Page 124 of You're so Bad

I take my time, moving into her slowly, deeply as I kiss down her cheek to her neck and then her beautiful tits, pushing down her dress and bra to get access. She wraps her legs around my waist and runs her hands through my hair as I spread kisses across her chest, circling her nipples with my tongue before taking them into my mouth.

I want to remember it all, to remember the way her body lifts up to meet me. The little sounds she makes in her throat when I stroke in deep. The way her eyes flutter shut and then open to find mine. How it feels to meet her gaze while I sink into her—claiming her even though I can’t keep her, because there’s nothing in this world I want more.

I can feel her starting to tighten around me, her body telling me she’s close, but I tell my cock to calm the hell down. This is it. This is our moment—and when it’s ripped away, it’ll only be a memory. I won’t be able to feel her legs wrapped around me or her soft hands in my hair. I won’t be able to hold her in my arms.

Still, everything has to end, especially the beautiful things, so I kiss her, feeling her tears between our lips, and thrust in deep. She gasps into my mouth as pleasure rolls through me. Even though it fucking hurts to know this may be it for us, I want to remember all of it. The pain too.

I kiss the last of her tears away, and she buries her head in my neck. We lay like that for a long moment. Then I kiss her neck and her jaw, stealing a little more of her for myself, and make myself say it. “It’s time.”

“They can’t have you,” she says softly, fiercely. “We’ll fix this.”

“Sure we will, sugar.” But I don’t believe it. I doubt she does either.

We clean up, but I keep on the suit.

“You’re going to wear that to the police station?” she asks.

“Might as well give them a thrill.”

So that’s exactly what I do.

They arrest me, which isn’t a big fucking surprise. I saw the writing on the wall the minute my neighbor told me the cops were looking for me.

I always figured I’d go down eventually—I just thought it would be for a crime I’d actually committed.

ChapterThirty-One

Shauna

“This is bullshit,” I say, my voice shaking. “He reported the truck stolen.”

I’m still shell-shocked, barely keeping it together. In my head, I still hear the police officer telling Leonard, “Raymond Danvers, you’re under arrest.”

Raymond? I hadn’t even know for sure that Leonard wasn’t his original name. I tell myself I’ll be able to ask why he chose it for himself, but I’m terrified I won’t get the chance.

Yesterday afternoon, my biggest worry was Bianca tap-dancing on my last nerve by trying to disinvite Leonard from the wedding. Now, Leonard’s behind bars.

They found his shitty truck, it turns out, and there was evidence in there connected to the burglaries around Mrs. Ruiz’s neighborhood. The cops’ explanation for accusing Leonard is that he’s been arrested for petty theft before, underother names. They wouldn’t say who’d called in the tip.

I didn’t know what was going on until this morning, because they didn’t give Leonard his phone call until then. That’s against the rules, but no one seems to care about those lately.

I’m pacing in Danny and Burke’s apartment. They’re with me, and so is their friend Shane. The only one sitting is Danny, and from what I can tell, he’s only doing it so he can turn around and around in his desk chair. Nerves, probably. I can relate.

Reese is staying with Rafe for a few days, until all of this blows over.

I hope to Christ it blows over. I’m numb, but Delia insisted on sitting with me last night. We drank rose and pretended to watch a movie. Mira had to work, but she texted us anecdotes about the bar every five minutes and didn’t once tell me I was a dumbass.

Nana’s been a nervous wreck too. I’m pretty sure she stayed up all night sewing on that machine Leonard fixed, because this morning she presented me with a lopsided purse. Bertie and Bean already had little bowties affixed beneath their collars. The scratch marks on her hand suggested Bean wasn’t a fan.

“Are you sure he didn’t have anything to do with this?” Shane asks, which makes me feel a kneejerk dislike for him. His outfit doesn’t help his case. It’s hot out, even more so than yesterday evening, but Shane’s got on a button up shirt and chinos, like he was hoping to get called into the office.

Or to bail out his friend, I remind myself. He’s on your side.

Burke gives him a dark look, and Shane lifts his hands. “It had to be asked. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

“No, he absolutely did not,” I say, my voice rising despite my intention to sound cool and collected. “He’s been staying with me and my grandmother for the last week. If any of the crimes happened then, there’s no way he was involved.”

“Could he have snuck away at night?”

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