by Amy Faye
Enough to house a dozen men or more, each in their own room. If her room was representative, then this place wasn't some cabin. It was practically a mansion, hidden out in the fucking woods of northern Michigan.
She rubbed tiredness from her eyes and looked around until one corner of the room turned into a kitchen and then looked for a coffee machine. There was one, she saw. Even for all his claims that the place had been long-since abandoned, this was a more furnished home than the apartment had been.
She looked around a little longer until she found a tin of coffee, unopened. She grabbed a can opener she'd found earlier, poured a bit of coffee into the filter and started it up.
Then she looked to the fire. She'd never had a fireplace. She'd been near a fire before. Gas fire. This was a little different. The flames were barely embers, now, but she wanted more. She stood up to look for more firewood and found a box of matches, which she pocketed. That would be useful when it came time to light the thing.
Then she tried to remember anything about starting a fire. Wood, tinder. She'd need both. There was a small stack of logs by the fire, split as neatly as logs can be split. Below them, tight spirals of wood that someone appeared to have carved away from a larger log. She dropped them on top of the embers in the fireplace and dropped a lit match on top. They started up slowly, and she fed in one of the smaller logs. It reluctantly caught fire as well.
By the time that she had it going, Nick had padded into the room and watched her from between the arms of a lazy boy that overlooked the fireplace.
"Your coffee's ready," he said when she stood back admiring her work. She didn't jump, even though she wanted to. When exactly had he gotten there, anyway?
She turned and looked. Indeed, the carafe was mostly full. "You want a cup?"
"I wouldn't mind a cup of my delicious coffee, no," he said, raising his eyebrows and grinning sardonically.
"Yeah, fuck you, too."
"I would love one," he said, a little more docile this time.
"That's better. How'd you sleep?"
He didn't answer her question; instead, he said "God, I've missed this place," like it was supposed to mean something. She took it as a yes.
"We need to talk, Detective."
She poured the coffee into her cup. "Stop calling me that."
"I don't know your name, Detective."
"Brianna will do."
"Bri?"
"Brianna," she repeated. She couldn't stand nicknames, and nicknames for herself were the worst.
"Why did you lie to me, Brianna?"
"I didn't lie, I just–"
"Not telling someone something is the same thing as lying, and you know it." He accepted the mug. "And when it's something as big as 'I'm investigating a murder, not just coming over for a booty call,' it's common courtesy."
She pinched her lips together and decided what she was supposed to say. "You weren't being forthcoming with information, and I didn't have enough for a warrant." The truth, then, apparently. "Who says I have to be forthcoming with information, anyways?"
"You don't, but I don't see why you're getting involved with me in the first place, either."
"Because fuck you. I don't owe you any answers. If anything, you should be explaining to me."
"Fine, what is it exactly I should be explaining to you?"
"Well, since you're so keen on why I'm paying attention to you, why don't we start with what you know about Jeff Wilde?"
"I know that he was an idiot, for one thing."
"Oh yeah?"
"Got involved in some racket. Protection for dope dealers or something."
"'Dope'?"
"Hey, don't get on my case. Just cause you Michigan cops don't call it that."
"So what, then? He was a friend of yours?"
"Not really. I just knew him."
"You keep tabs on everyone you know? Well enough to know when they're breaking the law?"
"That's part true. What, you don't have Facebook?"
"What, like that's on his Facebook page? 'I deal drugs now,' just like that?"
"Not just like that. It was an example."
"Okay, then. Care to be more specific?"
"I'd rather not," he said, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "But I don't run with his crowd, so I just let sleeping dogs lie, that's as far as that goes."
"You from around here originally, Mr. Roe?"
"Please, don't call me that. Sounds stupid."
"Alright, then. That's not an answer."
"Not really from around here. A few years ago, we were running around these parts, but… eh, we moved on. A few times, like I said."
"So now you're back in town, and Jeff Wilde, someone who's not really your friend, ends up dead out of nowhere?"
"I see where you're going with this, but you're barking up the wrong tree, Detective. I'm not involved the way that you obviously think I am."
"I know you're a big, strong boy."
"I'm a big, strong man," he corrected. "But I don't see what that has to do with anything. He's dead, you say?"
"That's what I'm saying, yes."
"Then that's trouble. I guess you weren't a complete idiot for getting involved, then. Want to tell me the details of the case?"
"Not really," she answered.
"What, then?"
"Either you decide to start giving me some answers, or we kill some time upstairs before you give me the answers," she said, halfway sarcastic.
That was, until he crossed the distance between them in two impossibly long strides and picked her up by her ass to set her on the counter and their teeth clashed together in the most pleasant way imaginable.
Fourteen
Brianna could feel his body heat even through his shirt. It was rough against her skin, which she realized dimly was open because she had never bothered to button her shirt. The feeling was something that she couldn't quite describe, arousing and erotic and natural. She'd thought he was rough before but this time was something else.
His teeth bit into her neck almost immediately, wrenching a gasp from Brianna's throat that she wished she could take back immediately. She sounded so vulnerable, so desperate. She'd never felt that way before, and she'd definitely never shown it. Not ever, not if she could help it. But he pulled it out of her like he had complete control of every little thing that she did. As if she had no say in the matter.
He grabbed one breast roughly, pulling her bra away from her and slipping his hand inside. His hands were rough and thick and felt surprisingly good pressing against her soft flesh. His other hand told her that she was getting ahead of herself when it ducked into the waist of her jeans and started to tease her already-stiffened clit.
"God damn," she growled. What the hell was she doing this for again? He pinched her clit and pulled one nipple between his teeth and the shock of pleasure, of need, that went up her spine and filled her skull reminded her immediately.
"Lay down," he growled. She did. The counter was hard and cool through her shirt but she did as she was told. She realized dimly that she'd have done almost anything he told her to, now, and tried to make a mental note to rebel as soon as he wasn't sending her over the edge of orgasmic bliss. She forgot it a moment later as he pulled her pants down and tossed them away.
He lifted her knees up and set them on his shoulders, and for a moment she wondered why. Then she realized it a moment before his tongue swirled around her clit and sent her careening over the edge again, her legs tightening around his head reflexively. Her hands gripped the edges of the counter and she tried like hell to hold still and ride out the pleasure that threatened at every moment to overwhelm her senses.
"Jesus, where did you learn to–"
He entered her with a finger as he sucked on her hardened nub and her mind went blank. She never managed to finish her sentence, not even sure what she'd already said, never mind where it was supposed to be going. His fingers worked quickly, in short, rough motions that hit her every p
lace she needed to be hit and sent her spiraling further and further, over edges she didn't even realize she had.
She yelled out loud at the pleasure, and then clapped a hand over her mouth before realizing that there was no one to hear. She bit down on her finger anyways. She felt his smile against her pussy, and she felt him move with renewed vigor, his mouth seeming to do a dozen things all at once even as he inserted another finger, stretching her out and exploring every spot inside her.
The pleasure center of her brain felt as if it might burn out at any moment when he finally pulled away and she felt herself start to relax. Her breaths came in short, hard bursts. She was going to lose her mind, she knew. She was going to lose her mind if he didn't stop, and stopping was the last thing she wanted him to do.
He apparently opened the fly on his jeans at some point because she could feel him, that huge cock of his, pressed in and against her moist, hot pussy, threatening to invade at any moment. Brianna held her breath, wanting it so badly and at the same time afraid of the awful, delicious stretch that it was going to give her.
She gasped when he finally did enter her, sending himself inside all the way to the hilt in one powerful, delightful thrust that hit her so deep inside that she was worried he was going to bruise her cervix. And then he pulled out, her pussy trying inch-by-inch to pull him back in by nothing more than sheer force of will.
He didn't re-enter her, though. Not until he was damn well ready, and the moment that he did her eyes shot open but saw nothing. The room was nothing more than a blur of colors, even shapes impossible to focus on beyond that they existed.
The noises coming out of her were well past moans, now. Something closer to screams, and she was desperate for more with every one. Wordlessly begging him not to stop, to give her more of whatever it was that he had given her. More of his cock. More bites. More pinches. To find her clit with his thumb and move in that delicious way he'd figured out how to do. She needed all of it and more.
And he obliged her, his own voice joining hers in a chorus of need and pleasure. His skin slapped against hers with every thrust, and her voice joined with it in time. Her body felt like it was on fire, and she'd long since lost count of the times that she had cum.
His thrusts were coming faster, now, harder. Slamming home with as much force as his body could muster, hitting her exactly where she needed to be hit. Filling her more than she'd imagined possible.
It didn't take her long to realize why. "Fuck, cum in me, you big son of a bitch," she growled. She knew he'd oblige. If she'd begged him not to, she wasn't sure he would have stopped. Wasn't sure he would have stopped if he could. But him stopping was the last thing she wanted.
His cum, the way it had spurted inside her, was like a drug. She needed more of it, and as he slammed into her, deep and full of need, she got it. Her head filled with a gentle haze and she laid her head back on the hard granite counter.
"Fuck me, that was good."
His hand loosened around her throat and Brianna took her first full breath for a long while. Her vision went black a minute and she was glad she was already laying down. From somewhere in the dark, Nick's voice answered her. "I'm going to need another minute," he said, sarcastically. But his fingers were already toying with her nipples again.
Fifteen
Somehow, Brianna wasn't that bothered by the fact that she hadn't gotten her answers yet. Something had gotten in the way of her investigation, and now she was perfectly enjoying the 'investigating' she'd been doing all afternoon. If she was out of the office then she wasn't going to be filing any paperwork anyways, after all.
She laid back and smelled the cooking meat. God, it was good. She guessed that with his size, Nick Roe probably ate meat every day. Probably spent hours in the gym every week, too, which was something that she wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about, but she knew how she felt about the effects it had on him, and she didn't mind those one damn bit.
She heard the sounds of him plating the food, heard him grabbing silverware, and wondered idly whether or not she should go into the main room to meet him. She knew it would be warm enough that she didn't need to bother getting dressed again. It would only mean having to undress, after all.
She decided to drape her shirt over her shoulders anyways and padded out into the front. He set the food down on a table; it was built a little bit like a picnic table from hell, with benches long enough to hold ten to a side and built to hold up probably twenty men if they were jumping up and down on the top. That seemed oddly appropriate for his size, and the number of people staying here.
Imagine if they'd had a party and gotten a little rowdy. Imagine if half of them were Nick's size and had gotten a little rowdy. Dainty furniture wouldn't exactly fit them.
She sat down. The bench seats had thick, smooth lacquer on them, so her ass didn't get splintered, which was good because it was red and sore and she wanted more of all of it as soon as she could get it. But she was too hungry to keep going now, and apparently Nick had felt the same way, or at least had sensed her hunger, because he'd left and started cooking without a word.
"Hope you take your steak rare," he said. She did, but the presumption sent another shock up her spine. Something about the man and the way he acted spoke to her on a primal level. "Because I don't need to kill the thing twice."
"Looks perfect," she answered. And it did. Seared to perfection, and when she cut in past the thick crust it was a dark pink. Delightful. At least, until she put it in her mouth. Then she thought that the looks were the least impressive part. "And delicious. Good in the bedroom and the kitchen, too, huh? I'm surprised nobody's snatched you right up."
He smiled, but it wasn't genuine. "Oh, some have tried."
"Maybe they didn't try hard enough," Brianna said. "I don't know if I can go back to my shitty freezer meals after this."
"Really? You don't look the type."
She shrugged. "I know how to cook. Just don't have the time. The job keeps me busy."
"I feel you," he said, cutting off another bite and taking it in his mouth. "I've been busy myself."
"You never did tell me what it was you did, anyways."
"You wouldn't understand."
"I'm a smart girl, you might be surprised." She bristled, but she was beginning to understand the package deal that was Nick Roe, and his evasive shit was the price she paid for the raw physical violence that she was becoming addicted to in the bedroom. "Try me."
She looked back up from her food when she didn't get an answer. Not even an evasive, smart-ass remark.
"What's–"
One hand snapped up to silence her. She took the hint without needing to be told twice.
"I need you to listen carefully," he said. He spoke very softly. "Get upstairs and go. Be very quiet and get your clothes on."
"What–"
"No questions. I'll tell you what I can, when we're on the road, okay? No more evading."
"None at all?"
"Mostly none."
That was going to have to be good enough. She moved up the steps as silently as she could. Not wearing shoes had its benefits, she thought. She kept herself low, as much to muffle her footsteps as she tried to move quickly down the hall as it was to stay out of sight of, as far as she knew, nothing at all.
She dressed quickly. Four years in the army had taught her a little about how to do things in a hurry when you had to. Of course, doing it silently was something else entirely, but when you had to be up in a hurry, you had to. The one thing she left off was her shoes. She carried them in her hands.
Nick peered out the window as she came downstairs. He was dressed already and looked like he'd been there for a while. How he'd moved so quickly and so quietly, she didn't know and she wasn't sure that she wanted to. He waved her to come over.
"There," he pointed. He pointed at a black spot in a field of black. There was nothing to be seen.
"What?"
Nick cursed under his breath. "There's someone
there. We have to move fast. He probably knows we've spotted him. I shouldn't have come here. Come on."
He moved with speed that seemed almost impossible for a man his size to the door, and flung it open.
"Move!" he roared. As if she didn't know how to handle herself. She pulled the pistol from her hip and aimed.
"I'll cover you. Go on."
"You don't fucking get it, do you?" Nick shoved her into the open. "They found us. Move it or lose it, sweet cheeks."
She moved it. It was better than losing it, after all. And then, as if to punctuate things, Nick was moving into the dark yelling bloody murder.
By the time she'd gotten herself into his little coupe, he was screaming back out of the thicket of trees he'd disappeared into as suddenly as he'd entered it. He crashed into the driver's seat at a run and the car was moving again before she had time to ask what the fuck had just happened.
Sixteen
Brianna's heart thumped in her chest as they started moving. That was, of course, until someone stepped out of the dark and aimed a rifle at them. Not a hunting rifle, either.
No, this was heavy military hardware, and he made it look like a little plastic toy. She was almost convinced it was, until he opened fire and shattered the front glass of the muscle car before she knew what was going on.
"Jesus!" Brianna cried before she knew what she was saying, trying to shove herself into the footwell of the car. The engine roared and the car slammed into something hard. He kept driving. Somehow, inexplicably, she didn't feel them rumble over the body of the man who she knew they'd just slammed into at the knees.
She looked back and the guy was nowhere to be seen. Brianna forced herself to sit straight and re-did her seatbelt and her heart thumped harder. Some part of her hadn't realized how serious this was, and only now, when someone had opened fire on her with an automatic rifle, was she realizing that she was in something deep.