Mouths.
Teeth.
There’s an urgency surrounding this moment that wasn’t there before. My desire for her, need for her, has legitimately tripled.
It’s alarming considering how deep in the hole I was regarding her already, but I can’t find it in me to give a single fuck about the mania of it all right now.
All I care about is sinking myself so deep inside her that whatever seems to be haunting her will vanish.
Obliterate into nothingness.
In seconds flat, she undoes my tie.
Then the buttons of my jacket.
Pushing it off my shoulders, it falls to the floor behind us as my fingers curl around that dress, forcing it the rest of the way up her hips. Fisting the material, I tug it hard enough to lift her momentarily off the counter.
She whimpers into my mouth as she drops back onto the surface, her skin slapping marble. That little tongue dips back into my mouth in wicked flicks.
Teasing me.
Driving me mad.
I don’t remember tugging her thin, flimsy underwear aside but her wet clit comes in contact with my fingers, her hand tugging my dripping dick out of my slacks with enough force to make it hurt.
Kiera spreads her legs open as wide as they can go, leaning back against the mirror—
Either she gets me there or I do the job my damned self, but suddenly her pussy lips are surrounding the head of my cock . . .
Ripping my lips away from hers, I choke on her name and push my way into her.
No warning.
No preparation.
Just this psychotic desire to have her wrapped around my dick again.
She slams back against the mirror, kiss-swollen lips parted in a perfect, little O. Brow scrunched. Eyes glistening and locked on mine. Back arching as she rocks into me, that tight pussy pulsing. “Yes, baby. Yes—give me that beautiful dick again.”
Her voice.
That tone.
“Holy fuck, baby girl.” Wrapping my hand around her nape, I bring her to me, a new force detonating in my veins. Before I can even think of stopping, I’m giving it to her with all my strength, my thighs crashing into the counter painfully with each thrust.
Her voice breaks, moans of pleasure mixing with these relieved, small mewls that have my balls tightening, come ready to bust for her.
Kiera’s crown falls off her head on the next thrust, clattering loudly onto the countertop. Not giving a damn, she wraps her arms around my neck, fucking hugging me as I go at her in sheer madness.
“Shit—baby. If you only knew—” You’re all I think about. All I want. You’re deeper inside me than anyone has ever been. To stop myself from confessing shit I shouldn’t—shit I barely understand at this moment—I yank her into another kiss.
Everything explodes between us even harder. Fierce fucking. Sensual, urgent meeting of tongues. I’m lost in her worse than ever, shoved into a realm of experience beyond anything that should be possible, when she eases away just enough to stare into my eyes.
“I fucking missed you,” she whimpers, eyes big, and earnest, and sucking the very fucking soul out of me right now.
A tortured sound is torn from me. Don’t even know how I start fucking her faster, only that suddenly I do, clutching the woman to me in a rough hug. “Oh holy shit, God, I missed you, too, baby.”
Her pussy floods at my admission, and like a mindless slave, I start repeating it to her with each thrust.
Crying out, she kisses me. Small kisses, deep kisses. Mind-numbing ones that leave me twitching against her. “I—I—fuck! Yes, Maverick! Give me that big cock . . . I fucked myself so many times thinking about it . . .”
Done. I’m fucking done.
The visuals her words provide . . . Fuuuck.
Kiera, touching herself to thoughts of me. Of my dick. Of us.
I’m. Not. Going. To. Last.
There’s no way.
“Tell me,” I demand, trying to distract myself from busting right then and there. “Tell me all the dirty little things you did to yourself.”
“I—I can’t. Feels too good. Don’t stop.”
“Trust me, I’m not. I can’t,” I admit, emphasizing it with a punishing thrust. “Can’t stop this, can’t stop thinking about you, obsessing over you. What are you doing to me, Kiera?”
She moans, loudly, so freely as if we’re not in public where anyone could hear us. “I don’t know—I don’t know what this is.”
Hand trailing up her figure, I encase it around her jaw, forcing her to look me in the eye. “It’s insanity. This”—thrust—“Us”—thrust—“It’s fucking insanity. But I want it . . . I want you.”
Another moan as her hips roll against me, stare locked like a vise with my own. The sheer amount of need in those silvery pools right now . . . Goddamn, I can’t.
Drop my forehead to hers, cock throbbing.
That’s when the brutal realization hits me. I squeeze my eyes shut, powering into her with everything I’ve got.
This woman will be my ultimate demise.
I know it, you know it—hell, I’m sure she knows it, too—and it’s time to admit it. Kiera DuBois has the power to ruin me, and the sick part is, I want her to.
Just as badly as I want to ruin her.
To possess her.
Own her.
“Maverick . . .” she pants, clinging to me tighter. “I’m gonna—”
“Come,” I grit in her ear. “Come for me, baby girl.”
Seconds. Literal seconds tick by and she explodes on my dick, her walls clamping and rippling around me, moans uncontrollable.
I smash my mouth against hers to swallow her cries and manically chase my own release.
Three strokes is all it takes before I’m spurting my seed deep inside her. Again. No protection, nothing.
Alarm bells should blare, but once again, they don’t.
Complete and utterly spent, Kiera melts against me, humming in bliss. Her heart hammers, as does mine, harder still when I realize I’m going to have to leave her after this.
Problem is, I don’t want to leave her, especially here where she clearly doesn’t want to be, either.
“I have to go,” her voice wavers as if reading my mind. Very gently, she pushes at my chest, slithering down my body onto her feet.
I feel the loss of her immediately, hands clenching at my sides as I watch her smooth out her appearance. First her dress, then her hair. Reaching for the crown, she situates it back on top of her head and analyzes her make-up. A few quick touch-ups and she looks as beautiful as she did when I first bumped into her, if not more so with that flush coloring her cheeks.
Inching up on her toes, Kiera wraps her around my neck once more and pecks me on the lips. “See me again?”
The question catches me off-guard, but my head nods of its own volition, and I’m quick to follow. “When and where?”
That wicked little smile turns up the corners of her mouth as she pecks me again softly. “I’ll find you.”
And then she’s gone, tearing herself away from me and slipping out the door.
Leaving me in the fucking bathroom with my cock hanging free and my pants around my ankles.
For the second fucking time.
Actually, she isn’t the only one that’s left you with your pants around your ankles.
There it is: the memory is back. The entire time I was with Kiera, the encounter with the killer had ceased to matter—to fucking exist.
Even with that guilt slithering through my soul, I can still smell us together in this tiny bathroom.
Her taste lingers on my lips and I realize I haven’t had a chance to eat her, yet.
Dying to. For hours. As long as she’ll let me.
No, fuck that. I’m taking it as long as I want.
My exposed dick twitches as my mind threatens to become lost in the fantasy.
That is, until the memory of why I’m here—that Ruby is out there looking for our victim’s wife to q
uestion—returns even harder than the memory of the killer.
Cursing myself to hell and back a thousand times, I pull my pants up roughly, the sense of déjà vu that hits leaving me sick to my stomach. Turning to the mirror, I adjust myself as best as I can, wash off Kiera’s lipstick, and curse myself again when the act causes an odd pang in my chest.
“What the hell is your problem?” I hiss at the torn man in the mirror, the one who’s hair is a mess and eyes are brimming with self-loathing.
And yearning.
And what has to be madness.
Smoothing back my hair, I straighten my tie, face the door—
Right as my phone starts vibrating like crazy in my pocket.
Know who it is before I even bring it out.
Hating my own guts, I tug the door open, bring the phone to my ear, and prepare myself for Ruby’s inquisition.
“Where are you?” she all but yells into the phone. “I finally spotted her and I’ve been trying to reach you forever.”
Of course I didn’t feel my phone vibrating in my pocket with my pants around my ankles and my dick pounding Kiera into next week. “Where are you? I’ve been looking for you, too,” I lie right through my teeth.
Not the first time.
I’m a horrible Catholic. Okay, maybe I’m the typical Catholic, but I’m going to hell right alongside all those other hypocrites if I don’t stop this soon.
“I’m by the bar. Don’t see you.”
“Be right there.” I hang up the call, sending a silent prayer I won’t see Kiera again—don’t know how I’ll respond if I do—and head back to the ballroom in search of Ruby.
“And we urge you, brothers, to admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, and be patient with everyone.” - Thessalonians 5:14
Walker’s wife disappeared before I could make it to Ruby. Rather than follow her and shoot me a text that she was on the move, my partner stayed at the damn bar, then bitched at me for taking so long as we attempted to resume our search for Mrs. Walker.
Our fruitless search.
The woman was nowhere to be found, and seventy-two hours later, I’m still furious about it.
Yes, it’s my also my fault we lost her. Had I been focused on my job, and not locked in a bathroom fucking Kiera like I’d die if I didn’t bust a nut in her, Ruby would’ve reached me on time to isolate the woman and question her.
We haven’t been able to get in contact with her, she hasn’t been at their home. Lack of a beauty mark rules her out as the killer, but that doesn’t rule her out completely. She’s still at the top of the suspect list.
What if she knew what her husband was doing in his spare time?
What if she hired the killer to take him out?
Finding Mrs. Walker is nearly as paramount as finding the main woman of interest, especially with her husband’s name floating around the media. I’m beginning to think we’re going to have to stake her out.
Park up outside their estate.
Let her come to us.
Fuck, I hate stake-outs. They involve Ruby, for hours at a time.
Tumbler in hand, I cinch my grip around the glass and take another guilt-ridden sip, willing myself to get it together.
Guilt because I purposely came to a restaurant I’ve never stepped foot in just to be certain they’d serve me.
I promised myself a one-drink limit, but it’s all bullshit. I’m half-way through this glass and I know damn well I’m going for number two soon. I need it. There’s far too much on my mind for me to do this without it.
The case.
Kiera.
The killer.
Kiera again.
The goddamn case again.
I’m going to explode—there’s only so much a man can take. Having Kiera withdrawals isn’t helping, either. But I’m not getting into that now.
It’s the same madness, only much, much worse.
Draining my glass, I slam it onto the polished wooden table and glare at the finance ledger I’ve been studying since I got here. The names and numbers all blur together. Not because of the Jameson, but it all looks the fucking same at this point. I’m not even supposed to have a copy—I just took it, needed to analyze it in private, without the flurry often surrounding command.
And I’m glad I did, because what I’ve found thus far cements the fact that I’m walking a very thin and dangerous line by lusting after Kiera DuBois.
Walker handled their finances, or what looks to be a portion of it anyway. As much as I want to believe it’s a coincidence, how could it be? Then again, it seems most of the families associated with the DuBois’ are also on this same ledger, so perhaps he simply handled all finances for those within the same social circle.
“Sir, can I get you a refill?” a voice asks suddenly.
The waiter. I hadn’t even noticed him sidle up to the table.
Dragging my gaze up to him, I notice he’s already fetched my emptied glass.
When did he . . .? Doesn’t matter now. The kid asked a question, one I should already know the answer to.
No.
But just as I’m about to stupidly agree to another round, a flash of gold meets my peripherals, and the words jam in my throat.
Snapping my head to the opposite side of the booth reveals the fucking bane of my existence—Ruby.
She smiles and cuts her gaze to the waiter, immediately noting the tumbler in his grasp. There’s not enough liquid for her to truly decipher what I was drinking, but nonetheless, that analytical eyebrow of hers arches high before those amber irises pin me in question.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask to distract her, signaling the waiter with a simple shake of my head.
He looks torn between attending to Ruby as well, but I wave him off quickly.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” A friendly smile and he’s off.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, my partner leans forward. “I need to talk to you.”
Here we go again.
“About what, Saunders? How the hell did you even know I was here?”
No, really, how in the ever-loving fuck did she know? I hadn’t told a soul.
“Total chance encounter. I was walking past the restaurant to my car and saw you. Took it as a sign.” She shrugs.
The urge to roll my eyes and call bullshit on her story eats at me, but I tamp it down purely to avoid spiking her anger after catching me in the midst of ordering another drink. “What was it you needed to tell me?
Her stare drops to the ledger on the table, prompting me to pull it from her line of sight and lay it on top of the newspaper sitting beside me.
“I followed Nathaniel,” she states evenly.
“You what?”
“I followed Blackstone. I’ve had this nagging feeling since that day Porter forced us into that little meeting and I decided to check it out tonight hoping to put it to rest.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“He’s just . . . I don’t know? Shady?”
Sounds about right.
“Go on,” I urge, leaning back into the leather booth.
“I was leaving the Walgreens down the street from my apartment when I spotted Blackstone across the street. A man met up with him, they got into his car, and drove off. So I followed them all the way to the marina. I didn’t follow him into the shipping yard because that would’ve been obvious, but I parked across the street and watched from there. He and the man he picked up stalked to a group of men. They looked shady as fuck, too, and—”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Could she be any more stupid?
Ruby’s head rears back, eyes narrowing at the snip in my tone. “What?”
“You followed Nathaniel to the goddamn shipping yard because of some feeling you had? Are you insane?”
“Will you just listen?” Cheeks flushed in frustration, she leans closer. “There’s no reason for Nathaniel to be meeting with men that look like that and the
re’s something off about the guy. I know even you’ve picked up on it.”
Okay, yeah. There’s something positively vile about the man, but it’s his ego. Point blank. What Ruby is hinting at . . . wait a second. “What exactly are you insinuating, Saunders?”
She glares at me and for the first time it almost seems like hatred staring back at me. “I’m tired of you acting like my instincts aren’t worthy of consideration.”
“Don’t even go there. We both know your aptitude as a detective is something I do appreciate.” Everything else about her? Not so much.
“Then listen to me, damn it. My gut’s telling me there’s something really off about Blackstone. And what logical reason could he have to visit the shipping yard with a shady-looking group of men?”
I lower my voice to a tone only she can hear. “Are you accusing a fellow officer—a fellow detective—of some kind of crime?”
“No! It’s too early for that!”
“You need to focus on what matters, not on investigating your co-worker without actual proof he’s committed some type of crime.”
Her eyes narrow and she sits back with a huff. “You said you trust my instincts.”
“And I need them focused here—” I bring the newspaper out from under the ledger and slam it in front of her. Pointing at the headline dominating the front, I reiterate, “Here.”
Ruby’s eyes flicker over the bold letters.
The ones that have been taunting me all day.
THE BOSTON SLASHER RETURNS.
“Do you see this shit?” I ask. “I know we weren’t working together years ago when this bastard terrorized this city—”
“You said it’s a woman, so . . .”
“We don’t know if the female doing the killings now is the Slasher from years ago. The point is that hysteria is going to set in soon. The Slasher killed twenty people before disappearing. Twenty. I need you focused on this, Ruby. We don’t catch the suspect soon and we’re in for some deep shit.”
“You’re hinting I can’t focus on two things at the same time, Quinn.”
Oh, she’s definitely pissed. She hardly ever calls me by my last name when we’re alone. I try to soften my tone, hoping it’ll get through to her. “Saunders, normally I wouldn’t stress this level of importance, but this case is already stirring up a media frenzy.”
Corrupted: Saint Cecilia Slayings Book Two Page 5
