Desperate to the Max (19 page)

“Do it again,” he said, then licked her.

“Do what?”

“That noise. Love that little
ooh
noise of yours. Makes me crazy.”

“Ooh.”

He laughed and sucked her deeper into his mouth while his fingers slid down, down, down, across her belly, into the nest of hair between her legs, and finally inside her. Hard, quick, and high. She arched, raised her knee to his hip, and
ooh
ed right in his ear.

“Oh my God, Witt, oh God.” It felt so damn good, a tear came to her eye. She wanted to climb all over him, up inside him, take him inside her.

He rolled her to her back, letting his finger slide to the tip of her clitoris. “Don’t ever
ooh
for anybody else, okay.”

“I won’t.” She never had. Not and really meant it. Except for Cameron.

Then his hand left her, and he used his body to pin her to carpet, while he searched around on the floor a second. “Ahh, got it.”

Raising the little packet, he ripped it open with his teeth. Cool, unwelcome air streamed over her as he pulled back on his haunches.

“Hold it for me.”

“What?” She stared agog at that huge, and actually quite magnificently beautiful tool of his.

“Touch me while I put on the condom.”

How could she resist when he asked so sweetly? She curled her legs beneath her, then slowly, gently, carefully took him in her hand. A tiny drop of come slipped from the tip as she touched him. She couldn’t help but bend to lick it away.

He jerked. “Shit.” He sounded in pain.

She looked at his strained face. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t do that. We gotta come together.”

“I told you that only happens in fairy tales.” She squeezed, sliding her hand from tip to base, and delighted in the little grimace that creased his lips and the groan that escaped. “Better hurry up and get that thing on, Detective.”

Even as he struggled with the condom, she pumped him lightly because she loved his quickened breath and
his
little noises. Finally it was on, if a bit short on his dipstick.

“You’re dust now.” He pushed her back onto the carpet and dropped on top of her.

“Ooh, the big detective, I’m all scared.” She bit his earlobe and whispered, “Stick it in me.”

“Such sweet nothings. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I don’t have
it
in me. Yet.”

She spread her legs and let him fall between them before she raised her feet to his calves. Oh God, he couldn’t know how good it felt to have a man, a real man, a sweet big hunky
real
man on top of her. All the jokes and all the quips were just for show. She wanted this, wanted it so bad ...

He dipped inside her, spreading her moisture over the tip of the condom, then slid across her clitoris, back, up, down, around. Until she felt crazy and wild.

“Please, Witt, please.” She arched against him and raked her nails down his arms.

He eased inside once more, deeper. So big, so full, so hard.

She whimpered and tried to pull his full weight down on top of her.

“That’s it, baby. So damn good, baby.”

She hated
baby
. Nobody called her
baby
. She didn’t care, not when Witt was filling up all the cold, empty places that Cameron hadn’t been able to touch since he died.

With his two big hands on her butt, he lifted her, adjusted her, then slid deeper. She bit her lip and tasted blood. Something trickled from her eye into her hair.

She panted, “... please, please, please.”

Then he drove home. She screamed and choked and cried and clawed at him, but when he tried to pull away, she locked her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck.

“Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, God, don’t leave me, please never leave me.” Someone chanted as he started to pump inside her. It didn’t sound like his voice, but it couldn’t have been hers, no way.

Then she didn’t care who the hell it was. Her hips rose to meet his.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

He filled her, withdrew, slammed back again. So hard. So good. He gave her the weight she craved, the hot, wet friction, and she took it all, begging for more. Rotating, he nuzzled her womb with his tip, then out again, teasing her clitoris once more before giving her the full length. Over and over, in and out, up and down, inside out, every which way. Until the damn stars started to sparkle, then burst behind her lids. Spirals of heat shot down to their joining, then out again, each one stronger and hotter than the last. He called her name, he called to God and Jesus. As the pulse of his orgasm throbbed inside her and his grip turned to steel on her hips, a blindingly hot knot of tension seemed to explode inside her. She caught a glimpse of heaven, at exactly the same moment as Witt, she really did.

A long time later, when she could talk again, she whispered, “That was heaven.”

Though later, of course, she’d manage to turn it into hell.

* * * * *

A little while ago, he’d pulled them up to lean against the bed. She’d tried to wriggle free, but he held her tight with an arm around her shoulders. For goodness sake, the man was naked beside her. Witt was
naked
. The oddest little thrill tripped up and down her spine. Witt. Naked. At least she still had the shirt, but he hadn’t even bothered to put on his briefs. She really wasn’t sure she could handle the intimacy of cuddling naked in afterglow.

“Share something with me,” Witt whispered close to her ear. “Something besides just sex. I want more.”

He was always asking for more. “Jesus, wasn’t that enough for you?”

“Not when you give that away to everyone else.”

Ouch. He sure knew how to hit hard below the belt.

Trust Witt not to apologize. Instead he did far worse. He begged in a soft whisper. “I want something for
me
, Max. A piece of you that hasn’t been hanging out at the Round Up.”

Her nose tingled, like a sneeze was coming on, and her eyeballs ached. She would not cry, though. He hadn’t even questioned that he’d need a condom, as if her lifestyle left her diseased or something. Then again, he’d carried it around from the beginning, before he knew that ... stuff about her. Maybe he was a big protector and hadn’t wanted to get her pregnant. Yeah, maybe that was it. He was taking
care
of her. She closed her eyes.

Then she gave him what he asked for. A piece of her soul. “What I remember most is the night he died. Most of the time, I pretend I don’t remember a thing.” Even for Cameron, she pretended. “But I remember it all.”

Witt wrapped both arms around her, tightened. He leaned his forehead against hers, waiting for her to go on.

She couldn’t have said why she did, nor why she’d chosen this thing to tell him. “He was standing by the potato chips when they came in. It was all so fast,” she murmured, each sentence punctuated by a short silence. “The tallest guy had a gun out. He looked at Cameron. Then at me. Then he shot the clerk. And the little guy climbed over the cash register and started stuffing the money in his pockets. Couldn’t have been much. There was another guy. They were all talking, but I couldn’t understand a word they said. My ears were ringing. Then the tall guy raised the gun and shot Cameron in the head. I honestly didn’t think he could be dead. There was this little round hole, not even much blood. Not at first. Then he sort of slid down the rack of Doritos, dragging all the bags with him.”

She pulled back then, looked at Witt, then raised her hand, palm to his forehead. As if that would somehow keep him safe. She didn’t tell him why they didn’t shoot her then. He already knew because he’d read the file. She didn’t tell him how they’d raped, beaten and left her for dead. Witt knew that as well. What he couldn’t have read anywhere was that she’d wanted to die, too, would have if not for Cameron. Cameron, who’d lain on the cold, hard dirt with her, talked to her until dawn when a jogger found her. At the time, she actually thought he was still alive, that he’d miraculously escaped fatal injury. In the hospital, after they told her he was gone, she’d thought she’d imagined him. By the time she got home, she knew that though he’d left in body, he’d remained in spirit.

“I’m sorry we never got them.” Cameron was one of their own, a prosecutor. He’d worked closely with the cops.

She took a long time to answer. “I don’t think about that much. I never really did. They were like a hurricane that blew through. You can’t stop Mother Nature.”

His fingers massaged her neck. She wanted him to kiss her again, knew he wanted to kiss her. Neither moved.

So she’d shared with him. First sex, now this. Big deal. Tomorrow morning he’d wake up and realize what she’d shared was that she’d never gotten over Cameron’s death. That being with her was a battle, and it wasn’t merely uphill, it was like climbing a fricking mountain with only your bare hands for leverage.

Then he’d ask himself if it was all really worth it.

Max took a deep breath, drew in his scent, and felt her eyeballs ache again. He was a cop. Cops died in the line of duty. She pushed against his arms. “Will you call me tomorrow and let me know if they find anything suspicious about any of those callers?”

Witt stiffened, then dropped his arms, his fingers trailing across her breasts, then the sleeves of her blouse. “Max gives, and Max takes away.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was afraid she knew.

“You give me one freaking inch, and then you rip away two. We aren’t gonna move forward like that.”

“Just because we had sex does not mean we’re supposed to move forward.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them. He’d forced her to say they’d made love. Now he knew she hadn’t meant it.

He closed in on himself, shuttered his eyes with a cold blue as impenetrable as ice. The talk turned to business as he rose to put on his pants and shirt. “You’ll have to take the calls tomorrow night. There won’t be time to check and eliminate everyone. We still need Achilles.”

“I know that.” She hugged her knees to her chest and crossed her feet to cover her pantiless state, should he bother to look at her.

In silence, he sat on the chair and tied his shoes. Then he rose, shoved his tie in his jacket pocket, and slung the garment over his shoulder. He moved to the stairs. With a foot on the first tread and one hand on the jamb, he turned. “I’m sorry your husband died, Max, but you’ve gotta move on sometime. If you don’t, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life talking to a dead guy. And you’ll still be alone.”

Alone and in hell. She was used to it.

* * * * *

Utterly satisfied, Bethany fell asleep. Max lay alone in the dark. She didn’t call out to Cameron though she knew he was there, waiting to hear her voice, waiting for her to say she needed him.

It seemed she always kept men waiting. They sure as hell wouldn’t stick around forever if she kept it up. Wasn’t that the meaning of Witt’s cryptic message?

Not that she needed Witt anyway. Except to help her trap a villain. All right, so it had been a
few
villains. Okay, so she liked him, too. The sex had been pretty good. Okay, it had been great. Big deal. She’d had great sex before and would again. So she’d told him about the night Cameron died, something she wouldn’t even talk about with Cameron himself. She’d only done it to send her own message. She wanted him to know she wasn’t going to be an easy mark.

God, when she closed her eyes, she could smell Witt in the room, feel his fingers on her jaw, savor a fleeting taste of him.

She rolled over and punched her pillow. It would be better for them both if he got the message and dropped her like a hot potato. She still hadn’t figured out why the guy hung around. Besides being a masochist. What did he see in her that kept him coming back when she treated him like dirt? She did do that, she knew, wasn’t proud of it, but couldn’t seem to find another way. When he finally went, she’d be fine, though,
cross my heart and hope to die
. She ignored the twisting in her belly. She’d be fine, and she’d find Bethany’s killer on her own. After all, she was psychic and possessed by the dead woman’s spirit. Bethany would eventually tell her everything she needed to know.

“Jesus Christ, you finally admit it.”

“Get out of my head, Cameron.” She was pissed he finally decided to pop in when she’d needed him hours ago.

“You didn’t need me tonight, sweetheart. You needed Witt. He gave you what you wanted, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t give me anything.”

“You’re too stupid to appreciate it.”

“I thought you didn’t like me sleeping around.”

“Don’t lie to either of us, Max. He’s much more than a good lay and you know it.”

She didn’t have an answer. Or rather she was very much afraid she did. “Leave me alone.”

“You told him about the night I died.”

Her blood hammered through her veins. “I only told him so he’d go away.”

“You told him so he could hold you while you cried.”

A chill slithered across her scalp. “I didn’t cry.”

“Then you backed off at the last minute. Scared to death like you always are.”

“I wasn’t scared.”

“Why didn’t you tell him what they did to you?”

“It wasn’t necessary. I told him the worst part, about what they did to you.”

“Watching what they did to you was worse, knowing that I couldn’t stop it, knowing you wanted them to kill you, too.
That
was the worst.”

“For you, Cameron, not for me.”

“For
us
, my love. We both died that night.”

“You’re so fucking melodramatic. I’m here. I’m fine.”

“You talk to a dead man. You run away from the live ones.”

Witt’s words. Cameron used them to drive nails into her stomach. “Fuck you.”

“You know what you are, Max? Besides a liar.” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “You’re a tease. You’re using Witt to get your sexual power fix without having to commit. ‘Max gives and Max takes away.’ When he finally figures out you’ll always run, my love, he’ll walk away from you. You’ll have no one but yourself to blame.”