes to news or information I need to know. I’m a give-it-to-me-straight person, so Sarge’s strange behavior has me questioning everything.
I pull up to Dregs fifteen minutes later. I spot Sergeant O’Brien’s car, a black Nissan Altima, parked out front.
Inside, it’s pretty quiet. There don’t seem to be many patrons except for a couple of grouchy-looking old timers sniping at each other about what’s on CNN, and Sergeant O’Brien, who’s talking with the very attractive, dark-haired brunette behind the bar. It’s hard to miss the hefty piece of hardware on her ring finger—and oh yeah, Sarge is married, too.
I lift an eyebrow as I approach him. “Sergeant O’Brien.”
“Ah, Jaxson,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. It’s weird to see him out of uniform. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him out of uniform, actually, but here he is in jeans and a Ridge City PD hoodie. “Do you know Serena? Dominic’s fiancée.”
Dominic…Black, the vice detective. I don’t know him super well, but his track record precedes him. And I did hear he got engaged recently.
I smile politely at the woman behind the counter and extend my hand. She gives it a shake and offers a friendly smile. “I told Brendan your first round of beers is on the house.”
“Thanks.” I nod, still unable to force a genuine smile. I’m too wrapped around the axel about what my sergeant wanted to discuss over Philly cheesesteaks and beer because it’s so unlike him. I respect Dominic a lot, and I hope his lady doesn’t think I’m being a prick, but I really just want to cut to the chase.
Sarge seems to be able to sense that. He motions me over toward a booth near the back of the restaurant.
“What’s going on, Sarge?” I ask intently.
He draws a long breath. “I’m going to ask you something, and it’s going to be a personal question. I don’t want you to take offense, but I do want you to be honest. Where were you this morning?”
“I was at home.”
He tilts his head. “Who’s home?”
Shit. I should have known.
“Is that what this is about?” I ask in a low voice. “Hazel Summers?”
“The star witness in a murder trial,” Sergeant O’Brien says gently. “Yeah, this is about her. I happened to be out with my wife last night. We deicded to have a nice dinner out. It’s been a while since I took her on a date.” He pauses. My stomach sinks. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where he’s going with this. “We happened to go to The Table.”
The Table is a farm-to-table gourmet restaurant that happens to be in Hearth Stone, right across from—you guessed it—Napoli’s.
I glance away.
“I couldn’t help noticing you and a very lovely young lady standing outside waiting for one of those horse-drawn carriages.” Sergeant O’Brien folds his hands in front of him. “Also couldn’t help noticing how much like the star witness your date looked.”
Serena brings over our beers at that moment. She serves us quickly, takes our order from Sarge, and then heads back to the bar, as if she knows we’re having a serious discussion and doesn’t want to interrupt.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I went to dinner with Hazel last night. She invited me after I called her to see how she was doing and why she wanted me at her trial.”
Sarge sighs softly. “Why would you call her?”
I look him square in the eye. “Because I’m in love with her, Sarge, and I have been since the day I found her in that shed.”
He doesn’t look shocked. He doesn’t look angry. He looks…like he understands.
How could that be?
“I’ve kept my distance,” I go on. Except for the hospital… “I let it go. I had feelings, but I knew there was nothing I could really do. And then you told me she was going to testify next week…and that she needed me there. I had to know why. I’m an officer of the law. But I’m a man first. I care about her. A lot. And she cares about me. This isn’t something we can walk away from.”
After a long moment and a long pull of his beer, Sarge nods. “I understand, son. I really do. But you also have to understand this is, in a way, a conflict of interest.”
“I’m not investigating this case,” I tell him. “You know as well as I do this is a federal investigation at this point. I didn’t even arrest the guy—I was the first officer on scene responding to a call. I carried her out of there and got her to the EMTs. I wrote my report, and I went on with my life.”
“I’m not saying you personally are the conflict of interest, but with everything at stake, the defense is going to try to poke holes in everything they can,” Sergeant O’Brien says. “Don’t give them fuel. What do you think will happen if they find out the officer on the scene has developed a personal relationship with the witness? They’ll argue it as a form of witness tampering. And then we face a whole new set of problems. We can’t let this murdering psychopath get away with what he’s done. We just can’t, son.”
“What are you asking of me?” I say woodenly.
“I’m asking you to please cease your relationship with the witness…at least until after the trial. She’s the final witness. The prosecution wants to end proceedings before Christmas.” He pauses. “You’ve met my wife a few times at crew events. We’ve been married twenty-five years, Amy and I. Want to guess how I met her?”
I cock my head. “How?”
“When I was a young patrol officer, a rookie, really, I took a domestic violence call. A young woman had been assaulted by her newlywed husband. He was a piece of work, a real animal. That young woman’s younger sister was there to comfort her, to protect her, to fight the husband if she had to. I’d never seen someone more enraged than that young woman. I pulled her aside to talk to her, to try to calm her down and get some information about the situation. I wanted this piece of shit to go to jail for what he’d done to this poor woman’s sister. So I started asking her questions. First one I asked was what her name was.” He pauses for a sip of beer, then gives me a one-sided smile. “Guess what she said.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Amy.”
He nods. “The husband ended up claiming that Amy’s sister was the one abusing him. They both pressed charges on each other, so they went to court. It killed me to stay away f
rom Amy, but I did it anyway because I could not afford for the prosecution to get wind the arresting officer had a relationship with the victim’s sister. Slightly different circumstances than yours, but you’ve been a cop and to court long enough to know how the defense will look for any thread to tug. Don’t let them have it.”
I shake my head slowly, staring down into my beer.
Serena brings our Phillies to us. They do look incredible, but my stomach is so knotted it’s hard to want to eat.
Sarge reaches across the table and pats my wrist. “I know it’s hard. I can tell you’re serious about your feelings, and, to be honest, the way you two were looking at each other last night… I can recognize love when I see it.”
I look up at him sharply.
He shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Don’t bullshit me, son.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I love her.”
“Love her enough to take a step back and make sure she gets her life back,” Sarge says quietly. “Real love will wait.”
It’s the right thing to do, like he says. I don’t want to be the reason why anyone would doubt Hazel’s story or even consider that Howard Barber might be innocent. But it kills me to have to tell her I can’t see her until after the trial. What hurts the most is that I told her, in so many words, she was safe with me.
And now it feels like I’m turning my back on her.
Chapter 9
Hazel
On Wednesday, I stand in the women’s bathroom in the courthouse, staring at myself in the mirror and trying not to break down.
Today’s the day I’ve been looking forward to and dreading. I have to sit in the same room as the man who wanted to torture and kill me—like he did to other women. Before, I was on fire for this moment. I felt I might rush the table where he sat and try to punch him, to do anything to give vent to the rage I feel when I think of him. How dare he try to decide when my life should end. How dare he feel he could do this to anyone. How dare he take the lives of seven innocent women.