Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (10 page)

He reaches out and takes it from my hand, so I cross my arms over my chest, shake my hair out of my face, and finally look at him. Stone takes a long moment to answer, and the whole time, my pulse is racing.

Just tell me you changed your mind and get it over with
, I think.

“Because I’m bad for you,” he finally says. “You deserve someone better.”

I blink.

Then I snort.

“What kind of overprotective, patriarchal bullshit is
that
?” I ask.

Stone looks surprised, the spray paint still in one hand.

“You don’t know the first thing about me or what I deserve,” I say. “And you sure as shit don’t get to decide what’s bad for me without even consulting me first.”

I’d be less mad if he just told me I was a terrible kisser or had gross breath.

It’s for the best that nothing happened
, I tell myself.
You also don’t need some guy deciding what’s best for you all the time.

Stone’s lips curve up into a smile, and he puts the spray paint on a shelf without looking.

“So you
were
mad that I left,” he says.

My stomach flops over.

“I
was
,” I say. “Now I think I probably dodged a bullet.”

“I’m the bullet?” he asks, still smiling. His eyes have a hungry light in them, and it makes my breath catch in my throat.

“I’ve dated enough guys who couldn’t make up their minds about what they wanted,” I say.

Stone takes two steps and then he’s in front of me, his head backlit by the single bulb in the tiny storage room. He puts one hand on a shelf beside my head, but I stand my ground and keep glaring up at him.

“My mind’s made up, Detective,” he says, his voice low and rumbly. “I want you, I’m bad for you, and I’ve never cared a whole lot about consequences.”

Heat starts twisting through me, and even though I’m not stupid and I know actions speak louder than words, I want him
now
and the hell with what happens later.

“If you walk off again —” I start, but Stone kisses me instead, his lips hot and hard on mine, and I lose my train of thought completely as he slides one hand into my hair and closes his fingers,
just
hard enough that I feel it.

I make a very small, very quiet noise, and Stone moves his mouth against mine, pressing our bodies together. He’s already at half-mast, and as he presses his hips against my lower belly I can
feel
him hardening.

Then he licks my bottom lip slowly, his tongue sending shivers down my spine. I open my mouth under his and let our tongues tangle together as I curl one hand around the back of his neck, holding him to me as close as I can.

His stubble scrapes my cheek softly, and Stone lets one hand drift down my back as I move my hips against him. The movement is automatic, pure instinct, because I
want
this. So what if I regret it later? We’re adults.

Stone moves his lips off mine and nuzzles my ear. I inhale sharply, and he
growls
at me, the sound reverberating down my spine.

“You still wait for the third date before under-the-clothes touching?” he asks, his voice low and raspy.

It takes me a second to remember the conversation in the car, and then I laugh.

“None of those things were true,” I say.

He bites my earlobe, tugging at it gently, and I bite my lip so I don’t make a noise.

“I knew you weren’t the wholesome good girl you make yourself out to be,” he says, pressing his lips to the spot below my ear.

This time, a noise escapes my throat. Stone growls again, his breath warm on my neck, and he slides one hand over my ass, cupping it through my professional black pants.

“I run red lights
all
the time,” I manage to say.

He squeezes my ass and I bend my knee, hooking one leg around his hips. Stone holds it there, still pressing me against the shelves, his lips still making their way down my neck and to the hollow of my throat.

Suddenly he grabs my other leg and lifts it, and then I’m pinned against the shelving in this storage room, both legs wrapped around Stone’s waist. He moves his hips and his thick, hard erection grinds against me and I tighten my legs, moving both hands to the top snap on his coveralls.

“You gonna let me touch you this time?” I ask, and pull it apart with a satisfying
pop
.

“I try not to get naked in public,” he murmurs.

I unsnap another snap, revealing the v-neck top of an undershirt and the faded black of tattoos on his chest peeking out.

“Is it because we hadn’t gone on three dates?” I say.

Pop
.

“Maybe you’re more traditional than I thought,” I go on.

Pop
.
Pop
.

I slide my hands into his coveralls and along the warm, taut, rippling muscles of his torso, swallowing hard as fire trickles through my body.

“Yeah, I’m real old-fashioned,” says Stone.

Then he grabs my ass hard and pulls me away from the shelves. I yelp and wrap my arms him, and he chuckles. We leave the storage room and he puts me down on the hood of a car just outside, my legs still wrapped around him.

We’re kissing again, hard enough that I can feel my teeth nipping at the soft flesh of his lips, but he’s leaning over me, rubbing his hard length against me slowly, the friction absolutely delicious. He leans on one elbow and grabs the back of my knee with his other hand, his tongue still in my mouth as he pulls himself even harder against me.

I’ve got my hands under his shirt, my fingers digging into him as he moves his hips against mine. I’m wet as hell, getting wetter with every stroke, and don’t give a damn that I’m on a car in a garage with a suspect.

“I was afraid this was gonna happen Friday,” he murmurs, pulling back. He takes his hand off my leg and starts unbuttoning my shirt.

Frantically, I wonder which bra I wore today.

Not the ugly sports bra
, I think.
Please, god, please.

“I’ve got more self-control than that,” I say, even as Stone presses his lips to the hollow in my throat.

I glance down. It’s a regular, boring, tan bra. Thank God.

“If this is self-control,” he says, nipping at my collarbone. “I’d hate to see what happens when you don’t have any.”

He runs one thumb over the outside of my bra, and my nipple stiffens instantly, begging to be touched. I reach down and run the palm of my hand along his length, then take it in my hand, squeezing hard.

It’s
big
. I mean, I already knew that from seeing him in a wetsuit, and from being somewhat acquainted already, but it’s the first time I’ve had it in my hand. It’s
impressive
, even as I wonder for a minute whether it’ll even fit.

Whoa there, Rivers
, the cautious part of my brain says.
Are you seriously going to fuck him on this car?

Stone groans into my chest, my nipple still between his finger and thumb.

“God
damn
you make me hard,” he rasps, and bites my nipple through my bra.

I gasp and squeeze again as Stone moves his hips against my hand, grinding himself against my grip.

“You ever come on a Beemer before?” he asks, moving one hand to my pants, then running his fingers between my legs. “‘Cause if you have, there are other cars.”

I swallow, lifting my hips toward him just a little.

“I got dry humped on a Volvo once,” I say. “It didn’t do much for me, though.”

Stone grins, and he’s about to say something when there’s a noise from the entrance to the garage.

We both freeze, me on my back with my legs around Stone, him on top of me, his cock still in my hand.

Then we hear the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt being shot back. The creak of a door opening.

Stone doesn’t wait. He grabs me, puts me on my feet, and pulls me behind an SUV. We’re both panting for breath and half-unclothed, so without saying anything we both button up again before he peeks out.

“It’s Eddie,” he whispers, smoothing his hair with one hand. “Come on.”

He steps around the corner of the SUV casually, hands in his pockets, like we weren’t just half-naked on a car. I take a deep breath and follow, hoping that my shirt is buttoned properly and I look nonchalant.

“
H
ey
, Eddie,” I call, strolling between the BMW and the SUV.

He turns his head in surprise, then nods.

“I was wondering why the light in that storage closet was on,” he says. “You know, Stone, you don’t have to make up the time you spent at the station.”

He’s better than I deserve, too
, I think. I know Luna asked him about the paint too, so he knows what’s going on.

“Detective Rivers was kind enough to give me a ride back to my car, and we decided to see if they’d taken anything besides the spray paint.”

Next to me, Luna nods officially, her masses of curls bouncing.

“Did they?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell,” I say, hands still in my pockets. “Nothing jumped out at me.”

He looks at Luna.

“Sorry we couldn’t be more help,” he says. “If you need anything from me, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks,” she says, then looks at me, her eyes cool and professional. “I don’t have any questions right now, but I’ll give you a call if I think of anything.”

“Glad I could help,” I say. It seems like the kind of thing that good citizens and good employees say to cops.

It’s definitely better than
I’m going to make you come on the hood of this car
. Well, better for the current situation.

She holds out her hand, and I shake it. I force myself not to think about how, two minutes ago, that hand was around my achingly hard dick.

“Maybe I’ll see you later,” she says.

She’s fucking
taunting
me, because now she’s the one leaving. At least it’s not by her own choice.

“Maybe, Detective,” I say.

She shakes Eddie’s hand. They exchange more pleasantries, and Luna walks for the door.

I force myself not to stare after her in front of my boss, even though just the way she
walks
makes my cock throb.

“I just came back to see if we had any spark plugs lying around that would fit the Land Rover,” he says. “Everything go all right at the police station?”

“It went fine,” I say, and give him the rundown as we walk to a row of tool chests in the back of the garage. We go through them together, looking for spark plugs, and the entire time I force myself to think about
anything
but Luna on her back, underneath me, her nails digging into my flesh.

* * *

W
hen I get home
, I’ve got my cock out the minute my door is shut behind me, because it still feels like it might explode right off my body if I don’t get
some
kind of relief.

I barely make it to the disgusting jizz towel I keep under my bed, and come hard thinking of Luna, her head thrown back, my tongue lapping at her pussy. Then I sit on my bed, breathing hard and thanking all the powers that be I don’t have a roommate.

Arson
. They’re shaking the tree harder.

They still don’t know you’re here
, I remind myself.
When they do, they’ll come after you, not set fire to cars.

Don’t do anything. Keep your head down.

Most of all, don’t fucking run
.

I throw the towel back under my bed and go heat up leftovers for dinner.

I eat. I watch TV. I jerk off again, thinking about Luna. I do the dishes, take a shower and jerk off, then finally get in bed and jerk off again. Yeah, there’s a pattern, and it’s that I’ve lost my goddamn mind over a cop.

I don’t know what’s happening. Before I went to prison at twenty-four — I was never in juvie, of course, but it’s a good cover story — I would only ever fuck girls once or twice before I got bored of them. I didn’t obsess over girls.

I’ve got a spank bank, just like anyone. But I’ve never practically been a walking Viagra commercial before.

Even in prison, when time to jerk off was scarce and women were scarcer, there wasn’t a time when I just couldn’t get someone out of my head like that. Granted, I had other things to worry about, like being in supermax, or getting Valdez to talk without making him suspicious.

I think about burnt cars again, and a cold prickle goes down my spine. I fall asleep a long time later, praying I don’t have a wet dream for the first time in fifteen years.

* * *

M
aybe I’ll see
you around
, she said. Well, I know where we meet sometimes.

I’m in the water by six-thirty in the morning. It’s cold. The water’s a little choppy. I haven’t surfed in a week, and when you’re not very good at something, a week is a long time to go without practice.

But the thing that really matters is that Luna isn’t there. I’m not surprised. It’s what I deserve. At least I catch two good waves, and though I get knocked off once, it’s not so bad.

I really
am
getting better.

At home I shower, eat, and get dressed for work. Her business card is right there on my kitchen table. I haven’t touched it since I first put it there, and I eat cereal standing at the counter, looking at it.

I toss my bowl into the sink. I drink some more coffee. I find my car keys.

Then I give up and text Luna. I’m wildly out of practice, so I go simple.

G
ood morning
.

I
wait twenty seconds
, but she doesn’t text back.

Don’t be desperate
, I think, so I go to work.

* * *

S
he doesn’t text back
, even though I text her a few more times — once around lunch time, and once a few hours later.

Maybe she realized I was right about being bad for her and changed her mind
, I think, standing under a car on a lift, staring up at a brake rotor without really seeing it.

I’m still a suspect, and she still doesn’t trust me.
She could at least text me that, though
.

If this is nothing, if last night was just a bad mistake she made, I still want her to tell me. She needs to
say
something, not just ignore my texts.

By the time I’m off work at four, I’ve got a plan. I don’t know why she’s ignoring me, but I am
not
letting this go without a fight. I’m at least going to make her
tell
me. In person. Face to face.

I take a couple of face masks from the garage without Eddie noticing. On the drive home, I stop at the hardware store and buy a few cans of spray paint: purple, gold, blue, and green. I park on the street in front of my house instead of in my driveway.

Then I get to work.