Commanding the Curvy Girl (Spoon Heroes)

Chapter Four

Easton

" U nit 232," Molly's voice crackles through the radio a little after one in the morning, irritation in her tone.

I snatch up my mic, grinning. "Unit 232, go ahead."

"Your 10-20 has stopped displaying on the map. Again. Please turn the system back on."

"10-9? I didn't catch that," I lie, knowing damn well she isn't going to repeat herself. I unkey the mic, silently counting to five. I barely make it to four before my phone rings. My grin widens as I grab it from the console to see the number for dispatch flashing on the screen. "Right on time," I murmur, chuckling to myself as I lift it to my ear, my goddamn dick throbbing.

"Hello, Molly," I practically purr.

"You turned off your GPS again, Easton," she says. "Turn it back on."

"Are you stalking me?" I tease.

"No. I'm trying to keep you alive." I can practically hear her eyes roll. "Turn it back on."

"You didn't say please."

She growls at me wordlessly.

I palm my cock through my uniform pants, grinning. Goddamn. Her little attitude is sexy as hell. I fucking love when she unleashes it on me…which she's done nonstop since I kissed her the night before last.

Anyone else probably would have given up by now, but I'm a patient motherfucker. And I know she wants me as badly as I want her. But she's still running scared, afraid to let herself feel it.

If I've learned anything in this job, it's people and what makes them tick.

Molly doesn't trust easily, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. But she wants to trust me. This little game we've been playing…she likes it and hates that she likes it at the same time.

Charm doesn't work on her. She sees right through that bullshit. But she likes to be challenged, likes to feel like she has a little control…and likes to feel a little out of control, too. It's part of why she's such a good fucking dispatcher.

In this world, no matter how prepared we are, if we can't adapt and improvise, we fail. We can't prepare for every goddamn thing because everything changes minute to minute. We have to give ourselves leeway to adapt. She's damn good at that.

I just need to tip her past her ability to adapt. I want her off balance, unraveled to the point where it's either kiss me again or kill me. It's a hell of a plan since she might actually opt to kill me…but it's the only one I've got with a shot in hell of working because I need her to see that she's safe with me and so is her job. I won't do anything to put her or her career at risk.

I may tease and drive her crazy, but I'm not an asshole. I don't want her fired. I want her in my arms. Besides, this job actually matters to me, too. I'm not going to risk it, no matter how much I want to get lost in her gorgeous little body.

I haul myself out of my cruiser, my phone still clutched to my ear, and quietly close the door so she doesn't hear it. I turned my location tracker off intentionally. Didn't want to give her any warning that I was on my way up here to see her again. I figured she might barricade the door against me if she figured it out.

"Just turn it back on, Easton. If Dillon finds out you turned it off, he's going to be cranky about it," she complains. "I will absolutely throw you under the bus and tell him that I warned you, and you refused to listen."

"Well, damn," I say, chuckling. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

"Just did. Turn it back on." She hangs up on me.

I laugh quietly, shoving my phone into my pocket before I let myself into the building. I pause outside the secure door to dispatch, pressing my ear to it to listen to her muttering inside. I can't hear what she's saying, but I'm guessing she's bitching about me.

"Unit 232 to dispatch," I say, keying up my mic.

"Go ahead," she sighs.

"Show me out at 2475 Broadway doing a property check." I swipe my badge and slip through the door before she can respond, only to stop midstep, staring in shock. She's standing at her console, a shirt in her hands, her luscious tits practically spilling out of the cups of her bra, as she frantically tries to pull the shirt on over her head.

"Oh my god!" she cries, spinning away from me, her cheeks blazing red. "Don't look!"

"Don't look? Baby, there isn't a chance in hell that I'm missing this show," I growl, my dick pressing against my zipper so hard I already know I'm going to have permanent imprints from the fucking thing. "Jesus Christ, princess. Why are you naked in dispatch?"

"I'm not naked," she growls, frantically shoving her arms through the sleeves, only to have to yank one out and try again. "I'm half naked. Will you please stop staring?"

"Uh, fuck no." I grin, palming my cock. "You took those pretty tits out. I'm looking. Sue me."

"You weren't here when I took my shirt off, Easton." She finally manages to get it on again and slaps her hair out of her face, spinning to scowl at me. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you half-naked?"

"I spilled coffee," she mumbles.

I stroke my chin, hiding a smile. Of course she spilled her coffee again. Every damn time I come in here, she's spilled it somewhere. I need to get her an adult sippy cup.

"I came to see you," I murmur, striding forward so the door swings closed behind me. "Didn't realize I was getting a whole goddamn show, but you won't see me complaining."

"Easton." She pinches the bridge of her nose, dropping back down into her chair. "Don't make me murder you. Dillon's too old to help me hide your body."

I grin, pulling up a chair beside her. "You know he's paying for our wedding, right?"

She whips around to face me so fast I'm surprised she doesn't injure herself. "What?"

"He said if you agree to marry me, he's paying. I think we should invite the whole goddamn town." I reach out, running my fingertips down her arm. She yanks it away, but not before I see her shiver. "Make him think twice about doubting us next time, princess."

"He doesn't doubt me. He loves me. He doubts you." She bats her lashes at me, pretending she's innocent. "I wonder why."

"Because you're merciless," I murmur, not even kidding. Apparently, it's the right thing to say because she smiles at me, amusement glinting in her eyes. "You've got me acting like a goddamn teenager, willing to go to any length to convince the head cheerleader to go to prom with him."

"Now I know you're full of it." She rolls her eyes. "You probably dated the head cheerleader. I never ever made the squad."

"You tried out?" My lips twitch. She's gorgeous enough, but I don't think she has the coordination to cheerlead. She can't even hang onto a damn coffee mug an entire shift.

"Maybe once," she grumbles. "Apparently, you have to be the exact opposite of me to cheer at football games."

My eyes narrow, something…protective…shifting through me. "The exact opposite of you? What the hell does that mean?"

"Skinny, peppy, and coordinated," she says, ticking each item off on her fingers. "I'm none of those things."

"Uh, hold the fuck on. What's wrong with your body?" I look her up and down, not seeing a goddamn thing wrong with it. She's soft everywhere, but strong, too. Her thick thighs and little belly are sexy as hell. Quite frankly, I've jerked my cock raw thinking about both. And now that I've seen said belly up close and personal, my hand will be doing double duty, imagining my cum all over said belly.

"We're not talking about my body, Easton," she says softly, and then pauses when Michaelson keys up on the radio and mine immediately squeals.

"Shit. Sorry." I flip the button to shut mine off, killing the feedback as he gives her a whole fucking dissertation instead of just checking busy for the remainder of his shift. I swear to God, he loves to hear himself on the radio.

"That man loves to hear himself talk," she mumbles once she marks him busy for the rest of his shift. "Every time he keys up, he gives me an entire freaking book."

I smile, amused. "Cute, but changing the subject isn't going to work. We're not talking about Michaelson. We're talking about you."

"I already told you that we aren't talking about my body."

"No, we're talking about why you think your body is a problem." I hook my foot around the bottom of her chair, spinning it to face me. Her knee bumps mine and she scowls. But not before I see her pupils dilate. "Talk, princess."

She cocks her head to the side, eyeing me. "Is that how you get suspects to talk? You just give them that 'me man, me in charge' look and demand they talk?"

"Me man, me in charge?"

"Sums it up," she says, shrugging.

"We both know the one in charge here is you, princess," I say. It's more or less true. She holds all the cards. I'm just waiting for her to agree to let me worship at her feet. And I'm willing to do whatever desperate, shameless shit I have to do until she agrees. I don't need to beat my chest and roar like I'm in the goddamn jungle. If she wants to drive this motherfucker, she can drive it.

Once she's ready to stop running, then it's my turn to take charge. I know how the shit works. Women have to trust that you're someone they want to follow. If you can't show them that, you aren't a motherfucker worth their time. And I fully intend to be one she finds worthy of her. If we need to go at her pace until then, we go at her pace. If she has to torture me a little first, bring it the fuck on.

"And for the record," I say, smirking at her. "Suspects talk to me because I'm a patient, understanding motherfucker. You don't have to be a dick to get people to talk. Sometimes, you just have to be willing to listen."

She nods, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"There's nothing wrong with my body," she sighs after a minute. "Everyone else just seems to disagree with me on that front."

"Who is everyone else?" I growl.

"Aside from the cheerleading coach? Half my graduating class. The FBI. My dad. Take your pick."

"Fuck all of them," I snarl, hauling her chair closer to mine, my heart pounding like a drum. Seriously, fuck every asshole who ever made her feel like there's something wrong with her. "The only thing wrong with your body is the fact that it isn't all over me right this goddamn second, Molly. You're fucking gorgeous."

A blush creeps across her cheeks, painting them the sweetest pink. "Thank you," she whispers.

"Don't thank me for telling you the truth. There isn't a damn thing wrong with you." I run my hands up her outer thighs, groaning at how they quiver under my palms even through her jeans. "This body is worthy of worship."

"Wish the FBI felt the same way," she mutters.

"You want to join the FBI?"

She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. "I want to be analyst."

"I can help with that, you know."

"I don't want to get in because someone pulled strings, Easton. I want to get in because I deserved it," she whispers.

"What's stopping you?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "Uh, did you hear nothing I just said?"

"I heard you, but you're making my point for me," I say, a smile tugging at my lips. "If the only thing keeping you out is some fucking bullshit about your size, fuck that. Sometimes, you have to go around obstacles instead of through them. If some recruiter is a roadblock in your path, find a different way." I inch my hands higher up her thighs, wishing like hell I could pull her onto my lap and just fucking hold her. Or grind her against my cock until she shatters to pieces in my arms. But I'm guessing either of those will have her kicking my ass out of here, so best not to risk it. "I know a different way. Use me, princess. Let me help you."

She chews on her bottom lip, staring at me. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you help me?" Guilt flickers in her expression. "I've basically tortured you for the last month straight."

"Foreplay, baby. That's foreplay." I grin, running one hand up the center of her body to capture her chin. She doesn't stop me. Doesn't tell me no. Little by little, she's thawing toward me, letting me in. Every little step feels like I'm winning the fucking lottery. "Torture me however you want. I fully intend to repay you for every bit of it once you're in my bed."

"I'm not sleeping with you, Easton." She scowls at me. "And if that's the price of you helping me, no thanks."

"I'm not helping you so you'll sleep with me, princess. I'm helping you because I actually happen to think you'll be a hell of an FBI analyst." I touch my thumb to her bottom lip. "And when you sleep with me—when, Molly, not if—it'll be because you can't stand the thought of not being in my bed."

"You are…" She cracks, smiling despite herself. "You're insane, you know that, right?"

"Nah, I just know what I want. I'm looking at her." I lean forward, brushing my lips against hers. "And she may not want to admit it, but I damn well know she wants me too."

She groans, shaking her head. "You make it hard, you know?"

"Pretty sure that's my line."

She kicks me in the shin, making me chuckle.

"You set yourself up for that one, not me."

"That's precisely what I'm talking about!" she cries.

"What?"

"One minute, you seem so genuine and caring. The next, you're cocky and arrogant and saying ridiculous crap." She stares at me like she's trying to peel back the layers and see inside my mind. "I don't know which Easton is the real Easton."

"Why can't I be both?" I ask, leaning back in my chair. "No one is one-dimensional. We all have different sides. Maybe I am cocky and arrogant and fucking ridiculous. But that doesn't mean I can't mean every word I've said to you, too. I'm human, princess. We all are. Isn't that enough?"

"It's confusing," she says, her voice soft. Vulnerability floats through her expression, and I realize exactly what the issue is. She's afraid I'm playing her, putting on some act to get what I want.

"Want to hear something real?" I ask.

She eyes me silently and then nods.

"I left Dallas because the nightmares were so goddamn brutal," I admit, my throat tight. "I knew I still wanted to be a cop after what happened, but I couldn't fucking do it there. So being here, having you send me on all these bullshit calls, getting to see this side of things…I like it." I hold her gaze. "You help more than you know."

"I read about what happened," she murmurs softly. "He was a burglary suspect?"

"Home invasion," I mutter. "I wasn't even fucking looking for him. Someone flagged me down, said they saw him go in, so I went in after him." I exhale a breath. "He ran out the back and I took off after him. Didn't realize that he'd hidden behind the goddamn shed until it was too late."

"You almost didn't make it."

"Yeah." I exhale a breath. "It was close. Had the bullet been just another centimeter to the right…"

Her expression falls as she reaches for my hand, slipping hers into mine. "I'm glad you're still here," she whispers, holding my gaze.

"Me too, princess. Me fucking too."

Her sweet smile heals pieces of my heart I didn't realize were still bleeding. Christ, something about this girl is going to heal every goddamn piece of me. I already feel it happening.

She's been a balm against the nightmares for weeks. Now, she's slipping into those raw, festering places and soothing them too. Two months ago, I wouldn't have talked about this at all. I couldn't. Talking about it with her now barely even twinges. Soon, there won't be anything left but memories.