Page 44 of Spade

I shrugged. “You tell me.”

She picked up the handcuffs from the bed, weighed them in her hand, then set them on the nightstand.

“Next time, bring some with spikes on them,” she said.

I got dressed, pulled my jacket on over the blood and sweat and cum. My wrists throbbed, my lip pulsed with every heartbeat, and I didn’t care. The world outside felt quieter now, the weight in my chest replaced by something hotter, more dangerous.

I let myself out without saying goodbye, the hallway still empty and waiting.

I stood there much longer than I should have, my mind spinning. I’d missed out on an opportunity with Spade. How many times had I had fantasies running through my head, only to forget them when I was with a woman? Spade wanted a man on the edge. Sure, she was her own woman, but I sensed she wanted something more from a man than a little kinky tryst that ended with her pissing on him.

That was the moment I technically handed in my badge, because I turned around and just as I was about to knock, the door opened.

Spade stood naked, watching me, waiting, waiting for a man on the edge. I moved forward and pushed her back, slamming the door.

She giggled, and that unlocked the man who’d been hiding behind a badge for far too long.

“There’s no stopping, you little cunt,” I said.

“Nobody’s asking you to.”

I pushed her face down into the couch cushion and moved behind her.

“Lube,” she said.

I spat on my dick and shoved it into her ass. She went flat onto the couch, and I followed, my cock driving deeper.

Spade

My whole world flickered red, then white, then absolutely nothing as he rammed into me. The air in my lungs left in one soundless howl, like a tooth punched out; everything below my waist spasmed, then went gorgeously numb. His hands pushed on my shoulders, pinning me down, and I let go of the last lever of control, just for now. The cheap couch burned my skin, every thread prickling alive, and I crawled my fingers into the torn upholstery, so I’d have something left to shred.

I’d been fucked in ways the DSM would have trouble classifying, but this was different. There was no game in it anymore, no performance, no strategy. Just a man who’d finally stopped pretending and a woman who’d stopped waiting.

“Harder,” I managed, and the word came out mangled against the cushion. My ass hurt like a motherfucker, but I didn’t care.

He obliged. The bastard obliged like he’d been saving it for years, like every case he’d ever closed was fuel for this one thing. His cock split me open, dry enough that the friction sparked something electric along my spine, and I bit down on the fabric until I tasted foam.

Then his hand slid under my throat, pulled my head up, and I gasped air that tasted like his skin.

“Look at me,” he said.

I did. The lamp from the bedroom threw his face half in shadow, and his eyes were the kind of flat I recognized—not empty, but full of something he’d stopped naming. His lip was still bleeding, a slow bead working its way down his chin, and without thinking, I twisted my neck and caught it with my tongue.

He shuddered. I felt it travel through his hips into mine, and something inside me cracked open.

“Don’t stop,” I said, and meant it in a way I hadn’t meant anything in a long time.

He shifted, one hand still under my chin, the other braced on the armrest, and changed the angle. The new position dragged him across something inside me that made my vision go bright and then dark, like a camera flash going off behind my eyes. I clawed at the couch, felt the fabric give, felt the cheap stuffing spill under my nails.

“Tell me what you want,” he said. Not a question. A demand.

“Everything.” The word fell out of me before I could catch it. “I want everything you’ve been holding back.”

His laugh was low and rough against the back of my neck. “You sure about that?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He pulled out—slow, deliberate, letting me feel every ridge—and I hissed through my teeth. Then he flipped me onto my back in one motion, my head hanging off the edge of the couch, my hair pooling on the floor. The blood rushed to my face, making my cheeks burn.