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Maybe it was the lure of the forbidden. He was a cop, a dad, a divorcé. The guy had more baggage than a full flight from LA to London, but somehow, that was okay by me.

CHAPTER 21

REG

Sex logistics were tricky in a small town. We’d been dealing with this for a few weeks, but usually during the day and for less than forty-five minutes at a stretch. Tonight was different. I left the garage door open for Waylon and stepped into the mudroom, kicking off my shoes and peeling off my jacket.

“Tate, my man, I need you to be cool. I’ll get you a treat and I promise you, we’ll take an extra-long walk in the morning. What do you say?”

Knock knock

Tate barked. I took that as a yes, turning as Waylon peeked his head into the mudroom.

“Hey, there.”

“Hey.”

Waylon bent to greet Tate, unzipping his jacket as he straightened, and fuck me, he was sexy. I closed the distance in a hurry, crashing our mouths together in a sloppy but oddly satisfying kiss. We swayed and bumped into the door, nudging it open.

He broke the connection with a gasp. “I forgot to close the garage door.”

“Got it.” I intended to snake my hand inside and push the button, but I noticed the light was on in my SUV, too. “One sec.”

I secured the doors, and Waylon was right behind me, his hands on my hips, his erection pressed against my ass.

“This is a citizen’s arrest. Hands where I can see them, sir,” he growled, nipping my earlobe.

I groaned as he reached to flatten his palm on my crotch, then rubbed up and down. “What’s the charge?”

“Indecency. It’s a crime to have a body this hot and cover it like you’re a fucking monk. I’m gonna have to fix this and obviously”—he unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans—“there will be repercussions. Understood?”

“Uh…”

“That’s ‘Yes, sir.’ ” Waylon lowered my jeans and boxer briefs and curled his fingers around my shaft. “Yeah, this is one fine cock. I’m gonna have to see the rest of you. Shirt off.”

I obeyed, turned toward him, and got my ass smacked for the trouble. “Ow.”

“You gotta listen,” he singsonged, repositioning me to face the SUV. “Hands where I can see them. That’s it.”

“This is against the law.”

Waylon’s chuckle was deep-throated and dirty. “Right now, I am the law, baby.”

My dick throbbed. I was drunk with lust and only vaguely aware of the outside world. His hands were everywhere—in my hair, gliding over my biceps and down my sides, cupping my ass, cradling my balls. He kissed my shoulders, bit my neck like a vampire, then pulled away to shuck off a layer of clothing.

A jacket hit the floor and then my shirt. I hummed my approval as he pressed his bare torso to my back and tweaked my nipples. “That’s good.”

Waylon slipped a digit between my crease. “You want my dick in your ass, Officer?”

I huffed a laugh. “You’re fucking torturing me. Just do it already. There’s lube in the—” Smack. “Ow. Jesus.”

“There’s a perfect handprint on your butt.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I snarked.

“Well, I warned you to listen up. I’m running the show, and I’ll take care of everything. Even the lube.” He squeezed my cheeks and stepped away to undo his jeans and free his beautiful cock.

I watched Waylon stroke his cock in the reflection of the SUV’s window and yeah, I was salivating. There was something so primal in the way he stood, all inked, muscled, unapologetically jacking himself with his eyes fixed on me…as if I were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. It was almost funny, and yet he was stone-cold serious.