Page 27 of Sullied Saints

I grab his arm, tugging so that he has to turn from his near-frantic perusal of the shelves and look at me. "What you are is a hot-headed mess," I correct, letting some impatience seep into my voice.

His brow draws down. "Hot-headed?"

"What else do you call breaking the nose of a suspect during interrogation? Then manhandling a wholeothersuspect? You're headed towards getting yourself suspended!"

"Then maybe I'll hunt the psycho on my own."

"Oh!" I spread my hands. "That’s a great idea, some vigilante justice. Why don't you go ask Needler for some tips on that before you go? Might be good not to have him pinned to a wall this time, though."

Dirk tugs his arm free. "Maybe he can give me some tips on attacking people in acalmmanner. None of thishot-headedbusiness," he sneers. At least he didn't suggest asking for any tips involving me. I might have slapped him again if he’d done that.

Apparently having decided the stack he's accumulated is enough, Dirk goes to pick it up. I weigh both of my hands on top of the tower to stop him, and a muscle in his jaw twitches as he looks down on me and waits.

"You are being reactive," I tell him flatly.

"Maybe someone should react! Maybe the creep who killed an innocent man and left this body in a laundromat because someone told him to should have his nose—hell, his whole face—broken. Maybe someone should be hunting Cocooner the way she so happily has hunted almost a dozen people!"

I make a frustrated noise. "And you're the one to carry all that out, I take it?"

He throws his hands up. "I don't know! I know what we have been doing isn't working. We're getting more broken, and she's getting fuckingfans. Hell, fucking Needler is doing better than us right now and he's behind a glass wall twenty-four hours a day!"

"I didn't realise there was so little good in your life right now," I say evenly, though a slight break in my voice gives me away.

Staring at me, Dirk blinks. "It’s not about that."

"When is it about that, then?" I demand. "You asked to do this properly, didn’t you? Well, I have conditions too; I’m not going to chase you around like a mother hen while you try to destroy your career, our case, and whatever the hell else gets in your way!”

We're facing each other off, and I can see the surprise register on his face. What did I expect? He doesn't do relationships, not really. Like I would be any different. I shake my head before the tears threatening to sting my eyes can fall. "Whatever.” I throw my hands up. “Do whatever the hell you want, Dirk."

"Wait…" he’s saying, but I’ve already turned away, moving back around the shelf and heading for the door.

"Enjoy your evidence," I throw back.

He catches me halfway to the door, pulling me around to face him in the shadow cast from the only working light where it glows from the other side of the shelf. This time it’s me tugging out of his grip, but Dirk only grabs my other arm. "You are the best thing in my life," he says.

I scoff, trying to turn away again. I don't like that I'm crying. I don't even know why I'm crying.

"Don't run away." Squeezing my arms, Dirk pulls me back again.

"This is too hard."

He grips harder. "Don't say that."

"I'm not good at…" I don't get to tell him what I'm not good at, because he kisses me, lifting my chin with his fingertips, silencing my words as well as my thoughts. My hands grip his shirt hard enough to leave wrinkles, needing more closeness, more everything. Even as we're tugging at each other’s clothes, loosening buttons and pulling over zippers, I can't think of how I'm going to get him inside me, just that I will. Breath rasping against my ear, Dirk pushes my pants down to my thighs, the cool, still air of the room feeling wrong and tantalizing on my bare flesh.

Turning me around, Dirk tugs my back flush against his body, hand braced up against my collarbone. I let my head tip back onto his shoulder, his lips grazing my earlobe. My hands brace on the wall in front of me as Dirk nudges my feet as far apart as they will go, given the restriction of my pants, and a hot flush of need settles low in my belly. Hand dragging over the curve of my exposed ass, he tilts his head to rasp against my cheek. "God, I want you."

My breath catches, the bulge in his pants brushing me from behind. "We're at work," I say, with no real protest in my words. In fact, quite the opposite.

"Mm." He checks with a finger first, finding me wet and wanting. I feel his pants fold against the back of my thighs, feel his skin and then him, hard and promising. I arch back to invite him, and he takes, thrusting up so that he fills me so suddenly that I cry out. Squeezing my body hard back against his, Dirk almost has to hold me up as the sensations, the pleasure of this new position, make my knees weak and my breath pant out. Holding himself still, inside me and unmoving, Dirk's voice is low, breath hot on my earlobe. "Is this okay?"

I don't know if he's asking about the position, how deep he feels, making me gasp before he's even moved inside me, or his hand resting softly at the base of my neck, fingers curling around, holding my throat. "God, yes," I gasp because whatever he's asking, all of it is more thanokay.

I can only hope this room is soundproof, even when he slides his hand high enough to hold a finger between my teeth and muffle my moans, an effort offset by his hand down the front of my body, moving with me as I roll my hips back with his. Thinking of anything; of being caught, of consequences, even what I came in here for, all flees—it’s only this, him and now.

After I've swayed and nearly convulsed through an orgasm, Dirk grunts, pulling out to finish into his hand while still cupping me under my shirt and bra. Breath spent, we stay, somehow holding each other up, his chin resting on my shoulder.

Mind clearing just enough, I can appreciate the folly of what we just did, and yet I'd be more likely to do it again than to take it back.

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