“I want you to f**k me,” I whisper, lifting my hips a little so he can dig into his back pocket for the condom in his wallet. Once he’s ready, he motions me forward. Gripping his shoulder with one hand, I guide his c**k between my legs, but he stops me from pushing him inside of me.
He holds my hips tightly. “You’re mine. No matter what you decide or who the f**k you end up with, you always will be.”
“Is that right?” I tease.
A self-assured laugh comes from the back of his throat. “You’ll always be mine.”
“Show me.”
Releasing a rough sound, he thrusts his c**k deep inside of me. I dig my knees into the sides of his body. “I want to f**k you harder, Ky.”
I cry out as he grips my hips, rocking them fast and hard up his length and back down again. I hold on to his shoulders, not caring when pain streaks up my ring finger, or when my back slams into the horn behind me. It beeps loudly, and it’s the only sound other than our heavy breathing and the rhythm our bodies make with each other.
When I feel myself on the verge of an orgasm, I clench my pu**y around him, and he buries his mouth into my shoulder. He murmurs something against the fabric of my black shirt as I come, and a moment later he releases a groan, shuddering and driving himself into me until he reaches his climax.
As we catch our breath, I realize that he’s right. I am his.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sound of my phone ringing on the floor beside of the bed wakes me up the following morning. I roll over to grab it, groaning when I see that it’s another unknown caller. Even though I’m still livid with Lucas, I answer it immediately, almost expecting it to be his bank with another overdose of horrible news.
Instead, it’s an officer from Louisiana—a female this time—calling with a status report on my case against Shiner Bock. I can’t help but be impressed that someone is contacting me on a Saturday morning, even if their call did drag me out of bed an hour earlier than I intended.
According to the officer, Finn and his grope-happy friend, James, have been caught, and I let my shoulders slump forward in relief. “So are they in custody?” I ask.
“As of yesterday afternoon, yes.”
Even though I’m sure there’s a slim chance in hell, I can’t resist asking her whether or not any of my stuff was recovered.
“One moment, please.” I hear her leafing through a stack of paperwork. Using the silence to my advantage, I mute my phone and dash into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I have a mouthful of toothpaste when she speaks again, surprising me. “Based on the report you filed, a few of your belongings were found on Finn Graham’s person.
Rinsing my mouth out quickly, I take my phone off of mute. “Can you tell me what all you found of ours?”
“Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to give you details about Ms. Wright’s belongings due to our privacy policy, but I’d be happy to tell you which of your items were found.”
“Thanks, that would be great.”
I listen carefully as the officer reads through the list, which turns out to be a total of four things, about a quarter of my belongings that I reported stolen. The cancelled credit cards and my driver’s license were nowhere to be found, but I didn’t exactly expect to get those back.
I’m pretty sure they’re all in a dumpster somewhere by now, and I make a mental note to put some type of alert on my credit report.
“Are you going to call Heidi or should I tell her to get in contact with you?” I ask as I wipe my mouth with a warm washcloth.
“We’ve already contacted Ms. Wright, and she’s aware of the procedure to pick up her belongings.”
I examine my smile in the mirror before I flip off the light switch and return to bed. “So, how exactly do we go about doing that?” I ask. “Is there anyway I can get it shipped to my home address?”
“Do you have something to write with?”
“Just a second.” Leaning over, I find the hotel’s complimentary stationery set (a stack of promotional sticky notes and an ink pen) inside of the nightstand drawer. I grab a phone book and place one of the Post-its on it. “Okay, I’m ready.”
As she speaks, I jot down a few things, but the gist of the whole recovery process is pretty simple. My belongings are in New Orleans. They can’t be mailed to me in California, meaning I’ll have to physically go into their station with my ID and sign a form. Since going back to Louisiana isn’t in my plans for the near future, I ball the note up and toss it in the wastebasket as soon as the call ends. “Guess I won’t be getting that crap back for a few months,” I say under my breath.
“What crap?” Wyatt asks drowsily from beside me. Placing the phone book back inside the nightstand drawer, I lean my back against the headboard and pull my knees to my chest.
“The cops picked up the ass**les who robbed my room.”
“Assholes?” He stares at me incredulously. “I thought there was only one guy.”
When I shake my head, holding up two fingers, he continues, “And I’m guessing they found your stuff?”
Massaging my temples, I shrug. “Some of it—a pair of shoes, a handbag, and my camera and its bag. Maybe they’ll find some of the other things in pawn shops, but I seriously doubt it.”
Wyatt yawns into his palm and scratches his head. “At least they found the shitheads who done it fast,” he says, and I nod my head in agreement. He stretches his arms over his head, but then winces and glances down at the bandage over the ride side of his muscular chest. “God, this hurts.”