Page 25 of Sinful Fantasy

“Sucks for you.” I use my core strength to sit tall, and reach between my legs with my right hand to wrap my palm around his cock. “Because I do.”

He groans, but works hard to swallow it down. His pre-cum dribbles from the tip and coats my fingers, but still, his stubborn streak remains firm. “I said no, Mayet.”

His eyes on the ceiling are almost comical. His throat, bobbing with the heartbreak he force-feeds himself.

Archer Malone’s love language is fucking. That’s how he finds home again. It’s his comfort. His way of showing emotion. That carnal connection is how he expresses his love, and how he receives it. And for a month now, he’s denied himself.

It would be almost funny, if not for how truly sad it is.

“Minka,” he growls. “I said no. You’re still healing.”

“Then I guess we’re at an impasse.” I place the tip of his dick at my soaked opening, and absorb the feral groan that rumbles through his chest. “I’m saying yes, and though I typically respect your boundaries, today, I’m choosing to ignore them.”

I drop down, and cry out when he fills me to bursting. When his hands jump to my hips and his fingers dig into my skin until it stings, I know I’ve won our battle of wills.

“Fuck,” he slams up high and makes sure I feel him in every part of my being. “I love you, Minka. Shit.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

“You look…” Aubree studies me with narrowed eyes, handing me a to-go cup of coffee on the second floor of the George Stanley building. “Perky.” She tilts her head to the side, suspicious as I bring the cup up to my lips. “Yesterday, you were practically crawling home. Today, you have a pep to your step. After a four a.m. wake-up?”

“Good coffee.” I flash a teasing smile and head to the computer check-in station set up outside the negative-temperature room: aka, a giant fridge. “I love my job. I love my husband.” I sign us in and look up to meet Aubree’s probing stare. “I even love my best friend. Why can’t I just be happy?”

“Four hours ago, you werecontemplating life.” She steps back as I pass, but hurries forward again when she realizes, at the same time I do, that my bad arm is in a sling, and my good hand cradles coffee.

Tugging the heavy glass door open, she allows me space to cross the threshold before following me in and shutting it behind us. “Are you high?”

I snort. “No.” I set my coffee down on a steel countertop that lines one wall of the room, since I shouldn’t have any food or beverage in here anyway, then moving to John Doe’s compartment, I yank it open and reveal the black bag we zipped him into yesterday afternoon. “It would be wildly inappropriate to come to work while under the influence of mind-altering drugs. I am mostly pain-free,” I qualify, since Ididtake pain meds, “but I’m not high.”

“So you got laid, then?” She sets her coffee near mine and strolls across to stand on the body’s other side. “What must it be like,” she laments, “to bed a Malone.”

“It’s good.” I can’t help the grin that crosses my face, even though it gives me away to the woman who wants so badly to let Timothy Malone pull her hair.

Shaking my head, I unzip the bag and study my John Doe’s passive expression. His eyelids are closed, shielding the missing organs. His lips, also closed, hide the missing teeth and mutilated tongue. Bruises and lacerations mark his cheeks and brow, but if you look past those, you could almost appreciate the peacefulness that comes in death.

But because we’re still talking about sex, I glance up and meet Aubree’s eyes. “There’s nothing like banging a Malone. I strongly suspect they all do it differently, but I have no desire to experience the others, so I can only speak for the one I have. And the one I have is amazing.” I smirk and look down again, ready to get to work. “Now let’s get this body to Autopsy Room One and start from the beginning. I wanna treat it like a brand-new case. Top to toe. Let’s see what we find.”

“Fine.” Huffing, like my request is unreasonable, she re-zips the black bag and tugs the drawer out as far as it goes. “And just so we’re clear, I didn’t get back to sleep after your phone call.” She frees John Doe from his enclosure and preps a stretcher for transport upstairs. “I’ve been awake since four-thirty today because of you. But I didn’t get to have sex to take away the sting.”

“Too bad.” I head to the steel table and pick up both cups of coffee. Carrying hers is my contribution to our friendship today. “Idid. And now I feel super energized. Let’s go.”

I shove the frosted glass door open with my good shoulder and hold it wide so Aubree can push the stretcher through. Then, when she’s clear, I head to the elevator and elbow the call button to bring it down to us.

“Tim’s been a little more friendly lately, don’t you think?” I move into the elevator when it opens, and wait for Aubree to push the two-hundred-plus-pound body in after me, then I elbow the button for the ninth floor. “It wasn’t all that long ago that he was sayinghell no, stay away, don’t tempt me or I’ll crumble and bang you into next Thursday.”

Unimpressed—a fun role reversal for us—she side-eyes me as the doors close and the elevator ascends. “He’s never mentioned banging me into any day of the week, let alone a Thursday. He’s being nicer and all that, but he’s not making a move. So…”

“So what?” I scowl and extend my arm when the doors open on our floor.

Once she pushes the bed out—which she does without finishing her previous thought—I follow her all the way to the glass door that reads ‘Autopsy Room One’. But I don’t go further than the threshold, once more opening the door, because coffee in one of these rooms is absolutelynot allowed. And I can’t possibly scold my staff for their crimes if I don’t follow the same rules.

“Set him up inside, and then come out here to finish having coffee with me,” I tell her. “Then we’ll get started. While we’re pre-gaming, I’ll tell you about how I think you should maybe make a move. Tim is one strategic crotch-grab away from tearing your clothes off. Do what you’ve gotta do, Aubs. Put us all out of our misery.”

She rolls her eyes and wheels the bed deeper into the room, then kicks the brakes to keep it where it’s supposed to be. Brushing her hands on her pants, she straightens her back and studies me from across the sterile space. “He knows what I want, Mayet. I’ve made a move so many times, it’s embarrassing. At this point, I’m kinda done chasing. Maybe he’s right.” She strolls back over to me and accepts her coffee as I step out of the way and let the door swing shut between us and our patient. “Maybe it’s just not a good fit, ya know?” Thoughtful, she meanders toward the small coffee station in the middle of our workspace.

Every office on this floor, every utilized space except the bathrooms, is surrounded by glass walls, which means we can keep an eye on our John Doe while passing by the mysteriously broken coffee machine, and still watch over the few of my staff working on a Sunday and hating it as much as Aubree does.

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