Leaving Lando

by Mia Madison

“Our newest creation. The lemon-lavender dream bar.”

  His eyebrows go up. “Lavender? No kidding. It tastes like a dream, all right. They ready to go?”

  “They are.”

  “Give me two.”

  I beam at him and go to wrap them up. When I come back, a woman at the counter says, “Can I get one of those?”

  “Me too,” says the man next to her.

  I look at Quinn, and she nods. We’ll make another batch, to stave off a riot, and then they’ll go into our regular rotation. “Coming right up,” I tell them, and give Lando his bag. “See you later.”

  He holds my gaze. “See you,” he says, with a quiet intensity, and I start to melt. Then he’s gone, and I can breathe again. I catch Quinn and Jade giving each other meaningful looks, but there’s no time to hassle them about it.

  By four o’clock that afternoon, I’m dead on my feet. It took me a while to get to sleep last night; my brain kept replaying everything that happened with Lando and his family. I’m still on edge.

  The dance between me and Lando is starting to feel like more than lust, and it worries me. Sex, we can handle. We don’t need to complicate the situation with all sorts of emotions. That’s when things get messy and people get hurt.

  Friends with benefits, I remind myself as I finish packing up cop goodies. Keep things nice and easy and fun. That’s the ticket.

  Standing before the door to the alley, I brace myself . Much as I hate to admit it, Lando’s right; I need to start bringing a sweater to work so I can layer it under my jacket before I go out. I mentally prepare to run all the way to the police station, then fling the door open.

  Lando’s truck is sitting right in front of me, engine running. He’s at the wheel. I’m so shocked I almost let the door hit me on the rebound, but catch it just in time. Ducking into the alley, I lock up while a bitter wind sends trash scudding down the alley.

  When I turn, he’s got the passenger door open. I climb up into a toasty-warm cab and groan in gratitude. “Thanks.”

  “Buckle up.”

  It’s only a few blocks to the station, but I put my seat belt on like a good girl. He has us there in no time. “Better zip your coat up,” he says when he pulls into a slot in the parking lot. “Wind’s still gusting.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, but do as he says. The wind tears at us, whipping my hair and freezing my ears and my nose. We go in the back and up the stairs as usual, into the bullpen.

  That’s where ordinary ends.

  6

  Oh, Honey

  When we walk in, the first thing I see is Detective Miller sitting at my desk, her feet propped up on it. Brianna sees her too and tenses beside me. In half a second, the whole room picks up on the vibe and goes quiet, waiting for fireworks.

  We reach my desk. As often as Bree’s been here, I don’t think they’ve ever been formally introduced, and even last night they didn’t actually speak to each other. “Brianna Callahan, Detective Larissa Miller.”

  I don’t add, What the fuck are you playing at, Miller?, but I sure am thinking it.

  Ignoring Bree and the introduction, she says, “We need to debrief. Where’d you stash our guy?”

  Miller and I have worked together for over a year; she’s never pulled a stunt like this before. Does she think we’re suddenly best buds after last night? Since she hasn’t moved, I do the same thing to her I’d do to any man who commandeered my desk: I lift her feet, swing them free, and let them drop to the floor.

  She stands up. “You better watch it with the baked goods. They’ll give you a gut. Rot your brain.” Her eyes flick over Brianna’s generous curves. “Make you soft.”

  Bree leans in, with a sugary-sweet smile on her face, and says, “Trust me. There’s nothing soft about him.”

  Muted titters come from around us. “You’re aiming a little high, aren’t you, honey?” Miller retorts. “Better stick to delivery boys.”

  Apparently, seeing Brianna with me last night made Miller think she’s got competition. Which she doesn’t. She’s not even in the running.

  Before I can put a stop to this nonsense, Bree says, “My dad taught me to shoot. I bet my aim is better than yours.”

  “You threatening me, Callahan?”

  Her grin is fierce. “Not at all. I was thinking a little contest.”

  “Shooting?” Miller smirks. “You’re on.”

  The whole department immediately troops down to the basement where the shooting range is. “Can I borrow your gun?” Bree says to me in an undertone. I take her bag of goodies and hand her my Glock, and she pops the magazine, checks it, and loads it again with brisk efficiency.

  We’ve never talked about guns, but I know Brianna’s dad was in the Army before her mom abandoned the family and he had to come home to raise his daughters. It doesn’t surprise me at all that he taught his girls to shoot.

  There’s brisk betting going on all around me. Miller’s one of the best shots in the department, so she’s the favorite, but not by as much as you might expect. “Adamo,” Detective Holland calls. “You want in? Seven yards, six rounds each, best score wins. Maximum bet’s a tenner.”

  Abstaining might be the tactful thing to do, but it’d look like a vote of no confidence against Bree. “Ten spot on my girl,” I tell her. Everyone whoops, and there’s a new flurry of betting.

  I wink at Bree; she gives me a smile that makes my cock twitch. We all watch while Miller and Bree don their safety gear and take up position in adjacent lanes. They fire a few practice rounds, then send their targets out to the specified distance and wait, guns at their sides.

  “All right,” Holland says. “Ready … fire!” A few seconds later, the noise subsides and the women bring their targets home. When the paper is close enough to see well, low whistles fill the room.

  Miller’s got six neat holes, center mass. Bree has one largish hole in the center of her target’s forehead. “Her shots landed right on top of each other,” Holland mutters. “Damn, she’s good.”

  “Two out of three,” Miller snaps. “Fifteen yards.”

  “Fine,” Brianna says. She’s cool and collected and I want to kiss her until she’s weak in the knees, right here in front of everyone. She and Miller clip up fresh targets and send them out to the new distance.

  This time Bree goes center mass and shreds her target’s heart. Miller lands six shots in her target’s head, but they’re not as tightly grouped as Bree’s were.

  We all look at each other. Everyone knows Bree’s the better shot by now, but professional loyalty keeps the group from saying so. “Okay,” Holland says. “Last round, head shots only, twenty-five yards. Show us what you got, ladies.”

  “I need to reload,” Bree says. I go up and give her a fresh magazine. She pops the old one, with three bullets left in it, and hands it over. Still no sign of nerves; her hands are perfectly steady.

  Once more the targets go zipping off on their wires. When they’re in place, Holland calls out, “Fire,” and the smell of gunpowder fills the air. I move forward as soon as the shooting stops, eager to see what my girl has done this time.

  Miller’s target has five holes in its head. At that distance, it’s still great shooting. No one says anything about the missing bullet.

  Brianna’s has six, inscribed in a tight little circle. Showoff.

  As soon as she takes off her headgear, I lean down and murmur, “I’d like to put you up against the wall right now and show you how well I can find your target.”

  She gives a little shiver. “You can drill holes in me anytime, big boy.”

  Fuck yeah. I start to reply, but then Miller comes up behind us. “Congratulations, Callahan.”

  “Thanks. Good shooting,” Bree says, matter-of-fact, without either overt rancor or phony friendliness.

  “You too.” Miller’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She looks like she’d like to say more, but doesn’t.

  The winners and losers settle up. I take my payout, and the bag of p
astries, and sling my arm over Bree’s shoulders as we go out. “What’s in the goodie bag today?” I ask her.

  She looks at me from under her lashes. “Whatever you want.”

  The innuendo goes straight to my cock. “Sweetheart. Don’t say that unless you mean it, because I promise I’ll collect.”

  “Do you always keep your promises, Detective Adamo?”

  “Damn right I do, Red.”

  “Good.”

  My dick gets even harder. “You’re staying at my place tonight.”

  She smiles. “Yes, I am.”

  There’s no question Brianna Callahan belongs in my bed. And on my couch. And in my shower, and on my kitchen table, and any other surface where I can fuck her blind.

  Tonight, we begin.

  Tomorrow, she might have to call in Can’t Work Because I Can’t Walk.

  “Hang at my desk a minute,” I tell her when we reach the bullpen. “I gotta have a quick meeting.”

  “Okay.” She sits down and puts her feet up in a perfect imitation of Miller’s pose. Fighting a grin, I hand off the goodie bag and go to debrief with Miller, Stuart, and our lieutenant about last night’s drug sting fiasco. I don’t even keep a snickerdoodle for myself.

  I’m gonna be eating dessert all night long.

  As soon as we’re in my truck, Bree says, “I need to tell you something.”

  “What?” She doesn’t answer. “You can tell me anything, babe.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I just thought you should know … I’m wearing your underwear.”

  “You … what?” It’s not what I was expecting, so it takes me a second to process it. “Right now?”

  Without a word, she unzips her jeans and folds them back so I can see. It’s already dark, but I turn on the interior light for a second, and sure enough, there they are. Right up close, snuggling against that creamy skin. Hugging her spectacular ass and her sweet little pussy.

  “Damn. Never thought I’d be jealous of my own fucking underwear.”

  Bree laughs. “A few more minutes, and they can be jealous of you.”

  “Yeah, and I was gonna find out about your little wardrobe secret in a few more minutes, too. You just told me that to tease me.”

  She gives me that smile again. “Guilty.”

  “Prepare to do your penance, Red.”

  “Ooh.” Bree wriggles in her seat. “Are you going to tease me, or punish me?”

  “Maybe both.”

  “Okay, but just remember I can give as good as I get.”

  That’s what she thinks.

  I make it to my house in record time. It’s the kind of house a cop’s salary can afford, a modest size in an older neighborhood, the kind where there’s an alley that runs behind the houses and leads to the garages. A lot of the time I park on the street, but tonight I use the garage.

  Brianna hops down from her side of the truck and follows me into the back yard. As soon as I have room to maneuver, I hoist her over my shoulder and carry her caveman style. She just laughs.

  The back of the house consists of the kitchen, and then a closed-in porch that runs the rest of the length of it. We go through the porch and into the kitchen, and I can’t wait another minute. I set her on her feet, back her up against the nearest wall, and go in for a kiss.

  She’s ready for me. Our mouths fuse, our tongues tangling, and I taste caramel and spices and something wild that’s all Brianna. We undress each other without breaking the kiss, eager hands shoving at jackets and burrowing under shirts.

  Her hands are cold; she warms them against my back, then shoves them down inside my jeans to grab my ass, her short nails digging in. I growl into her mouth and get my hands on her breasts, cupping their generous weight, then tweaking the nipples.

  Her moan electrifies me. We finally come up for air, our breathing ragged, and strip off more clothes. “You on the pill?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” She unzips my jeans, her mouth brushing my throat.

  I nip her earlobe, then suck on it. “I been tested; I’m clear.”

  “I’m good.” Bree’s breath is coming in short gasps. She gets my jeans and underwear out of the way and closes her hand over my cock. “Oh, honey.”

  Her appreciative moan makes me swell in her grasp, but when she starts to sink to her knees, I pull her back up. “Later, babe.” It’s my turn now to wrestle her jeans — and my underwear — out of the way, dragging them down her legs.

  I get her ankle boots off so I can remove her clothing entirely, leaving her naked. Still kneeling, I lift her with my hands under her ass and bury my face between her legs.

  She’s soaking wet. I lick her open and go straight for her clit. Later, there’ll be time for finesse and slow seductions. Right now, I need to be inside her.

  “Lando … oh fuck!” Her legs are over my shoulders, her hands tunneling into my hair, her hips jerking as I suck on her swollen nub. The slightest pressure of my teeth is all it takes to send her over the edge. “Lando!”

  I get one arm under her ass to hold her up, and with my free hand work a finger inside her, then another, all while I’m lapping up the nectar of her release. A third finger, and a fourth, sucking her clit again while I get her ready for my cock.

  Even slippery wet, she’s tight. I can’t wait to feel her hot silk gripping me. When she comes, crying out, clenching around my fingers, drenching them, I’m about to burst.

  Standing up, I get both hands under her ass again. She guides me to her entrance, and I start to press inside.

  7

  Just Getting Started

  He’s so deliciously big. I moan, my head going back, as Lando stretches me, filling me inch by inch. My arms are around his neck, my legs around his waist, holding him close while I kiss his neck, his face, my tongue flicking out to taste his skin.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” he grits out.

  “So do you.” I’m full to bursting now, his girth rubbing against all my sensitive inner ridges. “Your aim’s pretty damn good, detective.”

  In answer, he claims my mouth for a long, deep, wet kiss, our tongues dancing, dueling. It leaves me breathless … and then he starts to move. “Oh fuck,” I groan when he slides partway out of me, then pushes back in. “Don’t stop, Lando.”

  “Not a chance, Red.” He speeds up until he’s pounding into me, and I hope his house has good insulation because I can’t be quiet. My ecstatic cries echo off the walls, every stroke of his cock sending more and more pleasure spiraling out from my center and back again, until I’m teetering on the edge, ready to explode.

  “I’m gonna make you come so hard. All over my cock.”

  I’m holding on for dear life, my nails digging into his back, scoring his flesh. Suddenly, Lando stops deep inside me, swings me away from the wall, and carries me to the kitchen island. Laying me down, he moves my legs so my feet are resting on his shoulders.

  He leans over, powering into me even harder, but now his cock is rubbing my clit. “Fuck!” I yell. Sensation gathers and swells in my core, coiling tighter and tighter. “Yes!”

  “Take it,” he orders. “Take me. All of me, Brianna.”

  I want to look at him, but my back bows as my climax slams into me with the force of a tidal wave, snapping my head back. My pussy clamps around him as wave after wave of pleasure pours over me. I’m gripping him so hard, coming all over his cock just like he said, unable to stop.

  But he doesn’t follow me over the edge. He rides it out until I finally relax my hold a little, and then he pulls out and flips me over so I’m face down on the counter. When he enters me again, I’m still so sensitive that it takes me right back to the verge.

  Now he’s pounding my g-spot, and holy fuck, it catapults me straight into another violent orgasm. “Lando!” I scream as my body convulses. His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back, and he fucks me even harder.

  And I come, and come, and come, until finally he lets go an
d pours himself out inside me, filling me up, my pussy milking his cock for every last drop.

  When we’re spent, he covers my body with his. Not squashing me; he’s holding most of his weight off of me. It’s almost protective. And then his lips brush the skin behind my ear … and a door in my heart wrenches open.

  I slam it shut again as hard as I can. No way am I going to spoil this party by falling for the world’s best fuck buddy. Instead, I make myself relax and savor the closeness while it lasts.

  “You okay?” he asks, his voice even deeper and warmer than usual.

  “Oh yeah. Never better.”

  “Good.”

  He helps me off the counter, and I stand on shaky legs and force myself to be businesslike. “Is it okay if I use the shower before I go?”

  His eyes narrow. “Go where?”

  “Well, you know. It’s late, for me anyway. I have to be up in a few hours.”

  Lando’s arm circles my waist and he pulls me close. “We’re not done, Red. Not even close.”

  A quiver runs through me, and only part of it is anticipation. Falling for Lando would be so easy … and a huge mistake. I have plans that don’t include him, and he’s more the hit it and quit it type than a dedicated family man.

  I’ve got to keep my head screwed on straight here. More sex with Lando certainly won’t hurt me; I should have known once wouldn’t be enough for him. I’ll just keep the mood light, and everything will be fine.

  “That was quite a ride, cowboy. Do you always have that kind of stamina?”

  “No. Usually I have more.” I gape at him, but there’s no hint that he’s joking. “I haven’t been with anyone since I met you, Red.”

  That door bangs open again, letting in a fresh breeze full of hope. Delusional hope. I kick it closed and hammer in some nails for good measure. “Since when are you a monk?”

  Lando shrugs. “Wasn’t intentional. Just worked out that way.” He picks me up and drapes me over his shoulder again, like all my curves don’t weigh a thing. “I’m gonna fuck you again, and then I’m gonna feed you.”