The Stranger Behind My Orgasm

Abigail

Finnegan Wolfe was gorgeous.

That was an understatement, if there was any other word to describe every inch of taut bronze skin that he revealed when he peeled off his shirt, I couldn’t find it.

My mouth went dry as the white shirt slid off his arms with a tug, leaving him in a snug singlet that hugged his huge muscular frame.

I knew that body, I had gotten my brain pounded to mush by that body. I had never seen that body outside the club and that one one time on the plane though so forgive my drooling, I couldn’t fucking help it.

"What are the reports from the marketing team?"

Right, reports. I was supposed to be reading him the reports.

My fingers dug into the tablet, gripping it tighter, as I tried to make sense of the words on the screen.

His back was turned to me while the attendant held up a crisp fine linen shirt that he would be wearing for the launch.

All I could see when he stretched his arms out so the attendant could slip it on him were those broad shoulders rolling, the muscles shifting under his skin, that mass of tattoo on his arm moving along with it.

How and why had he gotten those tattoos?

I would ask him if I wasn’t so sure he would ignore me or say something snarky.

His stomach was flat and cut and my thighs pressed together as an image of them flexing when I was sucking his cock off teasing him last time at the club filled my head.

"...the market distribution will therefore be..." I trailed off when he dropped his pants.

Oh, what the hell was this temptation?

My tongue darted out wetting my bottom lip, tasting my lip gloss when all I wanted to do was taste him instead. The words on the screen blurred, when I blinked rapidly, stealing another peek as the attendant helped him into a fine pair of charcoal pants, gripping his taut thighs and hips.

His eyes found mine in the mirror and I fucking stuttered. Jesus, was that the corner of his lips lifting up slightly or did I just imagine it? I blinked and it was gone. I had to have imagined it or he knew exactly what he was doing to me, the absolute menace.

"Clearly the suit fits," I said dryly, because apparently I had lost all control of my mouth.

One of his beautifully arched brow rose and

I went back to reading the report, trying to ignore my nipples pressing against my blouse.

Fully dressed in his suit, the attendant noted something, murmured about the sleeve adjustment, and stepped out.

Finnegan reached for the cufflinks on the tray.

I heard him clasp the first one cleanly as I read. The sound of the second clasp never came, instead he muttered a curse.

I glanced up to see him struggling to fit in the cufflinks on the left sleeve.

"Do you need help, sir?"

"Keep reading." He grumbled while still struggling to fit it in.

Great, the Wolfe bingo was complete. Gorgeous, a perfectionist to the bone, and stubborn as a fucking mule. Why couldn’t he just acknowledge that he needed help?

I set the tablet down on a stool in the room, and crossed to him in a few steps, my heels digging into the carpet.

I stopped beside him, aware of his burning eyes on my face but refusing to meet them and held out my hand.

He glanced at it for a few seconds and I almost snapped that my hand wasn’t going to turn into a snake, when he extended his wrist.

Hot thrills shot through me as my hands closed over his wrist. I turned his wrist toward the light, found a cufflink clasp with my thumb and pressed it down.

The click resounded in the room along with the sound of my heart beating wildly against my ears.

Pick a card, Aphrodite.

I tipped my head back, a slight gasp slipped from my lips when I saw he was looking at me already and his eyes had turned to that deep emerald green making a heat pool in my lower belly. His lips parted, his warm breath bathing my forehead and his eyes dropped to my mouth.

He tilted forward and my breath snagged.

Oh, yes, kiss me. Please.

My hands trailed up his wrist, climbing his arm as I leaned in, ready, praying, aching for his mouth on mine when-

"I’ve made a note on the sleeve, sir. We’ll just need to adjust the-"

The attendant’s voice had me scrambling away from him. Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I stumbled backwards, towards the stool where my tablet was, picking it up with shaky hands.

When I glanced up at his reflection in the mirror, his jaw tightened and his eyes were back to the ice cold emerald they had been. We said nothing to each other on the drive to the venue for the launch.

He had wanted to check the progress on decorating the place for the weekend. My phone rang while he was discussing it with the event planner.

"Please excuse me,"

I got a grunt in response and strutted to a corner to take it.

"Is this Abigail Kellerman?"

"Speaking,"

"Miss, this is Sergeant Briggs. We got your request for a case to be reopened and we would like you to come in and speak with us at your earliest convenience."

Finally! Some progress, I guess that donut eating cop was serious afterall when he told me to fill that form.

"I’ll come this evening, sometime after six. Thank you."

***

"The statute of limitations for this case has expired, Miss," Sergeant Briggs, a tall man with a weird looking mustache who looked like he was some french revolutionist, sat behind his desk, sliding a police report over the desk to me. The original police report of my parent’s death.

"There’s no statute of limitations on a murder case, I checked,"

A creepy smile creased his cheeks as he folded his arms. "Where did you get that?"

"Does it matter?" It took everything in me not to snap. I had rushed down here immediately. I was done with work thinking the case would be reopened and my parents would get the justice they deserved only to have this patronizing cop trying to turn and twist me around.

"It’s true murder has no statute of limitations presumably, but this wasn’t a murder case. It was a car accident. That’s all it was."

I cocked my head to the side. "And if I could prove it was murder, would it be reopened?"

"If," He murmured, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned forward. "Do you have proof then, Miss?"

The photograph I had received weeks ago flashed through my mind. It was sitting in my closet. It would be all too easy to tell them I had proof and submit it. But if things would have worked that way, why did whoever sent me that picture not send it to the police instead?

I glanced down at the report before me, my eyes tracing out the letters on the page.

Investigating officer: Detective Raymond Cole.

Badge number: 4791

"Do you have proof, miss," Briggs demanded a bit harder this time, that fake as fuck smile still on his face. Jade’s two year old son was a better actor than he was.

"No," I hissed through my teeth. "I don’t have anything."

He rose then, smoothing his jacket with his grubby hands. "Then I’m afraid there’s nothing to reopen. We’ll see you out, Miss."

Yeah, thanks for nothing, asshole.

The minute I got into my car, I dialed Annette’s number.

"Abby, are you on your way home? Can you pick up a few things from the store?"

"I need you to find someone for me, Annie." I whispered, eyeing the police department door through my windshield.

"Who? A hitman for Drake?"

That snagged a laugh from me and I rolled my eyes. "Annie, come on. If we wanted to get rid of Drake, poison would do. We don’t need a hit man. And no, I need you to find Detective Raymond Cole. I’ll send you his badge number."

"I got you, give me twenty minutes."

It took her eighteen minutes, perks of having a hacker as my bestfriend. The address landed in my messages, right here in Queens, New York city. I turned on the engine and drove down to the address like my ass was on fire.

When I found the door to the building and raised my hand to knock, It swung open before my knuckles made contact. A hand shot out, grabbed my arm and yanked me inside, hand clamping hard over my mouth before I could make a sound.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"