Arouse Read Free

They would suit her—sunny, cheerful yet a little bit sad.
    By the time he’d gone on his late-night run, she’d long since snicked off the overhead lights and had moved to her back bedroom. The light there was pinky peach, and, as he’d run down the alley, he’d tried to tell himself her skin couldn’t possibly be as pretty as that light.
    But those lights had still been on when he’d come out after his shower; another night of insomnia for sweet Kami Langen.
    On nights like these, the four walls of his house felt like they were closing in. His run exhausted his body, but even TV did nothing to numb his brain. And if he sat on the couch, the scotch in easy reach, he’d be tempted to pour more than one tumbler full. And that wouldn’t do. He was on call this weekend, though he prayed to God he wouldn’t get a call.
    The Silver Alert today had almost made him rethink his entire career trajectory. It was hell on the soul to work in the lost and found.
    And then she’d come outside.
    Brown hair down, long, and a little wavy. Body long, and more than a little curvy.
    Jeff should really have a talk with her. Tell her, as an officer of the law, that though they lived in a relatively safe beat, she shouldn’t be outside at this time of night. Though it was a damned shame that you couldn’t enjoy your own backyard at two in the morning if you wanted to.
    But in his unofficial capacity, as a neighbor—and a pervy one at that—he’d tell her she shouldn’t come outside this time of night with flimsy fabric riding up her creamy thighs. Shouldn’t stand under the motion light so her body glowed like a fucking supernova. He wanted to burn with her in the weeks or months they could have together. Because it could never be more than that.
    The light winked out.
    “So… Officer… Jeff…” Her voice was as flimsy and soft as that fabric that wrapped around her body and tied with the pink sash. He wanted that voice—and that robe and the body in it, if he were honest—all over him. Grazing his forearms, rubbing over his chest, and sliding up and down the length of his erection.
    Cushioning him as he thrust into her.
    He shifted on the stair, took another sip of scotch. “Detective.”
    “Pardon?”
    “If you want to be technical about it, it’s detective. My title.”
    There was a pause and a little rustle of fabric. Was she crossing her legs? Drawing them up underneath her in that weird way she sometimes did? Damn, he was still a little night blind from the flash of the motion light. And the flash of fantasy his enthusiastic imagination had wallowed in. Curls. Definitely. She’d be all natural, a plump and pink delicacy to feast on once he parted her glossy, dark curls.
    “What’s the difference?”
    He could hear the genuine question in her voice; she wasn’t shrugging him off. So he wouldn’t shrug off an answer either. But he wouldn’t go into details. Civilians often thought they knew all about cop life from the five-point-three-billion shows on cable alone. But reality was often… messier.
    Like everything else in his life.
    He tamped down that depressing thought and leaned forward to answer her. “The difference? These days, the caseload. Lots more. Rank, eh, a little more.”
    “And maybe a little bit of a buffer zone from the general public?”
    He winced, thinking about how thin the buffer zone sometimes was between him and a vic’s family. “Something like that.”
    They’d never talked shop before. Usually, they just shot the breeze for a few moments while he willed his erection to subside, or until it got so unbearable he had to surreptitiously run a palm down his length. Just a few short strokes while they talked about nothing in the darkness before he went inside and fucked into his fist, her name on his lips.
    Jeff took another nip of scotch and relished the smooth burn.
    He had no clue what she did except for some vague notion that she worked from home most days. Not that he checked up