Page 45 of Follow Her Down
“You left burning bags of dog shit on Vincent’s property,” he states, his voice flat.“Repeatedly.That’s arson.Trespassing.I should arrest you.”
“Then why don’t you?”I challenge, stepping forward, crowding him back against the porch railing.My voice is low, dangerous.“What’s stopping you, Detective?Duty?Or something else?”
His gaze holds mine, intense and searching.“Because I know what he did to you in Kansas City,” he says, the words quiet but brutal in the night air.“I read the report.Saw the pictures.”The faintest tremor runs through him.“I should turn you in, but…I don’t want to hand you back to him.I want to…” His jaw tightens.“I don’t know what I want.To stop you from getting yourself killed, maybe.To save you from whatever the hell this is you’re doing.”
Save me?The words ignite a cold fury.I don’t need saving.I need an accomplice.I need someone willing to get stained.Or I need him to leave me the fuck alone.
A savage grin twists my lips.
“Saveme?“ I echo, my voice dripping with venom.
I close the distance between us, pressing my body flush against his and pushing him harder against the porch railing.Heat radiates from him, and I can feel the solid muscle beneath his damp clothes.
I snake my hand up, tangling my fingers in the hair at his nape, my nails scraping his scalp.“You think I need a knight, Detective Eddie?I need a fucking war dog.”I press my other hand flat against his chest, feeling the hammering of his heart against my palm.“He took something from me, something that can’t be given back.You want to save me?Prove you’re not his to command.Prove you see the monster he is.Believe me.”
The last words are a hiss, hot against his ear.
He stiffens.His breath catches.Then his hands clamp down on my hips, his fingers digging in hard, like a claim, a challenge.
“I believe you,” he growls, his voice rough.“But believing isn’t enough, is it?You want blood.”
“I wanteverything,“ I snarl back, my teeth finding the tense cord of muscle in his neck.
I bite down, hard, tasting salt and rain and the metallic tang of his skin.
He grunts, a sound ripped from deep in his chest, part pain, part fury.His hands tighten, hauling me closer still, crushing me against him.Then he shoves me back against the rough wood siding of the house.The impact knocks the breath from my lungs.Rainwater trickles down my neck from the holes in the porch roof.
Then he kisses me like he’s trying to brand my lips, his mouth hot and demanding, his teeth scraping.I bite back, drawing blood, and the coppery taste floods my mouth.I claw at the front of his leather jacket, my nails raking through the fabric of his shirt, searching for skin.
He pins my wrists above my head, his body pressing mine into the unforgiving wood.His knee forces my legs apart.The friction is brutal, electric, as I buck against him.
His free hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back, exposing my throat.His mouth descends, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh just below my jaw.Pain blooms, sharp and bright, a counterpoint to the frantic heat coiling low in my belly.I arch against him, a wordless snarl tearing from my throat.
He releases my wrists.My hands fly down, grabbing the front of his shirt, his jeans, ripping buttons and cupping the swollen length of him straining through denim.I work my fingers over the hard planes of his chest and dig in my nails.
He groans, the sound raw, and his hand slides down my body, then under my shirt.His fingers are rough against my ribs before they find the curve of my breast.His thumb circles my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra, a rough, deliberate friction that makes me gasp.
I drive my hand between us, fumbling with his belt buckle, the cold metal slick with rain.He helps, shoving his pants and boxers down only just enough to spring out his cock, hard, thick, straining against my palm.I stroke him once possessively, feeling him pulse and quake.
Then I guide him to my entrance.I’m wet, aching, the damp fabric of my leggings shoved aside.Did he do that, or did I?He drives into me in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
The stretch is sudden, and I cry out, the sound swallowed by the rain and the wind.He holds himself there for a heartbeat, buried deep, his breath ragged against my throat.
Then he pulls back and slams into me again.And again.Purely raw and animalistic, punishment and possession rolled into each savage stroke.The rough wood scrapes my back as he hikes my shirt up even farther and pinches my nipple.
Rain stings my face, and the lightning above flashes in his intense gaze.His hips piston, driving into me with a force that steals my breath, that pushes me up the wall with every thrust.
I wrap my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his back, pulling him in deeper, harder.
He bites my shoulder.I rake my nails down his spine, drawing blood I can feel welling under my fingertips.He growls, the vibration humming through my body.His hand fists in my hair again, controlling my head, forcing me to meet his gaze.His eyes are wild, feral, stripped bare of all pretense.
There’s no detective there now.Just a man consumed by the same dark fire that burns in me.He sees the ruin.He sees the rage.And he’s not running.
I see it too, the understanding, the willingness to step into the abyss.This isn’t just fucking.It’s a pact sealed in leather and thunder and shared fury at the injustices of monsters.
He’s choosing a side.My side.
My orgasm tears a ragged scream from my throat, a violent wave cresting and breaking.The detonation of the tension coiled tight inside me since he saidPenelope Seskeny.
