Chapter Fourteen

Perrie

 

Four hours of being inside clubs and bars and casinos and I felt grimier and dirtier than usual for some reason. I wanted three hot showers in a row, and that was just to wash the sensation of Adrian’s hands off me.

Not because he was dirty, but because he’d touched me so many times that I needed to wash away the lingering sensation of him.

Sitting in my drive, I pulled the wig off my head and systemically pulled out every single bobby pin holding my hair against my scalp. I’d spent thirty minutes curling my hair only to be told it was time for a disguise and forced to hide it under a dark brown wig.

My eyebrows matched, and as my light blond curls tumbled away from my head, I looked more and more stupid.

Granted, I was looking in a one-by-three-inch mirror on the eye shade in my car, but still. The eyebrows currently framing my eyes were way too dark for me with my natural hair color. I didn’t even own an eyebrow pencil or powder this dark—I’d had to borrow a young rookie’s kit just so my brows matched the wig.

For future reference, I’d demanded to be informed ahead of time if I needed to be in disguise with a wig. Only a man wouldn’t appreciate the arm-ache that thirty-plus minutes of curling iron usage would bring. Next time, I wouldn’t bother washing my hair, never mind doing anything else with it.

“Ugh.” The word was no more than muttered to myself as I got out of the car, leaving the cause of my itchy scalp sitting on the passenger seat.

All right, it was on the floor. It didn’t deserve the seat.

I scratched my nails hard against my scalp. Dear god, it was like I was in fucking elementary school with a breakout of headlice all over again. Not only did I now need prior warning before I’d wear a wig—I’d be informing them the itchiness would have to be tested first, or Adrian could dress up.

The only good that had come out of tonight was locating the first male prostitute. We—and by ‘we,’ I mean Adrian and his team—hadn’t been able to arrest him, but the bartender had given us a positive ID and a rundown of his personality.

He was the only one I didn’t mind snaring.

That thought lingered on my mind as I headed inside. I batted it away just long enough to pay Alison and see her drive off down the street. It came back full force as I made my way upstairs to check on the kids.

Zac coughed and rolled over at me pushing the door open, but he was still sound asleep on the blow-up mattress on the floor, curled up right under his covers. Lola was totally crashed, too, one leg thrown out of her pink covers, arm over her head, and mouth open like she was catching flies.

I stifled a giggle at their polar opposite sleeping positions and quietly closed the door. Certain they were both still sleeping—the tiny snore from one of them clued me in—I headed for the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Within seconds, the small room filled with steam. I stripped and jumped into the shower, make-up still on, and instantly regretted it. Mascara stung my eyes, and it was a blind scramble toward the sink to reach my wipes to clean it off.

I scrubbed at my eyes, still standing in the shower with the curtain pulled back. The mirror was steaming up a little more with each wipe at my face, but inch by inch, I stared at my reflection as the make-up disappeared from my skin and my eyelashes. Harder and harder I pressed, getting rougher with each rub of the wipe across my face.

Soon enough, the make-up was gone, and I looked like myself again. Light lashes and brows, a lightly freckled nose and pale pink lips. The skin around my eyebrows was red where I’d wiped so hard, but I threw the final wet wipe into the sink to trash later and stepped back fully into the flow of water.

The water washed over me as my thoughts returned.

The gigolo. We’d named him. Confirmed it through the police record. Had a pin on his whereabouts for tomorrow night.

Taking him down was my job. It would be the first arrest I would be completely responsible for, and after seeing him tonight, I was strangely okay with it. Whether it was because he was the biggest asshole I’d ever seen pick up women—and that was saying something—or because I was becoming desensitized to this whole thing, I didn’t know, but I wanted to put my money on the first option.

The way he’d approached potential female clients as if they owed him something had made me cringe. He was handsome and he knew it—he worked it, he played it, and he abused it.

The thought I had to worm my way into being on the other side of had me wanting to throw up.

But, I would. Not only did I not have a choice, I wanted to. You could be paid for sex and still be a decent damn human being.

I washed the soap from my body, made sure the conditioner was fully out of my hair, and killed the water. I wrapped a towel around my hair and grabbed a second for my body. The bathroom was humid with the steam that swirled thanks to the heat of the water.

Wiping my hand over the condensation-coated mirror, I sighed. Was this what my life had become? Was this what my choices had really lead me to? From loneliness and disrespect to loneliness and disrespect?

Self-loathing trickled through my veins.

I’d distanced myself from my family because they’d hurt me, because I knew they didn’t see my life the way I did, but in doing so, I’d fucked myself and my daughter.

How had my showers gone from scrubbing another man from my body to wanting to take one of the motherfuckers down?

How had my life gone from riches to rags?

I was the reverse Cinderella.

I’d been a princess before I’d ever been a servant. And that’s all I was, really. I was a servant to others’ pleasure for years and now I was a slave of the Las Vegas police force. I’d gone from one to the other without batting an eyelid to save my ass because I’d been caught in the act.

And all for my pint-sized mini-me.

The same person who benefit far more from me righting the wrongs with my family. The same family who had the chance to give her the world.

But would they?

My brother wanted to see me, if his new bit of stuff could be believed, but how much of it was truly real? Would he accept Lola? Me? Was it from a true place or borne of regret and a need to right the wrong?

There was only one way to find out, but the idea was stomach-turning.

Despite it all, I loved Damien. I loved my big brother the way any little girl did, and I would give anything I had to have the man I once knew and loved back in my life.

Those facts made it worse—harder, more nerve-wracking. It’d been almost a decade. There was no way he was the young man who’d put me on a pedestal all those years ago until the second line on my pregnancy test faded into view. He had to be older and more jaded. He had to be crueler and harsher.

He was bred to be Benedict Fox the Second, after all.

He was born to be his successor and his heir and nothing less than the ruthless perfection his father embodied.

Perfection was a ruse. Perfection would be allowing me access to the money I was entitled to, but that would never happen. Perfection would be accepting that his wife—my mother—fucked up twenty-something years ago, but that would be too easy. Or hard, whatever.

Perfection would be accepting that I was a Fox, if only because Benedict loved my mom enough to make it happen. No matter how he felt about the little black sheep with blond hair who was a million miles away from his other children.

Tears stung the backs of my eyes and I pushed the thoughts away. It’d been years since I’d really thought about it all. I’d buried all that shit when I’d moved on, but Dahlia Lloyd’s appearance in my life had dredged it all back up.

Not to mention that the fact I was seeing prostitutes from another angle now. I was seeing them for the desperate neediness they were. For the hatred and hurt and desperation that seeped from all their pores.

That had seeped from mine.

That had been my lifeblood only weeks ago.

I slammed my hand down onto the sink. The heel of it hit the ceramic, and I hissed out in pain. Frustration ebbed away at the dull throb that took up, and the ache that lingered even as I left the room helped dampen the emotion that swirled inside me and made my heart hurt with its intensity.

I wanted a normal life.

I wanted to smile.

I wanted to laugh.

I wanted to fall in love.

I wanted to live and breathe the way others did, without fear or judgement, without the risk of being caught and shamed.

I just wanted a life. One I loved. One I could be proud of.

One I believed in.

 

***

 

Half an hour later, still sitting on the end of my bed wearing nothing more than my towel and a dainty, satin thong that was surprisingly comfortable, knocks echoed off my front door.

Tucking my now dry hair behind my ear, I froze.

“Fuck.”

The word was no more than a mutter, because the only person who would be knocking on my door at this time of the night was Detective Adrian Potter.

And I was not dressed for his company. Or any kind of company, actually. I hadn’t expected him to be back so soon. Unless I’d spent longer in the shower than I was willing to acknowledge, it hadn’t been the two hours he insisted he needed to get all the paperwork done and prepare for the next night’s work.

“Perrie?” The door opened downstairs.

“Shit! Wait!” I half-called, torn between shouting so he’d hear me and being quiet enough that the kids wouldn’t.

“You there?”

I snatched up my towel and wrapped it around my body, then darted to the top stair. “Quiet. They’re sleeping. Hold on.”

He stepped to the bottom stair before I could turn away. His dark eyebrows shot up, and something that looked an awful lot like desire flickered in his gaze.

“I showered,” I said lamely. “And I’m not dressed yet, so…”

“Give you a minute,” he said in a strained voice. “Right.”

“Thank you.” I backed away slower than I probably should have before common sense kicked in and I ran into my room.

Rifling through my drawers for clothes was harder than I’d thought. All my bras appeared to be downstairs in the laundry pile or dirty, and I couldn’t even put a finger on a bikini top. All I could find that seemed appealing to put on at one in the morning was some comfortable shorts and a tank top.

At least this time, it was black.

Biting my lip, I pulled the shirt over my head. As long as I kept my arms folded, he’d never see my nipples and know I wasn’t wearing a bra.

Right?

Right.

I’d keep telling myself that.

Unless…

“Adrian?” I hissed at the top of the stairs.

“What?” He was still standing there.

“Um, could you bring me my laundry basket? It’s the pink one in the kitchen.”

“Your laundry basket? You’re dressed.”

“Uh…I need a bra.” My cheeks flamed.

He looked at me for a minute—and then right at my boobs. “I don’t think you need one, but whatever.” He disappeared through the door.

My mouth dropped open, and even when he reappeared carrying the basket, I didn’t move or say anything.

He handed me the basket at the top of the stairs. “There. For your unnecessary bra.”

I swallowed and took hold of the handles. “Thank you.” Turning back into my room, I mentally slapped myself.

“It’s amazing,” his low voice rumbled from behind me. “You used to screw for money, yet here you are, blushing because you need a bra.”

“Well. You know. Bras are blush-worthy.”

“I still maintain that you don’t need a bra.”

I looked over my shoulder. “My boobs were the sole sustenance for a tiny human for six months of her life and a treat for even longer. Trust me. Breastfeeding means bras are a necessity.”

He laughed and sat on the edge of my bed. “Did you know that the inside of your house doesn’t look like it fits in this neighborhood?”

“That was a one-eighty in topics,” I remarked. “Do you mind leaving so I can put a bra on?”

“I mind that you want to put a bra on.”

“Aren’t you here to get your son and go?”

“Yeah, but then I saw you in a towel and now the last thing I want to do is leave,” he admitted, frowning. His gaze flitted across my body to my face. “You’re better as a blond.”

“Thanks for the approval. I would hope I am, given that it’s natural.”

“Is that “I’m a natural blond from a bottle” or actually natural?”

“Actually natural.” I fingered the lace cup of the bra in my hand. “Can you…” I waved awkwardly toward the door.

Adrian sighed but stood. Stopping in front of me, he reached out to remove some hair caught in my eyelashes. “You did good tonight, Perrie.”

“Uh, thanks. I think.”

“You ready for tomorrow?”

“To be hooker bait? Sure,” I said dryly. “That’s been my lifelong dream, don’t you know?”

Adrian’s lips tugged to one side. “I thought so. It’s written all over your face.”

I slapped him with my bra. “Shut up. Go do something useful and take your son home before you decide to stay.”

“What if I do decide to stay?”

I looked at him dead on and said, “I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“I was hoping for something a little less drastic.”

“Stop crossing the line, Adrian.”

“What if I like crossing the line?” He stepped closer to me, sending my heartbeat through the roof. “What if I did it once and now I’m standing here in front of you remembering what it felt like when you gripped my shirt and whimpered into my mouth? Then what?”

My mouth was dry, my lips cracked, and all I could think about was the fact his words had gone straight to the tender spot between my legs and that my nipples were hard.

“Then you forget it.” I kept my eyes trained to the side.

“Look at me and tell me to forget it.”

I didn’t.

“You can’t. Why not?”

Because a crazy part of me wants you to kiss me again.

“How…” I licked my lips. “How did we get from me needing a bra to you bringing up that mistake?”

“Maybe it was. First kisses usually are mistakes—second ones are the ones that matter.”

He got what he wanted. I swung my gaze to meet his. “Why are they the ones that matter?”

“Because this is the one I’ve thought through.”

He yanked the bra from my hand and pulled me to him, sliding his hand around the back of my neck and kissing me firmly. Heat exploded through me, singeing all my nerve endings like a detonated bomb. I scrambled for purchase on his shirt as he teased his tongue across my lips, begging me to part my lips, pleading for more.

I let him in, drowning in the taste of coffee and sugar on his tongue. Lust tinged the air around us, getting stronger and more suffocating with each heartbeat and every flex of his fingers on my ass.

His fingertips dug in, almost possessively, hurting in a way that almost felt good.

I wanted more—more of him, more of his touch, more of his body. I wanted to feel his heart beating to see if it matched mine, and I wanted to pull away from the kiss to see if he found breathing as hard as I did.

This was foreign, the feelings new and raw and seemingly existing only for the man I was kissing.

He turned us and released me. He pushed me back on the bed with the barest touch of his hands to my shoulders and loosened his tie. Bending over me, he tugged the tie over his head and undid a couple of buttons before once again claiming my mouth with his own.

He moved between my legs, sliding a hand up my thigh until his thick, hard cock pressed against my throbbing clit. I gasped at the touch, and he dragged my lower lip between his teeth. Kissing me again, I freed my hands from their iron-grip on his collar and undid the buttons of his shirt.

With my help, he shrugged it off, and I ran my fingers over the muscled planes of his torso, dipping and rising with each solid pack that sat happily on his stomach. Hair dotted a happy trail between them, leading right down to where his cock fought with his pants.

The kisses now even more desperate, Adrian circled his thumb over the fabric that covered my nipple. My pussy clenched as the simple touch sent a firework of desire right through me.

God, I wanted him.

I had no place wanting him, but I did.

Right now, more than anything else.

I hooked a finger through one of his belt loops, craning my neck back to keep the kiss, and reached for his buckle. I undid it with a couple of flicks of my fingers before he spoke.

“Do it,” he said in a strained voice, “And I won’t be leaving.”

I unbuttoned his pants with two fingers.

“Perrie.”

Undid the zipper.

“Shit.”

And slipped my hand inside, cupping his rock hard cock with my hand.

He flipped.

His kisses were deeper, harder. His hand slid beneath my shirt, cupping my bare breast and really teasing my nipples as his tongue teased mine. Pinching, circling, rubbing, he pulled my nipple into an almost painful point.

I stroked my fingers along his hard length, gasping between kisses. He fisted my hair and pulled my head back, taking his lips down the curve of my neck. My skin tingled as he pushed my shirt right up under my arms and cupped one of my tits.

His mouth found that, too.

Found the nipple he’d just toyed with.

He sucked and nipped and grazed. More and more desire built inside me, and him, too, if the throbbing of his cock was a guide.

I wanted to rip his mouth from my breast, yank his cock from his pants, and sink him inside me. Wanted to wrap my legs around him, to flip him over, to ride him until he blacked out and I couldn’t do it anymore.

I wanted to kill this ache, to relieve myself of this stupid fucking need that had taken over my body.

He let go of my nipple with a smack of his lips and brought his mouth to my ear. “I’m going to fuck you, Perrie. You asked for it. So, I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name.”

“Bring it,” I breathed.

His eyes bore into mine, promises and threats and need all rolled into one tidy little package that mirrored my own gaze, I was sure.

I didn’t care anymore.

Didn’t care that it was wrong.

I wanted it more than I cared.

He yanked my shorts down my legs, knocking the laundry basket off the corner of the bed, before pulling me against him. Clothes flew everywhere, but I didn’t care. I was wet and ready—I didn’t need or want more. I wanted to cut to the chase and—

“Dad?” A sleepy voice asked from somewhere in the hall. “Are you back yet? Dad?”

“Motherfucker,” Adrian whispered. He scrambled off me and flicked my short at me at the same time he zipped his pants. Skipping the button altogether, he buckled his belt and headed for the door. “Zacco? You all right?”

“You’re back.” Zac came into view right as I pulled my shorts over my ass and had tugged my t-shirt down with my other hand. “Where’s your shirt?”

“I was gonna get a shower before waking you up,” Adrian lied smoothly.

“Oh.” Zac rubbed his eyes. “I heard a bang.”

Adrian glanced back at the laundry basket.

Foiled by his own rush.

If my clit weren’t still throbbing, I’d find a kind of poetic justice in that.

“Sorry. Perrie knocked the laundry basket off in her sleep.”

I pretended to yawn. “Sorry, Zac. I forgot I’d put it there. I fell asleep watching TV.”

He looked around his dad at me. “It’s okay. Are we going now?”

Adrian nodded curtly. “Go grab your stuff, okay?”

“’Kay.” Zac trotted off, still rubbing his eyes.

Adrian turned back to me.

I threw him his shirt and tie. “I guess you should have been more careful.”

He shrugged the shirt on and approached me, stopping just inches in front of me. Buttoning it, he said in a low voice, “Your eyes are twinkling, but I know you’re just as pissed as me right now.” He glanced at my nipples, still poking against the shirt. “Next time, it won’t matter. Next time, I’ll put him to bed again then come back to yours.”

“Promises, promises.”

He stuffed the tie in his pocket. Then, he gripped my chin, forcing me to look him right in his eyes. “Promises? No. Promises is me telling you that next time, you’ll sit your wet pussy on my face while my cock is in your mouth. Promises is me telling you that when you’ve come in my mouth, I’ll flip you onto your knees and fuck you until you can’t breathe. Promises is me telling you that you’ll scream into the sheets while you beg me for mercy you won’t get. Promises is that when we’re done…You’ll still want more.”

I swallowed hard.

“Next time,” he murmured, taking his voice to almost a whisper. “I won’t fuck around. I want you, Perrie, and come hell or high water, I will fucking have you.”

That was all he said, because right then, Zac reappeared, his stuffed dinosaur stuffed beneath his arm and his bag on the other.

“Dad?”

“Thanks for keeping him a little longer.” Adrian kissed me on the cheek and stepped back, his personality flipping one-eighty. “Make sure you come and lock the door after me.”

Dumbfounded, all I could do was nod.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Zac echoed. “I had fun with Lola.”

I forced a smile and hoped he thought it was real. “You’re very welcome, sweetie. Be good for your dad now, okay?”

He nodded and lead the way down the stairs.

Adrian paused just long enough to give me a meaningful look before he followed his son.

Me?

I waited until the rumble of his car had faded from earshot.

Then, and only then, did I go downstairs and lock the door behind him.

I was in so much trouble.