by A. M. Wilson
“You know my relationship track record isn’t very good, right? But I’m not ready for this to be over.” He grabs my hand, bringing my knuckles to his soft, smooth lips, brushing a light kiss against them. My eyes find his as he turns my hand over, planting another kiss on the inside of my palm. My heart surges to life, stuttering as a dark thought crosses my mind.
“Wait.” Instead of explaining, I toss the morning’s newspaper at him. “Read the article on page A6,” I instruct, once again picking up my fork to delve into my rapidly cooling scrambled eggs. Chewing a mouthful, I watch his brows furrow as he reads the paper. I’m sure he’s drawing the same conclusion from it as I did, although, I’m not sure what we should do about it.
“What are the chances it’s him?” he contemplates, drawing the same obvious conclusion.
“I think it’d be quite the coincidence if it wasn’t him. Although I never would have expected him to be capable of murder, after his recent stalking tendencies, I can’t say I have that same opinion now.”
“We have to keep you safe. You’re going to stay with me,” he remarks, his gaze not wavering from my own. His words are a challenge, a true test after the past week without each other.
Do I trust him?
I’m angry with him. I’m angry with myself for letting my emotions take me from the steady control of logic. The realization that my emotional stability has been dependent on our relationship is enough to scare me. However, the fact I can admit to myself I’m scared is a huge improvement from the old me. I’m strong enough to hold onto my independence while fighting for my relationship. We might have issues to work through, but I’m not going to let one argument push me away. Those are the thoughts that make the answer starkly clear.
I do trust him.
“Okay. I’ll stay with you.”
His eyebrows inch closer to his shaggy, blonde bangs. “That’s it? You aren’t going to fight me on this?”
A small smile shifts into place, and it feels strange after a week with so few of them. “Not this time. Until we hear more details about Katie’s disappearance, it’s probably best to take every precaution.”
His eyes roam over my face as he studies me, and I feel his gaze like a caress. My eyes drift closed under the warmth of his stare. Fingers drift over my cheek in a whisper of sensation, and I startle. I didn’t realize he was going to touch me. “Sorry,” I mumble, still under the spell of his gaze.
“I missed you, Marlee. So much more than you know.”
I’m a bundle of nerves as I climb into his truck. I don’t know why. I was entirely ready to throw myself at him last Saturday for his birthday, new lingerie and all, so this shouldn’t be any different. I felt prepared before. This seems so spur of the moment, even though the ride is fifteen minutes long. My hands are twisting the material of my dress in my lap. As Elias closes his door, the smell of him and his cologne permeate the air of the car, making it hard to focus.
My thoughts drift from my surfacing anxiety, jerked down a different path by the intoxicating scent of him. I do want this. I peek out of the corner of my eye to see him steadily focused on entering the freeway. His eyes shift towards me as if he sensed my gaze, and he gives me a lopsided smirk before returning his eyes to the road. His unruly hair is begging me to touch it, run my fingers through its soft, silky waves while I let him do delicious things to my body. I remember the feel of straddling his lap topless a few weeks ago, and the heady, exhilarating rush it gave me. I keep my train of thought from derailing to what happened after that bold Friday morning by picturing the night at the club, dancing and grinding against him without inhibitions. My actions have clearly been anything but tame around Elias, so what’s the mental hang up?
I can do this. I can initiate sex and not make a fool of myself. Taking a deep breath, I try to remind myself that he is not Travis. I may not have much sexual history, but I have some. And he’s made it clear he’s attracted to me. I need to stop thinking so much and let my instincts take over.
We arrive at Elias’s apartment, and I look up as we are pulling into the underground garage. My breath quickens, a sharp inhale, and I have to remind myself to breathe normally. I am not alone. This is okay. Elias pulls into a slot and kills the engine. He makes quick work of his seatbelt, then stills, probably noticing I have yet to move.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, reaching over to stroke the softness of the back of his hand against my cheek. I lean into the touch, sobering at the electric feel of his skin on mine.
I swallow hard. “I will be. I hate parking garages.” I release a breath noisily, finally reaching down to undo my seatbelt.
“Is there reason why you don’t like them?” he asks, his brows furrowing.
“Nothing like you’re probably thinking. They’re dark and secluded. There are too many places for people to hide. I think I watch too many crime investigation shows. They just freak me out.”
“Well I promise you are safe with me. Here, wait there.” He slips out of his door rounding the bed of the truck, and faster than I can blink, he’s cranking my door open for me. Reaching for my hand, he helps me out of the cab and grabs my purse out of my grasp. “There. If anyone wants to mug us, they’ll come after me since I’m carrying the purse.”
He’s wearing that lopsided grin again, showing a hint of his dimples. God, he’s adorable. My heart thunders wildly in my chest as I let him lead me to the enclosed stairwell. Breathe! I scold myself.
With a gentle tug, he guides me through the door before letting it slam closed with a startling bang. I can’t help but jump at the sound of metal on metal. My attention is briefly distracted as I turn to stare at the door, confirming it was, indeed, the door making the sound and not some intruder or an underground garage creature dwelling in the dark stairwell.
As I bring my attention back to the large cement staircase, Elias descends on me. He propels us backwards into the cold concrete wall behind me, pinning my body to the wall with his own. His lips crash down upon mine, warm to my cold, gently coaxing my mouth to open for him.
Tentatively, I part my lips, dipping my tongue into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, tasting and licking inside its depths. A deep groan erupts from his chest. He grips my hands above my head in one of his large ones, the other threading through my long locks effectively holding me in place. A delicious current runs down my body from the pleasurable pain, spreading it’s warmth in the depth of my belly.
“Upstairs, please. Now,” I gasp between quick, rough kisses.
Instead of releasing my body, he reaches down behind me, gripping my ass in his large hands, hoisting me up into his embrace. My thighs naturally wrap tightly around his trim waist, securely anchoring myself to him. His mouth intersects mine before I have a chance to speak again, kissing me fiercely as he beings ascending the stairs.
Gripping either side of his head, the long silky strands of his hair lightly tease my fingertips. The brief sensation sends tingles up my arms, making me shiver.
After two flights of stairs, we break through into the warm air of the hallway of his floor. Elias half walks, half jogs down the hallway, peeking around my head to find his door.
I continue to kiss him frantically, needing him desperately in this moment. I have to have him. Right now.
Without setting me down, he manages to shove his key in the lock, the door to his home swinging open triumphantly. Kicking the door shut, Elias walks us over to the kitchen counter, sliding me out of his hands and setting me down seated next to his kitchen sink. I don’t care where we do this. The fire building inside my stomach is about to make me combust.
His warm hands slide down to my thighs where he rests them, drawing light, irritatingly sexy circles against my dress covered legs. Gently, he pushes the material up, up, up towards my hips and slips his hands back down to their previous position. His fingers move tantalizingly slow against my skin, setting fire to the patterns he traces.
I can’t hold back the shudder that bursts through m
e at his touch. He pulls his mouth back to stare, his heated eyes conveying to mine exactly what he wants.
Me.
He wants me, and I’m about to combust if he doesn’t hurry up.
I un-belt the waist of my trench dress, my fingers slipping button through hole, button through hole, button through hole. His hands leave my thighs feeing bereft as he briefly brings them to slip the dress off my shoulders. One hand snakes down to my now exposed breast, while the other resumes tormenting my thigh.
Elias slips his finger in the cup of my lace bra, brushing my hardened nipple as he pops my breast out of the cup. He repeats the action with the other, exposing my tight, swollen breasts to his heated gaze. Locking eyes with my own, he slowly lowers himself to my pink tip, wrapping his warm, wet mouth over one briefly, and then the other. A breathy moan rides out my exhale, my hands coming up to rest on his strong, muscular shoulders.
“Oh.” The massage of his tongue on my sensitive nipple sends a zing straight to my core.
I’m so enthralled at the work he’s making of my breasts that I don’t realize his hand is working at the edge of my panties until one long, thick finger plunges into the wet opening.
“Oh God, Elias.” He continues licking and suckling my taut nipples, one and then the other, as his finger works in and out of my slick core.
“You like that? Does it feel good when I finger fuck that sweet pussy of yours?” His words are like gasoline to a fire, heightening my pleasure tenfold. I bring my hands from his shoulders to grip the edges of the countertop, white knuckling the granite surface.
“Yes. Please don’t stop.” My voice is so breathy, affected. I’ve never sounded this way before, and it’s so erotic that Elias brings it out of me.
“Don’t worry, I’m only just starting.” He slips a second finger into my hot, sensitive center, his other hand coming to my hips, tugging my panties down. He removes his fingers briefly to drag my underwear slowly down my legs, before plunging them back into me once more. I cry out in pleasure at the rough sensation.
He catches my gaze with his blazing blue eyes—two pools reflecting the heat I feel deep inside my core—before slowly kissing and licking his way down my abdomen, curling his lips back to nip at my skin every so often.
Enraptured with pleasure, I can only watch helplessly as his mouth descends my body.
He removes his fingers, and I try to squeeze my thighs together to quell the burning ache between them. Instead, his hands grab each of my ankles, bending both of my legs and placing each foot on the edge of the countertop, spreading me wide open to his penetrating gaze. A groan rumbles out from his chest, his eyes roaming over my most private, delicate parts as if committing them to memory.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, before lowering his fingers back to my throbbing core. “I’m going to taste you now. Hold still, Marlee.”
He dips his head, flicking his moist tongue over my hard little bundle of nerves. I cry out again, unable to hold back the sounds bursting from my chest. I’ve never been one to be vocal during sex, but I’ve also never felt pleasure this intense before. The sound rips from my throat before I even register what is happening.
His mouth closes on my clit, sucking gently, before bringing his tongue to flick against it once more. While his mouth works, his fingers continue their steady motion, rapidly diving in and out of me, curling slightly to rub against my g-spot. My legs are tremble in their perch, muscles coiling tighter and tighter with each flick of his tongue and rub of his fingers. Almost there, I can feel my body edging near the precipice, begging to tumble over the edge. He can feel me climbing higher, my legs shaking harder, my breaths expelling quicker. I reach one shaky hand and tangle it in his long, silky hair, holding on, directing him exactly where I need it most. Just. A little. More.
With a rough plunge of his fingers, he sucks my swollen clit into his mouth, rubbing it with his tongue as he rapidly drives his slick fingers in and out of my wetness. My hips start pumping tirelessly as a scream tears from my throat.
His name tumbles from my mouth, over and over again like a chant. Wave after wave crashes over me, rolling out from the center of my body to the very tips of my limbs. My fingers and toes go numb with sensation as my orgasm rolls through me. Color flashes behind my eyelids before bright white blots them out, my mind floating in a fog of pure pleasure. My chest heaves with each pleasure-filled breath I take as I slowly float back down to planet earth.
I have hardly a minute to bask in my post orgasm glow before the doorbell rings, followed by a sharp knock on the door. Elias hastily stands up, pulling my dress over my shoulders.
“Go to my bedroom to fix yourself up. I’ll see who’s at the door then meet you back in my bed,” he whispers planting a chaste kiss to my forehead before helping down off his countertop.
I head down the hall as he starts towards the door, pausing midway to his room, out of sight, when I hear him speak to whoever is outside. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping but curiosity is hard to control.
“Detective Gonzales. Detective Nelson. What can I do for you? My girlfriend and I are just settling in for the afternoon.” His voice is quiet and calm. The mention of me feels stilted an awkward, almost as if he’s warning them. Suddenly, I change my mind and start to make my way to his bedroom, my feet padding soundlessly across the carpet.
“Hey Elias, sorry to bother you at home. We need to ask you some questions about your whereabouts last Saturday night. May we come in?” The deep baritone voice booms down the hallway, freezing me mid-step.
Why would a detective need to speak with Elias about last Saturday?
The Saturday where he didn’t come home on time.
The Saturday where he had blood on his shirt.
The Saturday he won’t tell me where he was.
Oh god.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Yes, come on in. Have a seat and I’ll be right with you.”
I hear Elias respond to the detectives, and my brain jumps to life. After scampering down the hall to his room, I slip into his adjoined bathroom, right my dress, and finger comb my slightly sweat damp hair into submission. Mid swipe of reapplying my lip-gloss, the bedroom door swings open. Through the mirror, I can see Elias scrub his hand over his face and release a deep breath.
“Marlee? Can I come in?”
“Yeah, I’m just fixing myself up in your bathroom.” My voice comes out too high, squeaky almost. He pulls open the ajar door, stopping within the frame.
“I want you to come back out there with me. There are some detectives here from SPPD with some questions about last Saturday.”
“Were you expecting them? You don’t seem very surprised they are here.”
He looks too calm, confident. Whatever is going on, this isn’t a surprise. He merely shrugs. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this, but I guess I’m not entirely surprised.” He stretches out his arm, offering me his hand.
With nerves returning full force, I place a tentative hand in his warm grasp. He give it a light squeeze before turning to head back out to the living room.
We seat ourselves along the sofa; the two detectives had chosen to stand. Elias never releases my hand. I try to quell the nerves boiling in my stomach as I wait for this conversation to begin.
“Thank you for waiting. I want to introduce you to my girlfriend, Marlena. Whatever you need to ask me, you can ask in front of her.”
“Good afternoon, Marlena. I’m Detective Nelson,” the older man speaks to me. He has short, salt and pepper hair and a hardened stare encased in thick square glasses. He’s average height with a round belly, which is testing the strength of the thread on his shirt’s buttons.
“Hello,” I respond shyly, hoping to be a spectator and keep all attention away from me. The other detective ignores the introduction and brings the attention back to Elias.
“Mr. Brooks, can you tell me where you were Saturday night between the hours of eight and ten p.m.?” He’s younger than Detecti
ve Nelson, probably in his 40’s. His hair is a rich chestnut brown and wavy. He looks fit and athletic for his age. His eyes are much warmer and softer than his partner’s are. He pulls out a small notepad from his breast pocket along with a pen, which he poises along the paper, ready to take notes. Elias clears his throat, giving me a sidelong glance before he speaks.
I squeeze his hand gently, trying to convey that it’s okay.
“I was at Sinclair’s. My buddy is the owner.” His gaze is moving between the two detectives, his hand squeezing mine once more, reassuringly, I think.
The men glance briefly at each other before Detective Nelson speaks. “Do you have anybody who can verify your whereabouts? You’re girlfriend, perhaps?” Minutely, I shake my head, feeling guilty that I can’t lie for him. However, to this very minute, I still don’t know where he was that night and what he was doing. This whole scenario is unsettling. My mind is having a hard time wrapping around two police officers questioning my boyfriend about his whereabouts.
Elias speaks up when I fail to voice my response. “Alex Sinclair, the owner. He was with me the entire time.”
“Are you familiar with this young woman?” Detective Nelson produces a photo from a file I hadn’t noticed he was carrying.
As he hands the photograph to Elias, nausea rolls through me when my eyes snag upon the image. It’s a color photo; the same image of the black and white portrait that was in the newspaper.
“Yes, Katie Martin.” He keeps his hand firmly attached to mine; however, he’s no longer sneaking glances in my direction. What is this about? I’m so confused.
“And can you define the nature of your relationship with Miss Martin?” Elias swallows audibly beside me.
“She’s an ex-girlfriend.”
Huh?
“What?” The question slips out before I can contain my surprise.
