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Mac’s ale was not just supernaturally good—it was also supernaturally potent. Evidence of this notion was embodied by the two best friends stumbling out of a taxi in front of the apartment of Chicago’s only publicly listed wizard.
After managing to get the car door open, said wizard Harry Dresden fumbled through his enchanted trenchcoat for his wallet. His pint-sized companion, Chicago policewoman and all-around-bad-ass Karrin Murphy, slapped his large hand away from it and scowled at him.
“I’ve got this one,” she said, reaching for her own wallet.
Harry attempted to frown. “What? And fart in the face of my gentlemanly upbringing? Murphy, I am insulted.”
“Gentleman, my ass,” she shot back, forking over the bills to the driver.
“Well, if you’re inviting me to think about that, then maybe I’ll let it slide.”
The cab drove off. Murphy straightened up, turned, and punched Harry in the ribs. He choked on a laugh. It was infectious.
Murphy’s pink lips quirked upward. “Shut up and get your keys out, Dresden.”
He blinked at her a couple times, finally realizing that she had in fact sent the cab away.
“Didn’t you need him to get home? Because we’ve already discussed the fact that teleportation is not one of my abilities.”
“You can barely walk straight. I’m making sure you make it to the bed and don’t try to curl up in the fireplace instead.”
He palmed his chest, coincidentally right where she’d slugged him. “I’m touched.”
Murphy rolled her eyes and dug the keys out of his coat pocket. “I bet.”
They walked up the front steps and she brandished a hand at the door—a wordless command for him to remove the wards so she could enter. He did so and then heaved the door open. His cat Mister immediately zipped out, hurtling himself at Harry’s leg. The feline gave it a thorough rubbing and then did the same to Murphy, who chuckled and scooped the massive cat up so he wouldn’t escape into the night.
Harry closed the heavy door and greeted his second tenant, Mouse—his enormous grey evil-detecting super dog. Mister gave him an insolent glare from the safety of Murphy’s arms, swiping at his right ear as Harry patted the mutt.
Harry pointed a finger at the cat. “Be nice, heathen.”
Mister butted his head under Murphy’s chin in defiance and then squirmed. She put him down and he bounded for his favorite bookcase, his tail stump high in the air as if to tell Harry to piss off. Mouse paid him no mind and wandered back to his sleeping spot in the kitchen.
“Come on, hero,” Murphy said, tugging Harry along. “Bedtime.”
He clasped his large hand around hers, sending her a cheeky, faux seductive grin. “I’ve waited years to hear you say that.”
Murphy snorted, kicking his bedroom door open. “Keep it up and you won’t hear anything because I’ll rip both your ears off.”
“No one appreciates me,” Harry lamented, and then muttered an incantation to light the candles littered around his room. He felt slightly better when he remembered that he’d cleaned it recently—no unwashed boxers on the floor or socks hanging off the headboard. It was still a bit chilly, but he couldn’t really feel it. Murphy’s warm hand did the trick. He supposed it was the alcohol that made him notice how nice it felt with her fingers wrapped around his.
They’d just celebrated another victory against the criminal underbelly headed by Gentleman Johnny Marcone. As usual, Harry escaped by the skin of his teeth and Murphy by no small amount of intelligence. He’d offered to buy her a drink and one drink turned into two, two to four, and four to six. He held his liquor well thanks to his large frame, so while he was a bit schnockered, he wasn’t truly drunk. Neither was she. Murphy’s insistence on getting him to bed was mostly pure habit, and maybe out of affection. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud. Not that he’d want her to. Probably.
Murphy surveyed the room, arching an eyebrow at the wizard. “You cleaned? Got company on the way?”
Harry snorted, sitting on the bed and raking a hand through his tussled brown hair. “Ha. Nice one. You’ve met me, right? I’ve seen monks with better social lives than mine.”
She grinned. “Point taken. You might as well take a vow of celibacy at the rate you’re going.”
Harry adopted a haughty look. “Hey, pot. You’re looking a little black around the edges.”
She swatted him in the back of the head. “Don’t start. It’s hard to have a social life when you have some stupid wizard dragging you into trouble every five minutes.”
“I’m insulted. Ten minutes, tops, not five.”
Murphy groaned. “Ugh, no more one liners. You need sleep, Dresden.”
He harrumphed and began shrugging out of his coat, handing it to her. She went to the closet, knowing exactly where he hung it and which hanger to use. He watched her in the dim golden light—the way her ponytail spilled across one shoulder as she moved, how the muscles at the small of her back stretched against her t-shirt, how she had to get on her tiptoes to hang up the coat.
“Hey, Murph?”
“Yeah?”
“If I ask you something, you promise not to get mad?”
She faced him. “No.”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. Promise not to hit me?”
She eyed him, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “Not in the face, maybe.”
“Fair enough.” He interlocked his fingers, resting his long arms on his equally long legs. His voice adopted a more sincere, honest tone—one that made her smirk fade slowly.
“What do you suppose would be the rated R version of tonight? I mean, I know the PG version already. We crack jokes back and forth and you help me take off my shoes and then I pass out and you ruffle my hair and tell me good night and then leave. What if I weren’t a wizard and you weren’t a cop? What if we were just…us?”
He glanced expectantly up at her, his chest a bit tight. He’d only guessed at her reaction. She could smack him and tell him to get his mind out of the gutter. She could tell him to hush and go to bed because it was just the booze talking.
However, Karrin’s blue eyes reflected the light around them—soft, unwavering, and yet surprisingly strong. “That’s one hell of a question, Dresden.”
He shrugged. “Just a thought.”
She unfolded her arms and walked towards him. He tensed, but then he noticed the walk. Usually, her strides were short and quick on account of her height, but this walk was different. The shirt rubbed against her tight stomach and her hips rolled with the movement. His mouth dried up in the five seconds it took her to cross the room.
“Well,” Murphy said, standing between Harry’s legs. “First of all, Rated R Murphy wouldn’t take off the rest of your clothes. She’d want them on. Something about how nudity would make her feel more vulnerable.”
With one smooth motion, she climbed onto his lap and settled her arms around his neck. He didn’t dare move, keeping his hands at his sides on the bed, not wanting to upset the delicate balance. She threaded her fingers through the dark hairs on the nape of his neck, her eyes drifting over his face as she spoke.
“She’d take the lead, of course. You’re a bit of an alpha male so it’d be a priority to get you to realize who’s in charge. She’d run her hands through your hair while you kissed and then move to your chest. Past those admittedly nice pecs of yours. Down to your belt.”
As she spoke, Murphy’s hands drifted down from his shoulders, her fingertips digging through Harry’s navy button up shirt. She felt the firm muscles beneath her hands and had to suppress a shiver at the warmth emitting from the wizard’s skin. He continued to behave himself, never touching her, but with each passing second, she grew more and more restless.
He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes as she slipped both hands underneath the hem of his shirt, palming his abs. Her hands were cool and he was burning hot now. He wondered who would melt first.
“Rated R Murphy would know this was probably a rare thing, so she’d force herself not to go too fast. Some light foreplay. A little teasing. Just enough to get Rated R Harry to the point where he’d make his own move.”
She raked her nails down his chest and then removed them from the shirt, choosing to work on the buttons instead. “Any idea of what Rated R Harry would do?”
Harry’s eyes opened then. Murphy didn’t hide the shudder that followed upon seeing the unbridled lust in them. Her words unbound his so-called ‘gentlemanly upbringing.’ His hands settled on her hips, fingers edging her t-shirt upward and tracing small circular patterns on her sides.
“Rated R Harry probably likes Rated R Murphy’s style and he wouldn’t want to get in her way. Still, he’s taken an awful liking to her neck.”
He leaned in slowly, pressing one open-mouthed kiss over her racing pulse. Murphy forgot about the buttons on his shirt for a whole ten seconds. Hell, she forgot several things—the ability to breathe, whatever four times four was, and her own middle name. Maybe she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
But Karrin Murphy didn’t back down from anything.
“And,” Harry breathed, trailing his lips down to her collarbone while dragging his hands higher up her torso. “He’s sort of a boob guy.”
Murphy giggled suddenly, ticklish as his lips descended towards her chest. “Way to ruin the mood, Dresden.”
Harry shrugged, dipping one long finger inside the shirt’s neckline to tug it down. It exposed her bra and he kissed her breastbone, drawing another soft sigh from her.
“My apologies, lieutenant. Am I going to get a ticket?”
She caught his chin and lifted his face to meet hers. “Ask me in the morning.”
She kissed him. He kissed her. They both melted.
It was a draw.