by K. Webster
Sighing, I run my hands through my hair and pace the floor.
“Why are you so damn sure it was murder? There were no signs of struggle, no defensive wounds. She was in the height of pleasure. An accident that should never have happened.”
Tears drip from her eyes, making them appear impossibly bright.
“Why wouldn’t I know that she was into that? What could she get out of being strangled?” she weeps.
“It’s breathplay, Nat. It’s not safe and shouldn’t be practiced by most people who do it. But they do it all the same. For the thrill.”
“Including you,” she spits out, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “You still killed her.”
“I’ve never killed anyone.”
“Liar.” She seethes, her fists clenching.
“Believe what you want, and keep following me around all you want too, but it’s not going to bring her back or change the facts.”
“And what are the facts?” she demands, her voice shrill. “I need them to be able to move on. I need to know everything. Just give me that.”
Stalking across the room to her, I cause her feet to falter. Her legs hit the bed, making her lose her balance. She topples backward, her ass hitting the mattress.
“How much is everything, Nat?” I breathe, pulling my belt from my jeans with a snap. I place it over her shoulder and across her neck. I don’t add any pressure, but her expressive eyes expand nonetheless. Her hands go to the leather, immediately threading her fingers behind it to protect herself from me tightening if I wanted to. And I do want to more than anything, but I’m not the monster she thinks I am.
“I hate you,” she sobs, yanking the belt from her neck and pushing up from the bed before heading for the door.
Fuck if I’m allowing her to run away with that lie on her lips.
Trailing her, I grasp her shoulder, spinning her and backing her against the wall. I’m quick with my skilled fingers, flicking through the buttons of her jeans. I open and shove my hand down into her panties before she can process what I’m doing.
Her hand grips my wrist as a rush of air exhales from her lips. “Ren,” she gasps out, breathless and achingly desperate.
“Hate me, huh?” I smile, smug as shit. Her juices spread over my fingers. She’s fucking soaked, her pussy swollen and begging for attention. She doesn’t hate me.
“I do,” she pants as I slip a finger inside her tight cunt.
Her pupils dilate, her grip tightening on my wrist. She raises onto her tiptoes, pushing down on my arm, trying to force me out of her, but her fight isn’t as convincing as she wants it to be because not once has she tried to move away. Not once has she said no. Stop.
Fight me.
Tell me no, little lamb.
You want this.
I want this.
“You may hate me, Nat, but your body doesn’t. Quite the fucking opposite. Do you want me to take away your ache?” I whisper against her cheek. Her face turns away from me. “Look at me.”
“I can’t,” she sobs, dropping her feet down and allowing my finger to slide deeper inside her.
A delicious little mewl sounds from her lips, making my cock strain with need.
“I hate you.” Tears roll down her cheeks, but she rocks her hips forward. It’s subtle, but I feel her movements and sigh against her. She wants this, me.
I’ll bleed this fury from her quivering body, but not now. Not like this in a room soaked with the scent of sex from me and Amber.
Pulling my finger from inside her and my hand from her panties, I wipe my fingers over her lips, letting her taste her own need for me. “Keep telling yourself that you hate me. I guess I’m not the only liar in the room, Nat.”
Sniffling, she turns for the door and runs from the room.
My cock screams for me to chase her down. Devour the lamb like the wolf I am. But I don’t. Instead, I bring my fingers to my nose and inhale her sweet fucking scent before sucking them into my mouth and then stroking the ache from my cock to the taste of her on my tongue.
Four
I pace around my studio apartment, attempting to talk myself off the proverbial ledge. What the hell was I thinking last night? All day I couldn’t focus on my classes. One of my professors even yelled at me. Me! I’m usually a teacher’s favorite. Certainly don’t get yelled at for daydreaming. I call it nightmaring while awake.
Over and over again, images of the way his hand dove into my pants and touched me played in my mind. I hated it. I hate him.
Oh my God, I’m such a liar.
Which makes me a sick girl.
Truth is, I loved it. On some deep level, I was completely turned on. By a murderer. I wait for the normal venom and hate to be stabbed mentally at Ren, but tonight, I come up empty.
I didn’t kill her.
The same words he spoke to the jury, but this time, I actually felt doubt in my accusations. If he didn’t kill her, who did? Until last night, I hadn’t really considered another suspect. It was Ren. His smug grin and hot face weren’t fooling me.
But maybe my ability to read people sucks.
I thought I knew Kate. She was my best friend. We did everything together. Not everything. We told each other everything. Not everything.
So Kate was into kinky stuff and was too shy to tell me?
Or afraid I’d judge her.
Shame burns through me. I’ve been known to bark out my distaste over certain things while watching shows. I didn’t know it impacted her, though. Kept her from telling me her deepest, darkest secrets.
I’m sorry, Kate.
Had I known, maybe I could have gone with you. I could have protected you.
I think back to the week before she died. She’d vaguely mentioned seeing someone. Never mentioned his name, but told me he wore expensive suits and was going to be famous one day.
Ren doesn’t wear suits.
I rush into my bedroom and pull out her box of belongings I was allowed to keep that her parents didn’t want. Our old apartment was gorgeous and overlooked the good parts of the city. My new apartment is lonely and faces a brick wall. I’d live in an apartment in the ghetto as long as I had her back and lived with her. God, I miss her.
The box is mostly filled with pictures of us, a bunch of notebooks she was always doodling in, and other miscellaneous stuff that I picked up from our place that reminded me of her. I flip through the notebooks, searching for more clues.
I come across a note scribbled between big drawings of roses that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
He doesn’t love her. She’s an accessory to him. I’m real. I know he won’t marry her. Not when he has me on the side. I know what he likes because I like it too. It has to be enough.
I need to talk to Ren.
My flesh heats as I think about the last time we “talked.” It ended with his hand down my pants. And before I let him strip me and fuck me on the bed he’d just used with some sick whore, he sent me on my way. That hurt, but in a way, I was more than relieved. Not because I didn’t want to sleep with Ren—because in that moment, I so did—but because I didn’t want to be leftovers.
Stupid girl.
Stupid, stupid girl.
I’m not going to sleep with him. I’m just going to talk with him.
Ripping the note from the notebook, I fold it and shove it into my jeans pocket. I make a pass through the bathroom to make sure I look okay. My blond waves are messy and I have dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. I look like shit. Good, maybe he’ll stay back and let me talk.
I pull my phone out from my back pocket and check Twitter. Ren is a social media nut. He doesn’t miss a beat on letting the whole damn world know his location. It’s why I find him so easily. It’s like he wants to be found.
Tonight he’s listening to a band called Berlin Scandal at a dive bar called Stuckey’s. He’s tweeted seven times commenting on their unique alternative sound and how radio stations should be playing their songs because “thes
e guys are gonna blow up.” People eat up the hype and he already has thousands of retweets. I feel crappy about crashing in on a work thing, but this can’t wait. I need to talk to him.
I take a cab downtown and fly out of the vehicle after tossing some bills at the driver. The cover is twenty freaking dollars, but the line to get in is wrapped around the entire building. No doubt thanks to Ren’s tweets.
I’m about to give in and just opt to wait until later when the bar empties. That is, until the door guy crooks a finger at me to come to the front of the line. Biting my lip, I go to him, ignoring the huffs and curses from the people behind me.
“Lose the jacket,” he demands.
Rolling my eyes, I slip the jean jacket off, tie it around my waist, and then look up at him expectantly, knowing full well my shirt is skintight and more revealing than anything I’d usually wear. It was one of Kate’s that she bought but didn’t fit into.
Grinning down at my cleavage, he places a lanyard over my head that says groupie splashed across it.
Gross.
He then opens the door and slaps my ass, shooing me inside.
As soon as I burst into the dark bar, heavy guitar riffs assault me. The bass thumps and the drummer is pounding away. I hate to admit it, but Ren’s right. These guys are good. Pushing through the crowd, I make my way toward the front. I’m short and skinny, so I slide in between people easily. When I make it up to the front and grip the fencing keeping the people back, I turn my head left and right, seeking Ren out.
Nowhere.
Where the hell is he?
Someone presses into me from behind. Some asshole who reeks of hard liquor. When I push back, he nuzzles my hair.
“Come home with me,” the drunk bellows, his hand roaming up my bare arm.
I freeze, panicked at his boldness. I push against him again, but he’s stronger than me. His erection pokes my back. Before I can freak out, he’s jerked away from me. Powerful hands grip my hips and spin me around. As soon as my eyes meet familiar brown ones, I sag in relief.
His mouth moves, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. Concern flashes in his eyes, confusing me. When he grips my throat in a gentle, but possessive way, I don’t freak out. He leans forward, bringing his mouth to my ear.
“Are you okay?” he yells above the music.
I nod, blinking away the tears. Since when did the enemy become my savior? His thumb caresses the flesh on my throat, lingering on where my blood pumps rapidly through my jugular vein.
“If you’re going to stalk me, at least ride with me to these places,” he barks at me. “This shithole is only good for one thing. The music. You have to watch these assholes, though. They’re grabby and mouthy and always looking for a fight. You’re not safe here alone.”
The crowd pushes him from behind, making his hard body press against mine. I grip the sides of his T-shirt to keep from falling to the floor. One of his hands circles around me, resting on the small of my back. He pulls me into him. My heart rate races when I realize it’s not because he’s copping a feel, but because he’s protecting me from being smashed into the fence. His breath is hot on my ear, but he doesn’t talk again, he nips at my earlobe.
Heat, explosive and fiery, burns all the way to my core. Instead of pushing him away, I angle my head to the side, giving him the access he needs. His grip on my neck tightens and I can feel how aroused he is since he’s pressed against me.
“Look how brave you are,” he rumbles into my ear. “I have you in my grip, little lamb. I’m going to bite you and steal your breath. Why aren’t you running?”
My heart stammers in my chest. His words should be frightening, but I’m turned on instead. I need to talk to him. But right now, in this moment, I want him to do exactly what he threatens.
Why?
Why do I want this?
Because you want him, crazy girl.
His grip on my throat tightens, constricting my airway. Just hard enough that I can still suck in air, but it comes at the cost of making my face burn with the effort. The music is too loud to hear the rasping of my labored breathing, but the air claws its way into my lungs.
“So brave and curious,” he growls. “Coming, while struggling for air, is unlike any orgasm you’ve ever had before. I’m going to hold you down, make you fight for air, and pleasure you until you climax so hard you black out.” He bites my neck below my earlobe as promised. The sting feels good. “And then I’ll rouse you with kisses to your perfect tits. Kiss my way down to your sweet cunt that drips just for me. You wanted to know why she liked it, how it felt. I’ll show you.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“You won’t,” he promises with a labored groan. “You will come alive.”
I let out an embarrassing moan. Thank God no one can hear.
His palm slides up to my jaw, allowing me to breathe freely. Fingers bite into my skin and he tilts my face to meet his. Intense, brown eyes burn into me. I can’t hear his words, but I can see them.
I’m. Going. To. Kiss. You. Now.
My eyes flutter closed when his mouth nears mine. His lips are soft as they brush against mine. I part my lips, allowing him the access he clearly wants—what we both clearly want. He darts his tongue out and it easily dominates mine.
Oh God.
I’m kissing Ren Hayes.
What’s wrong with me?
Right now, it feels so right.
He tastes like mint gum and I am relieved that he doesn’t seem to have been drinking. My tongue lashes with his as I taste him to be sure. Nope. No beer. Just yummy mint. His palm at my back slides under my tank top. Fingers on my back have me shivering. My nipples harden and my pussy aches.
Ren is so smooth.
Too smooth.
The thought of all the other women he goes to bed with has me stiffening. He breaks our kiss to frown at me. As much as I want to kiss him longer, I can’t. I came to see him for a reason.
“We need to talk,” I yell over the music.
“I can’t hear you,” he bellows back, smirking.
Damn him and his devilishly handsome good looks.
Feeling bold, I slide my hands up his chest to his neck, pulling him closer. My lips brush against his ear. “We need to talk.”
I refrain from biting his ear since he bit mine, and instead lean back to look at him. His lips crash to mine and he kisses me deeply once more until I’m dizzy. I manage to pull away, giving him a stern look that has him laughing.
A thrill runs up my spine when he finds my ear again. “I heard you the first time. I just wanted to kiss your pretty mouth again.”
Ugh. He’s such an arrogant shit.
He winks at me before grabbing my hand to guide me away from the drunk assholes. As we make our way through the crowd, I groan at my inability to tell him no. Was this how it was for Kate? Did she just follow the wolf right into his den?
His hand squeezes mine and he looks over his shoulder, the concerned look back in his expressive brown eyes.
I’m having trouble matching up Ren to the monster I once thought he was.
He may not have killed Kate, but he’s not telling me everything. I need to know the truth. Everything he knew about Kate and the “suit” she was so clearly obsessed with.
I’ll get the truth out of him one way or another.
Five
One taste. One taste and I’m fucking addicted. Just like I knew I would be. I want to ask her where her sexy glasses are. Why she’s wearing a top that’s more a second skin than clothing. And who the fuck stuck a groupie lanyard on her. But words get lost on my lips when her eyes storm with questions. Nerdy Natasha didn’t come all the way to the shitty part of town to make out with my sexy ass. No, she came here probably to accuse me some more.
Accusers don’t usually let you stick your tongue down their throat, though.
Tonight, she’s let me kiss her, bite her, and fucking squeeze her pretty throat. All it did was awaken the beast inside of me. My beast i
s hungry for her. It won’t be sated until it’s feasted on her. I drag her outside and pull my phone out. Quickly, I text Ronan. Berlin Scandal is badass. We’re signing them. Tomorrow I’ll call them and give them the good news. Earlier, before the show, they seemed so hopeful. Most bands want to be signed by Harose. These kids are lucky because their dream is about to come true.
I find my midnight blue 2020 Porsche 911 and hit the key fob to unlock it. Natasha gives me a wary look as she tugs on her jean jacket, but when I open the passenger side door, she slides into the car. I close the door and then join her inside. The engine purrs like a kitten. Zipping out onto the road, I throw her an expectant look.
“You wanted to talk?” I ask, weaving in between cars.
“Where are we going?” she squeaks out in return.
Not this again. “Jesus, Nat. I’m not going to kill you. It’s getting old.”
“I don’t think you’re going to kill me,” she huffs. “I just want to know where we’re going. Are you always a dick?”
Smirking at her, I shrug. “Honestly, the only person I’m a dick to is you. You bring out that endearing quality.”
“Asshole,” she mumbles.
“You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
Her response shocks me, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I whip through a drive thru. We order a couple of value meals and then I head back home. She munches on fries almost happily. Noted. I’ll feed your pretty mouth if that improves your mood, beautiful.
I pass my brother’s gated community and drive to my condo. He’d lectured my ass for weeks when I didn’t buy a house, but instead bought a condominium. I’m one guy who’s hardly ever home. I don’t need a giant, empty house like Ronan. It’s depressing as fuck.
As soon as we pull into the underground garage and park, I grab our food and my drink, leaving her with just her drink. We take the elevator until we’re on the top floor. I unlock the door and push inside my condo that smells like cinnamon. It’s something that only my brother knows. Cinnamon reminds me of Mom—of home—so it’s the one thing I always have. The cinnamon scented candles are the same kind she used before cancer took her twelve years ago when I was a junior in high school.
