Macnamaraslady, p.10

MacNamarasLady, page 10



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  She lost all sense of time and place as the kiss went on and on. His hands clutched her ass. She was almost desperate to get closer to him and tugged at his coat. He swore and pulled away long enough to shove off his coat and drag off his shirt.

  Missy gave a low murmur of approval, running her hands over the large expanse of sculpted muscles. T.S. was one fine specimen of manhood.

  He captured her mouth again and then bent down, put one arm behind her knees and scooped her off her feet. He carried her down the hallway to her bedroom. Missy would never admit it aloud, but she loved being carried by him. It made her feel feminine and delicate and cared for. Not something a modern, independent woman wanted to admit, but there was no denying it. A woman her size didn’t get carried very often. In fact, T.S. was the first to ever do so.

  T.S. lowered his head and kissed her. There was a sense of urgency about the act that permeated her awareness. She wanted to ask him what was wrong but was swept away by the sheer physicality of the situation. Sex first. Talk later.

  Her feet hit the floor and she didn’t waste any time. She wanted him naked. Wanted their bodies joined together, flesh to flesh.

  She reached for her zipper as he bent down and undid his boots. The muscles in his shoulders bunched and rippled, his biceps bulged as he removed them and went to work on his jeans and boxer briefs.

  Then he was naked, his cock jutting proudly in front of him. She was still totally dressed. “Let me help you with that.” T.S. reached around her and tugged down her zipper. The metallic hissing sound was loud in the otherwise quiet room. The muted sound of traffic and the city seemed far away from them. Nothing could touch them here.

  T.S. peeled the sleeves of her dress down her arms, exposing her one inch at a time. He paused occasionally, licking and kissing her flesh. God, she was so hot. Her panties were damp, her pussy swollen and wet and her breasts ached.

  But more than that, her heart yearned for T.S. To be as close to him as possible. To hold him and never let him go.

  Her dress fell to her waist and then slithered over her hips, pooling around her ankles. His fingers traced the lace on her bronze-colored bra. “You look good enough to eat. Sweeter than anything Lucas could ever create in his kitchen.”

  The man was seducing her with words alone. That and the hot, lusty expression in his piercing golden eyes.

  His fingers twisted the front closure, releasing it. The bra cups peeled back. “Oh yeah.” He brushed his lips over one pert nipple, then the other. “Riper than any raspberries.” He nuzzled her skin. “Richer than any dark chocolate.”

  Missy moaned and clutched at his hair, pulling him closer. He laughed and nipped at her flesh before soothing it with his tongue. “You want me, don’t you, babe?”

  “Yes.” Did she ever.

  “Mmm.” He made the sound of pleasure as he eased the bra straps down her arms. The garment joined her dress on the floor. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties. He didn’t hesitate to shove them down her thighs. She gave her hips a wiggle and felt his thick erection against her stomach.

  Naked now, except for her thigh-high stockings, she reached for his cock. Her fingers had barely skimmed the velvet soft covering when he caught her wrist and pulled her away.

  “Can’t, babe. I’m on the edge here.”

  His admission made her feel her femininity, her power as a woman. “Really?” She walked the fingers of her free hand over his chest, which was slick with perspiration. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes hot.

  “Oh, yeah.” He slipped his fingers between her thighs and found her slick folds. He slid his fingers from front to back and forward again, finding her clit and stroking it. “You want me. Say it.”

  “I want you,” Missy gasped out when he angled two fingers into her sheath, pushing deep.

  He pulled back, reached down and dug a condom out of his pocket. When he was sheathed, he turned back to her. “Kneel on the bed.”

  Missy climbed onto the mattress, facing away from T.S. His strong hands wrapped around her hips and dragged her close to the edge. He wedged himself between her legs, spreading her thighs wide. His cock pressed against her pussy and he rubbed it against her swollen flesh.

  She was panting hard now. She needed him in her. She ached with a need only T.S. could ease. Her skin was slick and damp. His hands hard and sure.

  He leaned forward and his cock sank several inches into her channel. His hands slid up her sides and around to her breasts. He cupped them and rubbed her swollen nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. His chest covered her back, surrounding her. He flexed his hips, driving his cock deeper, filling her completely.

  Nothing else existed. There was only T.S. and the way he made her feel—sexy, hot, cared for, powerful, needy. So many emotions swirled inside her but all that mattered was finding completion.

  “Fuck me,” she demanded.

  He stilled and then he blistered the air with curses. She didn’t mind at all. She liked knowing she broke through his control, shattering it. He started pounding into her, his hips jack hammering, driving his cock in and out of her slick channel.

  “You’re so tight. So fucking hot.” His voice was hoarse with need. His lungs were working hard as he continued to thrust hard and fast.

  Her skin was so warm she wouldn’t have been surprised to see it blister, but all she felt was a growing need that kept getting larger with each inward stroke of his cock. He filled her, stretching her. Her clit throbbed. Her breasts ached. Her nipples tingled.

  Every inch of her body was in tune with him, with what he was doing to her.

  He released her breasts and banded one arm around her. He eased her upper body off the bed so she was kneeling in front of him, she on the bed and he standing behind her. The angle pushed him even deeper, stimulated nerve-endings inside her pussy that sent off a shower of sparks within her.

  Missy cried out. His fingers brushed her clit and she exploded. Her entire body jerked and spasmed. The only thing holding her upright was T.S.’ arms as he wrapped them around her and continued to thrust.

  She heard his roar as he came. Then they were both falling forward, tumbling onto the bed. Her legs hung over the edge and only his upper body was actually on the mattress. She struggled to drag air into her starving lungs. Her body continued to pulse, her inner muscles spasming around his still-erect cock.

  Missy was stunned by the experience. It was as if T.S. had reached inside her and stolen something vital. Her heart. She bit her lip to keep from crying at her stupidity. She’d gone and fallen in love with the man.

  “You okay?” T.S. maneuvered his big body off of hers and slid his cock free. She wanted to protest, wanted to keep him inside her a while longer.

  “Fine. Good. You?”

  He kissed her shoulder. “Better than good.” He rolled off the bed and sauntered to the bathroom. Missy made herself move. She stripped off her stockings and grabbed her sleep shirt. It reached her thighs and provided her some physical armor, if not emotional. She crawled into bed trying to make sense out of her tangled thoughts and emotions.

  She’d fallen in love with T.S. She needed to think.

  T.S. padded back into the bedroom. He raised one eyebrow but didn’t say anything about her sleep shirt. He rolled into bed behind her, wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into the curve of his hard body.

  She loved this part of sex, the closeness, the quiet after orgasm. But tonight she couldn’t find peace or comfort in the act.

  She was still awake hours later when he eased out of bed, dressed and left. As the front door of her apartment closed with a snick, a lone tear rolled down her cheek and disappeared onto her pillow.

  What was she going to do?

  Chapter Nine

  Missy gripped the strap of her purse tight as she walked down the busy hallway in the police station. The floor tiles were dingy gray and the paint was peeling from parts of the wall. Phones were ringing and people talking. In the distanc
e someone was yelling.

  “Nothing to worry about,” the officer reassured her. Detective Stark. That was his name. He’d told her that twice in the past five minutes, both times with quiet patience. He must be used to witnesses being nervous.

  Her hands were cold as he led her into a small room with a two-way mirror. There were two uncomfortable-looking metal chairs and a scarred wooden table. Missy couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to spend much time here. Although, that was probably the point.

  The overhead light was bright, illuminating the dull gray of the room. She would be able to see everyone in the other room but the people in it would not be able to see her. Taking a deep breath, she peered toward the mirror. There was no one in the room across from her. Yet.

  “We’re going to bring in a group of eight men and I want you to tell me if you see your other attacker there.” His eyes were tired, but kind. “No pressure.”

  Easy for him to say. The attack had taken place almost a month ago now, but it was still fresh in Missy’s mind. At least the nightmares were fading. She only had them on the rare night, usually when she slept alone. When T.S. stayed over, she slept like a baby.

  Missy was surprised their affair had gone on as long as it had. She kept expecting T.S. to walk away. Heck, she talked herself into getting out of their relationship at least twice a week but always changed her mind. They had much more in common than she’d believed. There was more to their arrangement than just fabulous sex.

  He made her laugh. He’d reopened doors to her life that she’d closed years ago and she’d found they weren’t all that painful to go back through. She’d rediscovered her love of football, for one. They watched bad action movies and critically acclaimed dramas. They shared their music interests. They had friends in common.

  T.S. might be blue collar, but he was driven to succeed. He owned his own business, which was doing well in spite of the recession. He talked to his mother several times a week.

  Just because she’d never met the woman didn’t mean he was hiding their relationship. After all, she wasn’t lining up a trip home to introduce him to her folks. If she never saw them again it would be too soon.

  “Ready?” Detective Stark’s voice startled her, bringing her back to reality.

  “Yes.” She wanted this done.

  The officer walked over to a wall intercom system and pressed a button. “Bring ’em in.”

  The door opened and Missy’s grip on her purse turned into a stranglehold. Eight men trooped in along with two guards. The men all lined up facing the mirror. They all knew someone was in here watching them. Some of them glared. Others looked totally bored. Only one appeared scared, fidgeting and glancing nervously around the room.

  A shiver raced down her spine and she found herself wishing she’d asked Candy to come with her. Her friend had offered. Missy hadn’t thought she’d find the task as difficult as it was.

  “Take your time.”

  Missy nodded and started on the right side. The man was tall with a large beer gut. Not him. The next guy had a scar running down his left cheek. She would have remembered that.

  Her eyes hit the third man and she froze. Brown hair and blue eyes. He seemed harmless until you looked deep into his gaze. His wiry build was deceptive. He was much stronger than he appeared. She knew that firsthand.

  “Him.” She pointed to the suspect. “The third man from the right with the blue T-shirt.”

  “You sure?” Detective Stark was studying her, not the man she pointed out.

  Missy rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly frozen in spite of the fact she was wearing her coat. “I’m sure. I’ll never forget his face.”

  Stark nodded. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  He left the room closing the door behind him. Her attacker chose that moment to glance up at the mirror and smile. She jerked away even though she knew he couldn’t see her.

  She sucked in a breath. She’d have to face him in court when the time came. And not just him but her other attacker as well. She could do this. Besides, there was T.S.’ statement. He’d gotten a good look at both of them, had seen what they were doing.

  The men filed out of the room. The door closed behind them. The silence closed in around her and she was grateful when the detective came back for her. “Come with me.” He motioned her out and she was more than happy to leave it behind. “You sure I can’t get you some coffee?”

  “I’m sure, but thank you.” She wanted out of here as fast as possible. She also didn’t think her churning stomach could handle coffee.

  Stark led her into his office and motioned her into the chair across from his desk. It was an old wooden one and slightly battered. Like all the furniture around here, it had seen better days. Missy supposed it was functional and that was all that mattered.

  “You’ve confirmed that Milo Hawkins is your second attacker.”

  “That’s his name?” Somehow it felt different knowing his name. Silly, but true. It made him more real and less of the boogeyman.

  The detective shuffled some files before pulling one out and opening it. “Yup. Milo and his good buddy Henry Banks have rap sheets a mile long. They started young and never stopped.”

  Henry Banks was the man who’d been arrested on the scene that night.

  Stark closed the file and studied her. “It will probably be a while before this goes to court, if it goes at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Once again she was struck by how tired the detective looked. His graying hair was cut short and his face clean-shaven, but beneath the clean-cut exterior was a man who was weighed down by life. Not surprising when you considered what he did for a living.

  “They might plea down to avoid a trial.”

  “That can happen?” She was shocked and slightly appalled, but at the same time relieved that she might not have to confront the men in a courtroom.

  “Yeah, it can, and most likely will. Look,” the detective got up and came around his desk, perching on the edge. “We got Henry on scene. We’ve got Milo, who still had his fancy knife on him.” The detective shook his head. “He should have ditched it. But it matches the weapon used on scene. It was distinctive.”

  Missy remembered the long blade with the distinctive silver skull on the pommel and the black carved handle.

  “The guy who rescued you—MacNamara—he gave us a very accurate description of the weapon.”

  Missy nodded. T.S. had remembered a lot more about the knife than she had.

  “Not surprising, though.”

  Missy frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  The detective shrugged. “He did time. I figure he’s seen his fair share of blades.”

  A strange whirring sound filled Missy’s ears. “What did you say?” Surely she must have heard the detective wrong.

  “Hey, you okay?” He touched her shoulder.

  She sat back in the chair, thankful for the uncomfortable wooden back. It was the only thing keeping her from slumping to the floor. “Explain what you just said.”

  Stark tugged at his jacket and rubbed his hand across his chin. “I figured you knew, you two being friends and all. MacNamara got five years back when he was eighteen. Didn’t serve them all. Good behavior and no previous record.”

  T.S. had been in jail. He was no different from the men who attacked her. That’s not quite true, her conscience screamed. He’d protected her. “What did he do?”

  The detective looked pained now, but he answered. “It’s public record. He drove the getaway car when his older brother knocked over a liquor store. The clerk was shot in the robbery. A cop was shot trying to apprehend them. Luckily no one died.”

  She had to get out of here. Missy stumbled to her feet. “I have to go.”

  “Maybe you should sit here for a bit.” Worry filled his gaze, along with pity. She hated pity. As a child, she’d seen neighbors, well-meaning teachers and social workers stare at her with that look. They’d all known when her fa
ther was in jail. Sometimes for assault, other times for property damage or petty theft. She hated pity. She might have come from trash, but she’d bettered herself though hard work and perseverance. She was strong.

  Missy straightened her shoulders. “I’m fine. Please let me know what happens with…” She gestured her hand toward the file on the desk. The attack was overshadowed by the enormity of T.S.’ deception.

  “I will.”

  She spun around and left, clutching her purse tight. The heels of her boots clicked along the tile floor, the rhythm getting faster and faster as she all but ran for the door. The man she was sleeping with, was in love with was an ex-con.

  The one thing she’d promised herself when she’d left home was that she’d only get involved with men who were honest and forthright. Her father had spent time in prison. Both her brothers had done prison time for fighting and stealing by the time she’d left home. Missy wanted none of that in her life.

  A sob broke from her throat as she stumbled to her car. Her hand shook so bad she dropped her keys twice before jamming the right one into the lock. When she was safe inside she swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “You will not cry.”

  She took a deep breath and slowly released it. Then another. And another until she was sure she wasn’t going to shed any more tears. “He’s not worth it.” Her father hadn’t been worth it. And neither were her brothers.

  But T.S. was different, her heart cried. “Sex. That’s all it was. Sex.” She ignored the acute sense of betrayal and the ache in her heart. She rubbed her chest and bit her bottom lip, desperate to bottle up the emotions swirling inside her.

  Her breathing was ragged but she kept on working at slowing it down. In and out. The windows of her car fogged as the cold of the day and the heat from her breath collided.

  She blanked her mind, refusing to think about the past month. All the good times they’d shared. The laughter. The love. Because she did love him. That’s what made the betrayal all the worse. She’d finally lowered her guard enough to love a man and he turned out to be an ex-con, the one thing she’d sworn would never happen.

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