Page 59 of Hooked on Trouble

I kiss her wet underwear, and she shudders, gripping the seats to anchor herself. She better hold tight—to the seats, to me, to us. The urge to bury my face in her blurs my mind, a heady haze of love and lust. I move the strip of lace to the side, revealing her, and my dick twitches, my body set to unravel. Palming her ass, I bring her closer and lick her once. Her thighs tense. Her breath catches.

“I like you naughty,” she purrs.

I groan at her admission and tease her with my tongue, slow movements as I taste my fill. I lick; she moves. The heat in my truck climbs to scalding. When she rocks her hips, searching for more—needing it, needing me—I spread her wide and give her exactly what she wants. Show her I’ll always take care of what’s mine. Each suck elicits a mewl. She barely contains her cries.

I could live off this. Pleasing her with my tongue and fingers and my cock, memorizing the clench of her thighs and hitch of her breath when she’s about to come.

The ecstasy on her face.

She sways her hips, small shifts from side to side with a final jerk and hiss when I’m exactly where she wants me. I sink my tongue into her, moving her wetness around, bringing her to the brink. Loving the taste of her. My girl. My woman. Mine to enjoy. Her hand slams onto the roof, her knees gripping my head. I work my tongue faster and suck, pushing her to the edge, until she tips over. My name spills from her lips, her body shaking and boneless. I hold her up until I’ve wrung every last ounce of pleasure from her, then gently cover her with her underwear and adjust her skirt.

She slinks down my body, straddling me. The depths of her dark eyes shine. “I’m pretty sure we can get arrested for that.”

I chuckle, my boldness with Raven surprising even me. “Only if people see us. Maybe you were fogging up the windows so you could clean them.”

She leans down for a kiss, deep and wet, sucking my tongue, tasting herself on me. “Maybe,” she says.

Again, she reaches for my groin, but I stop her. “You should get inside. Rose might come looking for you.”

She wiggles her hips once, killing me, then she pouts. “I hate that I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

“That makes two of us.” Three if you count my raging hard-on.

“It might be a while. I want to spend time with Rose and make sure she feels settled.”

I drag myself up, frustration edging my movements. Maybe my jealousy comment earlier wasn’t so playful. I like having Raven to myself. Making dinner. Talking. Walking on the beach. Not talking. I don’t want to share her.

We scoot out of my car, her cheeks flushed, her bare feet adorable on the pavement. She tugs her skirt down. “I’m happy to fight daily if every apology feels like that.”

“Who says that was an apology?”

“Your tongue did. It begged my forgiveness.”

I pull her to me, my jeans tight as hell. I plan to relive my supplication in detail at home. “Did it work?”

“Like a charm.” She lifts her face to the sky, the sun dropping toward the horizon. It’s warm for September, fall and winter on their way. Soon the days will be shorter. Darker. “But be nice to my sister,” she says. “And be happy for me.”

As a cop, I choose to work the beat. The community, the people—that’s where I belong, where I make the most difference. I see shit every day, good and bad. I’ve learned to question motives and behavior. Listen to my gut. Exactly what Raven’s asking me to avoid. For now I’ll step back. Give her space to get reacquainted with her sister. Her happiness is my priority.

“Done.” I kiss her softly.

Eighteen

Raven

September falls into October in a tumble of days and nights. The cool air is thinner, the leaves sparse, but my life has never been so full. So full, it’s a juggling act keeping afloat amid work, the event business, Nico, and my sister.

I check my watch and pack Sasha’s gear faster; this morning’s photo shoot ran longer than expected. Rose and I planned an afternoon of movie watching, and it’s been a week since I’ve seen my Sexy Beast. Seven days without his big, strong hands on my body. We text and call, but it isn’t the same. And he’s been edgier. Josh’s trial is in two weeks, each day that passes another shadow added under his eyes. There’s been no mention of his brother being cleared. No word of a confession in the works. When I ask about the case, Nico says the bare minimum, more words swallowed than spoken.

Tonight, I plan to give him release.

Sasha leads her client to the door, the pregnant woman glowing from our session. She was shy when she arrived, but Sasha played music and talked softly, and an hour later the woman was naked, lounging on our props like she owned the place.

As I take down the strobe light and umbrella, Sasha returns and helps me pack up. By day, half her apartment serves as her studio; by night, it’s her living room. When we’re done, she stands back and crosses her arms. “I need a favor.”

I run my hand under my bangs, looking forward to the cooler air outside. “Anything.”

“Something’s come up, and I can’t do tomorrow’s shoot.”