by Roxie Noir
I unlock my door and open it, tossing my bag into the back seat. I shouldn’t. I should tell him to get a ride from someone else, someone whose job is to give him a ride back, because every second I spend near him eats away at my resolve.
“They didn’t offer you a ride when you signed the exit paperwork?” I say, straightening up again.
Other officers trickle out of the police station and into the parking lot. I nod at a few of them and hope they don’t wonder why I’m at my car talking to a suspect.
“I turned it down,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips.
I look at his face slowly, trying to calm the beating of my heart. One of the lab techs walks through the parking lot twenty feet behind Stone, and I wave at her half-heartedly.
“Did you sign the paperwork?” I ask.
Stone doesn’t answer.
“Go sign it,” I say.
“They know I’m gone,” he says. “If they don’t, they’ll figure it out when I’m not there.”
“Now your records are incomplete,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “If we get audited by internal affairs, it could show up as a red flag.”
That’s not really true. People forget to do their exit paperwork all the time, but I don’t want to be one of them.
“You like your t’s dotted and your i’s crossed, don’t you?” he asks.
“It’s the other way around.”
Stone just laughs.
“And no, I don’t like things being left half finished,” I say, narrowing my eyes. Behind Stone I see two lieutenants, deep in conversation, walk to their cars. As if I needed the reminder that I’m still at work.
“I don’t appreciate when people just walk out of the police station without doing their paperwork or even explaining what’s going on. It tends to reflect poorly on that person, and it irritates the people who have to deal with it later.”
I’m not talking about Stone’s exit paperwork any more, and we both know it.
“The paperwork is probably better off for me not signing it,” he says quietly.
“Maybe that’s up to the paperwork to decide,” I say. “And maybe if you think that’s true, you shouldn’t be standing here, pen in hand.”
I think I’m stretching this metaphor beyond where it ought to go.
“Give me a ride,” he says. “That’s all.”
I take a deep breath and watch a few more people walk across the parking lot. One or two glance at me, but if they’re wondering why I’m standing there talking to a guy in mechanic’s coveralls, they don’t act like it.
“Get in,” I say.
We’re both quiet for a long time. I drive carefully, like an old lady, following every traffic law to the letter just to keep my mind occupied.
“You really aren’t trouble, are you?” Stone finally says, watching my speedometer stay even at a perfect twenty-five miles per hour.
“I’m a cop, Stone,” I say.
“Live a little,” he says. “Twenty-seven miles an hour.”
“It might be hard for you to imagine, but I like staying out of trouble,” I say. “It makes life a whole lot easier.”
“Sure,” he says, grinning. “Let me guess: followed all the rules. Teacher’s pet. Tattletale. Always home five minutes before curfew, no breaking your parents’ rules. No touching under the clothes until the third date, at least. Never drank before you were twenty-one, went skinny dipping, or ran red lights.”
I just snort, because he’s dead wrong about all those things.
“Watch out, Detective,” he says. “You’re doing almost twenty-six.”
“You’re wrong about one of those,” I say, just to taunt him.
He leans to the side and searches me for a long time, his elbow on the doorframe.
“You stayed out past curfew,” he says at last.
I stop at a light, only a few blocks away from Eddie’s.
“And worry my parents like that?” I ask.
He’s right, but I’m kind of enjoying letting Stone think I’m a perfect angel. Of the few times I did have a curfew, I think I made it back on time once.
“Okay,” he says. “Not the teacher’s pet, then.”
The light turns green and I hit the gas, watching Eddie’s come up in front of us.
“Of course I was a teacher’s pet,” I say. “One more guess.”
I pull up outside the garage and put the car into park, looking over at Stone. He smiles slowly, and my stomach twists.
He’s going to guess ‘no touching under the clothes,’ and then I’m going to get awkward again, I think. Shit.
“You ran a red light once,” he says.
I wind down the window, lean my elbow on it, and start taking the pins out of my bun.
“It was an accident,” I say, shaking out my hair.
“It’s a wonder they let you on the police force,” he says.
“It’s because I’m very good at finding things out,” I say.
We look at each other. Stone’s face slowly closes off.
“You still think I had something to do with this,” he says, quietly. “You’ve got no proof, and yet.”
“And you think that because we kissed once I’m going to ignore the fact that you clearly know more than you’re letting on,” I counter. “I’m not some doe-eyed ingénue, Stone.”
“So now I’m seducing you into letting me off easy?” he asks.
“Not very well,” I say.
Stone undoes his seat belt and opens the passenger side door of my car, then looks back at me.
“Come inside,” he says. “I want to show you something.”
He gets out of the car and walks for Eddie’s without waiting for me to answer.
Drive away, I tell myself. Drive the fuck away because Stone is going to be ten kinds of trouble, and that’s ten kinds more than you need.
Men, not boys, Rivers. Come on.
I look at Stone’s wide back, his strong shoulders, his calloused hands.
I sigh and I kill my engine, undo my seatbelt, and follow him. He opens the door, holds it for me, and I walk into the twilight-blue interior of Eddie’s.
At least he knows his manners, I think. Even if he learned them by getting beaten.
For a moment, I wonder what else is in Stone’s past. I have a feeling it’s not happy.
“Come on,” he says, and walks to the back.
He leads me past a parked BMW and a Hyundai up on a lift into the dark garage, then opens a door into a storeroom. I step into a pitch-black room as he holds the door for me, and as I feel the walls for a light switch, I wonder if I’ve just walked into a trap.
Then Stone pulls a chain and a single bulb flicks on. We’re in a storage room, bigger than a closet but too small to be anything else. He walks to one shelf, scans it for a second, then grabs a cylinder.
“I was wrong,” he says. “The brand name is COLOREX. Lock me away, Detective.”
Stone tosses me the can and I catch it, rolling it over in my hand. It’s the exact same brand and color that we found at the drive-in, and there’s a case of them on the shelf in this room.
“You can have that one for free if you want it,” he says.
“Are any of these missing?” I ask, even though I know he could just lie.
Stone shrugs.
“Hard to tell,” he says. “We don’t keep exact inventory on these, and when the garage got vandalized they knocked over some shelves in here. There might be a few less than there should be.”
I toss it once in my hand and watch it flip end over end, then do it again. I take a deep breath, because while I tend to be blunt and honest about most things, feelings have never exactly been my favorite thing to discuss.
“Why’d you walk off on Friday?” I ask.
I can’t look at Stone. My palms have started sweating, and I’m clutching the spray paint in my hand, staring at it like it’s a crystal ball that can tell me the winning lotto numbers.
He reaches out and takes
it from my hand, so I cross my arms over my chest, shake my hair out of my face, and finally look at him. Stone takes a long moment to answer, and the whole time, my pulse is racing.
Just tell me you changed your mind and get it over with, I think.
“Because I’m bad for you,” he finally says. “You deserve someone better.”
I blink.
Then I snort.
“What kind of overprotective, patriarchal bullshit is that?” I ask.
Stone looks surprised, the spray paint still in one hand.
“You don’t know the first thing about me or what I deserve,” I say. “And you sure as shit don’t get to decide what’s bad for me without even consulting me first.”
I’d be less mad if he just told me I was a terrible kisser or had gross breath.
It’s for the best that nothing happened, I tell myself. You also don’t need some guy deciding what’s best for you all the time.
Stone’s lips curve up into a smile, and he puts the spray paint on a shelf without looking.
“So you were mad that I left,” he says.
My stomach flops over.
“I was,” I say. “Now I think I probably dodged a bullet.”
“I’m the bullet?” he asks, still smiling. His eyes have a hungry light in them, and it makes my breath catch in my throat.
“I’ve dated enough guys who couldn’t make up their minds about what they wanted,” I say.
Stone takes two steps and then he’s in front of me, his head backlit by the single bulb in the tiny storage room. He puts one hand on a shelf beside my head, but I stand my ground and keep glaring up at him.
“My mind’s made up, Detective,” he says, his voice low and rumbly. “I want you, I’m bad for you, and I’ve never cared a whole lot about consequences.”
Heat starts twisting through me, and even though I’m not stupid and I know actions speak louder than words, I want him now and the hell with what happens later.
“If you walk off again —” I start, but Stone kisses me instead, his lips hot and hard on mine, and I lose my train of thought completely as he slides one hand into my hair and closes his fingers, just hard enough that I feel it.
I make a very small, very quiet noise, and Stone moves his mouth against mine, pressing our bodies together. He’s already at half-mast, and as he presses his hips against my lower belly I can feel him hardening.
Then he licks my bottom lip slowly, his tongue sending shivers down my spine. I open my mouth under his and let our tongues tangle together as I curl one hand around the back of his neck, holding him to me as close as I can.
His stubble scrapes my cheek softly, and Stone lets one hand drift down my back as I move my hips against him. The movement is automatic, pure instinct, because I want this. So what if I regret it later? We’re adults.
Stone moves his lips off mine and nuzzles my ear. I inhale sharply, and he growls at me, the sound reverberating down my spine.
“You still wait for the third date before under-the-clothes touching?” he asks, his voice low and raspy.
It takes me a second to remember the conversation in the car, and then I laugh.
“None of those things were true,” I say.
He bites my earlobe, tugging at it gently, and I bite my lip so I don’t make a noise.
“I knew you weren’t the wholesome good girl you make yourself out to be,” he says, pressing his lips to the spot below my ear.
This time, a noise escapes my throat. Stone growls again, his breath warm on my neck, and he slides one hand over my ass, cupping it through my professional black pants.
“I run red lights all the time,” I manage to say.
He squeezes my ass and I bend my knee, hooking one leg around his hips. Stone holds it there, still pressing me against the shelves, his lips still making their way down my neck and to the hollow of my throat.
Suddenly he grabs my other leg and lifts it, and then I’m pinned against the shelving in this storage room, both legs wrapped around Stone’s waist. He moves his hips and his thick, hard erection grinds against me and I tighten my legs, moving both hands to the top snap on his coveralls.
“You gonna let me touch you this time?” I ask, and pull it apart with a satisfying pop.
“I try not to get naked in public,” he murmurs.
I unsnap another snap, revealing the v-neck top of an undershirt and the faded black of tattoos on his chest peeking out.
“Is it because we hadn’t gone on three dates?” I say.
Pop.
“Maybe you’re more traditional than I thought,” I go on.
Pop. Pop.
I slide my hands into his coveralls and along the warm, taut, rippling muscles of his torso, swallowing hard as fire trickles through my body.
“Yeah, I’m real old-fashioned,” says Stone.
Then he grabs my ass hard and pulls me away from the shelves. I yelp and wrap my arms him, and he chuckles. We leave the storage room and he puts me down on the hood of a car just outside, my legs still wrapped around him.
We’re kissing again, hard enough that I can feel my teeth nipping at the soft flesh of his lips, but he’s leaning over me, rubbing his hard length against me slowly, the friction absolutely delicious. He leans on one elbow and grabs the back of my knee with his other hand, his tongue still in my mouth as he pulls himself even harder against me.
I’ve got my hands under his shirt, my fingers digging into him as he moves his hips against mine. I’m wet as hell, getting wetter with every stroke, and don’t give a damn that I’m on a car in a garage with a suspect.
“I was afraid this was gonna happen Friday,” he murmurs, pulling back. He takes his hand off my leg and starts unbuttoning my shirt.
Frantically, I wonder which bra I wore today.
Not the ugly sports bra, I think. Please, god, please.
“I’ve got more self-control than that,” I say, even as Stone presses his lips to the hollow in my throat.
I glance down. It’s a regular, boring, tan bra. Thank God.
“If this is self-control,” he says, nipping at my collarbone. “I’d hate to see what happens when you don’t have any.”
He runs one thumb over the outside of my bra, and my nipple stiffens instantly, begging to be touched. I reach down and run the palm of my hand along his length, then take it in my hand, squeezing hard.
It’s big. I mean, I already knew that from seeing him in a wetsuit, and from being somewhat acquainted already, but it’s the first time I’ve had it in my hand. It’s impressive, even as I wonder for a minute whether it’ll even fit.
Whoa there, Rivers, the cautious part of my brain says. Are you seriously going to fuck him on this car?
Stone groans into my chest, my nipple still between his finger and thumb.
“Goddamn you make me hard,” he rasps, and bites my nipple through my bra.
I gasp and squeeze again as Stone moves his hips against my hand, grinding himself against my grip.
“You ever come on a Beemer before?” he asks, moving one hand to my pants, then running his fingers between my legs. “‘Cause if you have, there are other cars.”
I swallow, lifting my hips toward him just a little.
“I got dry humped on a Volvo once,” I say. “It didn’t do much for me, though.”
Stone grins, and he’s about to say something when there’s a noise from the entrance to the garage.
We both freeze, me on my back with my legs around Stone, him on top of me, his cock still in my hand.
Then we hear the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt being shot back. The creak of a door opening.
Stone doesn’t wait. He grabs me, puts me on my feet, and pulls me behind an SUV. We’re both panting for breath and half-unclothed, so without saying anything we both button up again before he peeks out.
“It’s Eddie,” he whispers, smoothing his hair with one hand. “Come on.”
He steps around the corner of the SUV casually, han
ds in his pockets, like we weren’t just half-naked on a car. I take a deep breath and follow, hoping that my shirt is buttoned properly and I look nonchalant.
11
Stone
“Hey, Eddie,” I call, strolling between the BMW and the SUV.
He turns his head in surprise, then nods.
“I was wondering why the light in that storage closet was on,” he says. “You know, Stone, you don’t have to make up the time you spent at the station.”
He’s better than I deserve, too, I think. I know Luna asked him about the paint too, so he knows what’s going on.
“Detective Rivers was kind enough to give me a ride back to my car, and we decided to see if they’d taken anything besides the spray paint.”
Next to me, Luna nods officially, her masses of curls bouncing.
“Did they?” Eddie asks.
“I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell,” I say, hands still in my pockets. “Nothing jumped out at me.”
He looks at Luna.
“Sorry we couldn’t be more help,” he says. “If you need anything from me, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks,” she says, then looks at me, her eyes cool and professional. “I don’t have any questions right now, but I’ll give you a call if I think of anything.”
“Glad I could help,” I say. It seems like the kind of thing that good citizens and good employees say to cops.
It’s definitely better than I’m going to make you come on the hood of this car. Well, better for the current situation.
She holds out her hand, and I shake it. I force myself not to think about how, two minutes ago, that hand was around my achingly hard dick.
“Maybe I’ll see you later,” she says.
She’s fucking taunting me, because now she’s the one leaving. At least it’s not by her own choice.
“Maybe, Detective,” I say.
She shakes Eddie’s hand. They exchange more pleasantries, and Luna walks for the door.
I force myself not to stare after her in front of my boss, even though just the way she walks makes my cock throb.
“I just came back to see if we had any spark plugs lying around that would fit the Land Rover,” he says. “Everything go all right at the police station?”