Always Mickie (Cruz Brothers Book 3)

by Melanie Munton

  Why wasn’t he using that weapon of a mouth against me right now? What the hell was he waiting for?

  “What do you mean?” I asked, distracted by the way he was slowly removing his suit jacket and hanging it on the door hook.

  “I mean, were you trying to get me to fuck you in front of all those people?” he demanded.

  Oh, God. Now he was rolling up his shirt sleeves.

  “Because that was the road we were headed down, baby. One more word and I would have bent you over that bar, pushed that ridiculously tight dress up over your ass, and shoved my cock inside you. Right there, for everyone to see. Is that what you wanted?”

  “Is this a trick question?”

  He chuckled under his breath, the sound coming out dark. He slowly paced across the stall, cornering me like I was his next meal.

  Oh, I hoped so.

  “After all these years,” he said, “don’t you know that I would never share you with anyone like that? No one’s allowed to see how you look when I’m pleasuring you. Nobody ever gets the privilege of hearing what you sound like when you come. No one but me.” He closed the distance between our bodies, and braced his hands on the wall beside my head. “Because you’re mine.”

  I snaked my hand up to pull him in by his tie. Did I forget to mention he was wearing a tie? Because, ohmigod, he was wearing a tie.

  “You’re so hot when you get all possessive like this,” I whispered against his neck.

  He released a strangled groan. “Possessive? Baby, we’re way past that. I’m finding it damn hard just to deal with you in that dress right now. Giving all those other men in there the same show you were giving me.”

  I licked up his neck, delighting in the shiver I felt crawl up his spine. “That show was only for you.”

  “Damn right it was,” he grated out. “But you’re still going to pay for making me so hard that it hurts to fucking walk.”

  Pay? This sounded promising. Exciting.

  Exactly what I was looking for tonight.

  I met his eyes, my arousal kicking up a notch when I saw the gleam in them. “Turn around,” he commanded.

  Having learned to be obedient in these situations—because it usually benefitted me—I slowly turned until my back faced him. His hands gripped me around my hips, kneading with controlled force.

  “Were you telling the truth?” he whispered. “About the lingerie?”

  I smiled. “Find out for yourself.”

  The words had barely left my mouth when he yanked my dress up, exposing my panty-clad behind. His hands left me, and I heard him take a step back.

  He pushed out a heavy breath. “Holy fuck.”

  I peeked over my shoulder. “You like?”

  He had his hands on his head, looking lost for thoughts or speech. “Like isn’t the right word. Love? Hate? Love because of how fucking perfect you look. And hate because I want to rip the beautiful thing off you and destroy it.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “I’d be okay with that.”

  The black satin corset and garter set may have cost me a pretty penny. But I didn’t care what he did with it in that moment. As long as he was willing to do whatever he was picturing in his head, he could rip up every piece of lingerie I had.

  He grinned and shook his head. “There are more efficient ways of getting to your pussy.” He lowered himself to his knees, and glanced up. “And more creative ones.”

  The next thing I felt was his tongue on my skin, creeping its way toward my wet center. And when he reached his destination, holy shit, I felt like my senses exploded. His mouth took ownership of my body, my pleasure, my mind.

  Anytime his mouth was on me—anywhere—I was lost.

  Gone.

  “I’m so close, baby,” I said, panting loudly in the enclosed space.

  Part of me hoped nobody came in. The other part couldn’t climax fast enough.

  I was right on that precipice, dying for the release that was right at my fingertips…

  When he spanked me.

  “Ah!” I was so startled, the one sound was all that left my mouth.

  He’d never done that before. But damned if it didn’t make me hotter.

  “I knew you’d like that,” he growled. “Been waiting forever to do it.”

  I was still catching my breath when I replied, “What took you so long?”

  He grunted. “I was waiting for the proper motivation to strike. I’d say I found it tonight.”

  I mentally patted myself on the back.

  “You going to come for me if I do it again?” he asked.

  “Yes.” No doubt.

  Five more slaps later and I was shooting off like a rocket. His mouth didn’t leave my flesh again until I almost collapsed in his arms. The show wasn’t over, though.

  Now, it was his turn.

  He stood up and quickly opened his suit pants, freeing himself in the blink of an eye. “I can’t wait another goddamned second. Not with the sight of you standing here dressed in that, your tight, round ass sticking out for me. The taste of you on my tongue. Your moans echoing off the walls. I can’t fucking wait, Mick.”

  He placed himself behind me, aligning his shaft with my sex, and pushed inside in one powerful thrust. He muffled his groans into my shoulder, while mine were silenced by his hand covering my mouth. He released his hand when he started pumping into me, using both hands for leverage.

  “You were right earlier,” he said between stilted breaths.

  I could barely concentrate on what he was saying. He felt too good inside me to think about…to think at all.

  “About what?”

  He slammed in harder, jarring my lower body, forcing all the air from my lungs.

  “I am a lucky man. So fucking lucky.”

  That made me see stars.

  This time, not the ones you remember from lullabies.

  But the ones that exploded behind your eyelids until you saw nothing but a white mass. The kind that nearly blinded you and knocked you on your ass.

  Those stars were mind-blowing.

  Life-altering.

  After we both finished and fought to catch our breaths, he squeezed me tight to him. “I’ll never forget it, Mick. How lucky I am. That I can promise you.”

  I closed my eyes and squeezed him back. “Me either.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dawson

  2012

  “Where’s the snow?” I asked the street urchin in front of me.

  His skinny arm reached out, a little bag full of white poison clutched between his fingers. The track marks marring his skin, a heroin addict’s calling card, stood in stark contrast to his pale complexion.

  He must have saved all the heroin for himself because he always claimed he never had any. Or else I would take that from him, too.

  I took the bag, dipped the tip of my pinky finger inside, and brought it to my mouth. The only word I can use to describe it was bitter. I hated this part of the job, but I had to make sure I was getting the right stuff from the right guy.

  So, we could nail him and his boss.

  Undercover work could be a real bitch sometimes.

  I shot him an expectant look. “Where’s the rest of it? You said you had an eighth.”

  An eighth, or “Big Eight,” meaning an eighth of a kilo. A low level dealer like him shouldn’t have that big of a stash. They’re usually only trusted with one ounce bags.

  But my months’ worth of intel told me this guy wasn’t as low level as he appeared to be. Either that, or the kingpins were moving more product directly from the street, rather than filtering it down the hierarchy.

  That’s what I was here to find out.

  Because that much product in the hands of dumbasses like this guy was even more dangerous.

  “Relax, guy,” he said, his paranoid gaze shooting up and down the alley.

  He wouldn’t see my officers lurking in the shadows, but they were there.

  “The rest is in a secured locatio
n I’ll take you to. Had to make sure you knew the shit was good first.”

  I pocketed the bag and glared at him. “Is this your first day on the job, asshole? There is no second location when I meet you. I tell you a spot and if you want your goddamned money, you’ll bring all the shit to me.”

  He shifted around on his feet, his agitation and probable need for a fix, growing. “And you’ll get it. But I can’t bring that much product out in the open. If I get mugged and it gets stolen, my ass is dead.”

  “I don’t give a shit about your ass,” I spat. “I’m not going anywhere with you. How do I know you’re not working for the cops?”

  Throw your target off by being the first to mention the cops. Act suspicious and they’ll be less likely to suspect you. Rules of the undercover world.

  But this wasn’t good. He was supposed to bring all of the product to this location, so we could nail him right there and obtain all the drugs at the same time. This meant we were going to have to arrest him and then get him to tell us where the shipment was being kept.

  A much more arduous task.

  And he was getting antsier. Furiously rubbing his arms, licking his lips, sweating profusely. The guy was jonesing bad.

  “I ain’t a cop,” he snapped. “You want the shit or not? ‘Cuz I’ve got other buyers I can go to.”

  Not anymore he didn’t.

  When he started backing away, I knew I had to act.

  “I want to renegotiate the price,” I said, signaling to my guys to move in and take him down.

  It was my line to give when I was ready for them to arrest us both. It meant I’d gotten all I could get, and the guy was about to vamoose.

  All of a sudden, the alleyway was filled with a dozen officers, all shouting at us to “Get down!” and “Put your hands on your head!” I put my arms up and slowly laced my fingers behind my head as I went to my knees. They had to arrest me, so as not to blow my cover.

  My undercover work wasn’t over. Yet.

  The dealer, on the other hand, was not going down without a fight. His panicked eyes were darting everywhere, clearly looking for an escape as the officers closed in on him.

  Then he pulled out a gun.

  Fuck.

  Everyone froze. It was a tiny ass .380 he’d had so well hidden on his person I hadn’t seen it before.

  I eyed the two officers closest to him, silently commanding them to ease back. The last thing this operation needed was a dead cop. The dealer’s hand was shaking so bad, I was afraid the gun was going to accidentally go off, anyway.

  “Get back!” the dealer shrieked.

  The officer in charge, Kyle Wilson, held his hand up, clearly taking lead. He was a good cop, and I trusted him to know what he was doing.

  “Ease up, man,” he told the dealer, speaking in an even tone. “You’re not looking at that much time right now. But if you shoot a cop, you’ll be put away for the rest of your life.”

  “I’ll die in jail, anyway!” the dealer shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth. “They won’t want me to talk. I’m a dead man no matter what I do.”

  “No, you aren’t,” Kyle said. “If you work with us and tell us who your boss is, we can protect you.”

  The dealer laughed manically. “Cops can’t do shit. You’re not the ones who’s runnin’ the streets. I got nowhere to go.”

  He put the barrel of the gun to his own temple.

  All the officers automatically took a step toward him, and my stomach sank. The guy was so unhinged and not thinking clearly, an unpredictable combination.

  “This isn’t the answer, man,” Kyle said, urgency now creeping into his voice. “You have other choices. Let us help you.”

  When the dealer’s body ceased all shaking, going perfectly still, I knew it was over.

  He looked Kyle straight in the eye. “No one can help me,” he said, and pulled the trigger.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and hung my head. Over a year of undercover work felt like it had just gone down the drain. That whacked-out dealer was the key to locating the kingpin, and we’d just fucking lost him.

  And we hadn’t even gotten his stash.

  Some days, this job could really suck.

  I needed Mickie.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dawson

  I didn’t even go through the front door when I arrived home.

  I headed straight for the garage, entering from the side door, and went right to my punching bag. I didn’t bother putting on gloves. I wanted to feel the pain.

  So, I just started pounding.

  Purging all of my frustration and anger and everything dark I was feeling.

  I’d been relieved when I’d gotten off my beat over a year ago. I’d been ready to get off the streets and utilize my skill set in a different way. And I’d figured there would be some undercover work in store for me before I could rise up the ranks and do what I really wanted.

  Homicide detective.

  That was my end goal.

  I just hadn’t counted on Narcotics.

  Going undercover for a year had really taken its toll. Days filled with talking to the lowest scum on earth, scoring big hits, and tirelessly pursuing all possible leads and informants could truly drain the life out of you.

  I hadn’t shaved in weeks.

  Hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months.

  Hadn’t been able to take my wife out on a proper date—for fear of being recognized by someone who knew my drug-addled alter ego—for over a year.

  “Bad day at the office?” came Mickie’s voice from the doorway to the kitchen.

  My head snapped around to see her gorgeous face etched with worry as she watched me beat the hell out of the bag. I never wanted her to see me like this. She shouldn’t have to.

  “Just like any other day,” I replied.

  Though it wasn’t. Today had made me question my decision to become a cop in the first place.

  I went back to punching.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she said in a soft voice.

  I didn’t meet her eyes. Just kept punching. “Be there in ten.”

  I assumed she’d gone back inside the house when she didn’t say anything else. Then I saw her out of the corner of my eye, standing off to the side, watching me unleash my fury. The longer she stood there, the more I couldn’t not look at her.

  And when I glanced over, she had tears in her eyes. They lowered to my swollen knuckles that were already bleeding.

  “You’re starting to scare me,” she whispered.

  I pursed my lips, hating that I was worrying her at all. She didn’t need to worry herself. It wasn’t good for—

  My eyes lowered to her belly.

  Her eight-months-pregnant belly.

  The belly that held my children.

  Children. Plural. There were two of my children inside her.

  Twins.

  Trust me, I was the scared one here.

  “It’s nothing, Mick,” I said, attempting to sound reassuring. I even forced a small smile. “I’ll deal with it like I do everything else.”

  She bit her lip, looking unsure of herself. “But you haven’t been dealing with anything. At least not in the best way. You come home every night and beat out all your problems on this bag. Like that will magically solve everything.”

  I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth. “I don’t expect it to solve anything. It just helps me think, okay? You know I need this.”

  “I know, but you’re keeping this part of you separate from me—”

  “It’s better that way,” I snapped. “That’s how it has to be. This part of my job doesn’t belong in there.” I pointed to the house.

  She huffed in frustration. “It just feels like you’ve become two different people.”

  I couldn’t contain my bitter laughter. “Because I have. When I walk out of these doors every morning, I have to be a different person. And when I come home, I have to change back. You have no idea how infuriating it is to n
ot always feel like yourself. To have to stop every now and then and wonder, ‘Who am I supposed to be right now?’”

  Her expression softened, and she took a step toward me. “I’m trying to understand,” she whispered. “You have to let me, though.”

  I gave a hard shake of my head. She stopped approaching. “I tell you as much as I can tell you. The rest is just part of the job. You’re going to have to find a way to deal with it.”

  I knew they were the wrong words as soon as they’d left my mouth.

  Her brow furrowed, her face reddening with anger. “Deal with it? I’ve been dealing with it, Dawson. For over a year now. I realize this is part of your job. But I didn’t know that by creating this alternate life, you were going to completely remove yourself from your real one.”

  My jaw hardened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “How many doctor’s appointments have you missed?” she asked pointedly. “And who had to go pick out the cribs by herself? When was the last time we even fell asleep in bed together?”

  “You know most of my undercover work has to be done at night,” I bit out, my patience slipping. She’d known all of this from the beginning. “This work is temporary. It’s not like I’ll be in Narcotics forever.”

  She threw her arms up. “Yes, but in the meantime, you’re missing some of the most important stuff. Out of the time in your career you’ll have spent undercover, how much of it will be filled with moments you’ll have missed out on that you can never get back?”

  “I’m trying here, Mick,” I yelled.

  I shouldn’t have been yelling, but she was pushing all the wrong buttons. Especially on a day like today.

  “Are you?”

  My head reared back at the curt question.

  Her arms were crossed over her chest. “Are you really trying? Because it seems to me that instead of pounding away and stewing in your anger out here, you could be spending the limited free time you have with your wife.”

  I turned away, running my hands through my hair. Everything was starting to feel too overwhelming. My head was a mess. I was getting a migraine. I couldn’t keep all my thoughts straight.

  So, I lashed out.