Unlawful Entry

  Tonight, I’ll be her fantasy man…

  I have a thing for my next-door neighbor’s sexy best friend. I like to picture all the things I’ll do to her, imagine the noises she’ll make as I own her gorgeous body in a hundred different ways, hear her screaming my name…

  Okay, maybe it’s more than a thing.

  Ryssa’s a knockout, sure, but she’s smart, and kind, and funny, and sweetly naïve, too. She triggers all of my protective instincts, but I won’t let myself have her. I may be one of NYPD’s finest, but in my mind, I’ll always be that worthless, troublemaking kid from Hell’s Kitchen.

  She deserves better.

  Which is why, when I find out her best friend’s setting her up with a night of anonymous, blindfolded sex, I lose my everloving mind.

  If anyone is checking off every item on Ryssa’s secret fantasy list, it’s going to be me.

  And with her firm “no talking” rule, I’m going to have to get real creative once I decide to make this beautiful girl mine…

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. References to actual persons, living or dead, is not intended or inferred.

  Copyright © 2018 by Ember Cole. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact authorembercole@gmail.com.

  Cover image by PeopleImages/Getty Images

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition July 2018

  To K, for always jumping on my plot bunny train.

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  1

  RYSSA

  “You look like shit.”

  “Really?” I don’t bother to look up from the cup of coffee I have my face buried in. Lunch of champions. “Because I thought sacks of sand instead of eyes might be the new sexy.”

  Kristen, my best friend, doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m sure you’ll start a trend with that. But the whole pale face, black clothes thing is a little ’90s vampire. Soooo last, last season.”

  I glance down at my neatly tailored blouse and pencil skirt paired with sensible flats and give an inelegant snort. My fuzzy brain can’t pull out another snappy comeback. “I look the same as every day,” I say instead.

  “Exactly.” Kristen plops down in the chair across from me and digs into a pastrami sandwich. I’ve managed to commandeer a highly sought-after table in the little deli across the street from where we both work. We’re in the middle of what’ll end up being yet another eighty-plus-hour workweek for me. I’m so exhausted, I probably look scary enough that no one dared challenge my dropping a handful of files on the table that I really should be reviewing right now.

  At least Kristen’s here.

  When I landed my job as a lab technologist at the small biotech company downtown, I saw that they also had a PR position open, and suggested she apply for it. Last year, she reciprocated the favor by helping me get me an apartment in the Hamilton Heights building she’d moved into after we graduated. The rent is fantastic, considering what New York City apartments typically go for. Plus, the owner and his son are former military, and they rent out more than half the units to active duty or former military guys. Having all of them around makes me feel extra safe in this big, crazy city.

  “Seriously,” she says, eyeing me. “Maybe we should go shopping after work. Get you a couple more outfits that are less stuffy librarian, more sex goddess.”

  I shrug, unconcerned about my fashion situation. This is my uniform, of sorts. Professional, buttoned-up, and deliberately screams “don’t even think about it” to the multitude of men I work with in the lab. Anyone who says geeks are bumbling, socially awkward creatures happy just to talk to a member of the opposite sex haven’t met many geeks. Most are total dicks. After a rotten experience in college with a boss who took my more casual clothing as an invite to go down a totally inappropriate and unsolicited road, this is way easier.

  What I wear underneath, though…that’s totally for me, mostly because I don’t have time to seduce a man worth seeing it. When I’m not working, I’m stumbling into my apartment and face-planting on the couch, too exhausted to even make it to my bedroom. Not the best situation for a life, let alone a sex life. Best I can do is pull out a vibrator and give myself a quickie before passing out.

  The reminder of my sad existence makes me grumpy. “You look like you didn’t even make it home last night.”

  Her smudged eyeliner, dark curly hair in a messy bun, and mismatched set of yoga pants and running top are my first clues. I’d bet a month of my admittedly flimsy salary that Kristen had those clothes stashed in the massive bag she calls a purse and hastily dressed in her car five minutes ago. It’s happened before. No wonder she wasn’t at work this morning.

  She still looks fresher than I do, which is a sad, sad thing.

  Kristen grins. “I didn’t.”

  How does she make that sound so deliciously naughty? Now I’m picturing naked limbs and muscles and thrusting. Lots and lots of thrusting. Big, steady hands all over me, a hard cock fucking my mouth before taking my pussy…

  And just like that, I’m horny. And wet.

  I cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen any action outside my drawer of toys. The mere thought of an entire night of good, hard sex has my clit swelling with interest. Hell, I’d settle for five freaking minutes of halfway decent sex at this point.

  Damn, I need to get laid.

  I bury my spurt of jealousy behind an indulgent shake of my head. “And it’s only Thursday.”

  “Mmmm…. Yes, it is.”

  Again with the naughty.

  “Wednesday night might be my new favorite night. Although I see him again Sunday night, so…”

  He was that good? My friend rarely sticks with a guy for longer than a night. I can’t help but smile. “You’re going to get in trouble with all your shenanigans.”

  “Nah.” She waves away the concern. “I’m always safe about my hookups. Remember, smart but…”

  She leaves the sentence dangling for me to finish. I’ve heard the line for years, ever since we met as lab partners in Chem 101 in college.

  “Satisfied,” I supply.

  “And boy was I ever satisfied last night.” Kristen waggles her eyebrows. “All night long. You know what I’m saying.”

  I don’t, actually, other than in my fantasies, but a man one table over and back stares openly at us, shock and interest plainly written on his face. I’d noticed him earlier while I was waiting. A little on the lanky side, but with a strong jaw and nice hands. A businessman, judging by his conservative suit. Tall with skin a rich shade of mahogany. I definitely wouldn’t mind licking a dollop of whipped cream off of him.

  Thinking about licking men makes me think of Zach Kayle, the sexy cop who lives next door to Kristen. With his dark hair and searing blue eyes, Officer Kayle is rough and delicious all over, and the star of my most imaginative fantasies. I used to be able to get off on the faceless, general idea of a man, but that all changed once I saw him.

  Zach is not an option in real life for a variety of reasons, namely I don’t have time for a relationship, and I can’t just fuck my best friend’s next-door neighbor—a man I often see in the elevator, or when we’re both checking the mail—to scratch an itch. Talk about awkward.

  Plus, I’m pretty sure we’re destined to remain in
the same sadly platonic place we’ve been in since he moved into our building. Most of the time he doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t even smile, just broods with a dangerous edge that makes me shiver. He’s too hot to think of me as a viable sex partner, I’m sure, so I’ve tucked the thought of him burying his cock in me deep inside my most secret fantasy database.

  Hot businessman guy, however… He doesn’t look away, even though he knows I’ve caught him staring. Bold. I’m pretty sure he’s waiting to hear what Kristen says next.

  “I think the entire deli knows what we’re talking about,” I say drily to her.

  She laughs and slides half of her sandwich across the table. I take it, but then realize sharing her food is just a ploy so she can steal my coffee. I snatch it, the only thing keeping my body upright. “Go get your own.”

  Kristen’s bottom lip juts out in a fake pout.

  I’m a sucker for the pout. Plus, she is feeding me. “Okay, fine. You can have half.”

  That earns me a grateful grin. She takes a big swig and then groans in pleasure. “So fucking sweet. Yum.”

  Business hottie adjusts his crotch, his hard-on an obvious bulge against the zipper, and I hide my snigger behind the sandwich.

  “Sweet, like Brad’s come in my mouth.” She gives me a wicked grin, and the guy squeezes his eyes shut, breathing a little harder.

  Obviously, she’s dying to tell me all the dirty details. I’m not sure my body can handle it. I need to change my panties as it is thanks to my overactive imagination, because now I’m picturing Zach’s cock in my mouth, while business hottie at the other table fucks me hard. Maybe from behind. Or maybe a little double penetration action. Mmm…

  Given the bent of my thoughts, now I’m too curious not to listen. “Okay, I give. Spill.”

  She rolls her eyes, but in an “oh so good” kind of way. “He is huge. I mean really thick, and long enough to give me a cervix orgasm. But it’s the way he touches me.” She groans, and I almost join her, because my poor body is now pulsing.

  Kristen isn’t shy about sharing details. Not like me. I’m more…private about my needs. I know my sex life could be equally as wild as hers. Maybe more so, given the directions my fantasies take. If I had the freaking time.

  “I thought you liked the last guy, who was long but slimmer?”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she sighs. “Thicker is better.”

  “Sounds…nice.” What the hell was I supposed to say to that, anyway?

  “Mmm…” She groans again. “Nice doesn’t come close, unless by nice you mean orgasms all night until I can’t move.”

  “Holy shit,” business hottie chokes out.

  I’m inclined to agree. I’m sopping wet just thinking of it. What would satisfied in that totally sated kind of way feel like? I sit up straighter, stopping that thought cold before it has a chance to fester. I must be more tired than I thought.

  “So, we know why I look like shit, but why do you?” Kristen asks.

  I sigh and push my glasses up my nose. “I was up late last night.”

  It’s Kristen’s turn to shake her head. “Working late at the lab again?”

  I nod, sucking down more coffee. Caffeine has become the centerpiece of my diet.

  “And you’re back at the office today? Brian would’ve given you the morning to sleep in if you asked.”

  “You know I have to check the samples.” We work together, though in different departments of the commercial genetics. I have responsibilities both on and off the clock that can’t be ignored or passed off.

  “Again? You work way too hard. They should pay you ten times what they do.”

  She’s not wrong. I work nearly nonstop, even at home. “My career is the most important thing to me—”

  Kristen waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. You work in a male-dominated field, which means you work twice as hard to prove yourself.”

  “Blah. Blah. Blah,” I supply before she can say it. I already know it’s coming. Then I shrug. “A lab assistant…the unsung hero of science.”

  One day I’ll be running the show, but I have to pay my dues first. The problem is, I’m getting pretty damn tired of paying those dues. My career has taken over my life even more than school once did, leaving me drained and frustrated.

  Frustrated in more than one sense.

  I drop my head to the table. “All work and no sex life makes Ryssa Leikvold a very, very unsatisfied girl.”

  A low grunt draws my attention back to business hottie. His hand is over his cock. Not gripping. Yet. More like cupping.

  I feel his pain. I’m all bottled up, like a soda can dropped on the ground, the pressure building inside, ready to explode. I am young, healthy, and of above-average intelligence. And horny as hell. They say the brain is the biggest contributor to good sex for women. Well, my mind lends itself to a fantasy life that leaves me torqued up. I spend an inordinate amount of time picturing a man doing all sorts of things to me. I keep all those fantasies on a list in my head, one I’ve been building for years. Some small things, positions and whatnot. Others are much dirtier.

  My mind drifts to a particularly juicy orgy fantasy involving Officer Kayle and some of his cop buddies. I shiver as need impales my system, my skin flushing almost painfully. Oh God. I shut it down immediately. I need to stop fantasizing about sex while I’m in places I can’t do anything about it. But where can I sate this need?

  I’ve considered calling in sick so I can fit a one-night stand into my schedule. Hell, even a quickie in the lab’s supply closet during a coffee break has been sounding more and more tempting, which is just pathetic.

  I think I can get a guy interested. I mean, I live in a building half full of virile military men, and I’m not horrible-looking. My parents are from Norway, immigrated here just before I was born, so I have their blond hair and blue eyes, good bone structure, great skin, and a decent body. I may be a bit on the tall side for most men, but who cares about that in bed? If anything, those men should be thinking about how a tall woman can take every inch they have to give.

  The problem is I’m too damn scared to hook up with someone I know, let alone some rando I meet while checking the mail or grocery shopping or grabbing coffee—I’ll probably run into him again, and that’s not okay. I tried that once. He wanted more, my work schedule caused problems, and so it ended. But then I saw him at that coffee shop. All the time. In the end, I had to switch coffee shops, and I loved that place.

  No hooking up with people I know or might run into ever again. Period.

  And there’s no way I’m risking an app like Tinder. I’ve heard too many horror stories. There are a lot of horny assholes around.

  But nice men mean more effort and time. Time I don’t have to meet a guy, let alone get to the stage where he could help me with my particular problem. And my list of things I want a man to do to me… Let’s just say most guys are too vanilla, too shy, too inexperienced, or way too selfish for me to think of suggesting any of it.

  At least in my experience.

  “Earth to Ryssa.” Kristen waves a hand in my face.

  I flush, heat running up under my skin as I realize I’ve been sitting here in soaked panties daydreaming about fucking and debating myself out of it.

  Oh my God, I really need to get laid.

  “You really need to get laid,” Kristen echoes my thoughts. “Let me help you.”

  Hottie McBusiness freezes with a turkey sandwich halfway to his mouth.

  I ignore him, and Kristen. We’ve had this discussion way too often, and my answer is always no.

  “I mean it.” Kristen isn’t letting this go. Her brow furrows as she inspects me across the table like I’m a specimen under a microscope. “You’re so wound up, if you were a cork, you’d pop. Plus, you’re gorgeous, even under all those prissy clothes and nerdy glasses. Any man would love to put his cock deep inside you—”

  “I have vibrators.” As in plural, because my scientific mind is fascinated by all the options.
Some work for me, some not so much. My collection probably rivals a porn star’s at this point. “Did you know the vibrator was originally invented in the 19th century as a way to reduce ‘hysteria’?”

  Kristen lifts one eyebrow. “As much as I love your random science facts, you’re avoiding the subject.”

  I ignore her accusation, even if it’s true. “That seems a little extreme, don’t you think? Didn’t they think about what might happen if women decided they liked vibrators better than men?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Vibrators are fine for a few weeks, tops,” she continues. “But you need a man’s hands on you, and a hot, hard cock inside you to really hit the spot.”

  Hot business guy groans and lurches to his feet, his sandwich forgotten. He quickly gathers up his things and exits the building, holding his laptop bag in front of his bulging crotch. No doubt he’ll need to stop somewhere for a quick hand job.

  I’m halfway tempted to follow him and offer up myself as an alternative to his hand. A quickie in the alley just to relieve the tension. I ruthlessly remind myself of that last place I ruined. I can’t lose our deli. Mike knows our orders perfectly. That took months of training him.

  But hell, I’m considering running home myself, because this conversation is only coiling things tighter inside me. I’m so wet, I might leave a mark on the seat.

  Kristen grins in a way that means trouble. “I have an idea—”

  “No.”

  She sits forward and lowers her voice. “Hear me out. I can help you if you would just trust me.”

  “I do trust you, Kristen. But I’ve considered all the options. There’s no way—”

  “I know just the guy.”

  “I don’t want to fuck one of your friends. I’ll be too embarrassed to look him in the eyes whenever we run into each other.” I shudder at the thought. Even now a blush heats my cheeks. I’ve been down the mutual friends road before and have the ruined friendships in the wake of the breakup to prove it. My stomach clenches at the memory.

  “It’ll be totally anonymous.” Kristen slaps the table like she’s laying down a winning hand at poker, and a woman by the window jumps.