Slowly his tongue traced a trail lower, over my stomach and to the waistband of my jeans. He deftly unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down over my hip... and legs. I kicked my boots and socks off and he slid my jeans the rest of the way off, leaving me in a skimpy pair of underwear. ‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ Jackson muttered as his eyes raked over my entire body. I felt his gaze like a touch, everywhere it landed on me goosebumps rose along my skin. Jackson leaned down and kissed me again, his. He had worked with Daddy for years. Homicide Captain Dave Jennings was one of the few local officials who willingly cooperated with the Feds. Daddy had told me, more than once, “The FBI is a resource, a useful tool. Fuck who gets the credit, solve the fucking case.”Morristown had personally, against regulations, gotten Daddy an FBI profile of a vicious sadist, Hugo Blenheim, a couple of years earlier. I had met Morristown a few times at my parents’ house, but he did the favor for Homicide. More

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