Page 37 of Beauty and the Cop
"Not yet," I say when she moves toward me. I unfasten my holster and lay my Glock on the table by the door. "Gun always gets put away first, baby. I won't risk you getting hurt."
Her body vibrates with need as I shed my jacket and shirt, letting them drop to the floor. My own body trembles, but I force myself not to press into her. I've waited for what feels like an eternity for this moment with her. I'm not about to rush it now.
Before I make love to her, I want her dancing that razor's edge where pleasure and pain blur into one. I want her absolutely certain that she'll never find anyone who can love her better. And when I take her, I want my name on her lips like a prayer she'll murmur long after. I want her to remember every moment of this night, because if I have my way, it's her last first time.
Her gaze slides away when I pop the button of my pants, drifting down… down… until it locks on my hand and the bulge beneath. Her body trembles, her fingers fluttering at her sides.
"Noah."
"I know, baby." I hiss, tugging my zipper down and freeing my rigid cock from my slacks.
Her eyes follow the swath of fabric sliding over my thighs and down my legs before dropping to the floor.
"Look at me, Elsie," I whisper, hand hovering near my cock.
Her pupils widen when she finally meets my gaze. She sways a little.
I wrap one hand around my length and pump once, twice, my tight fist sliding up and down. "This is what you do to me." My voice is low, barely carrying through the foyer. I pump again and nearly groan at the electric rush. Christ. Fucking my hand like this while she watches is heaven, so much better than doingit alone in my bed or beneath the showerhead while I fantasize about her.
She stays rooted in place, her eyes fixed as my fist glides down to my balls and back up to the head.
"I've thought about you so many times while I did this, Dimples," I confess, unable to keep the truth from spilling out. I don't want to keep secrets from her. I want her to know every part of me—every fucking second of obsession. "Every time we were together, I'd jerk off after, imagining you wrapped around me."
"Oh God," she whispers, her body trembling again.
"Did you ever think about me when you touched yourself?" I ask, knowing a gentleman wouldn't—but I don't care. The thought of her hands sliding down her body while she moans my name sets me on fire.
Her pupils dilate until the bright green gives way to desperate black. The way she trembles tells me everything I need to know.
Elsie Cameron is a bad, bad girl. She thinks about me when she comes. All those nights I spend alone, fucking my hand to thoughts of her…she did the same.
"Yes," she finally whispers, her voice shaking.
I groan, the sound torn from my chest. "Fuck, I like knowing that, baby." I close my eyes, fighting the urge to pull her into me right then. "Tell me what you did to yourself." I risk it all by asking, but I need to hear her voice, need to know her desire.
"I cried out for you," she whispers.
My eyes snap open.
She's still staring at my hand, hypnotized.
"When I came, I called your name. Sometimes, I hoped you'd hear me, that you'd come back for something, hear what I was doing while moaning for you, and that you'd—" She breaks off with a groan as I pump again.
"That I'd what?" I press, wanting every little confession she's willing to give me.
She swallows, tearing her gaze from my hand, and looks me in the eye. "That you'd come back and make me come for real. I want you inside me, Noah. I've wanted it for so fucking long."
I'm at her side in an instant, needing her closer. We both cry out when our bodies meet, as if that simple touch banishes every night spent in cold beds, dreaming of one another.
No more waiting. No more dreaming.
I press my lips to hers again, kissing her softly. "No more wishing, baby."
She moans against me, relief clear in the sound.
I turn her around until her back presses to my chest, lifting her hair with one hand and trailing open-mouth kisses down her neck to her shoulder. My other hand settles low on her stomach, holding her still as I lavish attention long denied. She shakes and sways, her muscles fluttering beneath my palm.
"God, I could eat you up," I whisper in her ear before tugging at her zipper. The silky fabric of her dress slides down easily. I groan when I realize she's been braless all evening.
