Masked Innocence

Twenty-Seven

Detective Parks sucked; it was official. Either he had no concept of how to return a call, or he had no intention on following up on the Magiano lead. Either way, as I had decided on my return jog home, I would leave him one final voice mail, telling him about the Genovese connection, and then I would be done with it. No follow-up calls, no reading the papers, no digging through Broward’s stuff. I completed the task, speaking clearly and slowly into the phone, laying out everything I knew in one, concise, forty-seven-second voice mail. Then I hung up, pressing the end call button with reluctance.

Ending that call felt so final, as if I had taken a step off a cliff and couldn’t stop my descent. Giving up on Broward felt traitorous, as if I were weak and running from his killer. But I needed to be smart. I had passed on the information to Parks. Now I needed to get back to the land of the living.

I THREW LISA Strong’s instructions out the window and decided to go to the office. After reorganizing my jewelry box and flipping through every television station I had, I was going stir-crazy and actually contemplating cleaning, a sure sign that dementia was only a few steps away. I threw on a pullover and grabbed my keys, my mind skipping ahead to the half-finished documents that were currently wasting real estate on my desk.

I walked into the CDB offices at 5:00 p.m., hoping to get into my office and into my work without being seen. Once I knocked out the half-finished items, I could sneak back out. I wasn’t sure how tomorrow would play out, or if our cases would get transferred, and I wanted to get a few tasks wrapped up while I had the chance.

Lights were on in the other two wings, but all was dark on our side of the building. Every cop show I had seen prepared me for crime-scene tape and black fingerprint powder, but the halls and offices looked normal, ordinary. I was almost disappointed by the lack of drama. I left the lights off and went straight to my office, unlocking the door, the click sounding loud in the silent halls. Going inside, I pulled the door behind me, leaving it ajar so I would be able to exit in a quiet fashion.

Starting up the computer, I skimmed over the open files on my desk. About an hour of work. Just enough to distract me, without committing me to this office all night long. My computer chimed, loading the desktop, and I leaned over, typing in my credentials and logging on.

I quickly became engrossed, finishing the open files and reorganizing the folders without even noticing. I was starting on a fresh case when the voice came.

“Julia.”

I jumped, my breath catching, and straightened, looking at the door to my darkened office. A huge silhouette filled the doorway, and quiet masculinity crept into my small office. Brad.

“What are you doing?” His voice was dark and still. Definite.

“Nothing. Working.”

He walked toward me, his hands in his pockets, the expensive suit hanging perfectly on his large, muscular frame. His eyes, dark and intense, picked up the light from my monitor and glowed blue in the darkness.

“On what?”

“Filing, typing. Why? Does it matter?” His authoritative tone irritated me, and I pushed away from my desk and folded my arms, my eyes narrowed into a stern look. His tie loosened, a day’s worth of growth on his chin, he looked like the perfect late-night distraction. Too bad it was only—I snuck a look at my computer’s display—6:30 p.m.

“You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Says who? This is my office.”

“Says the office email that you received.” His voice commanding, he continued moving forward until we stood inches apart. For no good reason, I was suddenly pissed, mad at his invasion of my office, a space he seemed to control and command whenever he damn well pleased.

I looked up at him, feeling ridiculously short in my tennis shoes. He was close enough that his scent invaded me, and my insides quivered traitorously. “Oh, now you want me to follow the rules!” I lifted my chin, meeting his stern eyes, but my response was weakened, standing this close to the damn stern sexiness of him.

We stayed there for a moment, our eyes locked on each other. He looked exhausted, and his eyes finally broke from mine and traveled down my body, his mouth twitching slightly as he took in my tank top and running pants. When his eyes returned to mine, they were almost pained, twin fires flicking hot and cold. “I hate how you make me feel,” he whispered, his voice tight.

I recoiled from the intensity in his voice. “What does that mean?”

He grabbed my neck, sliding one hand back and grabbing my ponytail, pulling it hard and tilting my face to him. I growled, low in my throat, and glared at him. I struggled against him, but he held me easily. “Take your fucking hands off me,” I said.

He ignored me, walked me backward by my ponytail, hard, until I slammed against the back wall of my office, the chair rail pressing into my back. He released my ponytail and ran his hand firmly and slowly down my body, his eyes burning into mine, his hands groping and squeezing my breasts, stomach and ass as they traveled down. His hands, slow and deliberate, said more than his mouth ever could. He owned me, I was his to do with as he wanted. Fuck, I hated that I liked it. He bent down to kiss me, and I turned my head, evading his mouth and trying to push him off with my hands.

They met only rock-hard, unmoving muscle. I employed my best defense and brought up my knee, swift and hard, aiming for his nuts. He grabbed my wrists and jumped back, a hurt look in his eyes. Then he smiled, slow and confident. Slamming my wrists against the wall, on either side of my head, he leaned in close, catching my mouth in his. I stiffened, my body unyielding. Taking my mouth, he kissed me, long and deep, and I sagged a little against the wall. He pressed his body against me, pinning me to the wall, and I felt the hardness of his cock.

“Get off me,” I whispered, trying to stay firm.

“No.”

“I am not fucking you in my office.”

He laughed, kissing my neck, and over his broad shoulders I noticed my office door was still open. I pushed hard against him. “Brad, the door!” I whispered urgently.

“Fuck the door,” he growled, grabbing my shorts and yanking them down, exposing my white cotton thong.

I squirmed against him, thoughts running through my mind, too many and too quickly for me to focus on. The dominant and only thought I could grab was the image of his thick cock fucking me right here, right now.

He yanked me forward a step, then grabbed my face, looking at me hard, breathing fast, a tortured look in his eyes. “Please.” The word, which should have been a plea, was somehow an order, and I resisted, now for the sheer perversity of it.

I pushed him back and tried to grab my shorts, to pull them up, but he caught my hands and spun me around, grabbing my hips and pushing me forward, till I was bent over in front of him. The speed of his movement caught me off balance, and I reached forward, trying to grab something, anything, to stop me from falling. I grabbed the wall and pushed on it, the motion inadvertently arching my back and pushing my ass against Brad. He chuckled, and I heard a zipper and then felt his fingers, working fast, a ripping sound of condom wrapper, my thong pushed to the side. I realized what was happening and was opening my mouth to object when he shoved hard and was suddenly inside me.

My objection stopped in my throat, quivered there and died. He was so big, so thick, so hard. He pushed deeper, and grunted when he was fully inside me. My hands flexed against the wall and I groaned, low in my throat. He squeezed my ass, hard, then slapped it, the sound loud and animal in the darkness. Then the fucking started, hard and fast, our bodies slapping loudly, too loudly, in the quiet office. All I could think about was the floor full of people, my open office door. What would happen if someone walked by and saw me, bent over, being fucked relentlessly, workout pants bunched around my tennis shoes? The thought turned me on so much that I instantly tightened, an orgasm building around Brad’s stiff rod.

He groaned, continuing his fast, furious pace. “What you do to me, Julia, your fucking sassy mouth, your tight little body...I want to make you do such bad things.”

I moaned softly, my tits shaking from the pounding he was giving me. He took a hand off me and slapped my ass again, hard, the pain intensifying the pleasure that was growing in my pussy, expanding, taking over.

“Spank me again,” I said, breathing hard, needing the release I knew was coming.

He reached down and grabbed my neck, squeezing it. “Beg me,” he ordered.

“Please!” I cried, louder than I intended, and I dropped my voice. “Spank me! I need it! Now!”

He spanked me in rhythm with his fucking, and I arched my back, raised my head and dissolved in perfect ecstasy as I exploded around his cock. I screamed, the pleasure overtaking every sense in my head, and he immediately clasped his hand hard over my mouth, muting the sound. He fucked me through the orgasm, until my legs could no longer stand it, my body weak from my release, and he laid us both down, him hovering over me, his body and face a dark silhouette against the light from my screen saver. I kicked off my shorts and wrapped my legs around him, and he moved inside me, long, deep, slow strokes. Leaning down, he kissed me, soft and sweetly, then stronger and more possessively. Our lips finally separated, our breaths ragged, and he rose, looking down at me, his strong face unreadable.

“What?” I whispered, my lips burning from his rough kisses, my body relaxed from the orgasm.

“You look beautiful.”

I smiled, meeting his dark eyes. “I thought you wanted to make me bad.”

“Oh, I will, Ms. Campbell. I will make you very, very bad,” he whispered, his hand gently tucking my hair behind my ear, his cock still moving slowly, deliciously in me. His fingers rubbed my swollen mouth; his thumb caressed my lips, then dipped inside my mouth. I sucked on his thumb, enjoying the light in his eyes as I flicked my tongue over it. I propped myself up on an elbow and thrust my pelvis, squeezing with my legs and burying his cock in me. Staring into his eyes, I spoke deliberately.

“Stop talking and fuck me.”

A grin broke out on his face and he growled, pressing down on my chest, flattening me to the floor. He leaned over me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head, then fucked me, hard and fast, pounding me into the plush carpet, my legs popping loose and spreading, his muscular thighs trapping them into place. He was still fully clothed, his dress pants rough against my bare legs and his clothing caused wonderful friction against my clit. I tried to hold off my orgasm as long as I could, but came, my legs bouncing, my arms fighting against his iron grip on my wrists. I moaned, biting into his neck to stop my screams from erupting, the waves of pleasure shaking me from head to toe. He shoved, hard and deep, his strokes continuing. A minute later, he groaned into my neck, his thickness twitching inside me, and I felt his body stiffen as he came.

JULIA CAMPBELL’S REPEATED calls to Detective Parks were acknowledged, discussed and decided upon, her being one small pawn in a game with much bigger fish. She had become annoying, bothersome, a pesky itch in a hard-to-reach spot. And at 5:52 p.m. that Thursday, while mid-orgasm beneath Brad’s body, her fate was decided. She was as good as dead.

The man’s phone rang, the bright display illuminating on his dash, and he pulled over, answering the cell. “Yes.”

“I need you to take care of something. It’s regarding Broward.”

“I finished that job.”

“Yeah, there was an overlooked detail. It’s a girl, his intern. She’s been calling Parks. She knows we are involved and won’t drop it. She lives in some piece-of-shit house near the university and probably has roommates. I’ll send you the address. I’m sure the police will make the connection, but try and make it look like an accident.”

“Okay.”

“Also, find out if she talked to anyone.”

He was silent a moment, running his hand along the leather steering wheel. “You want me to make it look like an accident, but torture her in the process?”

“Be creative, Leo. Just get it fucking handled without anyone calling the cops. I don’t care if you burn the whole shithole down with the roommates inside.”

“Okay. Tomorrow night.”

HE STOOD OVER me, zipping up his pants, my monitor now a galaxy of stars. I lay, weak and spent, still on the floor, not wanting to get up, to have to move in any way.

“How much longer will you be working?” His dry voice held an edge of sarcasm, and I bristled, raising myself up on one elbow.

“Well, I would be done working, if it wasn’t for your interruption.”

“You can work tomorrow.” His tone had an order to it that I didn’t like.

“I want to finish up here.”

He sighed, frustrated. I reluctantly moved, rolling over and sitting up, and looked around for my shorts, finally seeing them in the corner of my office. I stood, pulled them on and yanked out my disaster of a ponytail, finger-combing my hair.

“You need to get out of here.” I spoke quietly, worried that we would be caught.

His mouth twitched, but he nodded. Collected, his hands in his pockets, he didn’t look as if he had spent the past half hour banging the intern. The thought struck me as funny, and I fought a giggle. He shook his head wryly at me, then turned and left the office.

I sank into my office chair, half giddy with pleasure, half furious at myself for yielding to his sexuality. Good God, I am in trouble.

I wrapped up the filing, shut down the computer and grabbed my cell and keys, locking my office door and moving quietly through the dark halls, down the back stairwell and into the parking garage. There was a note on the windshield of my Camry. “Call me.” Unsigned.

I started my car and headed for home, my stomach growling along the way. I dialed Brad’s number, and he answered on the second ring.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Do you have dinner plans?”

“No, but I think I’ll eat at home. I already got what I needed from you,” I teased, putting on my signal and changing lanes.

He laughed, and I heard road noise in the background. “Despite that, let me take you to dinner.”

I hesitated for a moment, my heart well aware of the nosedive it was taking into the pool of love. Love that, knowing Brad’s history, would never be returned to my satisfaction. I should refuse, fight to keep what distance I could until I figured out what the hell my long-term plan was. “Okay. But somewhere casual.”

“Pick you up in fifteen at your house?”

“See you then.” I grinned despite myself, hanging up the phone. Yep. Nose-diving straight into those dark depths. At least I saw my demise coming. For whatever that was worth.