Joyce
“Then I think the clock just started,” I tell Wyatt.
Wyatt Dixon.
He’s the man I haven’t been able to get out of my head for weeks. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the random stranger I met at the Red Oak. When I went out with my business partner’s mate, I was expecting to have a fun, relaxing night. Oliver thought it was a great idea for me and Anna to spend time together, and it was. We had a fantastic time drinking, talking, and in my case, making out.
And later, when I saw a picture of the shifter leading the search for Charlene Hill, I realized I’d made a horrible mistake.
It’s a bad idea for suspects to get involved with the police. It’s just a terrible, horrible idea. Even though I was never officially a suspect, I had a relationship with one, which means my role in the disappearance of Charlene Hill matters.
It matters to the police, and it matters especially to Wyatt Dixon.
Why did he have to be the one in the restaurant that night?
Why did it have to be him?
My relationship with Logan was a casual fling, really. I liked him a lot. In retrospect, it was a terrible thing to base a relationship on. Liking someone is meaningless if they turn out to be a kidnapper – or worse.
I don’t think Logan Smith is a murderer, but I think given the right circumstances, he could be.
I have to believe that Charlene is still alive, though. If I didn’t believe it to my very core, then I couldn’t wake up each day and keep going. I wouldn’t be able to focus on the case or my general workload at all. I wouldn’t be able to do anything. The guilt would overtake me, and I would drown.
Wyatt’s eyes narrow and he looks at me. It’s a mixture of lust and determination. I know Wyatt Dixon wants me. I want him, too. I’ve wanted him since the moment I laid eyes on him, but I’m no good for him. I’m a woman with a past, and my past is a messy one. No, I haven’t had a ton of relationships and I don’t have any secret children or anything like that.
Nope.
I’m the girl whose ex-boyfriend stole a woman.
I’m the ex-lover of a kidnapper.
A criminal.
A villain.
That’s my past.
What would a guy like Wyatt want with a woman like me?
“What are you saying, Joyce?”
He doesn’t move, and my hands are still on his chest. His hard, firm chest. His broad chest. I’m still touching him, and he’s not asking me to move. He’s not saying anything. He’s just looking at me, and I want him.
Fuck.
Why do I want him so much?
This isn’t normal.
It’s not okay.
There must be something seriously wrong with me that all I can think about is undressing Wyatt and sliding my tongue over that chest. I want to see all of him. I want to touch all of him. I want to climb on him, ride him, and bring him to the edge of ecstasy.
And then I want to fall over that cliff with him.
Forever.
Fuck.
Why the fuck did I just think that?
Forever?
Really?
I shake my head and take a step back. Wyatt still doesn’t say anything. He’s still waiting for me to respond to his last question, but I can’t because I don’t know what I want anymore.
That’s not true.
Him.
I want him.
Wyatt makes me feel safe and cherished and adored.
Magical.
He makes me feel fucking magical, like I’m some sort of fairy princess he can’t get enough of. Why does he make me feel like that? What is it about him that I’m drawn to?
It could be his gentle smile or his handsome face, but really, I think I just like him. I like the way he moves and the way he speaks and the way nothing really seems to get past him. When we spent the evening together at Red Oak, we talked and talked and talked, and then we stopped talking.
And somehow, the whole thing seemed so perfect.
“Joyce?”
He whispers my name, and I step forward once more. This time, I reach for his cheek, and I press my lips to his. I kiss Wyatt like he’s the only thing that matters, like this moment is all I’ve been dreaming about. I kiss him like he’s important, like he’s priceless to me, because he is.
He’s incredible.
And then he kisses me back.
Wyatt Dixon knows how to kiss. I’ve been with humans and shifters alike, and no one has ever delighted me with a kiss the way Wyatt does. I don’t know how he does it or what it is about the way he touches me, but he makes me feel incredible.
He makes me feel like I can fly.
He pulls me closer to him, and I can feel every inch of his body touching mine. My nipples are hard, and I wonder if he can feel them through the fabric of my shirt against his own chest. One of Wyatt’s hands is on my waist, and the other moves lower, to my bottom, and he squeezes it, pulling me even nearer.
He kisses me over and over again, and soon everything begins to spin.
Soon I’m not thinking about the case, or the missing girl, or my sordid past I just can’t seem to outrun.
Soon I’m only thinking about Wyatt.
Soon I’m only thinking about the fact that he’s perfect, and I want this moment to last forever.
His hand moves up to my chest, and he cups my breast. Now I know he can definitely feel how hard my nipples are. He pinches one through the thin fabric of my top, and then he pinches the other one. I let out a little moan, and he chuckles.
“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t stop kissing me.
Two can play that game, though, and when I reach for his dick, it’s his turn to groan. Slowly, I stroke his cock over his slacks, running my hand up and down his length.
I want him inside of me, I realize, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
“Wyatt,” I murmur, and he pushes my pencil skirt up to my hips, and then he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around him and keep kissing him as he carries me over to the desk. He pushes some things off the top of the desk, but nothing important, I realize happily.
Then I realize I wouldn’t have cared even if those were important things.
I only care about him.
I only care about him touching me.
I don’t want Wyatt’s hands to leave my skin. They feel too perfect, too right.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he groans. “We’re proving her right.”
“We’re in trouble either way,” I whisper. “Might as well have some fun, baby.”
“Fuck, Joyce, you’re so damn sweet,” he says. “Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about this moment?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, too,” I admit. My legs are spread and he’s standing in front of me, kissing me, touching me. It’s obvious we both want this, need this. We’re both craving this perfect release. We’re both burning with desire for each other.
I’ve never felt this needy before. It’s like someone has taken over my body and replaced the normal, ordinary Joyce with some kind of sex-fueled goddess.
All I know is that if Wyatt doesn’t get inside of me – and soon – I’m going to die.
I need this.
I need him now.
Here.
“Please,” I whisper, and he begins to kiss me again. My hands find his shirt and I undo his buttons as we kiss, as he grinds against me. The only things keeping us apart are my panties and his pants, and those are off soon. He doesn’t even take his pants all the way off. He just pushes them down and then, and then, and then…
And then Wyatt is inside of me, and I cry out.
He covers my mouth with his hand, but it’s too late for that. These walls are paper thin, and everyone else in the building just happens to be a shifter with incredible hearing. I don’t even care. I don’t care that my bosses and Matthew know I’m having sex with a police officer.
I don’t care about any of that because I need Wyatt in a way I’ve never wanted or needed anyone else before.
I don’t care because all I want is him.
I don’t care because he’s filling me, and I’ve never felt this high before. The head rush is overtaking me and I feel like I’m going to faint. He fucks me on the desk, making love to me in a way I’ve never felt before. His mouth never leaves mine and our hands are all over each other.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Soon I’m on the verge of coming apart right on the desk, and I can tell he’s close, too.
“Come for me, darling,” he murmurs, and as I do, I move my mouth from his lips to his neck, and I bite him.
Hard.
The orgasm sweeps over me and I feel him coming inside of me at the same time. He groans my name and I whisper his, and then, as my head begins to clear, I realize what I’ve done.
I’ve just mated Wyatt Dixon.
He looks at me, and his eyes are wide.