The Intelligence Unit Series

Frankie sat back against her desk chair and tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her chest. She and Shawn had come back to the Thirty-Third to file their scene reports, following protocol to the letter. The rest of the detectives had headed to their respective homes from the scene with the promise of reconvening in the morning-Alfie wasn't going to get any more dead overnight, and Beck wasn't an immediate threat. For all they knew, Beck had no idea Alfie was even dead. Maybe the guy was blissfully unaware of his cousin's apparent overdose. Maybe he'd be devastated to find out that Alfie seemed to have died all alone, high out of his mind in the middle of an abandoned field.

Or maybe Beck had been the one to put him there, and this whole deal was about to self-destruct.

It wasn't a rational thought, Frankie knew, or one she could even substantiate with any facts she had on-hand. But denying that it wasn't at least possible would be a mistake. Beck was a cold-blooded killer. He did whatever he wanted in order to gain power, even if that meant people died. People like Val. Like the man in that video, whose body had turned up in pieces. And maybe now, like Alfie, who had simply pissed him off.

"Hey," Shawn said quietly, closing his laptop. His gaze was so steady, like an anchor in a raging storm, and God, it was the only thing that could set her to rights. "It's really late. Maybe we should call it a night, yeah? Go at this with fresh eyes tomorrow?" Looking at the clock on the wall above Capelli's bank of monitors, Frankie blinked. "Okay, yeah."

Shawn was right. Tomorrow was going to take a hell of a lot of brain power. Getting some sleep probably wasn't the worst plan. Logging out of the RPD database, Frankie grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and swung it on. Her shoulder protested with an achy squeeze, and she couldn't hide her wince.

"You okay?" Shawn asked, frozen to his spot by the door. They were the only two in the office-hell, probably on the entire floor, at this point. Even Sinclair had called it a night.

"Yeah, I...no." All the emotions she'd had to hold at bay in favor of doing her job surged up, threatening to spill. "Sorry. I know we're supposed to be able to remove ourselves from the situation. But seeing Alfie like that-knowing he wanted to get sober and then, didn't it just hits really close to home for me."

"You can't remove yourself from the situation entirely, Frankie." Shawn took a step toward her, and even though there were a solid three feet of linoleum separating them, his closeness was still a comfort. "Don't apologize for being human. You have feelings. It's not a bad thing."

"I know," she said. God, it was the truth. She knew far better than most people that feelings happened, whether you wanted them to or not. They needed to be acknowledged and dealt with rather than stuffed away. "Still. It makes cases like this hard, you know?" "I do."

"Really?" Frankie asked, and Shawn surprised her with a half-smile.

"We've talked about this, remember? I'm not an emotional void. I do feel things when we work cases."

"I know," she said, huffing out a soft laugh that picked away at the tension setting up camp in her shoulders. "You're just better at compartmentalizing than I am, I guess."

Shawn's broad shoulders lifted and lowered in a shrug. "I don't know about that. You handled the crime scene investigation professionally. You did every ounce of your job. I've never worked a case where a DOA wasn't upsetting on some level, even when the dead person in question is a terrible human being. Considering the nature of this one and your past, it seems pretty normal for you to be rattled after the fact. Letting those feelings out as a way of decompressing probably makes you better at compartmentalizing than me."

He was humoring her, Frankie knew. But it felt so good, so easy and right, that she didn't protest. "Call it a draw?"

"Sure. After all, we make a good team, remember?"

Just like that, she was very aware of several things. How close Shawn stood. How good she felt simply being near him. How much she craved the comfort of his arms and his bed, how badly she wanted him right now.

How hungry he looked to have her, too, and she didn't think. Just whispered, "Take me home, Shawn. Please."

He didn't speak, and he didn't hesitate to lead her through the door and out into the night.

On the surface, Shawn knew he looked calm. Hell, he'd spent the last eight years perfecting the sort of game face that didn't allow so much as a glimmer of emotion to escape. But inside, he was anything but steady, because the look on Frankie's face when she'd asked him to take her home had wrecked him.

She needed comfort. She wanted him. And even though he knew he was diving headfirst into dangerous territory, he didn't care.

He wanted her, too. He wanted f*****g everything.

Neither one of them said anything as Shawn drove toward his apartment, nor when he parked and walked beside her to the building. The elevator, the hallway, the key in the lock, all of it passed in a blur.

The only thing he knew was Frankie, and the only thing he wanted was to give her everything she needed.

"Come here," he said, his voice gravel-rough in his ears as he reached for her in the darkness of the foyer. It was a testament to her need that she stepped into his arms without a sassy retort. Pressing up to kiss him, she parted her lips as he kissed her right back, dancing back and forth with him in movements that they both seemed to know by heart. Frankie slid her tongue over his, bold and full of need, and it took every last bit of his already-shredded control to still her. "Frankie," Shawn said, pulling back to look at her. "Tell me what you need."

"I kind of thought it was obvious," she said with a smirk, and ah, her armor was going to make an appearance after all.

But he knew how to slide past it. "Oh, I'll make you come soon enough. But that's what you want. Right now, I'm asking what you need." His heart beat faster as he reached out, sliding his thumb over the curve of her cheekbone. "Tell me what you need, Frankie. Tell me what to give you."

Her exhale was hot against his hand. "I need to feel good."

As if the words had unlocked something deep inside of her, Frankie said, "Eight years ago, I used drugs to feel good. When I got really sad or scared or I just plain hurt, they were the only thing that worked. Or, at least, I thought they did. Turns out, they were just masking all of the things I needed to deal with."

Shawn's pulse crashed against his ears, but he forced it to slow. Frankie needed a place for her feelings to go so they didn't shatter her. He was that place. Even if it hurt him to see her upset, he'd set his own shit aside and listen.

"I've learned a lot of different ways to cope with my feelings when they get to be too much," Frankie whispered. "I go to meetings. I do yoga. I have a network of people who care about me. But right now, I don't want any of those things."

"You don't," Shawn said, and although it wasn't a question, she shook her head anyway.

"I don't. I want you." Frankie slid her arms around his neck, and f**k, he was lost for this woman. "I need a safe way to feel good, Shawn. I need this." She kissed him, just the softest brush of skin on skin. "Please."

His hands were on her before her ragged whisper had even faded into the shadows. Cupping her face between both palms, he held her steady as he kissed her, slow and deep. He warned himself to slow down, to pace himself so he could deliver what she'd asked. Frankie parted her lips, kissing him back with needy strokes of her tongue, and when a moan drifted up from the back of her throat, Shawn reached down to lift her off her feet.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her softest spot notched against his very hardest, and the handful of steps it took to get them to the chair in his living room turned out to be an exercise in both pleasure and restraint. But no matter how much time or control or stamina it took, he was going to give her what she'd asked for.

As many times as she wanted it.

"Tell me," he said, lowering her just in front of the chair, then turning to face her in the soft light from the one kitchen fixture he always left on.

"Tell you what?" The words were breathless, her pupils wide with want, and Shawn had never seen anything more perfect in his life.

"You want me to make you feel good." He stepped toward her, as close as he could possibly get without touching. Frankie nodded. "Yes."

"Then tell me how."

"You're usually pretty good at figuring that out," she said. On any other night, he'd probably have let her get away with the flirty dodge. But he'd seen the need in her eyes, heard it in her voice, and nope. No way. He wasn't going to guess, and he wasn't going to think for her. Not when it came to this.

"Tonight is different. You need a safe way to feel good, and I want to give you exactly"-he reached out to place a hand over her heart, his own pulse jumping at the flutter he felt beneath his fingers-"what you want. So, talk to me. Tell me how to give it to you." Frankie's brows lifted, but she didn't protest. "Undress me."

Shawn didn't hesitate. He reached out, sliding her jacket over her shoulders until it hit the floor. Her hoodie was next, the zipper lowering on a soft hiss before he tugged the cotton from her body. He hooked his fingers in the hem of her body-hugging T-shirt, turning her around as he lifted it up and over her head, then pulled her close, her back to his chest.

"Good?" he asked.

The hum of her exhale made his c**k go hard. "Mmm hmm."

"Good." He paused, and a beat passed before Frankie realized why.

"Keep going," she said.

And so he did. A turn of his wrist had her bra undone, a slide of his palms had it on the floor. Shawn ached to touch her, to spin her around and taste her tight little nipples until she screamed. But she needed to feel good, and the best way for him to give her that was to also give her control over it, so he lowered his hands, undoing her jeans from behind her and slipping them over her hips. Frankie helped by kicking out of her boots, and finally, the only scrap of clothing left on her gorgeous body was a pair of black panties that hugged her a*s like it was a gift.

"These, too?" Shawn asked, reaching around one hip to trace the fabric with one finger.

She surprised him with, "No."

Then, she absolutely floored him by widening her stance and dropping her chin toward the hand he'd left hovering below her navel. "Leave them there while you touch me. I want to watch."

Shawn's hand moved before his brain even realized the command to do so. He dipped his fingers past her waistband, settling his palm between her legs as he stroked his way downward. Her p***y was already slick with anticipation, and f**k-f**k-the sound rising from her chest was going to ruin him where he stood.

"Oh, God," Frankie breathed, her eyes fixed on the spot where his hand disappeared into her panties, fingers working her in slow strokes beneath the silk. "More. I need more."

He wrapped his free arm around her rib cage, cupping her b****t in a firm hold. Her harsh exhale shot through him, but he held steady, wanting to give her control. Hell, right now, with her body wide open and her need on full display, Shawn would give her the sun and the goddamn moon if she asked for it.

He'd give her anything.

"That's it, sweetheart," he grated, the words rough at her ear as she rocked against him, her spine arching as he closed his thumb and forefinger around the tight peak of her n****e.

"More," she said again. He pressed his fingers up to find her c**t, his c**k turning painfully hard behind the fly of his jeans as she cried out. "More."

Uninhibited, he yanked her tighter against his chest, reaching both hands inside of those infernal panties that were going to destroy him where he stood. Frankie grunted her approval, watching intently as he thrust two fingers deep inside her p***y while his other hand worked her c**t in fast, hot strokes.

"Yes," she moaned, letting him press her thighs wide to maximize the friction between his fingers and her body. His fingers slid in and out with ease, and he quickly found a rhythm that she met with her hips. Shawn circled her c**t, his own desire pulsing through him in a dark demand, not to find his own release, but to give Frankie hers.

Shawn lowered his chin over her shoulder, his lips at her temple as they both watched his hands work in tandem with her hips. His muscles flexed, hard and inked against her soft curves, and when he felt her breath turn to uneven bursts, he dared her even closer to the edge.

"Tell me," he growled, sinking his fingers into her p***y hard and fast. "Tell me what you need."

Frankie's voice broke on a cry. "I need to come. Please, Shawn."

In that moment, not even gunfire would have stopped him from giving her what she needed. He kept his movements steady, reading the tremble of her thighs and the tightening of her sweet, slick muscles, gripping him hard for just a moment before beginning to pulse. Frankie arched into his touch, canting her hips forward to keep his fingers buried deep as she climaxed with his name on her lips. Shawn had never seen anything so erotic and beautiful as this woman coming undone in his arms, her breath wild and her skin hot and her body bowstring taut. He wrought every last gasp out of her, softening his touch only when they coalesced into sighs, and he slipped his hands up to shape her waist, turning her to face him.

"You are perfect," he said, although, Christ, it was an understatement.

Frankie laughed. "And you are still wearing pants."

She reached out for the button on his jeans, but Shawn stilled her movement with a gentle grasp of her wrist. "Tonight isn't about me."

"Don't you want to feel good, too?" she asked, and just like that, the emotions that had been swirling through him broke free.

"You don't get it, do you?" Shawn asked, although his voice held only reverence. "I do feel good, Frankie. F**k, when you fall apart in my arms like that? I feel invincible. What I need, what turns me on more than anything in the goddamn universe, is this. It's you." He kissed her, turning himself over to her fully. "It's just you."

He led her to the chair, guiding her shoulders over the backrest as he slid her hips to the edge of the cushion. Desperate to feel her, skin on skin, Shawn yanked his shirt over his head, then settled in the cradle between her thighs. He kissed his way down her body, taking her panties with him as he went, until-yes-his shoulders were beneath both of her calves. Later, he'd revel in the taste of her, memorizing the way she shivered when he kissed a path over her inner thigh, then moaned as he licked the soft skin where her leg met her body. Next time, he'd spend an hour mapping every small touch that made her sigh.

But right now, in this moment, Shawn wanted nothing more than to make her feel good again, hard and sweet and right f*****g now.

So he did. Dipping his head low, he parted her legs with both hands splayed wide. He let out a moan of appreciation-with a p***y so pink and perfect, how could he not? But his goal was her pleasure, and he didn't f*****g wait to give it to her. Long licks alternated with firm, fast flutters of his tongue, and ah, there she was. The sounds coming out of her made his heart pound faster, his d**k throbbing with the need to be where his tongue was. He reached down with one hand, yanking his jeans open to wrap his fist around his c**k, and Frankie's fingers found his shoulder, digging in tight.

"That is so f*****g hot," she said, her eyes glittering in the darkness as she watched him work them both. "I can see how bad you want it. Please." She shifted, reaching for him. "I want it, too."

One swift move had him over her. He paused for only a second to meet her kiss, then rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Frankie-clever, clever woman that she was-grabbed a condom out of the purse she'd discarded by the door, returning to the chair with swaying hips.

"Sit down," she said, her voice all want. Because Shawn wasn't an idiot, he did, his c**k jerking against his lower belly as Frankie treated him to a heated up and down gaze. With sure fingers that threatened his composure, she rolled the condom over him, pushing him back in the chair to straddle his lap.

And that was when he realized his tactical error, because when Frankie sank down on his c**k in one smooth, penetrating stroke, Shawn was one hundred percent certain he would die from the pleasure of it.

"Oh,"Frankie said, although it was more breath than actual word. She levered forward, placing her forehead on his, and his hands found her hips as if they were made to be there and nowhere else. They moved together, testing different speeds and rhythms before they found one that made Frankie gasp.

"There," Shawn said, his own desire turning the word to a demand.

"There," she echoed, riding him in time with the motion of his hands on her hips. She was so utterly beautiful, taking everything she needed and giving back in return. Every sigh brought him closer, every moan daring him deeper inside, and all too quickly, Shawn felt his control start slipping from his grasp.

"God, Frankie," he grated, trying to ground himself even as he knew he wouldn't be able to. "God. Yes. F**k me, baby. Take what you want."

"Shawn." It was a plea, and he answered it without words. Gripping her hips, he anchored her in place, filling her p***y completely as he rocked her against his c**k.

"Take it," he pled in return. Or maybe it was a promise. Either way, Frankie did, thrusting against him until her movements grew frantic and wild. She began to shudder, and the feel of her inner muscles squeezing him so hard snapped his last thread of control. His o****m slammed up from the base of his spine, l**t and pleasure mingling together with something else he couldn't name in the hazy moment, but that claimed him all the same. Frankie slowed the motion of her body in time with the way Shawn loosened his grasp on her hips, letting her dictate the pace until they settled to stillness.

A minute later, they untangled their bodies out of necessity, and while the moment had the potential to fade into the sort of nothing-to-see-here casualness they'd stuck to until now, it didn't. Shawn took Frankie down the hall to his bedroom, and as he tucked her close to his side and held her as her breathing steadied, then slowed into sleep, he knew only one thing with clarity.

He wasn't falling in love with her. He'd simply never stopped loving her at all.