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Summary
Solomon’s fingers trail higher, grazing the warm mound hidden beneath the fabric. Willerton tenses, a whine caught in his throat.
“There it is,” Solomon murmurs. “My favorite bloody sound.”
“I’m not—ngh—making sounds for you.”
“You are,” Solomon says, voice steady, “and you’ll make even more once I find out what you’re hidin’ down here.”
Chief Solomon Serpico is supposed to uphold the law.
He’s not supposed to shove a criminal in a maid dress into the back of his cruiser and lose every shred of professionalism he has left.