Officer out of Uniform (Lock and Key Book 2) (12 page)

An answering twinge surfaced inside Henry, little pieces of him that were drawn to her grief like iron shavings to a magnet. The internal shift opened up a place he tried to keep sealed shut, exposing feelings he could see mirrored plainly on her face.

He’d been attracted to Sasha from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her – few men wouldn’t have felt the same way – but he’d never felt
like
her before. Any sameness between them had been limited to their mutual attraction. Outside of that, they were night and day, north and south. Seeing the things he felt in her eyes was something different, something new.

“Henry…” Her eyes were locked with his, and he couldn’t look away. She wasn’t her usual fiery self, but she’d never looked more beautiful. For the first time, he finally felt like he understood her. Part of her, anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Do I smell something burning?”

“Shit!” Henry turned on his heel and hurried toward the stove. Sasha was right about the burning smell.

Wolf leapt up from the floor and followed, his tail wagging eagerly. As Henry pulled a skillet off a burner, Wolf hovered from a short distance like a vulture over a battlefield, waiting for permission to feast on the disaster.

“Dinner’s ruined,” he announced, staring down at the shriveled clusterfuck his culinary efforts had been reduced to. The chicken breasts were charred black, and he had no doubt they were dry as the Sahara inside.

“Are you sure?” Sasha appeared at his side and peered down at the pan. “We could peel the burnt layer off the outside and eat what’s left.”

Henry tore his gaze from the skillet to study her face, trying to gauge whether she was serious. “I can’t believe a professional chef actually just suggested that.”

She shrugged. “I’ve eaten worse.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. This shit looks bad enough to rival MREs.”

“Come on, be brave. You’re the only guy who’s ever actually cooked me anything. In light of that, I’m willing to suffer through a mouthful of char.”

He sat the pan back down on the stove and eyed it warily. “The
only
guy?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes. I’ve been cooking all my life – first as a student, then as a professional – so guys always expect me to make them these amazing meals. It never occurs to any of them that I might like a break for once, maybe even more so than the average woman.”

“So in other words, I just did something very, very right.” He stared at the sad contents of the pan, thrilled for a second, before he remembered that he’d fucked it up.

“Believe me, your pathetic chicken breasts mean the world to me.” She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “You’re definitely getting lucky.”

He laughed, even as his dick jumped to half-mast. Yeah, they’d done it already, but with the way he felt at that moment, they might as well have been dating for an entire sexless year.

He turned to face her and guided her to the table, pulling out a chair. “Sit down while I make the best of this.”

As she waited at the table, he attacked the chicken breasts with a paring knife, feeding the black parts to Wolf, who snapped them up like gourmet fare.

“Are you peeling the chicken?” Sasha called after a few moments.

“Yeah. Like an apple. And what’s beneath the char isn’t much to brag about. I’d suggest drowning it in ranch dressing, but I’m afraid you might never speak to me again.”

He wasn’t even joking. Ranch dressing made all sad foods better, as far as he was concerned.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

He lowered two plates onto the table ten minutes later, each containing pathetic portions of peeled chicken and vegetables he’d steamed in a microwave bag. He plunked a bottle of Hidden Valley onto the table between them and nudged it toward her. “Ladies first.”

The ranch bottle was almost empty and made an awkward sound when she upended it over her plate.

“Remember, you already said I was getting lucky,” he reminded her.

She grinned at him. “It’ll be your consolation prize for giving me the rest of the ranch dressing.”

“Anything for you,” he said, taking the empty Hidden Valley bottle and giving it a good smack over his plate before he threw it in the trash.

“Such a gentleman,” Sasha said. “I knew I liked you the moment I first saw you.”

“I hope that’s not a joke,” he said, mostly because he couldn’t imagine what’d attracted her to him if it hadn’t been lust at first sight.

He knew he was a little beat up, had scars in places where women expected to find muscle and smooth skin, but thanks to countless hours working out at home and lifting at Grey’s garage gym, he was in good shape. Most of his scars – the ones that still hurt – couldn’t be seen. That fact heightened his confidence in his outward attractiveness, if only by default.

“It’s not,” she said, and didn’t laugh. For a second, he thought he saw a glimmer of grief resurfacing on her face, though he didn’t know what that meant.

Whatever it indicated, the sight of her looking sad again put a dent in the sense of hilarity the charred chicken and ranch dressing had inspired. His failure didn’t seem worth laughing at anymore. Instead of brushing everything else off and focusing on the little, ridiculous things about the evening, he found his thoughts drifting back to the dark cloud hanging over them – Randy Levinson.

“How was work?” she asked, like she’d read his mind. “Any news on the warden?”

Henry shook his head. “No. The obvious truth’s all caught up in red tape, I guess.”

She nodded. “I figured things were stalled with the investigation when you didn’t get called out to search today.”

“According to Jeremy, the investigation’s ongoing. They’re just not taking any action, other than searching the area around the warden’s home, as if the killer would be stupid enough to hang around. If they don’t get their heads out of their asses soon, it’s going to cost someone their life. People who string dead bodies up in trees for show don’t kill just once.”

“I guess they can’t consider involving the prison team unless they know it’s Randy, right?”

“Yeah. It should be obvious, though.”

“Speaking as devil’s advocate, I can see why they want to be sure. I mean, it seems like more than a few enemies would come with the title of prison warden. They probably don’t want to risk getting officers from the prison involved until they’re sure of who did it. Randy seems likely, but how can you know for sure at this point?”

He frowned and chewed a bite of dry, tasteless chicken, trying not to be pissed at her for sounding like she was glad he hadn’t been called back onto the search. “I just have a feeling.”

She looked at him like he’d just proven her point, and he pretended not to notice. He
did
just have a feeling, and it was that fact more than anything that made him sure it was Randy who’d killed the warden. The last time he’d had a bad feeling, he hadn’t done anything about it, and his world had exploded. Literally.

This time, he wasn’t doubting himself. He couldn’t explain that to Sasha without explaining a hell of a lot more though, so he stayed quiet, forced down a few more mouthfuls of chicken. It really was god-awful.

“Want to share the ranch?” Sasha asked, pushing her plate toward him.

He speared a chunk of poultry and dipped it into the dressing without hesitation, glad she didn’t expect him to keep arguing with her about Randy. “Thought you’d never ask.”

When they’d both eaten as much as they dared, she cleared the plates off the table. He was just reaching for his when she shook her head and flashed him a half-smile. “You cooked – it’s only fair.”

He snorted. If his cooking was the standard they were going by, she’d be well within her rights to simply drop the dishes into the trash instead of rinsing them and setting them on the counter.

While she was cleaning up, he started a pot of coffee.

He realized she was behind him when the curve of her breast brushed his spine and her breath ghosted across the back of his neck. “Planning another all-night vigil?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You want a cup?”

“That depends. Will I be staying up late too?”

“That’s up to you. I know you have work in the morning – don’t feel like you have to stay up to keep me company.”

“Henry…” She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and locking them there, every inch of her soft, curvy body pressed tight against his back.

His dick throbbed, and he spilled coffee grounds on the counter.
Damn
. What was she doing?

He realized he’d spoken out loud when she laughed. “It’s called a hug. It’s this thing people do with their arms when they want to be close to someone, even if it’s just for a second.”

“I know what a hug is. I just don’t get why you’re giving it to me from behind. And don’t think I believe that you only want to be close for ‘just a second’.”

“
Giving it to you from behind
? Seriously?” She snorted, her breath rushing hot between his shoulder blades, easily felt through his t-shirt.

He dumped the rest of the grounds into the coffee maker, adding at least one extra tablespoon. The pot would be nuclear-strong, which seemed like it would be for the best. Something about the way Sasha clung to him told him he was going to end up expending a lot of energy that night. Damn it, he was only human and if he didn’t back away from the countertop, his boner was likely to crack the faux-granite surface.

“You’re right though,” she said. “I’m not going to settle for just a second. Have you given up on celibacy yet?”

“I never wanted to be celibate,” he said, finally giving in and turning to face her, “I just wanted to focus on protecting you. Your safety is my first priority, not my dick.”

“Well congratulations, I’m fine – now let’s celebrate.” She leaned in, pressing her breasts flush against his chest. The gleam in her eyes told him she knew exactly what she was doing.

He tried to release some tension with a sigh, but it turned into a moan – one that rose up from deep inside him and amplified the ache in his balls. It was happening again: he was standing in the shadow of her boldness, wanting everything she was offering just as badly as she did. He knew already there’d be no forcing himself to hold out any longer, so he returned her embrace, slid his arms around her waist and lifted her up, onto him.

 She wrapped her legs around his waist and smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hell yes
was more like it, but he just squeezed her in return, reveling in the contact he hadn’t dared to indulge in the night before. After 24 hours of self-imposed deprivation, his will was wavering. If shit was going to hit the fan, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to experience a little bit of bliss first, to remind him exactly why he was so eager for things to get back to normal.

He carried her to his bedroom and lowered her onto the bed, slipping his hands beneath the hem of her top and pulling it over her head. She wore a bra beneath, but her curves were so generous that her breasts appeared to be on the brink of spilling out of it. When she arched they rubbed against his chest and he nearly lost it.

He fumbled a little with the clasp, more out of eagerness than nervousness. God, he wanted to feel them pressing bare against him, soft except for where they were hard at the tips. Hard and pink, a color that made his mouth water.

The bra sprung free and he got his wish, all that round flesh spilling out, sliding so easily against his chest. He wished he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

It was like she’d read his mind. She got her hands on the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it up, her knuckles brushing his belly and chest.

He tore the shirt from her grasp, lifted it over his own head as she put her hands all over him, breathing hard already as he tossed the garment aside and took her breasts in his hands, squeezing.

She wrapped her arms around him, her hands gliding over his back, slipping over scar tissue and what little bit of smooth skin he had back there. Normally, remembering his scars stirred up vague feelings of shame, but he was too wrapped up in her to care about that now.

She moaned when he lowered his head, kneeling and spreading his own legs wide between hers, nudging her thighs apart as he closed his lips around one of her nipples and drew it into his mouth.

There was no real reason why her skin should’ve tasted sweet, but it did. Sweet and warm, her breast was like silk in his mouth, her nipple rigid against his tongue. When she sighed and raked her fingers across his scalp, running them through hair that wasn’t really long enough, he was pretty sure he came a little.

He raised his head, gaze locking on her face as he became painfully aware of the way his jeans were restraining his dick, which had reached record levels of hardness.

Holding out for so long – refusing her the night before when she’d been naked and asking for it in his bed – had just about killed him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he suffered some permanent testicular damage, though maybe this would make up for the agony he’d heaped on himself.

“Don’t be a tease, Henry,” she said, raking those nails across his skull again while simultaneously rubbing her other hand up the length of his cock, fingers slipping over denim and pulling at his jeans button. “I want you so bad, and you’re just … just looking.”

“Can’t help staring,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone who looked so good.”

Somehow, she smiled and huffed out an impatient breath at the same time. “I’d be flattered if you hadn’t been so cruel last night. I’m dying here with you sitting shirtless between my thighs, taking your sweet time. You can look
and
touch, you know.”

Dying? She didn’t know the meaning of the word. He was the one who was probably going to be left with the permanent imprint of a jeans zipper down the length of his dick. He was about to say so when she arched up against him, wrapping her legs around his waist, moving against him like it hurt to stay still.

He wasn’t sure what the exact word for her movements was. Writhing? Undulating? Either way, it was driving him fucking crazy, and she had both of her hands down the front of his jeans now, one pulling the zipper down, the other closing around his shaft. If he hadn’t spilled a little pre-come before, he definitely had now.

There was no question that she wanted him, bad, and that fact was enough to keep his ego stoked for the next millennia or so. She was so beautiful, so sexy, and she was practically throwing herself on his dick, making sounds like she was going to go crazy if he didn’t give her what she wanted: every inch of his hard cock deep in her pussy, stretching her from the first stroke until she screamed and came.

He knew that was what she wanted – hell, she was whispering it into his ear now, her fingers delving deeper into his jeans, touching the tender skin just behind his balls – and the desire to let her pull him in was strong.

It was hell not giving in when she was so hot for him. Still, his desire for her was even stronger than the need she laid out so plainly, describing in detail what she wanted and how badly she wanted it.

She was a strong woman with strong desires, strong powers of persuasion. Maybe last time she’d left because he hadn’t shown her that he wanted things just as much as she did, that he had to have her, fucking had to.

He wasn’t doing this just because she was a willing woman. He was doing it because he craved her – and only her – with every fiber of his being, from his rock-hard cock to the hurting, atrophied thing that was supposed to be his heart.

“God, I wanna take you,” he said as she thrust her fist up and down his shaft, sending waves of electric gratification through his entire body.

This was what he’d thought about that morning when he’d jacked off in the shower. He’d imagined her hand pulling on his dick instead of his own and it’d taken him all of ten seconds to get off. “There’s something else I want more, though.”

She didn’t stop touching him, her hand hot and tight around his hardness, threatening to tip him over the edge with every thrust. “What?”

“I want you to know exactly how bad I want it – want you. And I want you to still be here in the morning.”

She opened her mouth, like she was going to argue.

He crushed his lips against hers before she could get a word out, thrusting his tongue past her teeth, deep along the length of hers. It took her half a second to react, and then she started writhing against him again, her tongue tangling with his. After a few of the hottest minutes of his life, he pulled back and stood up.

Her hand slipped off his dick and when she reached for him again, he stopped her. He grasped her wrists gently, but with enough force to keep her hands from following her gaze straight to his groin. He was harder than ever, aching for it, and it took an entire mountain of willpower to keep holding her back like that.

“You always know what you want, don’t you Sasha? You know it and you take it, don’t make any excuses or apologies. It’s one of my favorite things about you. You don’t try to hide from how you feel, and you don’t play games. But I think I’ve fucked up by not letting you know what I want, too.”

She held his gaze for a few silent moments before dropping it slowly, deliberately.

He could practically feel it wrapping around his erection, heat and pressure against swollen flesh.

“I think it’s obvious what you want, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, and she frowned.

“Of course I wanna fuck you,” he clarified. “I want it so bad it hurts. Look at you, though – any man would want that. I want more.”

“Like what?” Her voice came out softer this time, not her usual confident tone. She sounded younger. Hell, almost innocent. Like she had no idea what to expect.

Damned if that realization didn’t hit him like a sucker punch to the chest, knocking against his heart so hard that it skipped a beat, slamming against his ribs.

“I want to spend the next hour inside you, and the whole night beside you. I don’t want to wake up every ten minutes worried that you won’t be here anymore. I want to be around you whenever I can. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing. You don’t have to take your clothes off to get my attention. All you have to do is look my way. Exist.”

He hadn’t planned to say this, hadn’t planned to lay his feelings out so plainly that even he could hear the desire deepening his own voice.

It felt right though, and one thing was for sure: he wasn’t thinking or talking with his dick. All that particular part of him wanted to do was get as far inside her as possible, bury itself tight in her hot body. Talking could wait, as far as his dick was concerned. The world could wait. But some other part of him knew that they could fuck all night, and he’d still be aching to hell and back if he woke up and she was gone again.

He wanted to wake up next to her more than he wanted anything, even the heaven-sent pressure of her pussy bearing down on his rock-hard cock.

She stared back at him, blinked. Her eyes seemed bigger than usual. “Oh.”

Oh? That was it? She wasn’t usually so short on words.

He could only hope he hadn’t stunned her in a bad way. This was the first time he’d fully acknowledged the depth of his feelings for her, even to himself. It’d seemed right to face them in front of her though – openly and out loud. Like it was some kind of repayment for the openness she’d shown him, the desires she’d expressed so clearly, opening herself to the possibilities of judgment and rejection.

But who would reject her? A wave of doubt washed over Henry, darkening his vision and slowing his speeding heart. Maybe all she’d wanted was something physical. Maybe he’d just made a colossal ass out of himself.

“Did you want something different?” he asked, trying to sound diplomatic, like the thought of her admitting she’d just been in this for a few fucks wouldn’t crush some part of him, destroy whatever capabilities he’d retained to actually want something more than a fleeting physical connection.

“No! No.” Her gaze was unwavering, though the skin between her eyes creased as she replied. “It’s not that. I want all those things too, but I was afraid to admit it to you. You know, because it’s so soon.”

He stared down at her open legs, let go of her wrists and ran his hands down her inner thighs, smoothing his palms against her tight jeans until the edges of his fingers were resting against her pussy. He could feel her heat, even through her pants. “I’d say we know each other well enough to be honest.”

“Most guys wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, I’ve never been one for bullshit. I’d sooner hear what you really think than a lie.”

She blinked, and her eyes looked a little wet. He hoped to God it was just the lighting. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “More than okay. I think I’m just having a little trouble processing this.”

He rubbed a thumb over the seam of her jeans, tracing the place where the sweet slit of her pussy lay beneath the denim. “Let me help you. Let me show you how bad I want you.”

* * * * *

Randy cleaned the Blaser slowly, fingers drifting over the long, sleek barrel and sliding back to touch the bolt. He’d never been a church-going man, but Jesus, he could see himself worshipping a fine piece of weaponry like this.

He couldn’t wait to actually use it. He’d spent the day making a suppressor out of PVC pipe and a little bit of cardboard. Cheap and easy, it was his ticket to using the gun without risking having the law called on him.

The trailer smelled like potato chip grease and mildew from the window air conditioning unit, but it didn’t matter. It was a safe haven – one he’d killed for. It was dark out and soon, he’d trade the musty inside of the trailer for air that was muggy but fresh, scented by crushed pine needles and nighttime sea breezes.

Traveling through the woods, he could make it to Dryden’s place in twenty minutes. He knew the way now, could navigate there and back with just a sliver of a moon to guide him.

He got chills at the thought of sending a hollow point through Dryden. All he needed was a clear shot, and the cartridge would mushroom deep inside flesh and bone, tear his heart up, but not out. No, all that metal would stay inside, bleeding him out, making him hurt.

The kill would be quick, but he’d be free to make a spectacle of the body after the killing was done. He intended to string him up in a tree like he had the warden. He didn’t have another hoist and gambrel, but he had rope he could fashion a noose out of and that’d do just fine.

Hanging up human bodies like dead deer would be his calling card. Treating the prison officers like animals made perfect sense, since they’d treated him and Troy like animals. Worse. There were dogs that lived lives of luxury in comparison to the men locked up inside Riley. It was about damn time the tables turned.