Riley Cruz gives the best hugs, and that’s coming from a certified non-clinger hug-hater.
Collecting my dropped clothes a second time, I tiptoe toward the bedroom door and hold my breath until I turn dizzy. The room is pitch black but for the cracks in the blinds, so I allow the lines in the carpet to lead the way, and with my bundled clothes in my arms, I crack the door open and grit my teeth.
I cast a glance back to the bed, but his back lifts and falls at a steady pace. I squeeze through the small gap I made with the door and pull it most of the way closed again. Not all the way, because unlike the last time I was here, Riley’s on high alert, and the click of the door could be my undoing.
Breathing a sigh of relief when I turn in the hall, a fast darting animal almost makes me lose my shit until the sound of a cat’s purr lets me know I’m not about to die.
I’ve been here twice now. Both times for a few hours each, and I haven’t seen any pets yet, but a darting cat in the hallway is the least of my problems when trying to escape this extra vigilant cop’s house.
Still naked, I move along the hardwood floor and over the fancy rug in the living room. I slide my skirt up my legs in silence, and pull my top over myRiley-still-didn’t-notice-my-hairhair. I tiptoe past our left-out blanket and empty Chinese containers. An empty bottle of wine sits on the small table and makes me smile, but when I stop at the front door and glance up at the coat rack, my smile turns to a frown.
Something’s not right. Something is out of place.
With a V between my brows and my heels in my arms, I pull my coat down and stare at the stupid rack.
Hats. Hats. What’s missing?
“No.” The sound of metal sliding against metal sends my heart into a frantic thunder, but when he slaps the not-a-sex-shop handcuff around my wrist, then the other around his, my heart comes to a dead stop. “I told you not to run, Dee. I told you to stay put so we could spend the night together.” My heart gallops as he takes my shoes and drops them to the floor with a loud thump. The coat that hangs limp in my hands is replaced back on the rack, and the skirt and top I’d expertly slid back into are pulled down my legs with his non-cuffed hand until I stand in front of him as naked as he is.
His dick stands proud, and his eyes fire with a potent mixture of rage and playfulness.
Without giving me a chance to speak – or scream, or shouthuzzah!– he snags me around the waist and turns us into a painful pretzel when my cuffed arm follows his. He easily takes my weight and drags me through the room, but I don’t make it easy on him. Instead of curling into his arms, I turn to dead weight, a plank in his grip that ends with my head and feet hitting doorways and his grumbled annoyance as we step into the still dark room.
He drops me on his bed and crawls in beside me. Wrists cuffed together, smile on my face, I internally curse my plan of escape when he resumes the exact same position he was in before, but now cold, hard metal marks my arm and presses against my ribs. “Go the fuck to sleep, Deedee.”