Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Fletch’s eyes heat with need, he sucks in his cheeks, and I watch as his teeth press down onto his plush lower lip. It’s a good thing I’m leaning against the counter. Watching him go through his evening routine is hot as hell. I’ve seen him dress and undress, but I couldn’t tell you which is my favorite. I’d say both are equally as hot. A man in uniform is hotter than hot. A man you love in uniform… well, that’s off the charts hot.
“Delilah.” I avert my gaze from his hands working on his police duty belt. I’m remembering his deft fingers doing wickedly amazing things to me any time he can get his hands on my body.
“Hmm,” I respond, licking my lips. Our eyes lock. He’s ready to attack me in a way that I’ll forget about the dinner I have made and the cookies I’m baking.
“No more leaving the door unlocked when I’m not home. I hope like hell you don’t do it at your apartment either.” I go start to tell him of course not, I am, after all a cop’s daughter, except I’m unable to as Fletch carries on, “I’m sure you can take care of yourself, so don’t think I’m doubting you for a minute. It’s the other fuckers out there who can hurt you, okay?” He is a natural protective alpha male, and I’m the lucky girl who gets to call him mine. I nod my response. Dad told me when Fletcher settled in at Peach Springs Police Department, he came from a bigger precinct. One where he worked undercover in a unit. Dad didn’t elaborate what he did, but I’m beginning to think it had something to do with his time as an undercover agent in the narcotics unit when he was in the city. A shiver runs down my spine. He must have seen a lot and dealt with a lot.
“I can do that, and my apartment is never unlocked when I’m by myself. Even when I’m not, the door is locked by either you, my mom, or Madelyn,” I clarify, wanting to reassure him. His body relaxes in what I’m sure is relief. “Please continue,” I do a slow perusal of his body, ready to watch him continue stripping down.
“Is that what you’d like, Delilah? You want me to take everything off?” His voice is deep and husky, doing nothing to stop the way my insides quiver for him.
“I can’t. I’ve got to finish making these cookies for you and Beau.” I somehow managed to time the chicken casserole dinner being done a few minutes before the cookies were going to start being baked.
“Cookies for who?” Fletcher asks. Gone are his police belt, boots, and hat. He’s working his way down the buttons of his shirt, revealing his golden sun-kissed chest. My god. I ignore his question. I’m solely focused on his striptease. “Woman, you gonna answer my question, or do I need to get your attention in another way?”
The clattering of spoons hitting the countertop is jarring. I was using them to form balls for the chocolate chip cookie dough, but my hands drop them and grab the hand towel off to the side to wipe the dampness from the palms of my hands. “For you and Beau. You all helped me with the desk, so I figured I’d repay the favor.”
“Turn the oven off, Delilah. Your cookies are mine, not anyone else’s,” he states as he finishes taking off his shirt, and I’m fumbling to do as he says.
“They’re only cookies, Fletcher. I’m not giving him my cookie.” I’ve done it now. I’ve unleashed the beast, and dinner along with the dough will be abandoned for the time being.
“They’re your cookies, which mean they’re mine. Apparently, you need a reminder of that.” He grabs the handcuffs off his belt. My nipples tighten beneath my top, thighs slick with arousal, and there’s no cooling off when Fletcher is looking at me like that. The promise in his heated tone, the way his body moves with each step he takes. Slow and calculated.
“Very much so.” Only the kitchen island is between us once he makes his way toward me. I’m not sure if I should run toward him or run away. If I run from him, he’ll chase after me, which is what spurs me on.
I want to be caught by Fletcher Wild.
I want to be loved by Fletcher Wild.
I want to be consumed by Fletcher Wild.
And I want everything Fletcher Wild is willing to give me.
He must sense that I’m going to bolt, I spin fast on my heels, arms pumping and feet rushing across the kitchen floor. I’m smiling widely. Fletcher is hot on my heels. I’m barely able to look over my shoulder for fear that he’ll catch me as soon as I round the island. He’s fast, has to be for his job, but I also want this little game to last longer than a millisecond.