Hide Your Crazy (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 1)

Chapter 22Cops are sexy naked.

-Coffee Cup

Katy

I undressed Logan slowly.

He was sore, tired, and amused as I took my time slipping off the tight uniform shirt that he’d slipped back on to leave the ER with.

After an inspection of his chest, and deducing that there would be bruising and nothing else, he was sent home with strict instructions to come back if anything changed, or he started having shortness of breath.

After that scary thought, we drove all the way home without saying a word.

Now we were in the middle of my apartment, and he was half dressed.

“You okay?” he asked.

I swallowed hard and shook my head.

“No,” I admitted. “Not even a little bit.”

Instead of making me feel better with false platitudes, he helped me undress and urged me into the shower.

My clothes were ruined.

A, they were bloody. And B, they were forever going to remind me of that night, even if there wasn’t a stain to be seen ever again.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said as he picked me up by wrapping his arms around my upper thighs and carrying me into the bathroom. “Better duck or you’re gonna knock your head.”

I did, just in time, too.

“Shit, Logan!” I laughed. “I’ve already had one set of stitches today!”

He chuckled as he walked over to the shower and turned it on.

“I want to build a house with a massive iron bed so I can tie you to it without worrying about it breaking, and an even bigger shower so I can take one with you without being on top of you,” he told me as he stuck his hand underneath the spray.

I squeaked when his cold hand met the bare skin of my ass, and cool water started to drip down the back of my thigh.

“Jesus,” I squeaked. “What the hell, man?”

He squeezed my ass, then I had a moment to grin, only to scream bloody murder when he stepped into the still freezing cold water.

“Logan!” I cried out. “What the fuck?”

I was fairly sure that our neighbors heard that one.

His goddamn laughing was enough to make me want to beat him.

“Put me down, you jerk!” I ordered roughly.

He did, and I felt my spine curl into my chest as the spray hit my bare back.

“Ack!” I shivered and turned, exposing the front of his body.

That was when the still fucking cold water hit his dick and balls, causing him to curse even more loudly.

That was also when he quickly switched our positions and held me there, struggling and cursing.

“Don’t get your stitches wet,” he ordered.

I gave up right about when it started to warm up.

“I’ll kill you when I have the energy,” I told him. “Jesus, and I still have to go to work tomorrow.”

I had two autopsies to perform in the morning, and not a lot of time to do it.

“You won’t, because you love me,” he disagreed.

He was right. Despite being a shithead for the last two minutes, he was my shithead, and I did love him.

Dearly.

That was why it’d scared the absolute crap out of me to see him nearly shot to death right in front of me.

And an hour later, when we were lying in my bed with the dogs at our feet, I told him exactly what had rolled through me at the second that the gunshot sounded.

“I was scared shitless,” I told him. “All I could think about was that I just found you, and you were being taken away from me.”

That was when, despite both of our injuries, he rolled into me and settled himself between my legs.

I didn’t protest, nor did I complain in the least.

Instead, I opened my thighs wider, and then threaded my arms around his neck and pulled him in even closer.

There wasn’t a single inch of space between our bodies when he started to kiss me, slow and deep.

No other words were exchanged.

Nothing was said at all. He did all of his talking with his body.

“Imagine me,” he said. “There was my crazy ex-wife pointing a gun at me, and the love of my life was at my back, seemingly unprotected if I failed to talk her down.”

I hadn’t thought about that.

“Get inside of me already,” I ordered.

He didn’t waste any time.

One second, he was pressing himself against me, and the next he was working his thick length inside of me, one slow thrust at a time.

He stopped suddenly, his face coming down until he could look me directly in the eyes.

“I want to have babies with you,” he said. “I want to grow old with you. I want to live the rest of my life with you right here next to me. I want to hear about what gross things you found inside of your dead bodies, and I want to chain you to me every night before we go to bed. I want to do all of these things, and I want to do them for the rest of my life.”