Chapter 10

The fear I'd been feeling since Dillon had come back from town three days before with the news that Alex had been lingering around Maria's café like a bad smell had since dissipated into a general anxiety. I'd used his house phone to call the market and give them a general overview of what was going on. Thankfully, Alison had been the one to answer the phone, which had been a relief since Dillon had gotten rid of my only way to contact her, and he hadn't had her number. I'd written it down and promised that I would keep her posted, and Dillon had promised to text her a picture of Alex so that she could be our discreet extra eyes in town.

After three days of staying inside and not doing anything but sleep, eat, and read—accompanied by the few words that he and exchanged and the few glances that I was able to sneak in his direction when I thought he wasn't looking—I was just about ready to jump out of my skin with boredom. I'd never been this inactive in my life, and it was starting to have a clear effect on my mentality.

I put my book down on the end of the couch and got up, stretching my arms over my head and looking over to the desk where Dillon was typing away at his keyboard, fully absorbed in his work. A quick look over at the clock told me that it was six, which meant that he would be stopping any second.

Right on cue, he reached up to rub his eyes, and I figured it was as good a time as any to make my request. I walked over to the desk and waited for him to look up at me. The tired smile that lit up his face made my heart skip a beat, and I waited anxiously to find it again.

"If I give you some cash, would you mind running an errand for me in town?"

He blinked tiredly at me for a second before shaking his head. "Not at all. What do you need?"

I didn't hesitate as I said, "A bottle of vodka. Grey Goose if you can find it."

His hand froze mid-motion as he ran it through his hair. "Excuse me?"

"I'm starting to go a little stir-crazy. I probably wouldn't go to a bar anyway, but now that I don't have the option, I'm suddenly feeling the need to get out and do it."

He opened his mouth, and I hurried to cut him off. "I'm not going to, which is why I'm asking you to go get the alcohol. I just need to cut loose a little bit."

He looked at me for a good minute before getting out from behind his desk and going over to the cabinet nestled behind one of the barstools. My mouth dropped open when I saw how many bottles he had back there and how many seemed to be mostly full.

"No vodka, unfortunately. I have whiskey, tequila, or bourbon. You're welcome to any of them, or I can still go get you vodka if you really want it."

I looked into his liquor cabinet, taking a quick inventory of what he had there before reaching out for the bottle of Jameson. "No need. This'll do just fine."

I pulled out two glasses before going to the freezer and putting two ice cubes into my glass before turning back to the man standing in the corner of the room and staring at me with a raised eyebrow. "Do you take yours neat or on the rocks?"

"Who says I'm having any?"

"Me. I hate drinking alone." I poured two fingers of whiskey into two glasses and handed him the one without ice. "Unless… are you sober?" I asked, horrified that I might've just messed with someone's recovery, some therapist I was.

"No. God no. I hate drinking alone too, and there hasn't been anyone around to drink with in…" He blew out a puff of air. "Years." He reached out for the glass. "Come to think of it, this is a pretty damn good idea."

"I've been known to have them in my time." I held out my glass to his. "To weird-ass circumstances."

He chuckled. "To twists of fate." We clinked our glasses and sipped, holding each other's gazes as we drank. The warm, smokey taste of the whiskey flooded my belly with the heat I'd been after for the last couple of days. I went over to the couch and sat, pulling my legs up under my butt and taking another sip as I fixed my gaze on Dillon, who still leaned against the counter with his eyes on me.

"You gonna come sit, or are you gonna hover like a mother hen?"

He took another gulp of whiskey before coming over and taking a seat on the other end of the couch, folding one leg over the other with affected casualness. I did my best to keep my breathing even, making sure not to let him see what an effect he had on me.

"So tell me," I said, keeping my eyes off him as I spoke, studying the color of my drink, "why police work?"

He snorted. "You don't let up, do you?" he asked as he took another sip of whiskey.

"Never have, never will."

He shook his head and looked back at me, entertained. "My uncle worked long hours in town, and I would go spend afternoons after school with this lady, Mrs. Nielson. She was the one who taught me how to cook. As I got older, I started spending more time with her husband. He was the sheriff."

"Did your uncle have anything to say about that?"

"He was happy and said I could spend as much time as I wanted at the police station, as long as I was on the right side of the glass."

I chuckled. "He sounds like quite a guy."

"Yeah, he was." He raised his glass to his lips and took another sip of his drink. "He always did right by me."

The way he said it made me think that someone hadn't always done right by him, and my immediate inclination was to push for more information… but I didn't want him to shut down on me again.

"How long were you a cop for?"

His muscles locked up a little bit, but he forced himself to relax. "About twelve years. I made detective after four."

My eyes widened. That was insanely fast to make detective. He had to be incredibly good at what he did. So to turn around and give it up…

"What about you?" he asked. "You said your mom and dad divorced."

"Yeah. My mom raised me after that." We were quiet for a second as we continued to sip our drinks. "You know, your accent isn't as strong as I would've expected it to be for growing up here."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You disappointed?"

"No. It's cute."

Whoa. Where had that come from?

"Yours is cute too," he said without missing a beat before draining his glass.

"I'm from LA. I don't have an accent."

"Of course you do," he said, fixing his gaze on me. "And it's a pretty damn cute one."

"Is it?" I asked. I knew I was walking a dangerous line, but the alcohol was making me bolder than I normally would have been.

"Yeah." He set the glass down on the coffee table and turned to face me fully. "It's not the only thing either."

I couldn't help asking, my voice pitched low, "Like what?"

His mouth twisted into a smirk. "Like your mouth. How you suck on your bottom lip right before you start ranting."

My eyes widened. He'd been watching me closely.

"And your skin. You have the most perfect skin I've ever seen. I've been wondering for days whether it's as soft as it looks."

I swallowed hard. "You want to find out?"

He held my gaze for what felt like forever as he hooked his hand around my ankle. "I'm dying to."

I didn't say anything. My heart was beating so hard that I felt like it might actually pop out if I tried talking.

"Macy." His voice was low as he let go of me to come closer to me, hovering over my body with a foot of space between us. It felt like not enough space, and too much all at the same time. "What do you want me to do? Ask for it."

"I want you to do… whatever you want."

He shook his head, backing away. "Not gonna work. You're either gonna ask for it, or it's not gonna—"

He didn't get the last words out before I lunged forward, catching his lips with mine.

He didn't hesitate at all, just pulling me on top of him as if he'd been waiting for this since I'd first wound up on his doorstep and the five days since had just been an insanely long foreplay session.

I opened my mouth, sighing a breath into his. He took the invitation, sliding his tongue over my own. I sucked on his bottom lip, relishing the taste of him, a hint of whiskey and something warm and musky that I'd never had before.

I brought my hands around to the collar of his shirt, reaching for the top button, but he stopped my hand. He gave me a last little kiss before pulling away, laughing a little at my moan of protest.

"I want you in my bed," he said, his words breathless. From the way the sentence ended and how he kept my hands from any more exploring, I knew exactly what he was telling me without saying the words: this was my choice. Everything was my choice.

"Then take me to your bed right now," I said, more forcefully than I'd intended. "Please."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, chuckling as he stood up, hiking one of my legs around his waist so I was tightly wrapped around him. I brought the other leg up and focused on kissing him even harder, reaching down to pull off the black tank top I was wearing.

"No," he said into my lips as he practically ran with me down the hallway, slipping his hand up under my shirt and caressing my skin. I groaned as I felt his cock stir under his jeans and press up against me.

In his room, he set me down on the bed and wasted no time reaching for the hem of my shirt, almost ripping it in his hurry to get it over my head. He stood back at the sight of me, groaning as he took me in.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," I said archly, reaching for his shirt and hurriedly unbuttoning it. He started at the bottom so we worked faster and reached down to kiss me when our hands met.

"It's been too long. I need a refresher," he said, stepping back again. He bit his lips in mock confusion. "Hang on, there's something wrong."

I looked down, confused, before he leaned forward and tugged my leggings down in one easy, fluid motion, landing on his knees in front of me. He ran two hands slowly up my thighs, one of his fingers sliding under my panties. I moaned as it settled at my entrance, his other hand going around to hook around my ass.

"Can I find out if you taste as good as you feel?" he said, pressing his face into my navel as he pushed his finger into me and laying kisses across my belly.

"Uh-huh," I said, breathless.

I felt him grin against my skin as he lowered my panties and pushed my legs further apart, taking a deep inhale of my musky scent. I looked down to see him exploring my inner thighs with a thorough focus, continuing to tease my entrance with little grazing touches that were making me crazy.

Finally—finally—he leaned forward to put his tongue directly on my clit and pushed his finger deep inside of me at the same time, and I almost came right then. He kept going, not letting up as he worked his tongue back and forth over my pussy, licking me in long slow strokes. All the while, his finger kept up a steady rhythm inside of me, pressing up against the front wall and hitting my G-spot. He eased another finger into me, and I almost sobbed at the fullness, melting into him.

"Come for me, Macy," he said into my skin, pressing his finger into exactly the right spot.

What else could I do? I was already there. I pressed his head into me, moaning as the shocks started rippling over my skin, shattering me as I fell headfirst over the edge.

He came up off his knees and climbed onto the bed so I was lying under him. I reached for his belt, working so fast that I almost ripped the sturdy denim as I pulled it off him. His cock was straining impressively against his boxers, and I took a second to hold it through the fabric, marveling at its size as I palmed it.

He moaned, pushing my hand away. "I won't last if you keep doing that."

I ignored him, reaching down and pushing his boxers off him with my hands and feet until he was completely exposed. Under him, I parted my legs and aligned us so that he was poised at my entrance. "Then go. Now."

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss me as he eased into me.

It had been a while, and even though I'd just come harder than I ever had, he was still better endowed than any of my other partners had been. I groaned at the fullness as he pushed, seeming to press so deep that I thought we might never separate.

When he was all the way inside me, I hooked one of my feet around him, opening myself even more to him and groaning as he thrust up at the invitation.

His cock seemed to hit that deep, essential part of me every time, and I moaned in response, curling my fingers so my nails pressed into his back. Too much. There was so much intense feeling here, with the taste of me on his tongue, the feel of him inside of me.

He grabbed one of my hands and laced our fingers together, bringing my hand up so that it was pressed into the mattress. With the other, he turned us so that we lay on our sides, getting a new angle so that he could press even deeper into me. I cried out a little bit at the feeling, and he kept going, setting a deep, intense rhythm that I did my best to match.

"Dill—Dillon," I said, his name coming out strangled, "I'm—I'm gonna—"

"Yes, baby," he groaned into my mouth, not stopping. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you."

"I—"

The words didn't come. They were lost in the shattering light and color behind my eyes as I fell over the edge a second time, this one even more intense. In the fog, I felt him thrust a few more times, even deeper, before freezing inside of me. I reached up, holding him there as he came, spilling into me.

He rolled onto his side, pulling me with him so I was on top of him. I couldn't help running my hands over him, meeting his stare with a goofy smile as he ran his hand over my back in return.