Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
"Don't care. You match me just fine. Come on, before my stupid radio goes off."
The walk is quiet. He doesn’t touch me, but his presence is so heavy it feels like protection. A truck slows down beside us, the driver hollering something about leggings and ex-wives.
Colt doesn’t flinch.
“Keep driving,” he says, low and final. “Just my brother. One of them.”
They peel away.
“Brothers?” I ask.
He grunts. “Unfortunately.”
“He seems nice.”
“They’re not.”
At my front steps, I fumble the keys. He catches them. Then his radio buzzes. He listens, jaw tightening.
“Domestic dispute. I have to go,” he mutters, frustration radiating off him.
He grabs my chin gently, forcing my eyes to meet his.
“This is the last time I walk away without coming back the same night.”
Then he’s gone.
Five
Colt
The call’s a waste of time. I settle it in ten minutes and head straight for Mrs. Sherman’s bakery. My dirty secret.
I don’t know what she puts in her cupcakes, but there’s a line out the door of the bakery every morning. A mix of tourists and locals practically salivating and trampling each other to get inside before she’s sold out.
But, I have a secret. She saves one for me every day. Today, it’s vanilla frosting over pink cherry flavored cake and a candied double cherry on top.
Fucking perfect. I take it, leaving her my usual twenty-dollar bill, which she tries to refuse, but inevitable gives in when I tell her if she won’t take the twenty, I’m going to make her take a fifty.
Emery’s lights are off when I pull up. I don’t knock. I walk around the side of her house, reminding myself to make sure the locks on her windows work. She said she just moved back, and I know this place. It was Mrs. Bruner’s place before she moved to Tacoma to be with her son.
It’s a solid, cute little cottage just a few streets off from the center of town, safe, but I need her locked fucking down.
Around the back, a low light is on, I step on the soft grass closer to the window but not so close I’d scare the shit out of her if she saw me.
There she is. The curtain is open just enough.
She’s on her bed. Her body arched, her hand between her thighs. Wearing a t-shirt and nothing else. Her mouth open.
My brain goes off line. My cock is driving the train.
I’m at her back door, snort, okay the rear entry, okay, never mind. I turn the knob and the fucking door opens.
I make a mental note to chastise her for not locking the fucking door, especially when she’s got her hand between her legs, but then doubling down on that making sure I get her a door lock I can control remotely. A whole security system for that matter.
I step inside. Breaking and entering, some might say.
I say, I had probable cause.
My pulse hammers in my temples as I make my way in silence until I’m standing in her fucking doorway.
She’s making these tiny sounds. Part pleasure, part frustration.
I clear my throat.
“Holy shit!” She bounces back against the headboard in one convulsing motion. “Colt! What are you—"
“Don’t stop,” I order, taking two steps forward. “Get that hand down on that pussy.”
She stills, breathing hard.
“Don’t you dare stop, baby girl.”
“I just about had a heart attack.” She shakes her head, pulling at the quilt around her feet, but I reach out and jerk it down.
“You’re putting on a show? Then get to it. I bought my ticket, I want the full Monty, baby.”
“I—I can’t. Not with you watching.”
I put my hand on my sidearm. “Do it.”
Her eyes go round, but a hint of a smile quirks the corner of her mouth. She knows I’m not a danger to her, at least not in that way.
“Lay back down. Keep going.”
She shifts, moves again. Slower now.
I sit at the edge of her bed, place the cupcake box beside me.
“You better be fucking thinking of me.”
She nods.
“Good girl.”
Her fingers work beautifully. Her scent makes my balls feel like they’re full of lead.
But, something is off. She’s tense, her face is tight.
“I—” she turns my way and there’s a sadness in her eyes that makes my damn heart feel like it’s breaking. “I—can’t.”
“What do you mean. You’re doing pretty fucking great from where I’m sitting.”
“No, it’s… I try but I can’t…” She blows out a long breath toward the ceiling, keeping her eyes averted. “Get there.”
“Well, good thing I’m here.” I set the little box down on the end of the bed, reaching up and taking my hat off, putting it on the floor. “You know the law enforcement motto. Protect and serve.”
“Colt—”
“Uh-uh.” I cover her hand with mine. “Daddy. I’m going to help. You lay back. Move your fingers, show me what feels good, I’ll just…help things along.”
She settles, her wet warmth tickling at the sides of my fingers where they mirror hers.