“You’re delusional. That never happened.”
“When we kissed, your body begged for more.”
“Please. We shared a kiss and dry humped like virgins. There was no begging on my part.”
He stepped closer. “If you’d ever given me a chance, if you’d ever returned my calls, I’d have given you everything. You wouldn’t need to beg.”
He stood inches from her, his gaze pinning her in place. She continued to glare at him, though she felt her resolve waning. The close proximity. The smell of his cologne. The memory of the damned email. Heat rose to her cheeks and pooled in her core. She rocked against the desk, trying to distract herself. “This is not on me. You fucked up, and I lost my job.”
“You seem to be very successful in the private sector. I know Canter turns away more cases than he takes. It’s been years. Forgive me, and I’ll give you that cock you begged for, right here, right now.” His voice was low, and his hand traveled to her hip.
“You are so damn full of yourself.” She squared her shoulders and stared him down. Despite her posture and glare, she knew her cheeks and chest were flushed. Dawson smirked at her. Apparently he remembered her tell as well. Her fucking traitorous body.
There was a fire stirring in her core. And his arrogance only kindled it. Years ago, this back and forth was what had led to their make-out session. They both fed off the battle. She didn’t think any woman had ever turned Dawson down. No woman would be crazy enough to turn him down. Except for Carey.
But what was stopping her now? She didn’t have a job to lose. She was just clinging to a grudge. He had derailed her career. It wasn’t an unsubstantiated grudge.
He leaned forward, caging her in, trapping her. He looked at her as if she were his prey, and she’d be damned if she made anything easy for him. She might be really fucking turned on, and his arrogance might be to blame for that, but she refused to give him that satisfaction.
“Carey,” he said, closing the distance between their mouths. “Forgive me. You’ll never regret it.” Dawson’s lips pressed against hers as his knee pushed its way between her legs. His hands moved from the desk to her back and pulled her against him. His tongue demanded entry into her mouth, and she sighed, shivers running through her body. It had been so long.
But she wasn’t desperate.
She pushed him, forcing him away from her. “I’ll tell you what. You can have your forgiveness if you can actually make me beg for your cock. You’re so confident in your skills, in my attraction to you, in our fated… whatever. Make me beg for it, Dawson. Make those words, ‘I need your dick,’ leave my mouth, and you are forgiven.”
That would show him. There was no way this arrogant, conceited man would get on his knees and work for his absolution.
But that’s exactly what he did.
He reached behind him and locked the door. The click of the deadbolt rang throughout the office, an echoing response to her challenge. A grin spread across his lips—she wanted to smack that smirk right off his face—and he sunk to his knees in front of her. His hands slid over her thighs, and he hooked his thumb underneath the hem of her skirt and began to push it up her legs.
“Stop. Not here.” She planted her hands on her thighs, preventing him from exposing any more of her.
His chest rumbled. “Move your hands or I will.” He didn’t even bother meeting her eyes. His gaze was fixed squarely on the shadowed space between her legs.
She didn’t move.
“Afraid I’ll have you screaming in here?”
Maybe.
His hands pushed against hers. She locked her elbows, but she was no match for his strength.
“Afraid you’ll be mine before I let you leave this room again?”
Maybe.
He pressed his mouth against her thigh, kissing and nipping, creating a red trail along her sensitive skin.
“Afraid you’ll love every minute of it?”
Dawson had her skirt around her waist, and his hand moved to her panties, dragging them back down her legs. He slipped one of her knees over his shoulder and kissed the soft, plump curve of her inner thigh. He made his way to her pussy and paused, blowing gently on her lips. She hissed quietly, and he finally looked at her, a wicked smiled stretched across his face.
“I haven’t even touched you yet.”
He leaned forward and ran the tip of his tongue along her slit, barely grazing her skin. His licks were slow and teasing, slowly delving deeper and deeper between her lips.
His thumbs spread her open, and he continued to taste her agonizingly slowly. He stubbornly refused to make contact with her clit, and her fingers itched to grab his hair and pull him to the place she needed him to be. That wouldn’t be begging for his cock, but she bit her lip and kept her hands at her side, refusing to give him any sort of satisfaction or indication that she was, indeed, losing her damn mind under his touch.
Honestly, his arrogance could have gone two ways—he could have been justifiably confident or overcompensating. As it turns out, it was the former. Soon she would be forced to bite her tongue and not her lips.
He lathed his tongue over her entrance, flattening it against her and drawing it along her throbbing pussy and up to her clit. Along the way, he dipped just the tip of his tongue between her lips.
She slammed her palms against the desk and curled her fingers over the edge. Her long nails dug into the unsealed wood. She bent her knee, digging a heel into his back. Dawson laughed. It infuriated her that he knew his tongue was fantastic. She dug her heel into his back with more force, sinisterly trying to stop his feeling of triumph. Instead, a feral growl rumbled between her legs, sending a fresh wave of heat through her.
“Fuck me,” she groaned.
“That was too easy,” he laughed, sending puffs of cool air over her sensitive lips.
“It’s an—” She paused, unable to complete the entire sentence. A whimper escaped her mouth as he lavished her clit, drawing circles around it with his tongue and flicking the peak. “Expression. I wasn’t begging for your cock.”
“Yet.” His thumbs traveled to her center and stopped just shy of pushing their way inside of her.
He sucked and nipped and flicked her clit while his fingers teased her mercilessly. They threatened to dive into her, to give her some relief, but refused to enter her.
Her hips moved with his tongue, grinding against his face. Her breath hitched and her entire body tensed, just seconds away from coming. Her breath grew ragged, and she twined her hand into his hair, unable to stop herself.
Dawson suddenly turned his head and pressed his lips against her inner thigh, going back to where he’d started this very encounter, before he stood up and pressed the length of his body—and his cock— against her. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, coating her in her own cream.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss and rocking her hips against his thigh. Trying to find something—anything—she could grind against. She was seconds away from breaking and desperate to just fucking get off.
He put his hands on her hips and pushed her away. Her chest was heaving, and she was lost in a fog of need... she needed more. She needed him.
“Say it,” he commanded.
“What? What?” she asked, trying to catch her breath as her hands tugged at the lapels of his coat.
He leaned in and gave her a worthlessly chaste kiss. “You can’t fucking think? Beg for me. Beg, Carey.”
Her head slowly cleared. As she calmed down, her need was replaced with frustration, then anger. “That’s the point, Dawson, I don’t fucking need you,” she said as she tugged her skirt down.
“Don’t lie to yourself,” he said, fighting her hands, trying to stop her from putting herself together. “All of this bullshit aside, I know you haven’t been with anyone, you haven’t so much as gone on a date since you left here. You want me, Carey. You’re meant to be mine. You know it.”
“What the fuck, have you been watchin
g me?” It was true. It was. Painfully true. She’d told herself that Dawson had ruined her, betrayed her, men just weren’t worth it. She knew, below that, that no one measured up to Dawson, no one had even tempted her since him.
She turned around and started collecting the photographs and case notes on his desk, gathering them into their manila folder. “I don’t want you. I certainly don’t need you. You’re going to be the one left in the office fisting your cock thinking about me.” She stared him down, daring him to stop her. Then she unlocked the door and left him alone in his office.
CHAPTER FIVE
______________
DAWSON
She was right. His cock ached so badly that he knew there was no way in fuck he could focus on anything until he took care of himself. He couldn’t think about fixing things with Carey or their own damned stalker, let alone any of his actual cases, before he eased the ache in his balls. He’d been battling his erection all day, and he’d foolishly expected that he’d get to sink his cock into her.
He walked to the door and locked it. Something bright caught his attention. Just a flash in his peripheral vision. Her panties.
Dawson bent over and picked them up, bringing them to his nose. He’d never been into that shit, but he’d just had his face buried in her cunt, and the smell of her arousal brought him right back to that memory from just minutes ago.
Her hands twisting around his hair while her heel dug into his back, her moaning above him... she may have never begged, but her body screamed for his cock.
He sat down in the plush leather chair behind his desk. Everything about his office screamed that he was a powerful man. His chair was inches taller than the ones for guests. His desk was an antique, reminiscent of some Gilded Age oil tycoon’s oversized desk. Every degree and distinction he’d ever earned hung framed on his walls. Everything about this space was meant to intimidate. And Carey had fucking turned her back, denying him outright.
Dawson undid his pants and pulled out his cock, still holding the piece of lace to his nose. He spat into his palm.
She may have walked away this time. But he wasn’t done. He would have her whimpering under his touch. He would have her screaming his name. He’d made others beg and plead. Carey was just a woman. He knew women.
He ran his fist along his length, picturing her with her skirt gathered around her waist, her pussy on display for him. She was so damn wet before he’d even touched her. Turning him down, denying him, turned her on.
He would get her onto her knees, slamming his cock into her, making her cry out. She would tell him how fucking big it was, how thick it was. How she wasn’t sure if she could take it, but she needed it. Had to have it.
Dawson groaned, a mixture of pleasure and frustration. She wouldn’t be prancing away from him next time. She’d be fucking sore for days. She’d be sitting at her desk, unable to forget him. Touching herself thinking about him.
His jaw tensed as his balls tightened. He sped up his stroking and dragged her panties away from his nose, bringing them between his legs. He twisted his hand when his palm ran over the ridge of his crown, again and again and again, until he came, spilling himself onto her panties, covering them in ropes of his cum.
He should be making a fucking mess of her pussy, not some fucking strip of lace she didn’t care enough about to pick up on her way out. Now they wouldn’t smell of her. They were covered in his scent. He grinned and tossed them onto his desk. Maybe he’d give them back to her, just to see her face when she realized what he’d done with them.
He would have to hunt her down to take a more thorough look at that case file. Carey probably thought she could solve the whole damned thing by herself—and she probably could. She was absolutely brilliant. But if someone had been stalking him, and her, then he needed to find out what the hell this guy was up to.
Lakeside County had more than its fair share of insane crimes. For some reason people seemed to think a large city surrounded by dense woods was the perfect place for murder. But no one in his entire career really stuck out to him as particularly intelligent or brutal. He didn’t have that one case that was worth sharing whenever someone asked the craziest thing he’d ever seen. The answer was always he’s seen it all and criminals are predictable; they kill out of jealousy, betrayal, and greed. Just like ‘there are no new stories;’ there are no new crimes.
But whoever had kidnapped almost a dozen people, hunted down a detective on her vacation halfway around the state, and paraded his crimes in front of them all via a livestream was particularly intelligent and brutal. Had they let him go before? Missed him in a crowd of suspects? Did he feel invincible and now he wanted to prove it?
They certainly hadn’t caught him. Someone who kidnapped a dozen people with the intent to murder had done it before. Someone who stalked members of law enforcement for years without being noticed had done it before. If he’d been convicted of anything remotely similar, there’s no way in fuck he’d be out.
If they could figure out what crime scene he’d sent on that flash drive, then maybe they could find him. If he slipped through the cracks the first time, his name was somewhere in that case file. Someone didn’t get this emboldened by being ignored by the cops. They’d had him, they’d talked to him, and he thought he’d gotten the best of them. Now he was playing this game. Still, there had to be something more to his motivation than bragging rights.
Dawson was still sitting at his desk, tumbling all of these thoughts around his head, when his computer chimed and a new email from Sloane appeared in his inbox with all the files of the thumbprints Marc had matched in NGI.
He typed out a quick response asking Sloane to forward copies of the photographs and case notes that she’d brought to his office as well. He left off the part where Carey had stormed out and taken the hard copies with her.
He opened the attachment and began skimming through the documentation she’d sent. She was right; these victims were all over the place in age, sex, and race. But there were some things he could nail down. They were all over thirty; no young adults and no minors. All the records were from civil records, not a single criminal hit.
A photo of an elderly African American man filled his screen. Elmer Simpleton. He had a kind smile and looked like the kind of person who would spend his retirement on his front porch talking the ear off of any person who’d listen. Birthplace was Alabama. His address history showed he’d moved north in the seventies. His prints were in NGI because he’d worked in a bank before retiring. His eyes shone even in an ID photo. And someone was using him as a pawn. Disposable. Elmer Simpleton.
Shit. Fuck.
Dawson realized what tied them together. The others needed to be brought into custody. But he needed the file to that case to find them. He needed those pictures to figure out the case.
CHAPTER SIX
______________
CAREY
Carey pulled the door closed behind her and paused for a moment, exhaling slowly, trying to compose herself before she had to walk to her car. She set the file down on a chair outside Dawson’s office door and straightened her top. It had become partially untucked and disheveled during her… encounter with Dawson. She pulled it taut and fixed the neckline before she picked up her file and lifted her head.
A young woman smiled shyly from behind a desk on the other side of the small waiting area. Secretary or personal assistant. She seemed embarrassed for Carey, but certainly not surprised. So half-dressed women leaving his office are not an uncommon sight. The lock clicked behind her back, and Carey turned to glare at the door. He just locked her out. What a way to be dismissed. Though, could she really be upset? She gave a perfunctory smile and nod to his assistant before she lifted her chin and strutted out of the offices of Lakeside County’s District Attorney… without any panties.
Damn it.
Tucking the file under her arm, she made her way back to the bank of elevators, avoiding eye contact with everyone who passed. She felt as if she ha
d a scarlet letter on her cheeks and chest. And if she could just get Dawson out of her head, her color could return to normal.
Once inside the safely of an empty elevator, she began flipping through the photographs again. There was something nagging about the crime scene photos. The body wasn’t in any of them, nor were many people. The one of her in the background seemed to be purely by accident. The original pictures would have had a digital timestamp in the corner, not to mention the actual case number. But all of that information had been cropped out of these. The sicko wanted to get caught. He wanted to tease them, but he wasn’t about to make it easy.
She exited the elevator and walked to her car, stopping at the coffee cart outside the courthouse to grab some caffeine. A flaming hot stimulant. That’s exactly what she needed right now. She smiled at the middle-aged man handing her the cardboard cup. He and his coffee cart had been at the foot of the courthouse steps for years. She doubted he remembered her, but she definitely remembered him. He was a godsend on all the mornings she’d had to appear in court at eight a.m.… and when she left hours later. It was never too late for coffee when you made your living burning the candle at both ends.
Carey glanced around the parking lot and took a sip of her drink before crossing the street and climbing into her car. She dialed Canter’s number and left him a message that she wouldn’t be returning to the office that afternoon as she continued to examine the photos. There was something about them that kept nagging her. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.
Then she saw it. The stump carved into a throne. It was barely in the corner of one of the pictures. To anyone else, it might have just looked like a tree that someone had attempted to cut down and botched the job horribly, leaving part of the tree intact. Well, that’s exactly what it was, or maybe a storm had destroyed the tree decades ago. But to any local kid who’d spent any time drinking in the woods—so every local kid—that was the throne. She’d been crowned queen of some drinking contest half a dozen times and sat on that throne with a can of some trash beer, overlooking her subjects, demanding delivery of more drinks and hits off of a joint until the night was over.
Hot Pursuit- the Complete Collection Page 10