Page 49 of Brutal Bond

“Later, I’ll make that sweet ass of yours a beautiful cherry red,” I push against her finding a little resistance, “but right now, I want to fucking be inside it.”

Staring into her blue eyes, I press the tip of my well-lubed cock into her eager ass. She lets out a pained moan as I slowly stretch her out for me. I work myself gingerly in and out of her tight hole until I’m able to do so with ease. My lips on hers and her legs wrapped around my waist, and I take her with long, deep strokes until we are both floating in bliss.

Pulling myself from her, I continue to kiss over her lips and cheeks. She stares up at me with a look unlike another.

Her eyes are full of adoration. Warmth. Devotion.

Love.

She might have fallen for me, but somewhere, I’ve completely lost myself in her.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

DETECTIVE MICHALES

Pacing along the back wall of my home office, my gaze wanders over the photos pinned to the wall.

Grant Geyer, Edmund Parker, Samuel Millington, William Cattaneo, Elizabeth Beaufort.

The new women with three of them—supposedly willingly—Abigail, Cora, and fucking Harper.

She hasn’t spoken to me in several weeks. My number is either blocked in her phone or she is outright ignoring every message that I’ve sent her. Every last fucking one of them.

Her little whore of a roommate hasn’t yet had quite the same balls, and for fear of being exposed, she’s picked up Harper’s slack. While I’m still thoroughly enjoying using all of her holes a few times a week, she is deeming herself to be utterly useless in comparison to Harper.

Tearing her photo from the wall, I hold it in my hands and stare at it. Heat rushes up my neck and over my face as I continue to try to find anything to catapult my case forward.

But there’s nothing.

Harper provided me with weeks’ worth of useless fucking information. Shit she isn’t fucking smart enough to figure out on her own. Things he had to have been feeding her. Bullshit lies he knew I would be happy to receive and subsequently waste my fucking time chasing after leads that weren’t there.

The behavior of a guilty fucking man.

She’s been playing me.

This whole fucking time. I pushed her toward him, needing her to get me information from the inside that I could never obtain otherwise, but she fucking willing ran into his arms. And together, the two of them have been playing me.

Laughing at me.

Fucking mocking me.

“You fucked me, Harper,” I spit at the photo in my hand. My jaw is clenched painfully tight as I crumple the photo in my fist. Tossing it to the ground, I grit through my teeth, “You’ll fucking pay for trying to deceive me.”

Grabbing my keys from the table, I storm out the door to my pickup truck. Slamming the door shut as I climb in, I grumble to myself, “You’ll pay. And when you do, Edmund Parker will show his fucking hand.”

Slipping the truck into gear, I speed across town toward Edmund Parker’s home. She’ll have to leave eventually.

And I can be a patient man.

Hiding in plain sight for two days, my attention perks up when the gates open, and Edmund pulls through in his Bentley. It’s the brand new, white Maserati following behind him that really piques my interest.

Did he buy her a fucking car?

Pulling from the shoulder and onto the road, I follow a few car lengths behind Harper. Through town and onto the interstate. Quite certain I know where we’re heading, I’m not surprised to find us pulling into the parking garage around the corner from her apartment.

Following the Maserati up the levels, I continue past her when she pulls into a spot. I round the corner and quickly park.

---