the television and seeing you with Emerson, like I said. I misread the situation.”
“Felt what?” he pressed, in a low gravelly voice.
“It would seem something I shouldn’t have.”
Silence followed. Nothing, he gave me nothing. Temper rose up to meet hurt. “Goodbye, Kade,” I waited, still nothing, so I hung up, dropped my phone on the sofa, felt the fucking tears again, but refused to let them fall. I turned off the television and the lights and went to bed.
I didn’t know what woke me, but then I heard the knock. Glancing at the clock, it was after three in the morning. I climbed from bed, grabbed my gun and moved to the door. Peeking out, Kade was standing there.
I didn’t even think, unlocking and opening the door, because I was still working on why the hell Kade was at my door at three in the morning. Then I saw his face. He was pissed. He stepped into my apartment, closed and locked the door behind him. I stood in my tank and boy shorts, my gun forgotten in my hand, staring at Kade Wakefield in my little apartment.
“We didn’t finish our conversation.” His voice was deceivingly soft.
“It didn’t seem like we were having one.”
“What did you feel?”
“Why do you care?” I wasn’t trying to be flippant, but the man had to give me something.
There was that knot at his jaw. “I took Emerson to the ballet because if you’re right about your theory, I’m being watched, too.”
It took me a minute to process those words because I was still on the fact that he was in my apartment. Then the words settled and some of the lust faded. I hadn’t thought of that, but he was right. Anyone connected to the project was likely being watched.
“And it wouldn’t do for anyone to know that a certain homicide detective has gotten under my skin, that I can’t go a day…” He moved and not controlled, like usual, but restless, like a caged tiger. “Fuck, I can’t go an hour without thinking about your taste and how I want more of it.” He stopped pacing and looked me right in the eyes, his own looking like the calm before the storm. “I fucking want you, Molly Donahue, and I don’t want anyone knowing just how much.” He stepped right into my personal space. “Because that puts you at risk.”
Oh my God. My whole body felt those words. My mouth opened, without the command from my brain, and answered his original question. “I felt home.”
His fingers curled around my gun. He took it from my numb hand and put it on the table, and then he was on me. My tank was off and his mouth was on my breast, his tongue playing with my nipple, before he sucked that hard peak into his mouth
“Yes,” I moaned, my hands working off his shirt.
My panties followed. He lifted me, dropped me on the sofa. His hands moved under me, cupping my ass, lifting me to his mouth. He sucked on my clit, before sinking his tongue deep into me.
“Oh my God.”
The roughness of his five o’clock shadow on my inner thigh combined with what his mouth was doing had me writhing under him. His head lifted, hot eyes stared at me, as he pushed two fingers into me, curled them and hit that sweet spot. He sucked on my clit, and it was too much, the orgasm crashed over me. He didn’t stop, tasting me with a thoroughness that had a second orgasm following the first. Then I was up, in his arms, as he carried me to my bedroom. He dropped me to my feet. I worked on his shirt, pulling it down his arms. My hands moved back up those arms, enjoying the hard muscle under the smooth skin, down his chest, over his abs, taking my time to explore each muscle in his six-pack. My fingers shook, as I worked the button on his trousers, his focus never leaving my face. I pushed his trousers and briefs down his legs, my focus shifting to his cock. My clit pulsed; a new wave of heat pooled between my thighs. His cock was thick and long, and god, I wanted him inside me. Fisting the base, I tongued the tip, before I drew him into my mouth. He moaned, as I sucked him deeper. I was just getting into a rhythm when he dragged me up his body, his mouth slamming down on