Behind the Badge (Home in Carson 2)

But, oh, what a feeling to tell Preston what she wanted and to go after it. The reward was more than she could have ever asked for.

His kiss was intoxicating, even more so because he was allowing her to lead and take charge. Sliding one of her hands around his neck, she used the other to slowly trail down his neck and across his chest. She gasped as he slid his hand further up her thigh. Preston was gentle as his hand rested just beyond where she wanted.

“Preston,” she groaned against his mouth and pulled her lips away slightly. She felt inebriated as she gazed into his eyes, the hand on his chest, shaking in fear and longing. Shelly didn’t know how to voice what she wanted, what her body craved. She wanted to feel. To feel his body against hers, to feel the cool air against her hot skin, to feel him own her body, to feel possessed. Everything she wanted, she wanted with him. Normally that notion would scare the shit out of her, but in that moment, her body so close to Preston’s as his chest moved up and down against her palm, she felt it’s truth and her body craved it.

“Is this what you want, Shelly?” Preston asked her and her body trembled as his raspy voice brushed against her skin, painting her body in his lustful craving.

“No, I. . .,” she began only to feel Preston harden and pull back. Only that wasn’t what she wanted and she gripped his shirt in her hand to keep him close. “No, Preston, I want more. I want everything. With you.”

It took just a split second for the blue irises staring at her to darken and intensify. The steel armor that kept Preston’s craving encased up until that moment shattered into tiny fragments around them, and her stomach scrunched, knowing that she was the reason he was letting go.

It took just a split second, but in the blink of an eye, Shelly found herself lifted into the air, two strong hands gripping the globes of her bottom as he forced her legs to wrap around his trim waist. Shelly knew that the couch was conformable enough for what she imagined them doing, so when she asked why they were leaving the living room, she was surprised to receive a growl in response.

“You deserve better than a couch. You should be worshipped on a bed of roses, but all I have to offer is my bed.”

“Oh,” she said as she leaned against him, licking a wet path from the point where his shoulder met his neck and up to his ear. “A bed sounds nice.”

Her body bounced as he released Shelly onto the soft duvet.

“I want to spend however long I have worshipping you,” he told her as Preston glided his hands down from her waist to her ankles, then back up, landing deft fingers on the button of her shorts. “But I can’t promise that I will be soft and gentle. I have something built up inside of me, ready to unleash.”

She was curious why a man like Preston sounded like he hadn’t been with a woman in a while, especially because he looked like a Sheriff that walked off the pages of GQ. But she herself hadn’t been with a man in years, not since the break up with her model boyfriend, Kolton.

His body shook as he leaned over Shelly,

and she worried that he was going to restrain himself. Shelly wanted all of him, every shattered piece.

Supporting her body with her elbows, Shelly rose up on the bed until her face was a mere inch or two from Preston’s. Her eyes searched his heavy-lidded ones and found them swirling in hunger for her.

“I don’t want gentle. I want all of you, Preston.”

One of his arms wrapped around her waist as he hauled her further up on the bed and settled his body between her thighs. He possessed her mouth with his lips, resting his large frame against hers. She wanted to trail her fingers across his muscular back, but Preston clasped her hands and brought them above her head, where he restrained her wrists in one of his large hands.

Preston pressed a small kiss on the corner of her mouth before leaving a path of kisses down her jaw, then neck, and between her chest, his lips only stopping when they reached the V of her shirt.

“God, I need to look at you,” he growled. “Can you keep these up here?”

Shelly nodded as she gripped the duvet in her hands to keep them in place. His stare was burning a hole through her clothes, searing her skin along the way as he took in her body. She was of average height but curvy, and Shelly knew how to dress for her body, but when the clothes came off, she became self-conscious. Years of shame and ridicule from her exes had left her self-esteem broken. But no one had ever looked at her body the way Preston was. He wasn’t just looking at her, he was memorizing every inch of her body, from the tips of her toes to the scar at the top of her forehead.

His hands went to the hem of her T-shirt, and without saying a word, Preston looked at her for permission, which she granted with a nod. Shelly was glad that she had the forethought to shower and shave this afternoon and wear some of her more expensive lingerie. She wasn’t sure if Preston would appreciate it, but it made her feel good and sexy.

“Fuck, you’re absolute perfection. A god damn angel lying on my bed,” he told her as he tossed her shirt haphazardly onto the bed. Claiming to need a better view, Preston stood from the bed and turned on the nightstand lamp, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow. Her breasts heaved and fought against the confines of her yellow lace bra as she laid in silence, waiting for Preston to return to her body. But he seemed just as entranced by her as she was of him. He stood frozen, his eyes moving back and forth as they committed her to memory.

“I need to see all of you,” he growled as he stalked back toward the bed. Preston’s fingers glided up her thighs until they landed on the waistband of her denim shorts, where he again silently asked for her permission. Shelly wasn’t sure if it was the officer in him or just good manners, but no man had ever asked her consent in the bedroom except for doing the actual deed. Preston was raising the bar and ruining her for all other men. He was making sure that she knew that she was the one in control the entire time, and that was sexier than any undergarment she could have worn for him.

Swiftly Preston slipped the shorts off her legs, tossing them in the same direction as her shirt.

“Preston,” she moaned as he lightly traced an invisible path from her knee to her upper thigh. Her body ached for him and she was torn between wanting him to rush things along or to wait and savor his touch.

“I’m a lucky bastard,” he murmured as if to himself, but Shelly found herself squirming on the bed at the sexy tone of his voice.

She tried to pull her legs together, the need for friction becoming too great as his other hand glided up the outside of her opposite leg, landing on her waist. But he settled his hands on her hips to keep her in place.

“What do you want, Shelly?”

She didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever asked her before. In her past, the men had used her body for their own enjoyment, never considering what needs or desires she may have had.

“I. . .I don’t know,” she replied innocently.