Marcus sat back on the heavy leather couch. His hands were still locked behind him. He looked like a king on a throne, even though he was a prisoner. I stood over him, my chest heaving. The power I felt was like a drug, better than anything he sold on the street.
I reached up and unzipped my tactical vest. I let it hit the floor with a heavy thud. Then came my shirt. I stood there in just my black lace bra and my police trousers. My heart was slamming against my ribs. I could see his eyes—those dark, knowing eyes—tracking every move I made.
"You're such a bad officer, Maya," he rasped, his voice like gravel.
"Shut up," I hissed. I reached for my belt. I unbuckled my trousers and let them slide down my hips. I stepped out of them, standing before him in nothing but my bra and a pair of m
