Page 74 of Fractured Fear

With a towel wrapped around my body, I look in the mirror and notice the pink that has taken over my cheeks. An orgasm does the body and mind good, but this orgasm has only made me hungry for a touch that’s not my own. A touch I have no right wanting.

CHAPTER 29

ASHER

Spencer is a screamer.

My pacing across the hardwood floor was interrupted when I heard a cry. Not that I would have burst into the bathroom, but I figured I should stand by the door in case she needed me. The last thing I expected to hear was Spencer shouting my name in ecstasy.

Her little moans and whimpers seeped through the door, and my dick was instantly hard. No matter how much will power I possess, I was unable to make my feet carry me away. My hand wandered to my stiff cock and gave it a squeeze.

I have no business lusting after this woman. The energy and time required is not there. Not to mention I’m eleven years her senior and she has no idea.

My voice finally decided to work and I shouted through the door. If I have to suffer with a fucking woody then she can live through the day in embarrassment. I know she knows I heard her, and man, does Princess blush easily.

I return to my pacing in the living room and call up my boss, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Marreli.

“Dawson. What do you have for me?” His voice is raspy as if he eats nails for breakfast even though he’s never smoked a day in his life.

“Marreli,” I greet. “I don’t have any more than what I’ve reported, but something is nagging at me. I feel like this woman is the key.”

“Spencer Gray?”

“Yeah. She says she thinks her attacker is her ex, but this feels like more than a jilted lover.”

“Nothing much has come from the evidence Berkowitz and Kowalski collected. They followed up with the florist. The shop doesn’t have cameras and the customer paid cash. The owner said the man wore sunglasses and a hat. The usual disguise.” His annoyance only adds to my own.

“Dammit,” I sigh and lean my head back to stare at the ceiling. “Detective Zane Kingston said Spencer scratched her attacker and the DNA was collected at the hospital. Our guy has never left any DNA on the bodies, but I think we should still get the evidence from the NYPD and run our own test.”

“That may not go over well with the local PD, even with your friend being the lead detective.”

Fucking assholes with delicate egos. My patience for that kind of territorial bullshit is nonexistent. “I know. I’ll talk to Zane. He’ll be able to smooth things over with his Captain.”

“I hope so. We don’t need to burn any bridges.” His comment, though true, holds a warning. I can’t fuck this up.

“Got it.” The dial tone meets my ear.

Fuck. This is not how I saw my trip home going. I figured I’d get here, relax, then get back to working on the case.

From the moment my feet touched New York soil, I’ve been on bodyguard duty. Fortunately, this favor for Rio and Z might just be the key to stopping this killer.

The turn of a knob makes me pause and I face Spencer’s bedroom. She walks out in her usual studio attire, but my mouth still salivates at the sight of her curves. Her cheeks are still flushed from hersteamyshower. When her gaze meets mine, her eyes go wide. I don’t know what she sees, but hopefully it isn’t the bulge in my shorts.

CHAPTER 30

SPENCER

After showering and dressing in my ratty studio clothes, Asher uses my bathroom to take the fastest shower known to man, changing into an outfit he had laying in his car for work. With Asher looking yummy enough to eat and me looking homeless, we walk down to The Mudhouse in comfortable silence.

Ha. Yeah right. It’s awkward as fuck.

When I exited my room with wet hair, no makeup, and my normal work outfit, Asher’s eyes held a fire in them that told me everything I needed to know. He heard me. He knows what I did. I shouldn’t be ashamed. I can do what I want. I’m a woman with needs, but the fact that he may have heard me say his name…Oh God. Bury me in my overcrowded storage closet please.

It doesn’t matter. You’ll be gone soon.

The thought is sobering. I won’t be around long enough to ask him how he feels about my little self care shower. Not that I have the lady balls to do that anyway, but the opportunity isn’t there. It’ll never be there.

I order our drinks, black coffee for Asher and a mocha with whipped cream for me, and we wait for our morning fuel in—you guessed it—silence. His muscles are taut and the burningembers still alight in his eyes. The tension between us could be cut with a fucking knife, but I can’t tell if he’s happy about it or annoyed.

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