Page 14 of Wicked S.O.B.

My internal muscles quiver with the cloying need to be fucked. “I…I wanted to avoid…gossip. You don’t need it after—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps at me. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re worried aboutthat?”

I bite my lip to stop a pathetic whimper. “The paparazzi have laid off us in the last few weeks. I don’t want to give the tabloids any more column inches. Quinn…please, can we talk about this later?” I plead.

He withdraws an inch before surging forward. The pleasure is remarkable but not nearly enough. “No. There’s more. Tell me.”

“I just wanted…this will be something I achieve on my own without…”

His face tightens. “Interference from me? You don’t want me to be a part of it?”

“You give me so much already. Let this one go. Please.”

A muscle tics in his jaw, and his cock jerks inside me as the stillness begins to get to him too. “Elyse.”

“I’m dying, Quinn. Please,” I whisper. Ruthlessly, I clench my muscles around him, knowing it might earn me a black mark.

His breath hisses from his teeth.Finally, he moves. “I reserve the right to remain pissed at this fucking situation for a while longer,” he rasps as he pulls all the way out and thrusts back inside me. “Understood?”

“Understood,” I gasp.

“Good. Now you can beg me to fuck you harder or you can beg to touch me. Which is it going to be?” he growls.

An impossible choice. Almost. “Can I touch you, please?”

My instinct tells me it’s the right choice when his nostrils flare in a reaction he can’t contain. Besides, he’s harder than fuck, which means he’s moments away from pounding me into the bed anyway.

But still, every particle in my body thrills when he lowers his head until his lips hover over mine. “Touch me,” he commands.

*

I leave our penthouse on Park Avenue just after ten thirty. The commute to my class is a thirty-minute brisk walk or a fifteen-minute car ride, depending on whether I let Quinn’s driver, Lionel, take me. It also depends on how bad Midtown traffic is. I haven’t made up my mind either way, but as I head down in the elevator, I pull out my phone, take a deep breath, and place the call I’ve been putting off for days.

“Detective Ellen Shultz.”

My heart thuds loudly in my ears and I have to swallow hard before I can speak. I can’t help but recall my last brush with the law when I was kidnapped by Clayton and then rescued by the NYPD.

In the course of the resulting FBI investigation and trial that saw Clay sentenced to a long term in prison, I had to confess to the arson that destroyed the Villa. I also had to confess to killing a man, Ridge Matthews, Clay’s lapdog and the man who’d not only been intent on raping me but had also developed the same fixation on Petra.

Between them, they were determined to hunt her down and make her the latest star attraction at the Villa. Clay, being Petra’s biological father, believed it was his right. I was the only thing that stood in his way. And I fought like hell, and killed, to make sure he never succeeded.

The authorities eventually agreed to not pursue charges against me in return for my testimony against Clay, a deal I happily took. The guilt over taking a life will stay with me forever, but I believed my time of dealing with cops was behind me. The thought that it might not be has been near unbearable. Keeping my suspicions from Quinn has been even worse.

“Hello?” the voice on the phone snaps.

“I…sorry, Detective, it’s Elyse Gilbert.”

“Yeah, I thought that was you.” She sounds harried and a little distracted. Like every other overworked cop in this city. “Hey, I hope you’re not calling to cry off our appointment?” she asks sharply.

I can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. “No. No, I was calling to confirm it.”

She huffs out a breath. “Okay. Good. Like I said before, it’s better to get ahead of this thing before it becomes a bigger thing, you know?” I hear papers being shuffled in the background.

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. I can do without the shit storm that will ensue if we don’t take it seriously. So I’ll see you at the precinct at one o’clock?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

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