Page 29 of Controlled Burn
His eyes snapped open. Instinct kicked in before consciousness. His hands gripped her thighs. Hard.
"Cross," he hissed, voice thick with sleep and arousal. "What the hell are you doing?"
She leaned over him, hair falling like a curtain around their faces.
"You dared me," she whispered.
He froze.
"You're not serious."
"Say it. Tell me to leave."
He didn't.
His hands tightened on her thighs. His chest rose beneath her, hot skin brushing hers through her paper-thin tank top.
"You'll get us both fired," he growled.
"Then make it worth it."
She rocked against him—slow, deliberate. His cock hardened beneath her, straining against the fabric separating them.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You're insane."
"Or maybe I'm just done pretending I don't want this."
She reached between them. Found him. Hard. Thick. Ready.
"No panties?" he rasped, voice gone to gravel.
"No rules tonight."
He flipped her under him without warning. Pressed her into the mattress. Pinned her wrists over her head with one hand while the other slipped beneath the waistband of her duty pants.
She was soaked.
"Christ, Cross," he muttered. "You came in here like this?"
"I couldn't sleep," she gasped. "Kept thinking about your hands."
"You have any idea what that does to me?" She looked up at him, eyes glassy. "I was hoping." He groaned, dragging hismouth along her jaw, across the space between her collarbones. His hand slipped lower, slower, until his fingers slid back into her heat, soaked and pulsing. She gripped the sheets.
"Every time you walk past me like you don't know what you're doing, I want to bend you over the turnout bench."
"Then why haven't you?"
"Because I'm still trying to be a good man."
"Then stop."
He slid two fingers inside her.
Her hips bucked.
She moaned—breathless, broken—like his touch cracked her open.
"You were dripping for me before you even knocked," he whispered into her neck. "Did you touch yourself thinking about this?"
