Free The Innocent: FBI Psychics, Book 2 by Shiloh Walker

his, breathed in the warm, soft scent of her. Right now, this was all that mattered. He could have one night where he pushed everything to the side…right?
     
     
    The shower was made of jet black and jade and gold and it was the last place she’d expected to be.
    Her head spinning, off-balance from too little sleep, too much emotion and everything else that was going wrong in this bloody town, Jay reached up, rubbing her temple as Linc locked the door behind her.
    “Why are we in here?” she asked, feeling a little stupid as he turned toward her and hunkered down at her feet. “We need to talk.”
    “Morning.” That was the only thing he said.
    “Morning?” Staring at the crown of his head, she tried to process that word.
    Linc leaned in and pressed his lips to her thigh. He found one of those rips in her jeans, his mouth unerringly seeking her flesh. “Do you honestly have anything to tell me that is going to change anything that’s going on right now?” he asked, his voice raw. “Because I can’t think of a fucking thing that I can tell you that will change shit.”
    Jay blinked, trying to process that question.
    Did she have anything…?
    Her brain was overloaded. Her senses were strained to the breaking point. Even if he tried to tell her jack and she tried to take it in, she had to have rest before she could do anything more. But they could talk—
    His hands pulled her boots away, stroked up her calves. “I didn’t want to hear it,” he muttered, leaning in and pressing his lips to her hip. “I’ve read some of her cases, how she’s closed them and I know, in my gut, that too much time has passed and I didn’t want to hear it. I won’t hear it.” Then he slid up, his hands under her close-fitting shirt, and the shocking feel of his calloused palms on her skin sucked the air right out of her lungs. “I can’t… I just…don’t. If that’s what you are, what you had to tell me…I…fuck, I’m glad that’s not why you’re here.”
    Abruptly, he stood up and yanked the shirt off. She blinked, startled. Head spinning, she braced her hands on the counter at her back and gaped at him as he caught his own shirt and all but tore it away. “Tell me you came for this,” he rasped, bending down and catching her face. “Tell me this matters.”
    The words were trapped in her throat, but it didn’t matter because his mouth was on hers, his tongue stealing between her lips.
    How could she tell him she’d come for this when she’d never been able to have this?
    That the feel of hands skimming around her back and pulling her close, like he’d just done, was completely alien?
    And completely delightful.
    She whimpered as he pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck as his hand cradled the back of her head. “How do you feel?” he muttered, rubbing his lips across hers. “Should I stop?”
    Stop?
    If he stopped, she was going to cry.
    As it was, the way she felt when he pushed his thigh between hers was almost more than she could bear and she arched against him, wiggling, ready to push him to his back and ride him like a cowgirl. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into his arms, her nails digging into his skin as the friction of his thigh dragging back and forth teased, taunted.
    She dragged her nails down his chest, curled them over his waistband.
    Now.
    That was all she could think.
    Now.
    “Jay?”
    He tugged harder on her head and she looked up at him, her eyes struggling to focus. “What?” It ripped out of her, half snarl, half sob and her entire body trembled as she struggled not to rock against him, not to ride and chase after the ache that threatened to drive her insane.
    “Do I stop?” he muttered again, this time whispering the question against her mouth.
    “Stop?” She glared at him. “If you stop, I’m going to hurt you.”
    “You ought to rest.” He feathered his thumb over the shallow cut he’d bandaged. There was still a little blood that had dried in her hair