A Dirty Business (Kings of New York #1)(102)

I cocked an eyebrow. “You texted earlier. Said you wanted to meet.”

“Not in my own house.”

“Your mother’s.”

She came down the last few steps, putting her gun away. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.” Fine. She wanted to fight. So did I!

I needed it because this last month was bullshit.

I got in her face. “Where were you?”

“Wha—” She faltered, stepping back. “I’m having the locks changed. And what are you talking about?”

“The raid. Where were you?”

“Did Ashton not tell you?”

“I know what he did, and believe me, I am not happy about that, either, but during the raid, where were you?”

“I was tipped off.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Christ. I wanted to fuck her.

I wanted to grab her, turn her around, press her against the post, and sink my dick inside of her until I didn’t come out until next week. Instead, I lowered my head so I was three inches from her, and I asked it again. “Where the fuck were you?”

“I couldn’t tip you off. I am in law enforcement.”

“Where were you?!” I was roaring.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t care. She stood taller.

She raised her voice. “I was at Easter Lanes!”

“Why?!”

“Because I was hiding. Okay?! Is that what you wanted to hear? I was hiding because I wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t choosing them, but I also wasn’t choosing you. I’m in law enforcement. It’s my moral code. That’s who I am at my core. I can’t not be me.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bullshit. It’s not ingrained in your moral fiber of being. If it was, there’d be no you and me. You would’ve tried arresting me once you found out who I was. You never considered that.”

“I did.”

“Being a parole officer is what helps you make sense of the world. I get it. I do. Your dad was a criminal. Your mom was an abusive drunk. Your brother was an addict and is in prison. You went against the grain because you had to. It gave you some semblance of control, but don’t tell me you’re someone you’re not. I know you. I’ve been inside of you.”

She drew in a ragged breath, but she was hearing me. She was looking away, but she was listening.

“And before you get almighty with me, let me remind you that I don’t care. You could be a federal judge, and I would try to move heaven and hell so I could be at your side, but you know where you were that night? Not at my side.”

She flinched, grimacing. “Trace.” She began to reach out for me.

I stepped back. “I don’t care that you didn’t tip me off. You know I’m smarter than that, but what I do care is that you hid when someone was doing a whole lot to pull the ground out from underneath me. You weren’t there to either help, support, or to be the one slapping the cuffs on me. I don’t care what role it is. I just want you. I love you. That has not changed for me. I’m goddamn obsessed with you.”

“Stop!” She was crying. Tears were falling down her face. She didn’t move to wipe them away. Her hand started shaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that’s how you felt. Next time—”

I bit out a laugh, and it sounded ugly even to my ears. “Next time. There’s not going to be a next time because I’m going to find who’s leaking my information to the police, and I’m going to extinguish them. That’s what I’m going to do whether you’re by my side or not.”

Her eyes closed a brief second, and when they opened, I saw how stricken she was. Haunted.

Fuck.

Something in me snapped.

I reached for her, almost blind about it because my god, she was mine, and she wasn’t in my arms, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I touched her arm and waited. Would she push me away? She gasped, her hand finding mine, and we held still for one second. One moment. Her eyes were on me, mine on her, and I saw the burning desperation in her right before she launched herself at me.

Her mouth on mine.

God. I could breathe her in again.

I could feel her again. Taste her.

We were fast, rough. Frenzied.

Hands on each other. Touching everywhere. Mouths. Tongues. I ripped her pants down at the same time she was undoing mine, then reaching inside for me. She found me and wrapped her hand around my dick. I stilled, because that felt so good. So right. She began stroking me.

I groaned, resting my head to her shoulder as she kept going.

Her other hand clapped the back of my head, holding me in place. Her legs lifted up, going around my waist. I caught her, moving, putting her on something, anything. I had no idea what. A table? It held our weight, so I didn’t care.

“Baby,” I rasped, lifting my head and looking into her.

Her eyes were blind, glazed over. She was beyond talking.

I reached for her, sliding a finger in, and she moaned, her head falling back.

A second finger.

I loved how tight she was, and I worked her. In and out.

She paused, savoring what I was doing to her, but I needed inside of her. It’d been too long.