You were a suspect of a murder case. You were the one who committed the crime, but there was no way in hell you were going to let anyone know that.

You were being interrogated by a police officer, and damn, was he hot. His hair, his face, his body, everything about him.

He stepped over to the table, his boots clunking on the ground. He placed his hands on either side of you, leaning forward against the table.

“Are you going to confess or do we have to do this the hard way?”