Stiles had been dodging the officers for days. At the station she’d suddenly claim she was on not in mood, or she had “a bad stomach,” or even pull out fake paperwork to stay busy. Captain McCall eyed her more than once with suspicion, but she always escaped.

Inside, though, she was aching. Her pussy throbbed for cock every night, yet the thought of anyone seeing the DH tattoo branded on her slit made her shiver in fear. She touched it every time she showered, tracing the tiny letters, remembering Derek’s filthy smirk as she was inked.