Drop Dead Sexy(69)

“We’ve been looking for one of their members who is a drug kingpin. He came under our radar a few months ago. He’s been running drugs across Georgia into Alabama and Tennessee.”

“Who is he?”

“We really don’t know.”

I arched my brows in surprise. “You don’t know?”

Catcher nodded. “He’s called The Shadow. No one can adequately identify him. Most of the men under him have never seen him—his orders come over a go phone or an email. He’s been known to alter his appearance with minor plastic surgery, hair and eye color changes, and weight that yo-yos fifty pounds. We’re not sure if the weight is something he actually does to alter himself, or if it has to do with him being on drugs.”

“Do you think this Shadow guy and Ronald might know each other?”

“It’s possible. Hell, with this case, anything is possible. I’m trying to pin down something that has The Shadow, Delaney, and Ronald all together.”

“Could Delaney be The Shadow?”

“While we haven’t completely ruled that out yet, I don’t think he is.”

“It’s too ironic your case with The Shadow and Randy’s murder ran together. It was like our paths were destined to cross.” Oh jeez. Had I really said one of the worst cliché’s out loud?

Catcher’s response came in the form of a grunt. When I glanced over at him, his expression was pained. “What’s wrong?”

He grimaced. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’re hurting.”

“I’m fine.”

The next thing I knew he’d whipped the car off the main road and driven into a heavy thicket of trees. “Catcher, what in the world are you doing?”

He slammed on the brakes and threw the car into park before turning to me with a wild expression and crazed eyes. “We have to f*ck. Now.”

Before I could ask him if he had lost his mind, my gaze dropped to his crotch. “Holy shit!” The bulge straining against the zipper of his pants was bigger than it had ever been. It was huge. Like colossally huge. “What happened to you?”

“After you ran out of the work shed, Olive snuck me some man yarb to try,” he explained as his hips bucked up. His head fell back against the headrest, and he groaned as his pelvis swiveled. Beads of sweat began to line his forehead.

“Are you insane? After Ronald’s dick blew up, you actually thought it was a good idea to take that shit?”

Catcher gritted his teeth. “Olive doesn’t make the stuff that blew up Ronald’s dick. Hers is safe.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like she has FDA approval.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he bit down on his lip as his hand went to shift the bulge. “Fuuuck,” he groaned.

“Okay, regardless of whether or not it was safe, why in the world would you take it now?”

“I thought it would be a while for it to take effect. Like we would get home, and I’d be ready.” After his hips punched forward again, he lunged at me. He took my face between his hands. “Baby, please. I’ve got to get inside you.”

I knew I couldn’t leave him high and dry in his hour of desperation. There was also something very erotic about a man pleading with you for sex. It was a hell of a power trip. “Backseat?”

Relief momentarily flickered on his face. After throwing a glance over his shoulder, he shook his head. “Too small.”

After swallowing hard, I suggested, “Outside.”

Catcher nodded. “The hood.”

While I was glad he didn’t plan to nail me up against a tree, I hadn’t exactly planned to become a hood ornament. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

We scrambled out of the doors and around the front of the car. Catcher crashed into me, his mouth frantically meeting my own. He kissed like a man on death row—desperate, intense, and consuming.

His hands slid up under my dress and ripped my flimsy thong from my body. “You’re going to owe me a fortune in underwear, Mr. Neanderthal,” I teased breathlessly.

Catcher grunted in response as he worked his pants down over his hips. My mouth ran dry at the sight of his erection. Below the waist, moisture pooled between my legs. Olive’s potion didn’t hold back any punches. I decided then it was just best to go with the flow and let Catcher do what he needed to do to find relief. “Take me,” I instructed.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He whirled me around and placed my hands on the hood of the car. Using one of his knees, he knocked my legs wide apart. His fingers dug into my hips as he slammed into me, causing me to shriek.

Catcher immediately froze. “Oh f*ck, did I hurt you?”

Turning my head, I glanced back to see his apologetic expression. “No, no. It’s good.”

“Thank God,” he murmured. He slid slowly out of me only to slam back again. His dick then began a relentless pounding of my *. My fingers curled on top of the hood, and I knew my nails were going to leave scratch marks on the paint. I’d never had it so hard or so rough. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind I was going to be deliciously sore for days. My first order of business after returning home would be to write Olive a thank you letter and ask her for a six-month supply of man-enhancing yarb. That and to put an ice pack on my pulverized vag.