Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(48)

Polly shook her head.

His eyes drifted closed a moment, before his eyelids lifted to reveal sexual intention so concentrated, Polly trembled in awe. And perhaps a small amount of fear that he could see everything. All of the chinks in her armor, strengths in her arsenal. The same way she saw all of him in that moment. Her heart started to thrum in the hopes that he would move inside her again—she craved more, more—but Austin withdrew from her body with a wince. He whipped her off the sink and for one terrified beat, she thought he would punish her for what happened in the chair by not finding his own release. Until he spun her around, pushed her forward onto the vanity and rammed his thick inches inside her, eliciting a loud sob of his name. It was so dark in the bathroom, she couldn’t see his face, only the outline of him in the mirror. But she’d never felt more like she was looking directly at someone.

His chest meshed with her back, and the contact was electric. “That first time was for making me jealous, so I made it sting a little.” He dragged her earlobe between his teeth before stopping to lay a kiss against her neck. “But this time is for cutting your fingernails and kissing me with your eyes closed so tight.” She felt the column of his throat work against her shoulder. “Okay, Polly?”

“Yes,” she whispered, shaken. Austin afforded her no time to overanalyze, trailing his hands down her hips and yanking her back. He didn’t thrust, giving only smooth undulations of his body as he f*cked her back onto his erection, giving her control of the angle at which he slanted into her. “Oh God…stay right there,” she gasped. “Just like that.”

“If it pleases you.” His voice had become a dark scrape of sound, caressing her shoulders and neck. When she felt his gaze on her bottom, she put an extra twist in her movements, sparks of light blooming behind her eyelids at the resulting friction. “You’re making it very hard not to hammer you into the f*cking sink.”

“Why don’t you?” she moaned.

“I’ll come, goddammit,” he growled with a powerful buck of his hips, holding himself deep, his abdomen shuddering against her backside. “You have me ready to spill, you dirty little lap dancer. It’s not supposed to happen this fast, but you. It’s you. Feels too good.” He withdrew and pushed back inside her with a guttural groan. “I’ve got so much here for you, it’s going to fill this condom and drip down those f*cking legs.”

Polly’s mouth fell open. He’d been waiting for permission, and she’d been unaware or gotten lost in the unbelievable way he made her feel. This unselfish man was not the Austin she’d known. Or thought she’d known. Right then, in the dark, he was only her lover, and she’d inflicted him with pain. “You have permiss—”

She broke off on a scream when he found her clit with two fingers, rubbing in maddening circles as he started to pound, each thrust of his hips accompanied by a frantic growl. Slam, slam, slam. The force of his pounds pushed her facedown on the sink, fingernails scraping at the hard surface. Her flesh was already sensitized from her first climax, and it took her no time for the wave of oblivion to crest over her, holding her entire body in a vibrating grip that was only extended when Austin’s shout echoed in the dark. Words made beautiful by their honesty spoke of untold relief that called to something deep inside Polly. His pleasure is mine.

“Tightened up all around me like a sweet girl. You feel all that heat I’m pouring inside you? Take it.” His mouth moved in her hair, laying frantic kisses. “Never want anything else. Nothing else. Just this. Between your legs where it feels right. I’ll give you everything, just don’t take yourself away.”

Polly’s vocal cords squeezed so tight, she could only nod. And although she didn’t have words for what agreement was made between them, she suspected it was unbreakable.





Chapter Fourteen


Austin leaned against the side of newspaper dispenser, hat pulled low over his eyes as he pretended to read the sports section. Disguising himself hadn’t been necessary for this particular trip, but Reitman’s presence in town demanded caution. And damn it all if he didn’t feel the need to cover up after his epic reveal this morning in the hotel room with Polly. I’ll give you everything, just don’t take yourself away.

He’d even taken himself off guard, demanding promises. Promises were long-term matters, and his life until now had been all about cutting and running at the first sign of routine.

Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to agree, so he’d unburdened himself to her, the same way she’d unburdened his body. She’d made him more than someone who was kept around to provide satisfaction. An object. A whore who stole his payment. He’d been more than an illusionist for the first time in his life, because he’d needed to be more for Polly. There had been no damming the demand for promises, because with exhilaration flooding his body, his filter had slipped away in the current.

But then she’d nodded. She’d nodded.

Austin had been so stunned by her acquiescence, he’d found himself back in the freezing-cold hotel room without remembering leaving the bathroom. As if some manner of fight or flight instinct had kicked in, telling him he’d been made. His cover had been blown. In the way that mattered most, it bloody well had. To Polly. To himself. His pursuit of her had never been solely about sex—or providing a desirable woman with pleasure, rather, since sex had never yielded such gratification for him until now. No, he’d wanted more since their first goddamn argument after the initial squad meeting. Since then, he’d been lying to himself and believing it, the con’s affliction that had been prophesized by Charles. He’d been unable to tell truth from fabrication. And the truth was, he’d been in love with Polly since they’d sat across from each other in that conference room at Chicago PD headquarters.