Cuffed & Claimed

by Lori King

  Her cry filled his ears as he began a slow rhythm. The angle of his entry—allowing him to slide so deep—evoked a shuddering spasm within her greedy cunt. Christ, too soon. He began to withdraw, only to have her inner muscles clamp around him in an unbearable, sweet tightness. Groaning, he entered her with a driving thrust, and gritted his teeth as blinding pleasure built with every stroke. Soon his ragged breathing matched hers. Her body was a lit match to his dynamite, igniting an explosive desire he couldn’t quench. He reached around and rubbed her clit.

  “I can’t, I can’t...” Her body stretched taut. He tugged on her hair, forcing her to face him. She looked up, eyes wide, her mouth moving, before a loud, frantic cry rang out.

  Urgent need rolled through him, gathered low in his spine and tightened. One last thrust was his undoing. With a snarl, he abandoned himself to his shattering release. He collapsed beside her, resting his head on his arm, and sucked in a lungful of air.

  Gently, absently, he ran his hand over her body, his fingers moist from the light film of sweat covering her skin.

  Good way to get a chill.

  Forcing himself back up on his elbow, he reached for the key to the cuffs. “One second, gorgeous.” Moments later, she was free, and he tossed the cuffs and the key on the bedside table. Then he reached for the sheet and covered them both.

  Still inside her, he pulled Mercy back so she was snuggled with her back to his front and his arms around her. First time in cuffs. He needed to check on her. “How you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.” She glanced up, her face flushed, makeup smudged, and looking like she’d been ridden hard and well. More importantly, her smile reached her eyes. “I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe that was a blessing?”

  Worry tightened his gut. “I frightened you?”

  “No, not at all.” She ran the back of her finger against his jaw. “More like, blew away my expectations.”

  Well, damn. “I aim to please, gorgeous.”

  She giggled. “I’m hoping there’s some TripAdvisor-type guide for bondage where I can give a star rating.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. Fuck, she was amazing. Knowing he had to go clean up but not wanting to break their intimacy just yet, he kissed her with enough passion that her hand crept up in his hair and held on.

  “I gotta clean up and so do you. Then I’ve got maybe an hour before I have to head home, get some sleep, and then get to school tomorrow.”

  “You could stay the night here?”

  The note of hopefulness in her voice tempted him, but tonight wasn’t an option.

  “I don’t have another change of clothes in my bag.” Plus, he had to be ready for a call from Jack later tonight. His sergeant wanted an update from Aidan, and after all their effort, the best he could say was Isaac was skipping school and lying to the woman who believed in him.

  Reluctantly, he withdrew from Mercy and used the guest bathroom.

  When he returned, he lay in the bed and waited for her to join him.

  A faint rose scent was on her sheets. The stuff she used in the shower. He breathed deep, reveling in the small hint of her and at the same time craving having her beside him.

  Jesus, five weeks and he was hooked. There was attraction, sure. But how many times this afternoon had he checked his watch, so fucking eager to see her, hear her voice and laugh?

  And if he was admitting as much to himself, then what about Mercy? A woman who acted with such warmth and generosity of spirit didn’t sleep with a man for kicks.

  Aidan had seen the way her gaze lit up when he came near. Hell, each time she smiled at him was like a being lifted up on the shoulders of a giant and told he could conquer the world.

  Mercy was invested—emotionally and physically. And the foundation of their relationship—at least what Mercy knew about him—was all built on lies.

  He closed his eyes as the walls of his deceit closed in around him.

  Tomorrow after the game, he would hunt for Isaac.

  He and the student had run out of time.

  Whatever Isaac was up to, Aidan had to force the truth out of him. Even if his reason for acting strangely wasn’t drugs, whatever troubled the boy spelled danger—for the student and those closest to him.

  Meaning Mercy.

  And that was an unacceptable risk.

  7

  “Where the hell were you? I called the play, but you were nowhere close to position.” Cole Hunt’s voice thundered as the quarterback stood nose-to-nose with his running back.

  What the hell? Aidan looked up from checking Tyrone’s injured ankle.

  “Called the play?” Justin ripped off his helmet and held the headgear like it was a weapon he wanted to swing. “Hunt, you screwed up. I followed the call.”

  “Enough,” Coach Parker roared. “Hunt, sit your ass down,” he ordered the quarterback as the team’s defense took the field.

  With one last heated glare, Cole headed to the bench twelve feet away and sat, snatching a drink bottle from the hand of a water boy.

  His fellow teammates kept their gazes either on their feet or stared toward the field where their defense was in action. Not a pretty sight. The Cougars were getting slaughtered.

  In truth, the carnage had started earlier this afternoon with a couple of the players exchanging sharp words with Cole in the locker room over some matter to do with a girl. At least that’s what it sounded like to Aidan, who’d walked in at the end.

  But it seemed the die had been cast, and by game time, the whole team seemed on edge.

  Aidan turned his gaze back to Tyrone’s ankle. “Keep the ice on it for now. We’ll have another look at halftime.”

  Tyrone grimaced. “Right, Coach.”

  Aidan looked up and gave the kid a consoling smile, but his attention was diverted by a girl seated in a row of seats at the front of the stands. It wasn’t her red hair, so like his sister’s, that made him notice, but the smile on her face along with a cold, scheming gaze as she focused on the team. Her gaze moved, following someone. Who? Aidan followed her line of sight, but there were too many people to pick anyone out.

  “Tyrone, do you know the girl with the red hair behind us?” he asked as the girl’s smirk melted away when Cole looked toward her.

  The team’s fullback glanced behind him, then faced front, unsmiling. “That’s Brooke Powell. Cole’s girlfriend.

  Girlfriend? “Is she a senior?” Aidan placed a second ice pack on Tyrone’s ankle.

  “Not here. She goes to some private academy.” He sipped from a water bottle. “They met at a party.”

  “I see.” Aidan gazed back to Brooke. She had a phone to her ear and yelled something, drawing glances from those around her. But the noise of the game meant Aidan couldn’t hear. The girl rose and pushed past people in their seats to exit the stands as she continued to talk into her phone.

  “Coach, I need your help.”

  Aidan turned to assist one of his players, and for now, the girl was forgotten as he and Coach Parker strategized and debated the best way to save the Cougars from a total wipeout on the field.

  * * *

  Mercy waited outside the locker room. Tonight, no large groups of friends waited in the wings to cheer the players as they all headed on to parties. Just a couple of parents and one or two players’ girlfriends with their pals. That’s what happened when the favored team loses by forty points.

  From comments in the crowd, it wasn’t so much that the Cougars lost—that happens even to the best of teams—but how they fell apart. Squabbling with each other and making so many unforced errors was a poor way to hand victory to your opponent.

  Judging by the way Coach Parker had stormed off the field at the end of the game, he would have a few words to say, too.

  So yeah, not many teenagers would be hanging around to see the aftermath at close range.

  But Mercy’s mind wasn’t entirely on the game. She hadn’t seen Isaac tonight, even though she had scanned the crowd throughou
t the game. He usually came to watch. Who knew where he was or what he was up to?

  The heavy metal doors opened and the players came out. Some with their heads down, gazes focused on the ground, others staring stoically ahead.

  A couple of minutes later, Sean followed. He nodded to a couple of the parents on his way.

  “Hey, rough night.” She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but they were keeping things professional in front of the students. In a poor compromise, she settled for a soft smile she hoped conveyed her understanding.

  Sean wrapped a hand on her arm and gave a brief squeeze in answer. “The paint on the locker room walls has blisters from Coach Parker’s post game-sum up.” The locks beeped on his SUV. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Once at her apartment, Mercy poured a glass of wine for herself, a beer for Sean, and made him a turkey and cheese sandwich. The guy might have had a crap night, but he hadn’t eaten dinner.

  Sean sat on the sofa with his sock-covered feet up on her coffee table. Mercy curled up at his side and turned on the TV, finding an old episode of Longmire.

  “And she picks one of my favorite shows.” Sean wrapped an arm around her and held his sandwich in his other hand. “You’re a good woman.”

  “You can give me a back massage over the weekend as payment.” And he had a great pair of hands. They worked wonders on her back, her shoulders and…elsewhere.

  “You’re on, gorgeous.” Sean dropped a kiss on her forehead and settled in to watch the TV.

  For the next hour, they watched Walt kick butt as only he can. When the show’s credits rolled, Sean turned off the TV, rose and gently pulled her up to join him. His big, callused hands framed her face as he studied her for a long moment.

  Mercy leaned into his tall, hard frame. When he held her in that firm, yet gentle, way and gazed at her with those summer-green eyes, her pulse skipped. No man had ever made her feel as attractive and feminine as Sean did.

  “Thank you for tonight, giving me a chance to unwind.” He swept his thumbs over her cheeks, and a delicious warmth pooled deep in her body.

  She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. “My pleasure.”

  He released her and collected their glasses and his plate. “I’ll rinse these and lock up.”

  “Great.” Every time he stayed over, Sean had a ritual of cleaning up the dishes, setting up the coffee machine for the morning, then locking up the apartment. Until Sean, Mercy hadn’t realized how much she liked having such a protective giant in her midst.

  As she entered her bedroom, she spied the gym bag he had carried in after they got home. She grinned to herself as an idea took shape. How about repaying his thoughtfulness by being naked and ready—with a condom in hand—when he came in?

  She stripped off her clothes and dumped them in the laundry hamper in her bathroom. From past experience, she knew he kept a supply of condoms in his wallet and in the gym bag. After lifting the black nylon carryall onto the bed, she pulled the zip open. Jeans, a couple of t-shirts, his toiletry bag and—

  Her hand froze.

  A gun. In some kind of leather holster.

  Her breath came out in a whoosh. Okay, that’s… But words failed her. She didn’t know what to think. They hadn’t ever discussed guns. It wasn’t Sean having one that threw her so much. Her dad had a gun at his house. Locked away in a gun safe. But Sean had one here, in her home, and had never discussed that with her.

  Next to the gun was a dark slim wallet. She didn’t recognize it as his usual tan leather, but maybe he had a new one?

  Just get the damn condom. Carefully, as if she could somehow discharge the gun by moving too fast, she plucked the wallet out of the bag and opened the flap.

  Her breath caught in her chest.

  A police shield—Seattle Police—and ID card stared back at her.

  Sean’s photo was on the ID. Except…the name said Aidan. Aidan Shaw.

  Detective Aidan Shaw.

  A whirring sound filled her head. She couldn’t think. What was in her hand…none of it made sense. The shield and the ID had to be a joke.

  Her thumb pressed the edge of the holder. Firm. Thick. She ran a finger over the silver shield. Hard. Heavy-looking. With a number on the shield that matched the one on the photo ID. Not some cheap imitation.

  The sound of someone entering the room forced her head up.

  She stared at Sean. No. Not Sean. Someone else. A stranger.

  His gaze locked on her face and then dropped to the ID in her hand. He closed his eyes. “Fuck.” His harsh curse cut through the room like a sword slicing into her safe, happy world.

  Damning him.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “Mercy,” he stepped forward, his voice pitched low, conciliatory.

  No fucking way. She wanted answers.

  “Who are you?” she screamed and threw the ID holder at him.

  With lightning reflexes, he caught the square black leather missile. She ignored the concern in his gaze, the look of regret on his face.

  “My name’s Aidan Shaw. I’m a detective with Seattle PD.”

  She stared at him. This man she was getting to know, had developed feelings for, and had slept with.

  With a horrible realization, she remembered her nakedness. She grabbed her kimono off the bed and knotted the belt tightly at her waist. If only she could shield her feelings so easily.

  His betrayal of her trust was too much to contemplate right now. She swallowed, her hand clenching the material of her kimono. For this minute, she’d concentrate on the reasons why.

  “Why are you pretending to be a teacher?”

  He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I can’t say.” At her bitter laugh, he raised a hand. “I’m not bullshitting you. The case is active.”

  “Active?” She shook her head. “But what could make the police interested in Macarthur High? We don’t have trouble—” No, that wasn’t true. The school had and with such devastating results. Heather Raynard. “It’s about the overdose.”

  Sean, no, Aidan’s face remained impassive. Oh, he was good at that, hiding his emotions, his identity.

  “But Michael Willis is in jail. Why are the police still investigating? Unless you suspect others are involved?”

  But who would they—

  Cold fingers of dread snaked over her skin.

  She stared at Aidan in horror, taking a step back. “Oh, no.”

  “Mercy.” He grasped her arm, but she wrenched free.

  “You’re after Isaac,” she whispered.

  Aidan shook his head, his tone urgent. “It’s not that simple.” He reached for her arm again; this time, his grip was inescapable. “I’ve said I can’t say anything more, and you need to—” He broke off as his phone rang. After tossing his ID into the gym bag, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, looked at his the caller ID, and answered. “Shaw.”

  Shaw. Hearing him say the name aloud was a cruel reminder of how easily she’d been fooled. Again she tugged on her arm, and again he kept his hold.

  “What hospital,” Aidan asked in a clipped voice.

  She glanced up, seeing the muscle tick in his jaw.

  “Isaac’s mom there?”

  Mercy stilled. Her lungs burned as she held her breath.

  “I’m leaving now.” Aidan ended the call and shoved the phone into his back pocket.

  “What’s happened?” Mercy couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice.

  Aidan grasped her upper arms. “Isaac’s been assaulted. Bruising and cuts to the face. Maybe a busted rib.”

  “Oh, my God.” She could only stare at Aidan.

  “Officers interrupted the assailants. Two males. One of them dropped a knife. Perps ran before they could catch them. Officers took Isaac to UW Medical Center.”

  A knife? Jesus. “I have to get to him.” She looked around her bedroom. Where were her jeans?

  “No.” Aidan’s voice was an iron command, forcing her gaze back to his face.r />
  “But—”

  His expression gentled as he studied her face. “Isaac’s mom is there with him.” He ran his hands over her arms. She wouldn’t think about how steadying his touch was, how she wanted to lean against him and gather her strength. Aidan continued speaking. “Whatever he knows, it’s time for the kid to share. I’m going to get up into his face, put the fear of God into him if I have to. Having you there would be more of a support for him, when I need him vulnerable and ready to confess his secrets.”

  Mercy wanted to argue, to tell him how wrong he was. But that was her anger talking, not common sense.

  “Of course.” She kept her gaze on the black twill of his polo shirt and silently pleaded for him to move away.

  After a few seconds he did, gathering his bag before standing before her. “Mercy, look at me, please.”

  Maybe it was the fact he asked her and didn’t demand, or the softness of his tone, but she lifted her gaze to his.

  “Now’s not the time for me to try and set things right.” He lifted a hand as if to touch her face, but when she stiffened, he dropped it back to his side. “I lied to you about my name and why I was at the school, but what happened between us is real. I care about you. More than you know.”

  She studied him and saw the remorse that shadowed his face. And if he was to be believed, he cared about her.

  God, it would be so easy to—

  Then memories crashed in, dragging back the humiliation and pain of her ex’s disrespect, and killed the faint stirrings of forgiveness.

  “You’re needed at the hospital.” She stepped back and turned her gaze to the chair, studying the brass buttons on the upholstery and trying to block out the fact he was still so close.

  “Don’t think we’re done, Mercy.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head and walked out of the room.

  At another time, she’d congratulate herself for holding it together right up until the moment she heard her front door close behind him.