Unleashed

It was time to take control of the situation. But when Rick turned to face Jessie, he found her standing there unabashedly naked, her slim hands on those curvy hips, and his control slid through his veins in a snapping trail of sparks.

Double damn, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. And with every moment of their last encounter replaying in his mind like a forbidden sex video, he doubted he would get through this night without sinking into her body one more time. Maybe three. “You see, Sheriff, what you’ve been doing is torturing me with that sour mood all day. Now it seems as if I’m going to have to put up with it for another day or two.”

Tossing condoms onto the bed like a little pile of promises, she casually crossed the room and flicked on the light.

“Personally,” she went on, “the only time I happen to like you is when I’ve got my legs wrapped around your waist. So if I’ve got to deal with you all day, the least you can do is pleasure me at night…”

What is it about a wounded hero that makes us love him so much? Maybe it’s the nurturer in us that makes us yearn to fix what’s broken. Or maybe we simply love a challenge. Whatever the reason, there’s something inherently intriguing about a man in need of emotional rescue and that one special woman who brings him hope.

When Rick Marshall sets his sights on Jessica Beane, he feels he’s not capable of giving more than a one-night stand. But when circumstances push them together for an extended weekend, she manages to show him he’s got plenty of living still to do.

I hope you have as much fun reading the story as I did writing it. Please drop me a note and tell me what you think of it. You can contact me through my website at www.LoriBorrill.com.

Happy reading!

Lori Borrill

An Oregon native, Lori Borrill moved to the Bay Area of San Francisco just out of high school and has been a transplanted Californian ever since. Her weekdays are spent at the insurance company where’s she’s been employed for over twenty years, and she credits her writing career to the unending help and support she receives from her husband and real-life hero. When not sitting in front of a computer, she can usually be found at the Little League baseball fields playing proud parent to their son. She’d love to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.LoriBorrill.com.

For Al and Tommy

“So, SHERIFF, shall I spread ’em?”

Rick Marshall grasped the hips of the fiery redhead who had splayed her hands against the bedroom wall of his San Francisco flat.

“I’m thinking you should probably frisk me,” she added, tossing a sinful wink over her shoulder and wiggling her bottom against his waist. “I could have something dangerous under my skirt.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips close to the silky curls at her nape and whispered, “I’m counting on it.”

She chuckled and he caught a whiff of something sweet. Peaches or strawberries. Or maybe it was the cherry she’d been sucking on back at the bar. The one she’d teased him with from across the room, trailing her tongue around the slick, red orb while sending him a look that said she’d prefer it if the cherry were his cock.

Rick normally wasn’t such an easy mark, but between a crap day on the force and a couple condoms growing dust in his wallet, he decided not to play his usual game of not-interested. He’d found a spicy little Texan with her heart set on partying. Tonight was a night to do something he hadn’t done in a long, long time.

Have some fun.

She brushed her ass against his crotch and his jeans strained against a cock that wanted to take this way too fast.

“Easy, Jess,” he whispered into her ear. “This dick you’re teasing hasn’t seen much action lately.” He slid his hands down her hips and held her steady. “I’d hate for this night to end before it gets started.”

She spun around and pressed her back to the wall, the toying look in her eyes darkening to something serious while her hands went to work on his belt. “Right. I’m supposed to believe a tall, handsome man in uniform doesn’t get any action?” She curved her mouth just short of a smile. “Don’t let the drawl mistake me for stupid.”

Oh, Jessica Beane most definitely wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have brought her home if she was. Despite the turned-up freckled nose and occasional girlish grin, the woman at work on his pants had eyes of experience, though what kind he wasn’t sure. He only knew she wasn’t naive or foolish, and for tonight, that’s all he needed.

“Believe whatever turns you on,” he said before covering her mouth with his.

Cupping her cheek with his hand, he dug in and feasted on the petite little beauty. She tasted like honey, felt like pure heaven and the surge to his pulse told him he needed this encounter more than he’d realized. Too much lately, he’d wrapped himself up in the job, every waking moment, every rampant thought devoted to getting creeps off the street. Since Nat’s death, catching bad guys had gone from a job to an obsession he couldn’t overcome, even though he knew that for every punk he brought in a dozen more were lined up after. It was a never-ending battle—he knew that—but it didn’t stop the gnawing in his gut that kept him going. Working homicide, he’d seen too many of those blank stares, the eyes of the dead, silently begging him to catch one more.