14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

RICHARD

The way Izel is arching her back, the hunger in her eyes, it’s the non-verbal consent I need to keep going. I can tell she’s enjoying it, and I’m not about to disappoint her. Her body is responding to me.

I press the cold metal of the gun against her clit, making slow, deliberate circles. Her eyes flutter shut, and a low moan escapes her lips. Her hips push forward, seeking more contact, more friction. The need in her movements is undeniable.

“You have no idea how much control I’m using not to destroy you right now, Izel. I could break you, ruin you if I wanted to.”

She breathes out, “Get in line.”

Her response ignites a flare of jealousy within me. How many men has she allowed to dominate her like this? Was it even consensual, or did she revel in the danger and power play? The thought of other men touching her, controlling her, makes my blood boil. But I don’t get to voice these thoughts because she starts gyrating her hips against the gun, lost in her own desperate need for release.

With my free hand, I grip her hip, holding her steady. I lean in close, brushing my lips against the shell of her ear. “When I’m done with you, there won’t be a line left to join,” I whisper.

I press the gun deeper against her clit, then slide it lower, parting her slick folds.

“Oh god,” she whispers, though whether it’s a plea for mercy or for more, I can’t tell.

“Begging already?” I taunt softly. “I thought you were stronger than that.”

“I am strong,” she says. “But you’re making it hard to remember that.”

“Good,” I murmur, pushing the gun slowly, deliberately deeper inside her. The cold metal parting her warm, wet flesh elicits a sharp gasp from her lips, followed by a scream of pleasure that rips through the room.

I hold her hips firmly, controlling her movements as I work the gun inside her, watching her every reaction. Her body quivers, her back arching as she tries to accommodate the intrusion. Her breaths come in ragged, uneven gasps, and I can feel her muscles tightening around the gun.

“Look at you,” I whisper. “You’re acting like you’re enjoying this.”

Her eyes flutter open. “No,” she whispers, but her body betrays her, pushing back against the gun, seeking more. “I hate you.”

“Hate is just a fancy way of saying you’re obsessed with me.”

I push the gun deeper, and her gasp turns into a choked sob. Her body trembles and her hips move instinctively, finding a rhythm, a way to turn the invasive cold into burning pleasure.

She curses me under her breath and starts riding the gun herself. My hand leaves her hips and closes around her throat, squeezing it tightly. Her eyes widen in shock and fear, and the caramel hue of one iris and the glacial blue of the other seem to burn into me. The blood drains from her cheeks, taking away the flush I was so very much enjoying.

“Stop moving your hips,” I warn, but like the brat she is, she starts rolling her hips harder against the gun. I choke her tighter, watching the life drain from her eyes.

“Do you really want to test me?” I whisper. “How do you think you’ll die faster? A bullet tearing through you, or the slow, agonizing burn of your lungs begging for air?”

Her movements still in the face of my threat. I feel her fear, see it in her eyes, and it fuels my desires even more. I control her rhythm now, guiding her with the gun, dictating every thrust, every movement.

“That’s better,” I say with a dark satisfaction. “Now you’re learning.”

I can feel the slickness of her arousal coating the gun, running down its cold metal and into my palm. When I sense she’s about to come I slow down, pulling back a bit, savoring the way she shudders under my touch.

She manages to squeeze out a desperate, “Let me come,” from the chokehold.

“You’ll have to beg for it, baby. Tell me how much you want it,” I order.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she snaps.

“That’s not begging,” I taunt, my grip on the gun tightening. “I want to hear you. I want you to admit how much you want this.”

Izel scoffs. For a moment, she seems to be contemplating letting go of her needs. I can see her weighing the humiliation against the pleasure, trying to decide if it’s worth it.

Sensing her hesitation, I slow down the movement of the gun, teasing her with the barest hint of sensation.

“You’re stronger than this, right?” I continue. “You don’t need to come. You don’t need me.”

Izel’s resolve wavers, and her eyes flutter as she tries to shut out the sensations. I twist the gun slightly, just enough to send a shiver of pleasure through her, and she gasps, her hips twitching involuntarily.

“Fine,” she whispers. “I want it. I need it. I need to come.”

“That’s a start,” I say, resuming the slow, deliberate movement of the gun. “But I want more. I want you to beg.”

“Please, Richard,” she starts. “Let me come. I need it.”

“More,” I demand, pulling the gun out slightly, teasing her, just grazing her entrance.

“Please,” she repeats, louder this time, more urgent. “Please, I need to come. I need you to make me come.”

“Good girl,” I murmur, sliding the gun back in slowly, torturously. Her hips jerk involuntarily, trying to take more of it.

I start moving the gun again, slowly at first, then faster, thrusting it in and out of her. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body arching towards me, chasing the release I’m still holding just out of reach.

“Do you feel that?” I taunt. “Do you feel how close you are? How much you need this?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “Please, don’t stop.”

But I do stop, holding the gun deep inside her, pressing it against her inner walls. I can feel her muscles clenching around it, trying to draw it deeper, trying to create the friction she craves.

“Why did you stop?” she pleads.

“Because I want to hear you beg some more,” I taunt. “Tell me exactly what you want. Be specific.”

I decide to tease her even further. I push the gun slightly back inside her, only to mercilessly pull it out, a wicked tease that has her whining and pleading for more. I repeat the motion, drawing out her desperation.

Her cheeks flush with humiliation, but she complies. “I want you to fuck me with the gun,” she whispers. “I want to come so badly. Please, Richard, fuck me and let me come.”

“Good girl,” I say again, starting to move the gun inside her once more, faster, harder this time.

Her cries of pleasure fill the room, her body writhing against mine as she chases the climax I’ve been denying her. I keep thrusting, watching her, savoring every moment of her surrender.

I can feel how hard I am. My cock throbs with an intensity that’s maddening. But I know Izel wasn’t comfortable with me using my fingers, and I’m certain my cock doesn’t stand a chance. So, for now, I’m content to let her lose herself in the sensations.

“That’s it,” I murmur. “Let go. Come for me.”

Her scream of release is loud and raw, and her entire body is convulsing as the orgasm crashes over her. I keep moving the gun, drawing out her pleasure, making her ride the waves of ecstasy until she’s spent and trembling in my arms.

I pull the gun out slowly, the metal slick with her arousal. I look down at her, her eyes half-closed, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

I bring it to her lips and taunt, “Lick it clean, baby.”

But she’s not one to give in easily, and she’s still refusing to obey. So, I decide to take control once more. I force the gun inside her mouth, and she licks it as commanded.

Fuck, I never thought my service gun could be used like this.

Once we’ve caught our breath, Izel slowly eases herself away from my grip. There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes and her legs wobble slightly from the orgasm she’s just had.

With a sensuous sway of her hips, she walks away. She doesn’t look back, but she knows I’m watching her every move. As Izel walks away, my eyes land on that scar again. It’s like a neon sign, and I can’t ignore it. My curiosity about that mark hasn’t faded, but now it’s mixed with something deeper - a protective instinct that’s screaming at me from within.

My mind spins, wondering what the hell caused that scar, and suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with the need to shield her from any kind of harm. It’s like a primal desire to keep her safe, to make sure she never has to go through the shit that scar represents.

While I stand there, like a dumbass, watching her go back to her room, I’m just left questioning everything. What the hell is it about her that’s messing me up like this? I mean, seriously, it’s like Izel’s got me wrapped around her little finger. What’s she doing to me? One minute, I’m this tough guy, and the next, I’m standing here, feeling this overpowering need to watch out for her. I’m supposed to protect the innocent from her, yet all I want is to protect her from everything.

I’m back in my room, dealing with a raging hard-on that my fist just won’t cut it for. So, I decide to drown myself in work, hoping that the distraction will do the trick.

I grab my phone and dial up Noah, who’s been helping me on this Slasher case. I need an update, but it’s not just about the case. It’s a way to distract myself.

Noah picks up, and I can tell he’s been busy, probably pulling an all-nighter. He gives me the rundown on the Slasher case, and it’s not looking great. There’s no update on who killed Charles or anyone who might have information about the knife used in the Slasher case. Apparently, Charles was the only one dealing in snakewood; nobody else had their hands on it.

As I listen to Noah’s updates, my mind starts to wander. This case has me thinking back to the one I've been obsessing over—the Ghostface Striker. Both cases involve young women in their mid to early to late twenties, and the cities may be different, but that’s one hell of a common thread.

The Slasher had nearly a dozen victims before he just mysteriously stopped. And what’s even more disturbing is that just a few months later, the Ghostface Striker case kicks off. It’s like one sick, twisted serial killer passed the torch to another.

I lean back in my chair and wonder if there’s a connection between these two cases. It’s a thought that’s been nagging at the back of my mind for a while. Is there some kind of network of these psychos? Are they passing on their traditions to each other?

I know I should be concentrating on one case at a time, but this connection can’t be a coincidence.

Izel and I are walking into the Bureau, and she’s still being as difficult as ever. It’s like dealing with a goddamn wildcat, but for some reason, I’m finding it more entertaining than irritating.

She doesn’t want to be here, and she’s not shy about letting the whole world know it. She’s been stubborn from the moment we stepped foot in this place. But I couldn’t just leave her alone, not with all the crazies that seem to be lurking around.

As we’re heading inside, I ponder what it is about this place that rubs her the wrong way. I mean, sure, it’s not the most pleasant spot in town, but it’s where the bad guys get what’s coming to them. Luna and Colton are out at Hollowbrook, dealing with Izel’s medical records and background check.

We’re not saying much as we walk through the halls of the bureau. The tension between us is thicker than a motherfucker, but it’s not entirely unwelcome. It’s like we’re testing the waters, gauging where we stand after last night’s charged encounter.

Finally, I can’t take the silence anymore. I turn to her and say, “You know, you don’t have to be such a hard-ass all the time.”

“What do you want, Richard? A smile and a thank you for bringing me here?”

I chuckle, unable to help myself. “Nah, that’s not your style, is it? But a little cooperation wouldn’t hurt.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smirk on her lips. “Is that your way of saying you want me to play nice?”

I nod, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Fine. I’ll try not to bite anyone’s head off today,” she huffs.

I let out a sigh, realizing I can’t exactly have Izel snooping around my office, as much as I’d like to see the chaos that would ensue.

“Alright, I’d let you in my office, but it’s restricted access, so you’ll have to wait in the waiting room.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but at least she doesn’t curse me out this time. I call that progress. I start to head out, but before I get too far, she calls out, “Hey, Richard!”

I turn around, and she’s holding something out for me. “This came in the mail for you yesterday.”

I take the envelope from her, and it is that same fucking familiar letter. I curse under my breath as I tear it open, scanning the contents. Yep, it’s exactly what I thought—another one of those twisted love letters.

“Everything okay?”

I force a tight smile. “Yeah, just some freak fangirling over me.”

“You sure it’s nothing serious?”

I huff, shoving the letter into my pocket. “I’m sure. It’s probably just some asshole with too much time on their hands. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Izel’s eyes linger on me, like she’s trying to gauge how much of this I’m really brushing off. “Alright, if you say so. Just keep an eye out, okay?”

“I like that you care.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just looking out for my own skin. Last thing I need is a psycho targeting me because of you.”

“Ah, so you’re just being self-preservationist. I see how it is. But seriously, thanks for the concern.”

She waves me off, clearly done with the conversation. “Whatever. Just get going. I’ve got a whole pile of waiting room magazines to ignore.”

“Sounds riveting,” I say, heading for the door.

I walk inside my office and give Emily a nod before closing the door behind me. Through the one-way mirror in my office, I catch sight of Izel. The glass lets me see her while keeping me hidden from her view. She’s pacing back and forth in the waiting room. She’s fuming, and I can almost feel it from behind the glass.

She plops herself down on one of the chairs, and I shake my head. I’ve seen criminals with less attitude.

Emily glances at Izel and smirks. “Trouble?”

I nod, my lips curling into a smile. “You have no idea, Em.”

While we explore the case files, I keep glancing at Izel more than I should. She’s a firecracker, and her presence alone is enough to light up the room. But today, there’s something different about her. Maybe it’s the way the morning light catches her hair, or how her eyes gleam in the light.

Just as I’m in the middle of ogling her, Emily doesn’t miss a damn thing. She leans in and mutters, “You’ve got it bad, Rick.”

“What are you talking about?”

She smirks knowingly, glancing back at Izel. “That smile on your face. I’ve never seen that before. You’re grinning like a fool.”

I realize I’ve been smiling like a lovesick moron, and I quickly wipe it off. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Let’s get back to work.”