My pussy just jolted awake like it smelled testosterone and remembered it has needs. She’s blinking sleep out of her eyes and asking who the fuck is that? and how do we climb him?
Light brown hair that’s too long, like haircuts keep sliding down his priority list. Scruff on his jaw past shadow but not quite beard. That perfect length to scrape inner thighs while you ride his face. A small scar through his left eyebrow that I want to lick like a stamp and put in my scrapbook.
And his eyes.
Blue. Not sharp electric blue. Softer. Faded denim blue. The kind that’s been washed a hundred times until it’s finally comfortable.
The kind of blue that looks like it’s seen things and decided to be gentle anyway.
I’m losing my entire identity and all I can think about is what his dick might taste like.
I hate myself a little.
Add it to the list.
“Stevie Reeves?”
His voice is deep. Rough like gravel wrapped in flannel. The kind of voice that makes you agree to things before you realize you’re nodding.
If this man ever reads audiobooks I’m fucked. Completely, irrevocably fucked.
And there’s something in the way he says my name, my real name, the one I’m about to lose, that doesn’t sound like a file he memorized.
I imagine my name in his mouth as he comes undone.
“Yes.”
He closes the door. Crosses the room with an ease that shouldn’t be possible in a place this depressing.
His thighs in those pants should be illegal in seventeen states.
I just came on a witness stand this morning and now I’m thirsting after my federal handler.
What is wrong with me?
He extends his hand.
“I’m Saul Bennett. U.S. Marshal. I’ll be handling your case through this process.”
Saul. That’s a name with good mouth feel.
I shake his hand because that’s what humans do.
His palm is warm. Callused in specific places, the webbing between thumb and forefinger, the base of his fingers. Working hands. Hands that know how to hold things without breaking them.
I want to map those calluses with my tongue.
I want to ask what made them.
Every drop of blood I have reroutes itself to my clit like it’s GPS-guided.
This is a problem.
This is a BIG problem.
I just testified against one hot criminal and now I’m being babysat by another man I want knuckles deep in me. My grief has a type and it’s emotionally unavailable men in positions of authority.
The handshake lasts exactly the appropriate amount of time and I’m furious at myself for wishing it lasted longer.
