Victim of Revenge (Deep Desires)

by Liza Mitchell

  “It’s faster than reading them.”

  “Okay, well, the physical files are organized by date, right? Tell me where to start.”

  Dawson pushed his chair out and locked the solid oak door to the records room. “No. We have unfinished business,” he said as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ____________

  DAWSON

  He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. He should take her home. He should bring her to a bed. He should give her the world. And he would. Right now, he needed her.

  She melted into arms, her body molding to every crest and fall of his body. A small sigh escaped her lips. It was as if all if her resolve and animosity were leaving her body with that single exhale.

  “Carey.” He wrapped a loose strand of hair around his finger, twisting it into a rope, waiting for her to respond.

  A feline grin spread across her lips as she shifted on his lap. His cock pulsed. The challenge was just as arousing as her ass against his lap.

  “Carey,” he growled. His sternness only widened her smile as she stood up from his lap.

  His hand shot out, and he grabbed her wrist. “I’m not playing games.” But she wasn’t standing to walk away from him. Instead she narrowed her eyes and slowly hiked her skirt up her thighs. She swung a leg over his knees and settled down on his lap and covered his mouth with hers. Her tongue slipped across the seam of his lips, urging them to part.

  He groaned, sliding his hands under her ass, squeezing her curves.

  “Mine,” he snarled.

  She smiled against his lips and rolled her hips against his lap, matching the rhythm of her tongue that darted and swirled in and out of his mouth.

  His cock was turning to steel under her swaying hips. His cock that had been constantly teased by this fucking minx all day. His minx.

  Her hands came to his face and held him close. Her breath quickened, and she buried a hand in his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp.

  “Carey,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “Forgive me, please.”

  “I do.”

  “Then say it.”

  “I’m yours, Dawson. I haven’t belonged to anyone else.”

  His palms were still spread across her bare ass, fingers digging into her flesh. He flexed his hands, eliciting a sharp yelp from her.

  “You set the rules, you will play by them.”

  “But you changed them when you said that you could make me beg never to stop.” She nipped his lip playfully.

  A roar rumbled in his chest. He was done with games. Done with the chase. Done with the hunt. He’d caught her. She’d given herself to him.

  Dawson stood, lifting Carey and holding her to his chest. He deposited her on the large conference table, removed his tie, and shrugged off his suit coat.

  Her cheeks were a deep crimson that bled down to her chest. He tore her shirt and bra over her head, finally revealing her chest. Fucking finally.

  The flush continued down her torso and seemed to creep towards her deep, plum colored nipples. He captured one between his teeth, flicking the tip with his tongue until it stood at attention. He wrapped his arms around her, fingers spreading across her back, wanting to touch every inch of her.

  He wanted to step back, take her in. Every freckle. Every line. Every curve. Every inch of her that he’d dreamed about for the last three years. He didn’t need fantasy anymore; he had reality. But that would involve letting her go, and her wasn’t willing to do that yet. Or ever.

  His mouth traveled to her other breast, where he kissed and sucked her pebbled skin, eliciting soft mewls from his little minx.

  Her hands wrestled with his belt and trousers until his cock sprung free between them.

  Carey wrapped her hand around him, stroking his length, spreading his precum down from his crown.

  He leaned back and watched her hand slide along his cock. Her slender fingers didn’t even meet around his thickness. And her light pink manicured nails were coated in his precum, and there was just something so damn satisfying about making such a mess of her dainty fucking hands. His balls ached at the thought of doing the same thing to her pussy.

  Dawson’s fingers fell from her breasts to her knees. His gaze was still trained on her hand as he pulled her to the edge of the table and spread her legs. He dragged his thumb along her seam, covering the tip of it in her arousal. Carey’s breath brushed against his ear. He tilted his head and saw that she was just as mesmerized by their movements as he was.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ____________

  CAREY

  Carey slipped her hand under his dick to gently cup his balls. She heard his breath hitch as she explored his body, her nails barely grazing his sensitive skin as she rolled him against her palm. She wanted to bring him to the edge, tempt him as far as he could go. But they were both playing a sinful game of chicken, and she might just lose.

  She watched his hand in anticipation. He’d more than proved his proficiency with her clit. All the teasing had left her desperate to come, desperate to be fucked—by his tongue or his fingers or his cock. Definitely his cock. She was ready to beg.

  Warmth spread through her as his hand teased her cunt, dancing around the only place she actually needed him. His breath was just as disjointed as hers.

  Her entire body hummed and pulsed. His thumb stoked a fire inside of her and her veins carried the desire to every inch of her body. She was seconds away from melting into the table, a pool of molten need.

  Carey peppered kisses against his cheek as she gathered a bead of precum on to the tip of her thumb. Dawson dragged his eyes up the length of her body until he met her gaze. His emerald eyes were hooded yet focused, like the eyes of a predator.

  She slipped her cum-covered finger between her lips, hollowing her cheeks, savoring the taste of his arousal.

  This was her Hail Mary, her final attempt to break him, because heaven knew she was seconds away from falling to her knees in supplication.

  The seconds stretched between them. Dawson’s hand still fluttered wickedly over her pussy. He stared at her as if he knew she was only one stroke away from combusting. He nudged at her entrance, teasing the place where they met, pushing ever so lightly, drawing his crown along her lips, his gaze never leaving hers.

  Her heart pounded in her ears, and her breath seemed to skip beats with her rapid pulse. She was gone. She was his.

  “Please, please, please,” she whispered urgently. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands pulled at his hips.

  Their bodies collided. Dawson filled her in one stroke. His cock left no part of her untouched. She cried out, her voice catching in her throat, but as he claimed her cunt, he covered her mouth, swallowing her scream and claiming her pleasure.

  Dawson powered into her, his hand never leaving her clit and his mouth never leaving her lips. They were joined completely, and no matter where her hands traveled, what part of his body they explored, it was never enough. They ran down the rigid muscles of his back to his hips to his biceps, trying to learn every inch of him in this first frenzied encounter.

  Her legs started to shake, a warning of what was to come.

  Words tumbled from her mouth, a mostly inaudible warning to Dawson that she was going to come. She was going to shatter into pieces. Waves of heat washed over her as she wrapped her arms around him and whispered into his ear.

  “It’s okay,” he responded in a soothing tone. “I can stop.” He slowed his hips and stilled his thumb.

  “No, no, don’t stop, Dawson.” Her voice was ragged and desperate, and she dug her heels into his hips, urging him back to her.

  His hand wound around her hair, forcing her to look at him. “I love hearing you beg,” he growled before he powered into her.

  She exploded immediately. Dawson had found a spot deep inside of her that brought her crashing over the edge. She’d beg for him every day if he continued to do th
is to her. Her whole body buzzed with electricity that culminated in her pulsing cunt.

  Dawson’s hand tightened in her hair as he drove into her fast and hard, riding through her orgasms. He came with a roar buried in her neck, his cock gliding through the warm cum he’d spilled inside of her.

  He refused to stop fucking her until the waves of her own orgasms subsided and she fell against him. Unable to move. Arms and legs left tingling in the aftermath.

  She’d wasted so many nights alone resenting him. Fuck, denying herself this had been just as much a punishment to her as it had been to him. She wouldn’t make the mistake of pushing him away again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ____________

  DAWSON

  “So, I’m forgiven, right? Clean slate? You’ll unblock my fucking number?” he asked, holding her against his chest. He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to leave her.

  “Mmhmm,” she purred. “Honestly, I’d give you anything right now. Just say the word.”

  “I only want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Dawson wrapped his arms around her. She fit perfectly against him. Her heartbeat pounded against his chest, and he wished he had waited until he’d gotten her to his bed to claim her. He could bury her under his blankets, and they could stay there sleeping and fucking and holding each other until they actually decided to leave that haven. Here, they would have to get dressed, clouded by passion, minutes away from being discovered.

  The computer behind him beeped softly, alerting them that the search was completed. Dawson was still in a drunken daze. He groaned and closed his eyes slowly, pressing a kiss onto Carey’s forehead.

  She shifted on the table, reaching for her discard clothes. “Come on, we have a lifetime ahead of us to fuck. Those jurors are facing a countdown clock with an unknown expiration date.”

  “A lifetime?” he asked. He got her for a lifetime. Dawson tightened his hold on her again, bringing his lips to hers. She whimpered softly and opened her mouth to him. Their movements were languid as they savored each other, blissfully happy with the idea of forever. Carey pulled away from him, licking her lips as she exhaled deeply. His cock twitched against her thigh. He still hadn’t met that tongue.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? People are dying, and you’re ramping up for round two?”

  “To be fair,” he said as he pulled up his pants, “people were going to die when you climbed on top of me for round one.”

  “Touché. But—” Carey hopped off the table and began straightening her own clothes. “I’m going to say it like you have to take care of yourself before you take care of others. Put on your own oxygen mask first, and all that,” she said with a mischievous grin.

  “Let’s make sure to tell the victims’ families that if we don’t help Sloane and Taylor catch this fucker in time.” Dawson sat down and clicked through a few spreadsheets before getting to the search results.

  “To be fair,” she said, mirroring the timbre of his voice, “we couldn’t do anything until the search was over, anyway.”

  “Shit, okay,” he said. “Should we start with looking through the ‘not guilty’ verdicts and acquittals?”

  Carey slid onto his lap and rested her elbows on the desk next to his keyboard.

  “This is how you work?” he growled, slipping a hand around her stomach.

  She grinned over her shoulder. “Life is short. Clearly.” She waved her hand over the mess of papers and photos in front of them before turning back to the monitor. “Do they list the jurors?”

  “Yeah, they would be listed in the trial paperwork.”

  “Well, get clicking. We know a half a dozen names to look for.”

  Dawson chose the first record he found with a ‘not guilty’ verdict and skimmed through the crime, not seeing any part of the scene that matched their pictures, and none of the names on the jury records matched Sloane’s report.

  He moved on to the next, opening each record, examining it for similarities and closing it feeling defeated. All the while, Carey sat on his lap, shifting her weight every few minutes, rubbing her ass on his cock, keeping him half hard throughout the entire ordeal.

  He was about ready to give up when he opened a case that the jury acquitted. Immediately he saw the state forest listed in the police records. Excitedly, he clicked through pages of PDFs until he found the jury roster. Right there, listed at the top, was a name he recognized.

  “Fuck yes!” he yelled excitedly. “This is it!” He hit print, and the machine next to him began whirring and spat out the first of hundreds of pages.

  “Go back,” Carey said slapping the desk. “What did he do? What happened? How did he get off?”

  “All right, Norman McIntyre was tried for attempted murder of his wife...” Dawson skimmed through the document, trying to read as quickly as possible. “His previous two wives died in suspicious circumstances. One was crushed under a car while changing a tire.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, McIntyre was present for her death. No charges filed. His second wife fell down the steps after a night of drinking. When the cops got to the scene, the body was cold, and McIntyre had a blood alcohol level of point zero two.”

  “So one beer two hours prior.”

  “His wife,” Dawson continued, “had no alcohol in her system and just traces of a prescription sleep aid. No charges filed.”

  “How?” Carey cried. “No wonder this guy feels invincible.”

  “Okay, so this case, he took her to the state forest for a picnic, then to the bonfire pit, and threw her off the cliff... Oh shit, I remember this one now! She wouldn’t testify. She refused and we couldn’t force her. Her lawyer fought our subpoena with spousal privilege. That’s why he was acquitted. I couldn’t get anywhere without the damned victim.”

  “She was too scared to testify. I don’t fucking blame her. Look at what happened to one and two. What happened after the trial? Do you have any sort of follow-up on her? Did she know anything about one and two?”

  Dawson’s eyes darted across the screen. He flipped through documents, opening and closing files, looking for any sort of post-trial note. “Here, here. DeWitt has a note. As a Federal Marshal. He must have been promoted during this case. Okay, he states that he attempted several times to contact the victim and she has left the area and has proved to be untraceable. And he notes no further contact is required.”

  “Do you think he finally got her?” Carey turned around, her eyes wide.

  “That or she fucking ran.”

  “She’d be one lucky woman to be the one that got away.”

  A heavy silence fell over them. This stranger had survived a homicidal husband, only to fall into his clutches again.

  “We need to take this to the police. They need to contact the other jurors, bring them into protective custody. I know Taylor and Sloane were doing this off the books, but now is the time to turn it over. I need to call DeWitt and let him know about the photographs. My assistant was supposed to get his contact info for me.” His chest ached as he wrapped both of his arms around Carey. All of their playful banter didn’t matter suddenly. Having a name, a picture, a criminal history made this man all too real. For some reason this fucker had been watching the two of them. They couldn’t get him before, but that didn’t mean he was untouchable. Kidnapping and killing the twelve people that sat on your jury was not a crime he could dodge. But they needed to find him before that happened.

  “Come on,” he said patting her side gently. “Let’s get this taken care of, then get far away from it for a few hours.”

  She nodded, standing slowly. “Dawson, the one that got away.” Her face lit up.

  “I didn't get away, I’m right here.”

  “No, the poem. ‘The one that got away.’ This is all about his wife. She is alive, and he wants her. He didn’t get her. She went into hiding.”

  THE END

  Thank you for reading!

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  Also by Liza Mitchell

  Deep Desires

  Post Mate

  Between the Stacks

  Flowers in Her Hair

  On Her Trail

  Private Lessons

  On Display

  Catching Her Breath (December 2019)

  Hot Pursuit

  Victim of Desire

  Victim of Seduction

  Victim of Revenge

  Victim of Devotion (December 2019)

  Something Wicked

  Unraveling a Witch

  An Untouched Witch

  An Untamed Witch

  An Unclaimed Witch

  Walking Shadows

  Bound by Blood

  Absolved by Blood

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  About the Author

  Liza writes short safe contemporary and paranormal romances. She is an avid reader and coffee drinker with a passion for spending as little time in reality as possible. She a hobby farmer, wife, and mother wearing black and herding cats in Northern Michigan.

  www.lizamitchell.com