19. Handcuffs
There was something about the suspect that made me uneasy. One of those things you can't put your finger on, but it's persisting, right under your skin so you can't shake it off. She was cocky, but that was nothing new for me. Most suspects were. But the way she sat, she looked like she thought herself royalty. And the way her hands were relaxed in the handcuffs gave me the ridiculous feeling that she could simply rend the steel apart if she wanted to.
She was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful... inhumanly so. Everything about her was perfect - her face. Her smooth skin. Her long, wavy blonde hair, that sparkled even in the harsh fluorescents of the police station. Her countenance. Even her smile, despite the fact that it was slightly mocking. She was silently taunting me, as if to say 'I know things you'll never know', and I had to keep myself in check several times during the interrogation, having almost leaned a little too close a handful of times. And the way she smelled... Jesus. She was an aphrodisiac, and I was having trouble concentrating. I think that was her intention.
"Did you have any other questions for me, Ms. Willows?" she asked politely after I'd been staring stupidly for a good thirty seconds without speaking.
Fuck. Talk about unprofessional. Sitting there ogling a suspect when I was supposed to be getting a confession. I put my hands on the table, intending to push to my feet, but my fingertips touched hers and I jerked back, startled, instead. "You're freezing."
"It is three a.m. in the middle of December, and the kind detectives didn't see fit to let me pack a suitcase for my little trip down here."
"I'll get you a blanke--"
"Not necessary, thank you."
For some reason, the interruption didn't seem rude, and I just nodded. "So where were you on Thursday night?" I finally got around to asking.
"At home."
"Can anyone vouch for you?"
"Yes."
Silly me, thinking she would offer the information. "Who?" I asked, a little impatiently.
The twitch of her mouth alerted me to the fact that she was suppressing a smirk. I was sure I wasn't going to like the answer.
"The boy I was fucking."
I was right, I didn't like the answer. I could feel the blush crawling up my cheeks as I cleared my throat and managed to ask in an all-business tone, "and his name?"
"Emmett Cullen."
The all-business tone vanished, completely obliterated by my holy-shit squeak. "Your foster brother?!"
"We're both of age, Ms. Willows," she said calmly, though I could sense some slight irritation along with her amusement.
"Is your father aware of this arrangement?"
"It is not his concern. Like I said, we are both of age."
Why did the condescending tone in her voice make me want to kiss her instead of slap her? If I was this affected just from a short interrogation, I could imagine that her foster brother never stood a chance against her. "You're lucky you're not my kid. If she ever slept with a relative, blood or not, of age or not, she wouldn't sit for days."
Now she was very amused. "I am indeed lucky, then. Now I hate to be rude, but I'm exhausted and you're not getting to the point of this interview."
She didn't look exhausted to me. She looked infuriatingly perfect. Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her clothes, which by the way appeared quite pricy. Then again, her father was a doctor. She probably had more money than she knew what to do with. "Can anyone else vouch for your whereabouts on Thursday night?"
"No."
"We found a lot of blood at the scene. I'll need a sample to compare, so when we're finished here I'll walk you to the medical exa--"
She actually started to laugh, shaking her head. "Absolutely not. You'll need a warrant for that, and I guarantee you you won't get one."
I frowned, unable to school my features before it showed. So she knew the system. Why should that surprise me? "Ms. Hale, things will go a lot smoother for you if you cooperate."
"And things will go much more smoothly for you if you don't attempt to intimidate me into giving you what you want."
She flexed her hands and the chain between the cuffs stretched. I could swear it bent when she tugged on it. She put her hands beneath the table, and by the time I convinced myself not to bend down and look, I heard the hancuffs clatter to the floor and she grinned at me, giving a languid stretch, her tank top riding up to reveal the flat plane of her stomach, complete with a shiny navel piercing that almost made me drool. And it *did* make me wet.
"How the hell did you get those off?" I demanded, standing quickly, hand on my gun. I didn't know enough about her to just assume she wasn't dangerous.
She smiled lazily and took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring slightly, her eyes suddenly shining gold as she looked at me. "This interview is over." She stood up slowly, not even seeming to be aware that I could pull my gun, and leaned over the table, lowering her voice. "And it is quite unprofessional to become aroused while questioning a suspect. What would your colleagues think?"
"I am not aroused," I lied indignantly, though I wasn't angry. I was too busy wondering both how she got the cuffs off and how she could possibly know I was turned on. Then my brain caught up with itself and I flushed hotly, realizing that no matter how she knew, she *knew*, and I was a fucking idiot for letting her get to me like this.
Suddenly she was around the table, right next to me, body pressed against mine, and I fought to stay standing. "Then push me away," she whispered into my ear.
There was no way in hell I could push her away. Not when every single nerve ending in my body was on fire at having her so close. She was cold, freezing cold, and her lips on my earlobe felt like ice, but she made my blood run hotter than anyone ever had.
My trembling fingers closed over the butt of my gun, and I was going to pull it out, but I didn't. It had been so long since anyone had touched me, or even been this close to me, and she was so beautiful... I wanted her to be innocent, and I suddenly wanted this case closed so I could be Catherine with her, not CSI Willows.
"That's what I thought," she hissed, and before I could properly orient myself she was out the door.
I stood breathing hard for several long seconds before crouching down to pick up the handcuffs from under the table. My eyes went wide with disbelief as I stared at the pieces on the floor. My ridiculous instinct had been right - she did rend the steel apart.
23. Phone Sex
For some reason, I kept the incident with the handcuffs to myself. I don't know whether it was to avoid looking like an idiot or to protect Rosalie Hale in some way. Whatever it was, I took that pair of cuffs home with me, not wanting anyone else to see them.
Two days later we had a lead on the case, and I needed to ask Rosalie a few more questions. She and her family were staying at the Luxor while they were in town, and Brass had informed the parents that they needed to stay until the investigation was finished. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen had agreed without complaint, and promised to keep their children under close watch until then.
I let Nicky drive, both because he wanted to and because I didn't want to, and I knocked on the door when we got up to the tenth floor and found the room. My stomach was doing flips, and I did the best I could to keep it under wraps, but I knew as soon as I saw Rosalie that it would be hopeless. I was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, and all I could do was hope she was innocent.
The door opened and I held my breath, but it wasn't Rosalie that answered. It was a boy, who looked about the same age, and I really hoped I was not face to face with Emmett Cullen. "I'm Catherine Willows, this is Nick Stokes, we're from the crime lab, here to ask Rosalie a few questions," I said with a smile.
"Rosalie's not in right now," the boy said, looking at me rather intensely, seemingly trying to hide amusement at something or other.
I couldn't help the flash of disappointment that rushed through me. I recalled her voice, so close to my ear, calling me out for letting her turn me on when I was supposed to be interrogating her.
Nick seemed to notice my distraction and jumped in like the champ he is. "Do you know when she might be back?"
"She's gambling our life savings away," the boy said with obvious disapproval. "Such an addiction she has. We never get a moment's peace."
"Edward!" I recognized Mrs. Cullen's voice before she even appeared in front of me, and she shooed her son away with her own look of disapproval. "He's joking," she said with a little shake of her head. "Rosalie is just out shopping with her sister."
"Shopping for poker chips," Edward called from somewhere I couldn't see. "I can't drive my car because she blew all my insurance money on blackjack..."
"Please excuse my ill-humored son," Mrs. Cullen said apologetically. "Shall I have Rosalie call you when she returns?"
I still couldn't speak, now picturing Rosalie at the blackjack tables, confidently placing bets and sipping on a whiskey through a straw, and my knees almost buckled.
"That would be very helpful, thank you Ma'am," Nick said politely, giving Mrs. Cullen a nod, and subtly stepping on my foot.
Right! Yes. Job to do. I thanked Mrs. Cullen as well and endured Nick's teasing all the way back to the lab.
--
Rosalie finally called around eleven, and when Judy told me who was on the phone, I almost gave the call to Nick, but then kicked myself for being a chicken shit and picked up the phone. "Willows."
"We're back to last names?" Her voice was cool and smoky. "I believe you wanted to speak with me?"
"Yes, I have a few more questions for you," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Do you know a Roso Quinchez?"
"I cannot say that I do, and I think I would remember a name like that, so no. I do not."
"All right. Have you ever been to the Five-Ball Lounge?"
"Yes."
I blinked. I hadn't expected that answer. I figured either she hadn't been, or she would at least say she hadn't been. It was a seedy strip club in an alley off the main strip. "You have?" I asked before I could contain my curiosity.
"You sound surprised."
"Of course not, I'm sorry," I apologized, starting to get pissed at myself for behaving like a teenage boy with a crush. "Are you familiar with a dancer named Gisela?"
"I don't know if you'd call it familiar."
I could hear the smirk in her voice even through the phone line. "Meaning?"
"She gave my brother a lap dance, and I was seated across the table."
"Did she say anything to either of you?"
"You mean besides 'lap dances are twenty apiece'?"
"Yes, besides that," I said, my brows furrowed. I barely resisted the urge to add 'smart-ass'.
"I'm afraid she did not."
"Okay, thanks for calling me back, I think that's all I've got for now," I said, wishing I had a good reason to keep her on the phone.
"I don't think that's all you've got," she said, and her tone made me blush even over the phone.
"Excuse me?" I asked, managing to sound indignant.
"I think you've got much more for me than a bunch of boring questions," she explained without explaining.
Her presumtuousness made me mad. "And what do you think I've got?" I asked, treading dangerous waters. "A throbbing ache for you, Ms. Hale?"
She didn't miss a beat. "Don't forget a pair of soaked panties." She paused to let me flush a bit, and then issued two words that were less of a casual conversation piece and more of an unreasonable demand. "Touch yourself."
"I'm at work!" I hissed into the phone, looking around as if my colleagues could see into my office with the blinds shut.
"Is that your only objection, Ms. Willows?" Rosalie asked me smoothly, laying on the charm, and it was obviously affecting me even though she wasn't standing next to me.
Shit. *Was* that my only objection? It was the first thing that sprung to mind. Not 'hell fucking no', not 'who do you think you are?', not 'that is entirely inappropriate', but 'I'm at work'. I changed tack. "Why would I possibly want to do that for you?"
"Who said anything about it being for me? I'm fine here, playing blackjack and drinking whiskey. I don't need you to do anything. You want to touch yourself. You've wanted to touch yourself and think about me touching you since the moment you walked into the interrogation room the other day."
Playing blackjack and drinking whiskey? Holy fucking shit. "You're pretty damn confident about that," I snapped, angry because she could read me so easily.
"If I was there right now, Ms. Willows," Rosalie purred into the phone, making me wetter, "do you know what I would do to you?"
Oh, my God. My heart thudded fiercely in my chest, pulse rushing through my ears like a waterfall, as I struggled not to admit that I wanted to know. This was not okay. I did not react like this to people. I did not want to know what she would do to me, and I did not want to fuck her. "Ms. Hale, that is entirely in--"
"I'd put my hand in those tan slacks of yours..."
"How do you kn--"
"Edward told me what you were wearing." Her voice was drawing me in, making me complacent when I should be slamming the phone down.
"Oh he did, did he?" That brother of hers was a piece of work. Why would he be so interested in what I was wearing, as to pass it on to his sister?
"He did. I can just imagine how good you look in dark blue. Especially such a low-cut sweater."
"If you're playing blackjack while having this convers--"
"I'm not. I'm alone."
"Stop interrupting me!" I yelled, flustered beyond belief at the effect she was having on me.
"Mmm, feisty." A pause, and then, "I wish I was there, Catherine."
It was the first sincere thing she'd said to me, and I found myself at a loss for breath, let alone words. I heard a rustling on the other end of the line and then a soft sigh. "What are you doing?" I found myself asking.
"Taking off my pants."
Oh fuck. Talk about using your sexuality to get what you wanted. Sara should meet this woman. But what did Rosalie hope to gain from this? "Why?" I think that was a question I was entitled to ask.
"Because it's hot in my bedroom," she hissed into the phone. "Why do you think?"
I stumbled over my words so ended up saying nothing.
"I saw how you looked at me, Catherine. Were you too busy thinking I'm a criminal to notice I was looking at you the same way?"
Now that was a lie. "You looked at me like I was beneath you. And you tore apart steel with your hands. How did you do that?"
"I work out," she said dryly, and I could just picture the smirk on her face. "But I can be so gentle when I need to be. I would be gentle with you. I want to feel how wet you are for me. I want to be soft and sweet while I slip my fingers inside you... I want to fight the urge to fuck you hard and fast, and go slow with you until you're begging me to release you."
I gasped in surprise, my breath caught in my throat as her words hit me right in the groin, making my thighs clench against the sudden flood between them. I got up and locked my office door, just in case I couldn't resist continuing this line of conversation.
"You locked the door," she whispered. "Are you wet for me?"
I wasn't going to answer that. I sat back down behind my desk, giving up on arguing against the truth of her words, but I wasn't gong to actively encourage her. She was still a suspect, and I was still a CSI on her case.
"I'm wet for you," she told me, and suddenly I believed her. I think it was the subtle change in the way her breaths came through the phone. Another pause, and then a low, amazingly soft groan. "I'm touching myself," she answered my unspoken question.
The room started to spin, and I slouched in my chair, once again clenching my thighs against a wave of arousal that surged through me. Why was she doing this to me? "What do you want from me?" I managed. "Do you want me to drop the case? Fine, consider it dropped." She affected me too strongly, I couldn't fight her. If she wanted the case closed, I'd close it. Just so I didn't have to go through the agony of another phone call like *this*. I wanted to touch myself, and I couldn't. I would never do that at work. And if I was honest with myself, it hurt that she was using me. Was this what suspects felt when I used my charms against them?
"Don't drop the case," she said, and her tone had gone from sensual to angry just like that. "I didn't do anything, and if I had, I wouldn't pretend I wanted to fuck you to get out of trouble."
I sat in stunned silence long after she'd slammed the phone down in my ear. *What* in the fuck had just happened?
03. Spanking
Naturally, I threw myself into work for the next few days, trying desperately to forget about my conversation with Rosalie. Of course it was impossible, and I was kicking myself extra hard when we closed the case and it turned out she hadn't been involved. There was no way I could forget it now. I felt like an asshole, hell I had *been* an asshole, and I wanted to at least apologize to her before she and her family went back to Washington.
Edward answered the door again, and I withered under his penetrating stare. He was not happy to see me. "You're alone."
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and nodded with a shrug. "I'm not here on business."
"She doesn't want to see you," he said quickly. He narrowed his eyes at me, leaning in as if he were going to... I don't even know what. "It takes a lot for Rose to be interested in someone."
Even though his commanding presence scared me, I couldn't help but think it was sweet, how protective he was being of his sister. "I came to apologize."
"I know you did, and I know you're sorry, but that won't be enough for Rose."
I furrowed my brows, trying to look around him to see if I could see her.
"She's not here," he said darkly. "She went home already."
Panic attacked my chest, and I looked at Edward with wide eyes. "To Washington?"
"Yes."
I felt the stupid urge to cry out of frustration, and looked pleadingly at him as if he could fix things with a snap of his fingers. "What can I do?"
He stared at me in silence, and I got the impression he was trying to get a better read on me, before he spoke. "You accused her of being a whore."
"No I didn't!" I protested, my mouth dropping open in shock, but as I stood there and looked at him, the sinking realization dawned on me that it was exactly what I had done. Not in so many words, but I had assumed she was offering herself in exchange for something, and wasn't that prostitution? "Oh God, I did," I whispered, leaning against the hallway wall. "Did she really already go home, or are you just trying to protect her?"
His eyes flashed. "You do make many accusations," he said in a low voice. "She already went home, like I said. If you want to apologize to her, you'll have to do better than this."
And the door closed in my face, leaving me standing in the hall, torn between letting it go and flying to Washington to try to make things right. I knew I was going, even before I started to think about it.
--
Luckily the rental car had a GPS, or I never would have found their house. Apparently Dr. Cullen had taken Rosalie home before everyone else, because she had wanted to leave as soon as she was cleared. He told me this even as he allowed me into the house, seeming much less angry with me than Edward had been. Or maybe he was just better at hiding it. Although I have to say, the fact that I flew all the way up here should have alerted him that I really did regret what had happened. "Up the stairs, third room on the left, and I'll be leaving now."
I could tell by the way he said it that he was leaving because he didn't want to be there, not because he had somewhere else to be. I swallowed hard and nodded as he left, climbing the stairs with a racing pulse.
She appeared in the upstairs hallway just as I got to the top of the stairs, her eyes flashing gold. "Edward should have told you not to bother." Her voice was icy, smooth, with none of the husky sensuality I'd heard over the phone.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, forcing myself not to look away.
"Why?"
"Because I shouldn't have said what I said."
"You came all the way here in the blinding rain just to tell me something I already know?" she asked bitterly, taking a step toward me.
I had barely noticed the rain, I was focused so hard on following the directions spewed at me from the GPS. And when my thoughts weren't on right or left turns, they were on Rosalie. Not the weather. "I didn't mean to imply what it seemed I was implying," I tried again. No better results.
"As thrilling as that is, I have better things to do than listen to you read from a standard book of apologies."
"I didn't think there was any way someone like you would be interested in me, especially after you'd just told me two days before that you fuck your foster brother!" I was going on instinct now, not pre-planned words, and I think that's what Rosalie wanted.
"So your low self-esteem led you to attack mine. How lovely." But her voice held less venom.
This time I took a step toward her. "That's not what I meant and you know it," I said, starting to get frustrated that she wouldn't accept my apology.
"I am not a whore!" She raised her voice to me slightly for the first time, and the way she said it left me with no doubt that this was an old wound re-opened, not a fresh one created by my words. I had reinforced what someone had already said to her in the past.
"I never thought you were. I'm sorry, Rosalie, all right? Please?"
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because I flew three states just to tell you?"
"Not good enough."
That's what Edward had warned me. That an apology wouldn't be good enough. "What would be good enough?" Did I really want to know? The frantic beating of my heart said no, but the inexplicable feelings I had toward Rosalie said yes. I think I would have done just about anything at this point to have her forgive me. I don't know why it was so important to me, but it was.
"You'll have to take penance."
My eyebrows raised before I could stop them. "How?"
"Are you willing?" She seemed surprised.
"Yes. How can I show you penance?"
"You're willing, without even knowing what I would have you do."
"Yes."
"Come into my room."
She turned and walked back into her room, and I followed, a huge weight off my shoulders that she was even entertaining the idea of forgiving me. Of course, I had no idea what she expected of me in return, but I was pretty sure I could do whatever it was. However, my stomach dropped as she sat on the edge of her bed and flexed her hands, cracking her knuckles in the process, and pinned me with a predatory gaze.
"Come here." She pointed at the floor beside her.
I walked over without hesitation, though my insides were now doing flips. It seemed like she was going to--
"Undo your pants."
Oh God, she was. I foundered a bit, stammering about nothing as my cheeks flushed, my hands trying to do as she asked but failing. Not wanting her to think I was saying no, I reached down and grabbed her wrist, the coolness of her skin not making as much of an impression as it did the first time I touched her back at PD, and brought her hand to the button of my pants.
She had seen me trying, I think, because she simply popped the button free and lowered the zipper, then placed her hands back in her lap. She didn't say anything right away, and when I didn't either, she raised an eyebrow at me. "Well?" Her eyes going from me to her lap.
I was practically hyperventilating now as I eyed her lap. She expected me to take an active part in this? I almost refused, but the way I felt when she hung up on me resurfaced, and I hurriedly pushed my pants over my hips and bent across her lap. I felt ridiculous, and about five years old, and I wondered what this was supposed to accomplish.
Before I had time to really adjust to the position I found myself in, she pulled down my underwear and started to spank me.
The first few swats just had me blushing harder than I could ever remember. Her hand wasn't as cold as before, and I wondered whether it was because of the impact against my ass. My naked, exposed, vulnerable ass, that was heating up now by the second.
After five minutes or so, she *spanked* me. I mean full on, punishment spanking. I gasped and squirmed and kicked in an attempt to get off her lap, but that just made her spank me harder. Her palm connected solidly with my stinging backside over and over, a steady rhythm that showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.
I was throbbing and aching, in a great deal of pain, regretting my words to her about dropping the case on a whole new level now. Tears were streaming from my eyes in hot trails down my cheeks, and I had stopped yelling and struggling, just taking it now. I don't think I had ever been more sorry about something in my life. The way she had chosen to punish me was perfect, though I wouldn't admit that to her for a long time, if ever.
She stopped as abruptly as she'd started, and sat motionlessly with me over her lap for several long seconds before speaking. "I believe you now."
I felt incredibly relieved at hearing that, especially after taking such a blazing punishment. I was still crying, unable to respond vocally, but I reached one of my hands back to rest on her hip, hoping she could tell how much that meant to me. She was an enigma, and I was hooked, glad that I hadn't completely fucked things up beyond repair. My ass was in stark disagreement with my brain, but I really didn't care. It was worth the pain and embarrassment of being spanked to get another chance with Rosalie.
17. Anal Plugs
She kept me over her lap as she leaned backwards and stretched toward her nightstand, and I could hear her searching for something with one hand, since she couldn't possibly see into the drawer from our current position. After several seconds of clanking and thumping, she apparently found what she wanted because she sat back up without seeming angry.
I wasn't sure what she expected of me at this point, but I was content to just lay there for now and wait until she made the next move. Letting someone else call the shots actually felt good for once.
Rosalie started rubbing my throbbing backside gently, and her cool hands felt amazing on my overheated flesh. It was making me really relaxed, until I felt her start to probe between my cheeks with a lube-covered finger. My eyes flew open wide, and I wanted to protest, to demand that she stop right now, but it felt *so* good, I just couldn't. My face was bright red, I'd never let a lover do that to me before, and I hadn't even slept with Rosalie. Yet.
Before I had a chance to understand what had changed, her finger was gone, and a warm, slippery object pressed into me slightly. It slid in easily, until it pressed against the tightness that tried to force it back out, and I had to assume it was an anal plug, trying to wrap my mind around why she wanted to use one right now. When she felt the natural resistance of my body, she gave a smooth push, filling me with the toy and making me half grunt, half groan in surprise, embarrassment, and pleasure.
She quickly pulled my panties up to hold the plug in place, and I lay there gasping, clenching the sheets in tight fists, trying not to come.
I think I would have been more embarrassed, but she was so casual about it, not even mentioning anything, and she pulled up my slacks as well, reaching beneath me to zip and button them. How long did she want me to... keep the thing in? And I hope she didn't want me to move, or do anything, because all I was going to be able to think about was the sensation of having something penetrating my butt. I felt so *full*. And so... naughty. Maybe that's what she wanted. Was this part of the punishment? Even though it didn't hurt, I got the impression it might be part of the punishment.
"Do you like it?"
Okay, now I thought I might die. I thought I was sexually liberated, but here I was, unable to admit that I liked having something in my ass. I wasn't going to lie to her, but I couldn't actually make myself say yes, either. So I didn't say anything.
A single smack to my backside changed my mind in an instant. It renewed the fire in my sensitive, punished skin, and pushed the anal plug further inside me, making me cry out and clench my thighs against the powerful wave of arousal that threatened to undo me. "Yes," I choked, gripping the sheets tighter if possible. Fuck, Rosalie was good with me. She seemed to know exactly what to do to get what she wanted out of me. And I liked it. I had never really entertained the thought of letting someone else control me, but Rosalie was showing me just how appealing it could be.
"Yes. I thought you did," she said coolly, smoothing her palm over the backs of my thighs. "If you can get through the evening without alerting my father to the fact that you're wearing my anal plug, I'll take it out and let you put it in me," she then whispered into my ear, her tongue caressing the lobe.
I couldn't help the moan that escaped my lips, both from her words and from the icy, wet sensation on my earlobe. I imagined having her bent over, and putting it in her, and my entire body shivered with anticipation.
--
Rosalie had finally let me off her lap, and I was adjusting my shirt when the door opened downstairs and then closed again, followed by the sound of Dr. Cullen's voice. "Girls?"
Girls? I almost laughed, but then thought about the task ahead of me and just dropped my face into my hands instead. Every time I moved, I could feel Rosalie's toy stimulating me from the inside. I can't even describe the sensation, but it was so fucking good I could barely stand it.
"Everything's fine, Carlisle!" Rosalie called back down to him.
"Why do you call him Carlisle?" I asked curiously, holding as still as I could so I could focus on her answer.
"What do you call your father?" she countered, raising an eyebrow.
I thought of Sam and my amusement deflated, a sigh forcing its way from my chest. "I called him Sam."
She seemed to sense that it was a sore subject, because she moved on. "What do you eat?"
I blinked, finding the wording of the question rather strange. "Food?"
She stared at me, then stepped up to me and rested her hands on my waist, pulling me lightly against her, and I suddenly had trouble breathing. "What kind of food?"
How was I supposed to think with her nipples pressing into mine? "I don't know, mostly anything," I said, tilting my head up to look her in the eyes. They were captivating, with brilliant rings of gold surrounding dark, dilated pupils. "You're so beautiful," I commented then, tilting my head to the side.
She looked as though she was about to protest, but at the last minute changed her mind and just said, "I think you're absolutely gorgeous."
I was struck by the sincerity in her tone, and carefully dropped my forehead onto her shoulder. "Thank you," I whispered.
"I think it's best if we order in. Do you eat pizza? Or would you prefer Chinese food?"
I really didn't care *what* I ate at this point, or even if I ate at all, but Rosalie seemed concerned about it, so I just nodded. "Pizza is fine." I paused, and then asked her, "you're not planning to have me sit down to eat, are you?"
I could *feel* the sadistic amusement in her body language, but she merely wrapped her arms around me, resting her hands on my lower back, and murmured, "we'll see."
After a few minutes of just standing there together, she slid her hands down to squeeze my ass and then released me, heading for the door.
I jumped, a groan escaping as I followed her, knowing I'd never survive this night.
--
We had a pizza delivered and Rosalie made me sit. The only thing that kept me from whining and squirming every two seconds was the thought of getting through this and getting to bend *her* over and slide the plug into *her* ass instead.
"Catherine," Carlisle asked me, and I was prepared for some question about my career or the case or something, but he just asked for the butter. "Would you pass me the butter, please?"
I glanced at the butter, which was right next to Rosalie, but he had asked me, and I didn't want to be rude, so I stood to get it, handing it over, and tried not to be obvious about the face I made when I sat back down, my ass throbbing with discomfort for more than one reason.
I noticed Rosalie's smirk as she stared at her plate, and even Carlisle looked amused as he asked me, "is something wrong, Catherine?"
"I'm fine, thank you," I answered, but I noticed he wasn't even using the butter I'd just handed him. And he had barely touched his food. Actually, Rosalie had barely touched hers either, and I had already eaten three slices of pizza.
"Are you sure?" he asked me. "Is something wrong with the food?"
Fuck... now Rosalie was laughing under her breath. It wasn't funny! Well... okay, yes it was. "I should be asking you. You've barely touched it." HA.
Carlisle raised an eyebrow at me, one corner of his mouth twitching upward into a smirk that matched Rosalie's. "That's right, you're a CSI, you don't miss much, do you?"
"No," I said, rather proud of that fact, actually.
"Neither do I." He turned to Rosalie. "Would you please take her upstairs and make her more comfortable? It's distracting and I'm trying to eat."
I choked, suddenly debating getting up and leaving, and never coming back. I stood forcefully, knocking my chair back, my eyes wild as I turned on Rosalie.
"Relax, he's just joking," she said, though she wasn't bothering to keep her laughter under her breath anymore. "He already knows, he doesn't care."
Carlisle chuckled and set about buttering a slice of bread, but still didn't eat it when he finished. I just stood there for another minute or two, trying to decide what to do. This was ridiculous. Biologically related or not, he was her *father*, and the situation was more inappropriate than I'd ever been involved in on a personal level. One thing was certain, though. I was FURIOUS with Rosalie. And this one little exchange made me question the sincerity of anything she'd said to me about forgiveness.
She looked at me, and her expression went from jubilant to alarmed in a split second. "Shit," she cursed on a whisper. "Let's go upstairs."
I had nothing to say to her in front of Dr. Cullen, and was glad to get away from the awkward dynamic, so I agreed and preceded her up the stairs.
Before I even had a chance to say anything, she had me bent over the bed with my pants down, one hand stroking my back while the other worked inside my panties to slowly remove the butt plug. I gasped as it moved all the way out of me, feeling empty and aching, and still indescribably embarrassed. Humiliated was more like it. I pulled up my pants and stood, fiercely zipping and buttoning them, then headed for the door, intending to leave.
Rosalie stood in my way, eyes wide, alarm still clouding her beautiful features. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean-- that's just the way we are, I wasn't trying to--"
I was still moving toward the door, trying to get around her, trying not to listen to her.
"Please," she said a bit louder, her voice breaking, and I stopped and looked at her, shocked to find tears in her own eyes to match mine. "We just-- we don't get embarrassed about things like that, we're so used to it, and I didn't stop to think that you might not be. I wasn't trying to upset you... I just... I'm not usually interested in anyone, other than Emmett, and I wanted to show off. I'm sorry."
She seemed so genuine again, and I was torn. The family thing was still nagging at me, though, no matter how I felt about Rosalie. "He's your father," I said with a sigh and a frown. "What do you mean, you're so used to things like that?"
"We've always been very open with each other in my family. We don't keep secrets and we don't judge each other. My parents never shied away from talking to us about sex, because they wanted to make sure we were being safe. It just snowballed from there, I guess. And the only one I'm biologically related to is Jasper. Carlisle and Esme are more like friends than parents, I suppose."
It still made me uneasy, but I'd accept that for now. For some reason I believed her, and my anger deflated. Why did I feel like I was starting to *need* this woman? We'd known each other for less than a week. "You cheated."
"What?"
"He already knew. There was no way I was going to make it through the night without him finding out, because he already knew. You cheated."
"Ah... that's true."
"It's only fair I get to return the favor."
"You're not leaving, then?" Her face lit up and if possible, she looked even more beautiful than before.
"Just gimme the thing and get your ass exposed," I demanded, and when she handed over the plug I took it down the hall to the bathroom to wash it. She called after me that I didn't need to, but I made a face and did anyway, and when I returned to her room, she had her pants and underwear around her knees and was bent over her bed, resting on her elbows, looking bored.
The first thing I noticed was how perfect her ass was. Of course what else did I expect, with how perfect the rest of her was? Grinning, I stepped up behind her and glanced around for the bottle of lube. "Where's the--"
"I don't need lube," she interrupted me, flashing a dazzling grin over her shoulder.
"Then maybe I should make you take a bigger one," I said, my eyebrows lifting in surprise.
"I still don't need lube," she said, her grin turning wicked, her voice dropping low. "I like it to *hurt*."
As a CSI, that statement disturbed me. But as a woman, one who'd recently been spanked and subjected to Rosalie's particular brand of humor, the statement turned me on.
I stepped up behind her and laid a hand on her bare ass, gasping at how cold her skin was. It made sense at three a.m. in the underheated police station, but here, in the warm house, she shouldn't be so cold. "Are you okay?" I found myself asking, genuinely concerned. "Your skin is like ice."
"I'd be a lot better if you stopped bringing that up and got on with more pleasant things," she said, throwing me a frown over one shoulder.
"Sorry," I said, making a note that it was a sensitive subject and vowing to just get used to it. I scratched her lightly, delighting in her surprised shiver, and then positioned the head of the plug between her cheeks.
She reached back to pull them apart for me, and I nearly died, both at the action and at the view. I immediately put pressure on the translucent purple toy, and there was a lot of resistance.
"It's okay. Push," she told me, her voice strained, and I could tell it already hurt. But she liked it. I could feel her muscles trembling, and when I pushed harder, breaking through the resistance, she cried out, her hands going to the back of her head and grabbing fistfuls of her own hair. I thought she was going to pull it out of her head, but soon she was relaxing, her fingers going slack, and her cry turned into a long, low moan.
I had never seen anything so hot. I didn't want to pull her pants up, but we weren't fucking each other yet. We were just teasing each other.