Page 39 of New Nebraska Heat
I almost let fear deter me, but I was safe here, in Hunter’s loft. I let the fear wash away and focused on what was left.
The desire I’d felt in the living room with him and Bryce came flooding back and I slid a finger along my slit and then circled my clit with a soft sigh of satisfaction.
It took me several minutes to find the right rhythm. When I did, my pulse raced and it became harder to breathe.
I imagined Hunter sitting on the sink, naked with his cock in his hand as he watched me, encouraging me. Then I imagined my hand was Hunter’s, giving my body the pent-up release it so badly needed. I couldn’t help the trembling moan that escaped my lips as I circled faster.
My legs spread farther apart so I could try a finger inside me. Then I quickly lost my nerve. I took a deep breath, letting Hunter’s handsome face appear in my mind. Back to stroking my clit, hoping the fizzle of the warm shower would mask my moans. Then I thought about Bryce.
And all the things that he might do if he were standing naked behind me right now. How he’d seemed to want to touch me so much out there. I pictured his hand where mine was between my legs, the other on my breast as he pressed his hard naked body against me.
I rubbed faster, pushing past my limits until my thighs quaked. A pulse of something built low and spread through my core.
I leaned on the shower bar, my back arching as the building pressure released in an intense explosion of pleasure. I cried out into the tile as I climaxed, surrounded by lavender-scented steam.
I struggled to catch my breath, as it felt like I was floating under the shower’s spray.
After a few moments, I floated back down to earth and laughed as I washed off the bubbles until the water ran clear.
Dagger
It’d been just over a day since I’d seen my mate—thirty-seven and half hours to be exact—when I buzzed the security intercom in the late evening. Unless you counted the show I’d gotten to see her put on in those security tapes from the club. Goddamn, my cowgirl could dance. Of course, my territorial jaguar had major objections to her doing it for anyone but us, but I’d just been happy to catch another glimpse of her.
“What the fuck?” Hunter’s voice barked through the speaker, lacking any of its regular calmness. “This is getting to be an unwelcome habit. Can’t you call back during working hours? Preferably sometime next year.”
I shrugged, the kid in me taking a stony-faced delight in his irritation as he glared at me through the intercom’s camera. I took the high ground, kind of. “These are my working hours. And I’m real sorry taking psycho scum off the streets doesn’t fit perfectly with your schedule. Let me up.”
I’d become so used to hunting killers andbrawling creeps amongst the hazy streetlights and dark shadows, I hadn’t given a night visit a second thought. What, was nine o’clock past his bedtime? The so-called tough guy was getting soft from nudging his nose into too many books.
Hunter ranted on, words wrapped in barbwire. I didn’t even process tonight’s exact complaints, just let them wash over me.
“It’s police business,” I reminded him again.
After another huff through the intercom, he buzzed the security doors open.
Stepping into the airy industrial elevator, my jaguar—impatient to see Serenity—was yowling and scratching at my insides as the platform made its clunky ascent. Eager to be near her too, I stepped out into an odd atmosphere.
There was clear tension in the room, but my jaguar distracted me from it for a moment, thumping against my ribcage, grumbling and pawing me at the sight of our mate. I reminded him that she was the only reason I’d made my visit and scolded him to keep his claws retracted. His desperation—a reflection of my own—was starting to smart.
Serenity was fidgeting on a couch in a white robe. She had a towel tied round her head and draped down her shoulders, Cleopatra style.
Bryce was buttoning up his designer shirt on a couch across from her, his fingertips glowing and fiery eyes glazed in sadness. Then you had Hunter sitting at his breakfast bar, tinkling a coffee cup repeatedly against its saucer. Still scowling at me, of course, but in between flashes of awkwardness that disturbed the usual serious lines of his features.
Something had happened—not illegal but still serious in its own way—and I found myself sliding into full-blown detective mode, pursuant of the truth with extreme prejudice.
The simple answer came from my jaguar’s powerful nose.
Sex. They didn’t all wreak of it, but my jaguar’s hackles raisedat the smell of arousal hanging heavy around the three of them. I let my predator hunt the scent to its sources, giving his powerful senses free rein. The pulse from swollen balls told me the guys hadn’t got their release.
She had, though, most likely in the shower from her own hand, but I couldn’t be completely sure. Whatever had been going on, I didn’t like it. Neither did my animal. I wanted my mate to myself. My jaguar snarled in violent agreement.
“So, you gonna tell me why you’re harassing me in my home at this time of night? Or do we have to call up the psychic hotline for an answer?” Hunter asked, hunched over his coffee. A whiff of the vapors billowing from the cup told my shifter nose it was decaf. Back in our early twenties, he’d been the most dynamic and skilled street fighter in New Omaha. Now he was scared of a little caffeine. I sighed softly.
“I’m here out of my public duty to Serenity,brother. I promised her updates on that kid’s condition and anything to do with the case.”
Hunter scoffed and tapped his cell phone screen. “You’ve heard of these, right?”
Discreetly surveying the room, I shrugged off his question. “Some news is best delivered in person.” I focused my stare on him, my tone cold. “If you were a cop, and not… what you are, you’d understand.”
