16. Grayson

Grayson

B oth hands are firmly planted on the wheel as we drive down the freeway. Thankfully, most of the traffic has dissipated since it's around noon. We're making good time.

After eating her donut and teasing me with the carrot—oddly arousing, by the way—Maggie starts making calls. She sounds so professional on the phone, but I'm still finding it hard not to picture her in those Spiderman pajamas. I wonder if she had to special order them? I mean, stores don't typically have adult sizes for such childish clothing.

A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth when she finally hangs up her last call. She tosses the phone onto the floor and huffs out a long breath. "You know, I hate doing that. You owe me."

"For doing your job?" I tease. She shoves at my bicep with a grin.

"Yes. It was awful. Don't make me do it again." She leans her head back on the seat and rubs at her temples like she just solved world hunger. "Harry says the Navy isn't happy, but they'll let us on. They also say there's no way a gang member got onto their base."

"Really? Greg's contact seemed very sure." I'm not sure how he got the information, but it's the FBI. I'll trust their judgment in this regard. Finding people is something they excel at, getting them into prison, not so much. They followed our family around for years before I finally gave them what they needed. If Maggie was in charge, she probably would have had me booked a decade sooner.

"They said there's a safe zone. No personal watercraft can get within a couple of miles of the island. They'd be shot on sight."

"Hmm," I say, half listening. I'm contemplating what she might have been wearing underneath those pajamas. Probably something lacy, or maybe even nerdy underwear. She seems like someone who enjoys a lot of hobbies but is all woman underneath.

Definitely lacy. My cock twitches in my pants, and I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.

"Earth to Gray. Did you hear me?"

"No, sorry. I was, erm, thinking."

"I can tell; your little forehead gets all wrinkled and serious," she says with a laugh. "I asked if I could put on some music."

I nod, and she connects her phone to the stereo. Soon, I'm bombarded with lyrical pop that makes my ears want to bleed.

Then she starts singing along, her voice light and on key. The things it stirs in me are strange, an odd mix of admiration and lust. Her slender throat hums and caresses each word. It's like she's making love to the song. Her tongue forming sounds with expert precision.

I wonder how it would feel against my dick.

"You're frowning again," Maggie says when the song finishes. "Not a pop fan?"

"Not usually. I like the news."

She scoffs. "No one likes the news. It's depressing as hell." Another song starts, and she perks up. This one is an indie rock song. "Oh, I love this one."

God, I'm completely hard just from her singing. I clear my throat. "Erm, Maggie. Can we switch it off for a bit?"

She stops belting out a high note. "No way! Just listen to the words, Gray. Long lost lovers, back in each other's arms. It's beautiful." She picks up right where she left off, and I want to slap myself in the face.

When the next song comes on, she squeals. This one is a rap number, and her face turns serious as she joins in, matching the quick words without missing a beat. "What mix is this? You have pop, then depressing crooning, and now hip hop."

"My 'Get fucked' mix. I listen to it before going undercover usually, but it seems like you need it." I'm going to die. She cannot say the word fucked around me. Ideas pop into my head. Dangerous ideas. Images of Maggie beneath me, writhing, or hell, singing.

"Maggie, this is driving me crazy."

"Ah, loosen up, Grayson." She grabs one of my hands and waves it around as she raps out a series of complicated licks.

I smile. "Some might consider this distracting the driver. Isn't that a crime?"

"Just keep your eyes on the road, babe. I'll do all the dancing for us." Babe? Yes, I like that. I've never been so thoroughly turned on by a woman just... being herself. When the next series of lyrics is particularly dirty, I start laughing.

She drops my hand and crosses her arms. "What's so funny, Mr. Cardenas?"

"Oh Maggie, if I could only describe it."

"Try," she deadpans.

"Hearing a woman that wears Spiderman pajamas say words like pussy and ass, it just confuses me." I lower my voice at the vulgar words, but Maggie laughs.

"And hearing a mob boss shy away at those words is just as confusing." I start to correct her, but she catches herself. "Sorry, former mob accountant."

I raise a single finger up as if to say ‘bingo.' She turns the music back up and continues singing everything that comes on until my phone rings.

I hand her the device. "Lori?" she asks, her eyebrow raised.

"My in-law, she has George. It's about time he would come home from daycare."

Maggie answers it immediately. "Hey Georgie!" she says excitedly.

"Miss Maggie? Where's daddy?" he asks.

"Oh, he's driving us somewhere. How was daycare?"

George starts talking so fast, I can hardly understand. I hear words like dinosaur and poop. Maggie is laughing as he speaks, and I feel my heart further melt into my shoes.

"That's awesome, except the kid pooping his pants. Gross." She scrunches her nose adorably and my chest tightens even more. "By the way, your daddy showed me the Batmobile. It's waiting for you and me to keep working on when you get back."

"But daddy said you weren't coming over anymore," he says, disappointment lacing his tone. I frown. At the time, I thought it was the right move, but now, I'm wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

"Did he?" Maggie shoots me a scowl. "Well, he was wrong. As soon as you're home, I'm coming over, and we'll stay up all night finishing it."

"Really?" George asks.

"Yes. We can watch the Lego Batman movie and get Bat Boogers for dinner."

I flinch. "Bat boogers?" I mouth to her.

Maggie flashes me a smile. "Don't harp on them till you try them, Gray. Bat Boogers are delicious burgers with batman-shaped pickles."

More chest flutters. Am I having a heart attack? With a smile so big on my lips, that's probably not it. Enchanted. That's what is happening to me. This woman is casting some sort of magical spell over me. She's creative, and beautiful, and so good with my son.

"Okay, Georgie, I have to go. I think your daddy and I need to talk. Plan the party for when you get home." She winks at him before turning the camera my way for a quick goodbye.

He says he loves me, but with a hint of disappointment in his voice, and we hang up.

"Grayson," Maggie starts.

"You're looking for an apology?" I ask. My tone is too sharp, but I know that's what she wants. In fact, it's what I want too. To explain to her that I took out my frustrations on the wrong person.

"Do we need to do that? I think it's clear I've buried the hatchet," she says.

"I suppose we don't need to spell out our specific regrets," I say and switch lanes. The car is quiet as I contemplate my next words carefully. "And anyway, I've thought about them, obsessed over them even, for the last four days."

"Sounds serious."

"My scotch supply is dangerously low."

She barks out a laugh. "I tried alcohol last night as a self-medication. Not a fan."

"Hangover?" I ask and she nods. Damn, if she looks this good while battling alcoholic regrets, I wonder what an hour of primping after a good night's sleep would look like. I can picture it perfectly. Maggie slipping an earring on, a dress hugging her body, heels strapped tight around her ankles. Getting ready in my house for a date night. Trying to leave and Georgie begging her for just one more bag of LEGO's.

"I can stop for food if that would help."

"Oh I know. I might be a terrible drinker, but trust me, I know all the tricks to curing a hangover. Your donut was the icing on the cake this morning, literally." The car descends into silence again. I adjust my hands on the wheel.

"I'm really sorry, Maggie. I didn't mean…what I said." I almost add that it was the best kiss of my life and I think about it daily, but that might be going a little bit far.

"I thought we weren't doing this."

"I'm bad with directions," I say, withholding my grin.

"And yet, you're the one driving," she says with an eyeroll. Her gaze shifts out the window, and for a while, we quietly sit with my apology. "I'm sorry too," she whispers. Her voice is filled with emotion that tugs at my heart.

I clear my throat. "So, you were quite the party animal then?" I ask because someone needs to break the tension.

"Hardly," she scoffs and then chuckles. "Why?"

"You said you know all the hangover tricks. That usually comes from wild college days."

"Oh," she says, and her cheeks flush. "Uh, no. That is actually because of my parents. Dad mostly." I can read between the lines. Her dad was an alcoholic. When I'm silent too long, she lolls her head back. "Stop. Childhoods suck, all around. I'm sure yours wasn't all mob scouts and cupcakes."

"It certainly wasn't. Not that it matters now."

"Exactly. Just repress, and it goes away, right?" she laughs. Like any of this is funny. I don't return the amusement. Thinking of her being anything less than perfectly cared for is breaking my heart a little. "But I had Jade for a while. Hanging out with her was always fun. When our parents had their falling out, I was devastated."

"Jade is…?" Our exit is ahead, and I put my blinker on before getting over into that lane.

"My cousin. We were thick as thieves for a while. Of course, my dad ruined that. His brother, her dad, wrote us off after that." She stares out the window again, and I swear I see a tear fall. I can't take the sight of her upset. My hand lowers off the steering wheel and slinks over to her thigh. As soon as it touches, her hand reaches over and takes mine, twining our fingers together. I feel her squeeze hard before she speaks again. "We talk now, though. She's the one that owns the adult arcade."

"I'd love to see that. Does adult mean, uh, naughty things?" I hate that my cheeks heat at the word naughty. Like I'm some sort of teenage boy caught with his hand on a dirty magazine.

She barks out a loud laugh, her voice filled with mirth as she says, "No, Grayson. It just means normal arcade games for adults with beer. Nothing naughty about it."

We've reached the Embarcadero parking lot, and I pull into a spot. I shut the car off and turn in my seat. We stare at each other for a few blinks. "About what you said to my son," I start. She swallows and nods for me to continue. "As much as I would love to have you over when he's back—"

"I accept. End of discussion," she says with a perky smile. I swear her grip on my hand tightens. I open my mouth to tell her it's not a good idea. Even when things are calmed down, I am still a dangerous person to be around. Especially for a police officer.

Her face registers some hurt as she takes in my expression, but she quickly shakes her head. "I'm a detective, Grayson. I'm not afraid."

I reach over and touch her chin. "You should be, Maggie. You should run far away from me and my fucked-up life."

Her breathing grows shallower. "Why do you care? I'm just a cop."

I smile, a sad realization washing over me. I care deeply for Maggie. In ways I've never let myself imagine were possible again. Picturing her in my life, in my future, it's special. The kind of connection I'd always wished for with my wife. "You're not just a cop to me."

"What am I?" she asks. I almost make a joke about her being in the middle of an existential crisis. Now's not the time for my ill-placed sense of humor.

I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss the back of her knuckles, never breaking eye contact. "You're what comes after a hurricane," I say softly and kiss her next knuckle. "The calm and breeze, kissing away the memory of destruction." Another peck on her hand. "The colors that break out when the world has only had gray for days."

Her breathing is shaky as she absorbs my corny lines. But they weren't lines at all. I feel those things deep within me and now that they're out there, I don't even wish I could take them back.

For a split second, her eyes widen. Then she lunges across the center console, colliding her mouth with mine.

A tiny whimper of shock works through me before I throw my hands around her. With a single move, I release her ponytail, and her auburn hair spills over us. Her palms land on my chest, but other than fingers tangling into her gorgeous locks, I remain still, afraid to move and break the moment. All the reasons I should push her away disappear; I can only think of her. How she smells, that damn intoxicating scent of citrus, or how her swollen lips feel on mine.

But Maggie has other plans. With fumbling movements, she unlatches her seatbelt and shoves it away. With all the grace of being in a tiny car, Maggie fumbles in her seat, then grips onto the steering wheel to climb over the middle.

Realizing what she's doing, I push the button to scoot the chair back. The motor whirs, agonizingly slow, but finally, Maggie slots into my lap like she belongs there.

Her hands land on either side of my face, and she stares into my eyes. "That's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever heard, Grayson." I chuckle and kiss her neck, sucking on the skin. "Then I guess…" I palm her breasts and let out a loud moan before I can find the rest of my sentence. "That book on pick-up lines works."

Her head falls back in a cackle. I laugh with her before we crash together again, getting tangled up, the entire car swaying with our movements. Maggie's tongue teases along my lips, and I open up, letting her in. She presses against me harder, chests rubbing against chest. My cock strains in my pants, begging to be let free.

Everything this woman has, I find myself wanting. I want her body, her mind, her laugh, her soul. The car is far too small for all I need to do.

My longing builds as our tongues dance together, and a low guttural growl hums out. She moans like she wants me even more than I want her. Maggie's hands leave my body, but only to start removing her blazer. I help with jerky movements, shoving it down, off her shoulders, then move to the buttons on her blouse.

I grow frustrated with the tiny things and end up ripping down the middle. Buttons fly everywhere. Her beautiful chest is exposed between the sides of her shirt. I can't help myself; I stop and look down.

A beautiful pink lacy bra, the fabric sheer over her skin. "You wore this to torture me," I mumble through my panting. My thumb drifts over the nipple. I want to taste them. With my mouth. Over and over again. She moans again and closes her eyes.

"I wore it for you, Grayson. I haven't stopped thinking of you since we kissed."

I groan as I suck on her neck, pinching the beaded nipple in my fingers, but she keeps talking. "Thinking of you in the shower, in my bed, at my computer, at work."

She arches her back, pressing her heat against my hard cock, rocking the car back and forth with her movements. "How many times I moaned your name late at night," she says, then leans forward. Right against my ear, she whispers, "Grayson."

That's it. I need to feel her, need to hear my name on her lips again. My hand slinks down, down, down, her body. Shaking, I undo her pants with a flick and plunge my hand inside them.

"Grayson," she says again when I touch her soaked pussy.

"You're so fucking wet, Maggie." I swirl my fingers once around her clit before hooking my hand up. Maggie lets out a yelp of pleasure the moment I'm inside her. "You like that, Maggie?" She whimpers out a breathy yes, then bites her bottom lip. The sight is so erotic, I growl as I thrust my fingers deeper. "Ride me, Maggie. Ride my hand."

She's moving up and down against my lap, fucking herself on my hand, and I let her take the lead. This pleasure is solely for her; mine is seeing her get it. "Gray! Yes, right there!" she belts out like a singer on her last note of a concert.

My fingers are choked by her pussy growing tight. She's barely moving now, her mouth open in a silent 'o'. "That's it, Maggie. Come for me." My dick is crying, pleading with me to not forget about him. But I don't give a fuck. Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, my mind screams. She deserves this, and I'm going to be the one to give it to her.

Her mouth bites onto my shoulder, stinging even through my clothes. I thumb her clit, and she lets out a gasp, "Oh fuck! Yes, Grayson, I'm coming! I'm coming. I'm…" her voice trails off as her legs begin to shake. I need that. To capture that ecstasy. I crush our mouths together, and she sighs into me, her tongue languid as she rides through her orgasm on my hand.

With a final sigh, she pulls back. "Holy shit, Grayson." She smacks my arm. "Why didn't we do that right away?" I'm chuckling as I press a quick kiss to her lips. "It wouldn't have been that good if we hadn't waited." But even as I say it, I feel eyes on me. Someone probably saw all of this. It's the middle of the day in a busy parking lot.

I quickly withdraw my hand from Maggie's pants and push her back in a flustered panic. Her back hits the steering wheel, setting off the horn with a loud honk. She jumps at the noise but then giggles, the sound light and carefree. She's still on my lap, her pants undone, when my cousin taps on the window. I try to wave her away, but she motions for me to roll it down. With a heavy sigh and an eye roll, I lower the window just a crack.

"What?" I snap.

"Oh my god, Gray!" she exclaims, her broad smile only making my already flushed face burn hotter.

I roll the window down a bit more, feeling the embarrassment rise further when I notice the fogged-up glass. "Go away, Andy," I say, trying to sound stern. She just laughs harder and swings the door open.

"No. Your boat's leaving in twenty minutes, and Roger still isn't here."

I groan as Maggie climbs off my lap and back into her own seat, quickly fastening her pants and straightening her blazer.

"Fine. I'll call him. Can we get a moment?" I ask, trying to regain some composure.

"That's all you need?" Miranda teases with a smirk, then glances at Maggie. "Sorry about that."

"Mind your business, Andy," I grumble, wiping my hand on a napkin from the door. Ashamed doesn't even begin to cover how I feel. I should have taken Maggie somewhere proper, made love to her the way she deserves. Doing this in a car feels too cheap for someone like her. But I'm also going to have a word with my nosy cousin about boundaries.

After a quick adjustment of my pants to hide the evidence of our heated moment, I step out of the car. Maggie tucks in her shirt, buttons her blazer to cover the missing buttons, and joins me.

She smiles at me across the car as she smooths her hair. "I'm good. Ready?" she asks, her voice calm and collected.

I nod, and the three of us start walking toward the Sanderson Tours building.