by Shara Azod
driven to a state of near frenzy by her sexy little sighs sounding in his ear. Anyone
walking by would know what was going on the changing room, but Quentin couldn’t
stop even if he tried.
“Quentin, please,” Briony huffed, digging her feet into his plunging behind. “I’m
going to come again! Oh, shit, Quent I can’t hold back!”
“Don’t hold back!” Heaven held help him, he couldn’t hold back either. “Give it
all to me, Bri. I want everything!”
Their lips met in a frenetic kiss, the movement of the bodies clashing together in
wild abandon. Tongues interlaced, hands clutched; Quentin felt the powerful wave of
climax building ever bigger inside.
“Come now, Bri baby!” he couldn’t hold on any longer. His balls tightened
painfully, burning in the need for release. Her walls clenched down, sucking his seed
out of him with a force of a freight train. Quentin had to clinch his teeth to keep from roaring his pleasure to the whole damn department store. “Fuck yeah!” he ground out
through gritted teeth. “Milk my cock, baby. Just like that.”
Briony’s answering cry wasn’t phrased in coherent words, but it was the
sweetest, most perfect thing he had ever heard. Her legs drew him even closer, their
torsos mashed against each other. Perfection. If he lived a million years, Quentin would
never feel as complete as he did in Briony’s arms.
“Um, you taste like pussy,” Briony laughed softly as Quentin rained light kisses
on her supple lips.
“Of course I do,” he murmured, helping to dress her, not even bothering to resist
tasting bits of flesh here and there. “Bri pussy is my favorite meal.”
Neither was surprised at the knowing, sly look from one clerk, or the pursed
lipped disapproval of the woman’s co-worker as they paid for their purchases. Quentin
refused to be the least bit ashamed of his actions. He was a man in the deep end of the
pool. It had been a miracle he had held out as long as he had.
The dress was never tried on, but Quentin bought it anyway. Whenever she wore
it, he would remember today with a smile. Chapter Nine
“Talk.”
Richards’s throat dried moments after the word left his lips and he couldn’t
gather any more, just that single one. He coughed hard to clear the thick lump in his
arid mouth, but all he could manage was a wheeze. Damn it. Damn it all to hell,
because that’s exactly where he was going if he screwed this up. Quentin would never
forgive him, and what was worse was that he’d never forgive himself if anything
happened to Briony.
The petite beauty, Cecile Morel according to the mile long rap sheet, was seated
beneath the harsh interrogation room lights. She smirked at him, hitching her cute chin
up and thrusting her full, fabulous tits out like a damn offering.
Stop! Fuck! Focus! Briony and Quentin are depending on me.
“I already told the dumbass on the 1-800-Crimestoppers line,” she said, meeting
his eyes. “Don’t you yahoos record that or something?”
“Tell me again,” he replied evenly. Or he hoped it voice sounded smooth and
even. He couldn’t quite make the sliver of heat disappear, but he managed to sound like
she didn’t get all under his skin. Normally he didn’t talk much, but the woman –
criminal – seated at the table stole his concentration as smoothly as she did diamonds,
priceless art, and high-end merchandise.
He could pretend all he liked. And in interrogations, it was all pretend. He and
Quentin performed like actors all the time, anything to get the confession, the
information, the scoop. Yes, he could do this. He’d been doing if forever. The problem was that nothing about the voluptuous woman in front of him was
fake, including what her very presence did to him. Even in the spare and somewhat
clinical environment of this box of a room, she glowed, a flower in the desert. Silky dark
brown hair with caramel highlights sprinkled throughout, full mahogany lips, and
smooth, flawless skin the color of the most exquisite dark chocolate stretched over a
curvy frame no taller than five feet and a handful of inches.
And he hated it.
A thief. That was all she was. He has to make himself think of her that way. He
couldn’t allow himself to dwell on how wonderful and deliciously moist her lips
appeared against the brush of dark brown hues of her skin. Or how her soulful eyes
melted his cool calm.
No. He couldn’t allow himself to see any of those things.
But she is.
“You want the reward money?” he asked, unfolding his arms and crossing the
short distance to the table where she sat. “Then start singing.”
“I did my part earlier.”
“I say when you’ve done your part,” he snapped. He’d grabbed the table’s edge
so hard his knuckles were white. This close to her, her perfume assaulted him, and the
soft floral fragrance stirred his cock, making it throb. He swallowed again and tried to
concentrate on the job. He had to get the information she told Crimestoppers and he
needed now. “So, start from the beginning and tell it to me again.” She glared at him, those pools of dark cocoa flashing. If he pushed too hard she
could walk out of the room, and he’d lose everything. That couldn’t happen. Quentin
would kill him and he owed it to Officer Gomez’s family to find the person who
slaughtered him.
“You’re protecting a cop killer,” he said, rolling his hands into fists. His
fingernails bit into his palms and the brief pain pushed back against his lust – for now.
“I can charge you with aiding and abetting, conspiracy to commit murder and a whole
host of things.”
She tossed back her hair and unfolded her arms. Sighing as she rolled her eyes.
He waited, but couldn’t help licking his lips at the sight of her creamy neck.
What would she taste like? Honey? Warm melted chocolate? The urge to lick and kiss
the slope of her neck, from collarbone to ear burst forward in him so hard, his hand
already reached for her.
She glanced at his outstretched hand.
“You want to shake on it?” she asked, arched eyebrow rose in question. “Or is
this the beginning of police manhandling?”
“No, no,” he stammered. “Just, get on with it.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and went back to the wall adjacent to her.
Being in her personal space trapped his hormones. Thankfully, his erection had
vanished or he wouldn’t have been able to move from the table’s shadow. He balled his
hands into fists inside his pockets and again the brief pain gave him some clarity, but
not much. “Fine. For you, Agent Richards, I’ll tell it again.” she purred, running her long,
painted fingernails across the swell of exposed cleavage. “Yesterday, I was at the
mall...”
“Why were you at the mall?”
“Uh, I was looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“Look, do you want me to tell you this or what? I’m feeling a little bit like a
suspect, and you know what? I’m not. I’m a good citizen,” she said, and crossed her
legs.
His brain blanked at the flash of black lace between her legs, but then it was
gone.
Damn. Focus. Had to focus…
<
br /> “Let’s be clear about one thing,” Richards said, pushing himself off the wall.
“You’re not a good citizen. A good thief, but citizen, no.”
“You don’t know shit about me,” she shot back and slowly got out of her chair.
“So you can read a police file. Whoop-de-do. But that don’t tell you anything about
me.”
No, it didn’t. And Richards realized he wanted to know more about her. What
did she eat for breakfast? What did she look like in a red, lace teddy? Or were the black
lacy panties she wore now thong? V-string? Crotchless?
“Excuse me? Hello! Do you want this information or not? To be honest, it isn’t
worth all this to me.” She glared at him, hands on those delectable hips, daring him to deny it. Damn,
when she looked all pissed off like this, the only thing he could think about was how
similar she would look when an orgasm shot through her. Would her eyes squint up
like that? Would her breathing heave in pleasure as it did now in irritation?
Fuck!
And that was all he wanted to do with her right then and there. Slam her down
on the table, and taste all the delights she kept hidden under the tight ass miniskirt and
tee-shirt. She stirred his hunger with those delicate hands. He could almost feel the
supple flesh of her hands wrapped around his ever-increasing cock.
His phone beeped then and he jumped. She laughed and then sat back down in
the chair.
He glanced down at the number. Quentin. Back to business. Pulling his head out
of the gutter and away from the carnal hunger she created in him, Richards cleared his
throat, put his agent face back on and got down to work.
“I apologize, Miss Morel. Please start again.”
Puzzlement appeared on her face, but only for a moment. Then she said, “All
right. I was at the mall yesterday and I was looking for Binky Benton.”
Richards wrote down in his notepad the name and a question mark. He wanted
to ask her about who that was later, but right now, he didn’t want to interrupt.
“…and Binky was there casing the jewelry store at the corner between the Ruby
Tuesday and the Gap. But he wasn’t…” Richards wrote down the description of the jewelry store. No doubt Miss Morel
was there checking out her competition, though mall stores weren’t her normal hit
according to her rap sheet.
“…following these two people. I thought Binky meant to, you know, mug them,
but he didn’t. He kept on following them as they went from store to store, all sneaky
and weird. It wasn’t until the couple was at the food court that I saw her.”
“Her? Who?”
“The woman from the news. That Mrs. Beauchamp. Her husband was found
dead a few weeks back and then someone tried to kill her. All over the news. A local
celebrity. That’s when I put it together. Binky Benton was following her, and it clicked.”
Richards grew still.
“Miss Morel, tell me what you put together.”
This was the linchpin, the thing that could break the case wide open. His blood
slowed and his heart beat didn’t speed up, but instead beat out as if in slow motion.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her eyes grew wide as she rubbed her arms as if cold.
“Listen, I told you all I know…”
“What did you put together?” he asked again, and he noted the chill in his voice.
This was what she didn’t tell Crimestoppers. Would she tell him? He had to get that last
nugget of information.
She shuddered and looked away from him.
“Humor me, Miss Morel.” “They’ll kill me. And honestly, this isn’t my worth my life,” she said, barely
above a whisper. “I can’t spend the reward if I’m dead, Agent Richards. Just pay me
and I’m good as gone.”
He didn’t want her gone. He wanted her pressed tight against him.
Damn! What the hell was the matter with him?
He walked over to the table, sat down across from her and leaned in on his
elbows. A rush of heat erupted across his body, but this time he didn’t fight it.
“Miss Morel, I would never let anything happen to you,” he said. He hadn’t
realized it until the words had been spoken, but he meant them.
She bristled, squirming in her seat, before bringing her eyes up to meet his.
“We will protect you,” he said, meaning every single word.
“You?”
“Me.”
“Why?” she asked. “I’m a thief.”
A thief.
A criminal. What the hell was he doing?
He blinked, reeling back from the pull of her gaze. He’d nearly lost himself there.
“Why? Because we need your testimony,” he said, a bit harsher than he
intended. He got up from the chair and brushed invisible lit from his suit. “The reward
money is only awarded if the tip leads to the capture of the individual or individuals
responsible for the crime.”
She scowled at him and rolled her eyes and tutted in disgust. “Okay. Whatever,” she said and then a smirk inched across her mouth. “I tell
you on one condition.”
“Yes?”
“That you protect me. Not any fresh damn rookie from Quantico. You, Agent
Richards,” she said, a smile curling her full lips. “And I’m not saying another word
until a lawyer confirms it – in writing.”
Damn.
He shook his head in disbelief as she sat back in her seat, arms crossed. She
meant it. She wouldn’t tell him what he needed until he did this act. He could threaten
to arrest her, but she wouldn’t give up the goods. That stubborn streak in her ran wide.
“Excuse me while I go get a lawyer,” he said, and stalked out of the room.
He knocked on the door to the neighboring room and it opened. Inside, Agent
McClure grinned at him.
“Richards, she’s got your nuts in a vice, doesn’t she?” McClure sniggered. “Fuck
man.”
“Get the local ADA over here or someone from that office,” Richards said. The
rumble of anger swiped the grin off of McClure’s face. “Quentin wants this thing done,
and I do, too. If she wants it in writing and it gets me the bastards that killed Officer
Gomez and tried to kill Briony, then I’ll do it.”
“Yes, sir!” he said and bolted out of the room.
Richards headed back into interrogation room four and into the den with his
lioness. “The ADA is on the way,” he said and she pursed her lips in disbelief, “or
someone from that office.”
“I figured.”
“Tell me what I want to know, Miss Morel.”
“Not until I get what I want in writing,” she quipped. “May I use the restroom?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you,” she said and collected her purse.
“If you’ll follow me,” he said, and opened the door.
She stood. Gracefully, she strutted from the room. He couldn’t help himself from
watching the swish of her ass against the stretch of the skirt’s denim fabric. Her ass was
an upside down heart, all full and tight. He wanted to palm those globes in his hands,
to smack her ass and make her shriek in delight.
Stop, you horny bastard!
He could hear Quentin in his head. He had to get his job done. Briony’s life
depended on it.
“You going to go in with me too, Agent Richards?” she asked, pur
ring the words
out in a deliberate attempt to stroke his cock with her voice. She did a damn good job of
it, too.
“No,” he croaked, and adjusted his tie. Damn, it was too hot in here. “I wanna
make sure you find your way back to the room and not out onto the streets.”
She nodded, but her smile said she knew exactly what she was doing to him –
and she liked it. Damn. Damn. Damn.
After she emerged from the restroom, he made a point to walk beside her all the
way back to the interrogation room. Once there, he found a young attorney waiting.
“Agent Richards? I’m Matthew Kline from the DA’s office,” he said, sticking out
his hand. He wore a rumpled gray suit and had a dirty blonde afro. “I’m here to make
arrangements for protective services for Miss Morel.”
“Excellent,” she said, and sat down, took the paper from the attorney and began
to scroll through it, line by line.
A common thief? No, he was beginning to think there wasn’t anything common
about Miss Morel.
“This works,” she said brightly and handed it back to the stunned attorney.
Once things were signed, hands were shook and the attorney had gone, Richards
sat down across from Miss Morel and said, “Tell me everything.”
“Binky Benton hangs out at Mike’s and once or twice I saw him with Donny
Chestnut. Donny must’ve paid Binky to find the girl, because everyone knows Donny
Chestnut’s gang is the ones who killed Bobby Ray. I was there the night they decided to
brag about it. Everyone knows that before he got his dumb ass killed, Bobby Ray sold
his wife to the Don. I was there the night he came stumbling in. The dude that tried to
kill her last week was a moron named Turt. He wasn’t a part of the Don’s inner circle.
He was some bit player trying to impress the boss. It’s a good thing you guys killed him
or else the Don would’ve.” Richards released a breath. The link. There it was. All nice and sexy in front of
him. The links to Bobby Ray, Donny Chestnut and the entire gang.
“And you heard all of this first hand?”
“Yes,” she confirmed softly. “They hang out at Mike’s all the time.”
“Then how come my agents haven’t heard those same things?” he asked.
He’d had agents stationed at Mike’s for weeks. Nothing but rumblings and