The Innocent: FBI Psychics, Book 2
Page 7
“Into the shower,” he said, pressing a kiss to her mouth, smiling as a long, slow shudder rocked her. She did that, a lot, like his touch was something that sent her very world quaking.
Dealing with his jeans, he urged her into the enclosure and turned on the jets. It was programmed to the temperature he preferred, and he watched as her eyes closed in bliss. He was going to enjoy this, slicking her down with his soap, washing her hair. As he slicked the shampoo through her pink- and blue-streaked hair, he was caught off-guard. The rainbow of color washed out and she smiled at him, a sleepy, sexy smile that turned his dick to stone and his heart to mush. “Hair chalk,” she said softly. “I don’t always have the sort of job that lets me walk around with pink and blue hair. Plus sometimes I want orange or green. Or orange and pink.”
“You’re into variety,” he murmured, rinsing the shampoo from strands made dark gold by the water.
He eased closer to the gash, checked the bandage. “Feel okay?” he asked, painfully aware of the rasp in his voice.
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Just sore.”
He nodded, told himself he should finish this up, tuck her in bed.
He wouldn’t though, not unless that was what she wanted.
He turned her around, stroked his hands down her naked back. Pale skin, swirls of ink. “All these tattoos,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the vining roses that climbed up her spine. “They drive me nuts. Why roses?”
Her breath skittered out of her on a sigh and she glanced back at him, her hair dripping in her eyes. “My grandmother…reminds me of her. Happy memories. There were roses that climbed up the wall to the window of the room where I stayed when I visited.”
There were a lot of roses.
And thorns. Many thorns. “And the thorns?”
“For the pain.” Her eyes clouded and she looked back at the wall. “A lot of it, growing up. I put a thorn for the really bad memories.”
He had counted nearly three dozen thorns.
“When did you start doing these?” He pressed his lips to the deep, deep red rose blooming over one shoulder.
“When I was twenty-five.”
He paused, his hands tightening on her hips. Just what could linger over from childhood that a woman of twenty-five would feel the need to mark her flesh like this? Over and over? “Are the thorns done?”
For a long, long moment, she was quiet, the only sound the water raining down around them. Then she sighed, pressing her brow to the wall in front of her. “No. I’ll never be done, Linc.”
She turned around then and slid her hands around his waist, plastering her wet, naked body to his. “I don’t want to talk about the roses, the thorns… I don’t want to talk at all. I want you. Just you.”
He hesitated. In the back of his mind he suspected this was a mistake. There were things he needed to do, things they needed to say. And he couldn’t help but think how he planned on dragging this fucking town down with him. Into the pits of a very real hell. Making everybody who’d turned their backs on his daughter suffer.
Jay’s hands came up, cupped his face. “One night,” she whispered. Her lips were cool, soft against his, and the water slicked their bodies together. “We can have one night.”
One night.
He banded his arm around her waist and hauled her against him.
With his free hand, he fumbled and managed to turn off the shower.
If they only had the one night, he’d have her in his bed.
Where he’d dreamed of just this.
He moved out of the shower and she almost made him forget his intentions, almost made him lose his mind as she slid against him, wet and slick, the folds of her sex parting around him as she arched and moved, wiggling almost desperately.
“Now,” she muttered, leaning in to sink her teeth into his lower lip.
“Bed.” He cupped her ass in his hands, let himself explore those plump, ripe curves as he moved through the bathroom into his bedroom. He knew the way in the dark. Many a night he had paced the floors of his home, although it hadn’t happened quite like this.
Determined to keep his thoughts off that, he focused on Jay.
Coming to the bed, he put her on the wide, unmade surface and shoved the sheets, the comforter back. Robyn, his housekeeper, had quit after almost thirty years of working in the Mont Oak. That had been three weeks ago and, since then, the place had developed dust piles upon dust piles, although he did manage get through the basics—his own laundry, cooking when he had to eat.
Making beds was a waste of time, though. Except right now, he wished he had made the bed. Seen her spread out on his comforter of navy, with all that bright hair fanned out to frame her face, her bold green eyes watching him as he kissed his way down her torso.
Her nails bit into his shoulders as he pressed a kiss to her naval, traced a line down to her hip. Down, down, down until he could part the neatly trimmed curls with his tongue.
She was hot and wet and when he licked her, she arched up against him with a broken cry.
He circled her clit with his tongue, listened as his name caught on her lips in a sigh. Stroking one hand up her leg, he speared two fingers together and pressed against her. She resisted at first then yielded, closing around him hot and tight. A sound, startled, hot and sweet, fell from her lips. The next sound was muffled and he shot a look up at her just in time to see her shoving her hand against her mouth to smother the cry.
It was too much.
After years of feeling next to nothing, of forcing herself to feel next to nothing, now she was feeling everything and it was more than she could stand. One big hand slid under her ass, arched her up. The other… She shivered as he pumped his wrist, stroking his fingers in and out. Each scrape of his fingers over sensitive tissues dragged her higher, pushed her closer to a precipice she wasn’t sure she’d survive.
Abruptly, he stopped and she caught her breath as he came over her, dragging her wrist away from her mouth and twining their fingers together. “I want to hear you,” he growled against her lips. “Every broken sound. Every moan. Every scream. Whatever you feel, I want to hear it.” He dipped his head and licked her lips. “Don’t hide it from me.”
Stripped bare, she stared up at him as he shifted and reached down between them, tucking the head of his cock against her.
Oh, shit.
Stunned, she stared up at him. Felt him pressing harder.
The burning started.
She caught her breath, tried to blank her features as the burning gave way to the promise of real pain.
His hand on hers tightened. “Relax, Jay…” He dipped his head, rubbed his lips against hers. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Has it been a while?”
She managed to suck in a breath, tried not to whimper as he pulled out and surged in, deeper this time and that promise of pain became real pain. “Yeah. A while,” she tried to say.
It died in her throat as a startled cry ripped out of her.
He stiffened, slowly rising up, his weight braced on one elbow as he stared down at her.
“Jay?”
Her breath came in harsh, ragged gasps.
She could feel the hot wall of his chest against hers, her hair, still damp from the shower, clinging to her skull, and worst of all—or maybe best of all—she could feel him, the thick, heavy column of his cock, pulsing inside her. She twisted against him as another slow pulse echoed between them, a delicious little tease and a hot little pain all at once.
Linc groaned and reached down, steadying her with one hand on her hip. “Stop it, Jay. Look at me.”
She focused on his eyes, even though his chest was moving in a ragged rhythm against her own and the sensation of it had her nipples drawing tight, her breasts aching.
“How long?” he asked, his voice tight.
She blinked, confused. “What?”
“How long has it been?”
“Ahhhh…” She licked her lips.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
That just sent him deeper and she whimpered, instinctively pressing her hips back into the mattress even as pleasure twisted through her.
“That’s it.” Linc caught her wrists, pinned them over her head.
She glared at him.
He glared back, but ruined it by dipping his head and tracing the line of her mouth with his tongue. “Tell me, Jay.” He circled his hips against her as he spoke and the soft, teasing little motions coaxed her into relaxing and she shuddered as he slid deeper.
“I…” Her breath caught in her lungs and then sighed, curling her captured hands into fists as he sank so far in, she could almost feel the heat of his pelvis pressing against her own. “Never, Linc.”
He tensed. Then, abruptly, he stilled, his weight braced on one trembling elbow as he pressed his brow to her chest.
Sliding one hand up his side, she held her breath. What was he going to do?
If he stopped—
His lips brushed against her skin, a silken caress.
“A better man might stop. If you waited this long, we should wait until we can do this right.” He withdrew his hips, lifting up, and waited until her eyes rose to his. Then, without waiting another breath, he surged deep, not stopping until he’d buried his length completely inside.
Her wail bounced off the walls.
Driving her heels into the mattress, she arched up, working to adjust to his invasion, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes.
He kissed them away. “I’m not a better man. I don’t care if my world is falling to shit and I don’t care if I’ll never have a better chance.” He pulled out, surged back inside, staring at her with naked, desperate need. “You came to me, damn it. You want this…say you want this.”
“I want this,” Jay said, her voice shaking. Her pussy was a silken virgin fist, clutching at his dick as he drove into her. He had little finesse and even less time for the gentleness she deserved.
But she arched up against him, her skin flushed, her breath coming harsh and fast and she strained in his imprisoning hold, the climax already rushing up on her. He could feel it, see it in her eyes.
He wanted to taste it on her as she came, but pulling away from her was impossible. Slowing down wasn’t going to happen.
Letting go of her wrists, he fisted one hand in her hair, tugged her head back. “Next time,” he said, refusing to think that there probably wouldn’t be a next time. She had to leave. He had to stay. “If there’s a next time, we’ll do this right.”
She started to speak, but he silenced her with a hungry kiss as he shifted higher on her body, moving so that he rode against her clit with each thrust.
She broke beneath him and he didn’t hold back another second, sinking into her with hard, driving thrusts.
It was a brief respite, the sweetest peace he’d had in far too long.
A peace that ended far too soon.
Chapter Seven
Even when she slept, Jay kept herself shielded. The low-level shields were minimal, enough to keep her safe, conscious shields she’d developed and maintained through years of experience.
Except she’d lowered them.
Under the bliss of being able to touch somebody and not take in every emotion, feel their every pain and pleasure, she’d lowered her shields and, now, battered by her own pleasure and the sensory shock of finally being able to revel in real physical contact, she slid into an exhausted sleep.
Without her shields.
It wouldn’t have mattered, maybe.
Except there was so much hell around her.
Linc was a solid, blank barrier, his arms wrapped around her, but less than an hour after he’d slid into sleep, her own restless dreams had her rolling away. Obligingly, he grunted something senseless and rolled away, sliding one hand down her back, a wordless reassurance that she was there.
Then he settled more deeply into sleep and she was left alone, curled into a tight ball as everything started to slam into her.
She locked herself down.
It was instinct, more than anything else, that kept her silent.
Perhaps, if she’d been louder with her dreams, he would have heard her when she slipped noiselessly from the bed.
She rarely sleepwalked.
At home, she had an alarm system that sounded if she tried to leave the house and normally, that worked.
His own exhaustion held him captive as she picked up a shirt from the end of the bed, pulling it on without buttoning it, the white cotton pale against her flesh.
The only sound in the room was the soft brush of her footsteps over the floor as she moved to the door, her gaze locked on it, although she saw nothing.
Even when she reached her destination, she saw nothing.
But there was nothing to see, really.
Everything had already happened.
She was just there for the memories.
He heard her moving, watched her slip out the door.
From under his lashes, he thought about going after her, but he needed a minute.
A virgin.
She’d been a virgin.
Yeah.
He needed a minute.
A million of them.
Otherwise, he was going to pull her against him, strip that white shirt away and sink inside her again.
His dick was hard just thinking about it, and thinking about her in any way left him feeling raw.
Under it all, his heart lay like a stone in his chest.
Today, he’d have to tell her to leave.
It didn’t matter if she liked it or not, and he suspected the desire, the affection he saw in her eyes, was going to change to something not far from hate or distrust once he forced her out.
But there was nothing to be done for it.
He’d set down this road not that long ago and he wasn’t going to turn from it.
The Dawson family had money.
He’d inherited everything upon the death of his parents. Not just the money and the house, but the businesses in town they owned and so many other things.
People had let his daughter’s disappearance go unpunished.
People looked at him as he walked down the street, and he saw the guilt in their eyes. That quiet acknowledgement that there were things that could have been done, should have been done, but they were too afraid. They didn’t want to step up, speak up. They feared the power that Steve Mays held.
Well, too fucking bad.
One by one, more and more were realizing Mays wasn’t the only one with power in this town.
That dickless wonder Stahley had been one of the first ones to realize it. He had been trying to buy one of the empty buildings on Main. There was no shortage of them, but only a few would have worked for what Stahley and his brother-in-law had in mind—a garage. Stahley had one particular love, in addition to being a dirty, dickless cop. He liked—and was actually pretty damn good at—rebuilding old cars. The town probably could have used such a business. Stahley’s brother-in-law had a rep for it but he couldn’t keep using that old, rundown place behind his house.
But as far as Linc was concerned, the more people who steered clear of Hell, the better. He was just lessening the fallout, really.
Not that he had to soothe his conscience. He’d bought the building out from under Stahley’s nose while Stahley was working to get his loan approved. Linc had the money and maybe he’d eventually go through with the bullshit plans he’d given when he’d gone to the bank about buying the place.
Assuming he lived to tell the tale.
That was just one of the lesser evils he’d done.
The other part-time cop who worked for Mays, Jeff Foster, a mean-ass bastard if ever Linc had met one, was now living with his dad. Before all of this had gone down, he’d lived in a rental home that had belonged t
o the Dawson family—they did have their fingers in a lot of pies—but Linc had “decided” he wanted to get out of the rental business and gave Jeff thirty days to decide if he wanted to buy the house—something that just wouldn’t happen because Jeff’s credit was shot.
When Jeff couldn’t buy, he was evicted.
Now the house was sitting empty, the price on it so high, it wasn’t ever going to sell.
He’d emptied out four other houses in the same, methodical fashion.
He still owned six other rental houses, but those, he’d leave alone. Unless the person had caused problems or turned a blind eye—and he knew in his gut who they were—he wasn’t going to make their lives any worse.
It was going to get bad enough once he was done.
He was going to drag this town straight down into a very real hell.
And that was why Jay had to leave.
She had to—
The alarm went off, the resounding peal bouncing off the walls.
He shot off the bed and grabbed his weapon, the Glock he’d bought for personal use back when he’d still been on the force.
As he ran down the steps, he caught a glimpse of Jay and it was enough to slow the erratic pace of his heart.
She’d gone outside, not realizing he had an alarm.
But even as he thought that, he wondered…why hadn’t she just stopped when she heard the alarm?
Robyn Bronwyn was a woman with a heavy heart.
An angry heart.
A tired one.
It had been three weeks since she’d quit working for Mr. Dawson, and it had been three weeks since she’d slept well. She’d worked for his family most of her life, but she didn’t think it was just missing her job as his housekeeper that had her so restless.
It was the nightmares. Three weeks of them, of awful dreams, of whispers and voices.
Three weeks of…her.
That voice in her sleep.
How could you… You left him.
Even now, at nearly three in the morning, after four hours of sleep, after another nightmare, she could still hear the voice.