Page 33 of From the Shadows

“Thank you. And I’m sorry. It’s been a shit day, but that is no reason to bark at you.”

“You did come in here a bit mercurially”—not an easy word to enunciate, but I am good with my mouth.

He purses his lips, fighting back a smile that drops in the next heartbeat. “How often does that cop pull you over?”

“Dusty?” I shrug. “Couple times a week.”

“Fucking bastard. I’m going to slap him with a harassment case. Next time he does it, you let me know.”

My laugh huffs out on an exhale. “He’s harmless. He just wants to get in my pants.”

Honesty may generally be considered the best policy, but this might have been a really good time to temper it a little. Soften the slap of it. God, I wonder how hard I’d need to push Eddie to feel his palm across my ass.

A low noise, a threatening one, rumbles in Eddie’s chest and whatever real estate was between us is gone. He is right there. In my space. Claiming his… what, territory? Me?

The possibility is almost too much.

He stares into my eyes, chest expanding and contracting with each labored breath, like the air itself has pissed him off.

I can work with this.

I tilt my head and allow my lips to pull up into a soft, knowing grin. I take slow, deliberate time to swipe my tongue along my lower lip. “Don’t like that thought very much, do you?”

His nostrils flare, and that delightful little muscle at the back of his jawline jumps. I want to giggle, because irritated Eddie might just be a fun alternative the sighing version.

He reaches out and wraps his palm around the back of my neck, pulling me even closer. “No. I don’t like it at all. In fact, I fucking hate it.” His warm breath, scented with hops and malt, sends a shiver down my spine and makes my nipples hard and achy. “The only person who should be thinking about fucking you is…”

I raise my brows at his pause. “Who?”

Tortured Eddie. Yes, tortured Eddie is definitely my new favorite version.

The sky lights up again, thunder crashing almost immediately after as Eddie mumbles, “Fuck it,” and then, then, he crushes his mouth to mine, stealing the air from my lungs.

His lips are soft, but his kiss is anything but. It’s hard and confident and so much more than I even dreamed. His fingers span my neck heating my skin, pressing deep, controlling me in the very best way.

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, pining for. Yearning. Fucking yearning.

I drag my hand down his chest, popping open buttons, exposing the solid planes of his pecs, the valley between stacked bricks of his abs, the line of black hair that disappears into the waistband of his fine wool dress pants.

His belt presents a challenge, and it takes me two tries to get past the buttery leather. His head is tilted back, the cords of his neck straining as if he’s barely holding it all together. Half-lidded eyes are dark and full of fire. That’s for me. That look is mine.

I hold his gaze as I sink to my knees and lower his zipper. The absolute non-surprise of the moment is that Eddie is packing.

“Nice.”

One singular brow, the left one, peaks ever so slightly. “You sound surprised?”

The tip of my finger trails along the outline of his most glorious dick, paying special attention to the ridge of his crown. Hung doesn’t begin to describe him. He’s thick, girthy, and—I peel his tight black briefs down with his pants, fully freeing him—that’s a lot of inches. Greater than average. Above and beyond… and then some.

“Impressed.” So fucking impressed. I lean forward and kiss him on the tip—sweet, polite. Reverent.

Eddie watches me silently and stoically. Until I wet my lips, part them, and wrap them around his crown and moan. Yes. I moan like the gutterslut I am, but just for Eddie—only for Eddie—as I revel in the weight of him on my tongue. Warm, velvety soft skin over rigid steel.

He sighs roughly, though it could potentially be categorized as a grunt, when I cradle his balls and roll them gently in my palm. Desperate, I shove my free hand down the front of my leggings, but access? Dexterity? One of those is an issue because the mechanics are all wrong with his height, and my lack of it… and when the fuck is my brain going to stop with the extracurriculars?

“Jess, stop.” He pulls back, his dick popping free of my lips. “If I read this wrong⁠—”

“No. No, you absolutely did not. I’m just…” I shift, searching for some kind of friction. “I’m going to need another go at that. I’m not done. Maybe if you sit on the couch? Then I can spread my knees while I swallow you and my fingers can—” I stop rambling but only because I get distracted by the way his cock twitches right in front of my eyes. What the fuck has happened to me? I’m no longer the cool and flirty, shit-talking wise-ass who exasperates this man into a litany of sighs.