Killer

by Jessica Gadziala

  "She's got me by the balls," I admitted, shaking my head at myself. It was true. I barely knew her, but she had me more than any woman ever had before. And there had been women, not quite girlfriends but something more than casual who had been around for a while, but not one of them got under my skin the way Amelia had. So it went to follow that she did, indeed, have me by the balls. And I was never really much of a person to try to hide or run from their feelings.

  "I knew it. I can't wait to meet her."

  "She's off limits for a while," I warned.

  "Oh, I'll bet she is," Lo said, her voice dropping low and suggestive. "But you have to let her out of that bed sometime."

  "The hell I do," I said and she laughed.

  "I'll let you know, Shoot."

  She disconnected and I moved toward the door to my bedroom, pausing there, wondering what I should do. If I were being a good guy, I would have walked away, sat down and watched some TV, let her rest in peace. But that wasn't what I was going to do. I moved into the room quietly, not wanting to wake her up. She had rolled back into her original position, curled up away from the door and I resumed my position from earlier, her body wiggling subconsciously back into me, drawing out a quiet groan. Even in her sleep, she was giving me a hard-on like a fifteen year old kid. My hands drifted up to her hair, smoothing it out, letting it slide between my fingers. Out cold, she let out a low moan and I felt myself smiling. She liked having her hair played with. That was a good piece of information to have. My hand drifted down her arm, over her hip, up her belly.

  Her breathing got less deep and less even as she slowly started to surface.

  "Johnnie?" she asked in a voice that was, at once, confused and turned on.

  "Yeah angel," I said, kissing her hair. "You want me to stop?" I asked, my hand drifting down her thigh.

  There was a pause, her breath hitching as my fingers drifted over the crease where her hip met her thigh before moving up toward her ribs. "I don't know yet."

  I felt a smile pull at my lips. "When you do know, let me know, okay?" I asked, my hands drifting upward and stroking just under the swells of her breasts.

  "'Kay," she said, drawing in a shaky breath.

  "Want to roll over so I can kiss that sweet mouth?"

  "'Kay," she said again and slowly turned into my arms.

  Her eyes were only half opened, her lips already parted. And fuck if she wasn't the most beautiful thing I had seen in my life. I brought my hand up to her cheek stroking over it slightly as my head tipped toward hers. Her eyes fluttered closed as my lips finally found hers.

  Thirteen

  Amelia

  I woke up to a warm body at my back and a hand moving across my belly. Still in a pleasant sleep fog, I lay there for a long minute, enjoying the sensation that was half-comfort and half a complete turn-on. "Johnnie?"

  "Yeah, angel," he said, his voice a little husky and I was pretty sure I felt his lips press into my hair. "You want me to stop?" he asked, his hand moving dangerously low on my belly before snaking off toward my hip and moving down my thigh.

  Did I? I knew I should have wanted him to stop. He was dangerous for a normal twenty-six year old woman. So for a twenty-six year old freak who kept everyone too much at a distance to ever even consider the possibility of sex, yeah, well, he was positively perilous. But his breath was warm on my neck and his hands had my skin aching for more.

  "I don't know yet," I said honestly.

  "When you do know, let me know, okay?" he said, his hand moving back up my belly, his fingertips brushing against the underside of my breast.

  "'Kay," I heard myself say, taking a deep breath.

  "Want to roll over so I can kiss that sweet mouth?"

  "'Kay," I said again, rolling in his arms. His eyes were on mine, a little hooded, but nothing like mine felt. I could barely keep mine open. And my entire body felt foreign, tingly. It was like being drunk, though sweeter, but no less out of control. My body was disconnected from the part of me that knew we shouldn't kiss again, the part that knew it wouldn't stop at kissing.

  But then his hand was stroking my cheek and his face was lowered toward mine and I didn't even think anymore at all. His lips pressed into mine hard, but undemanding. I sank against him, my hands grabbing his arms and holding on as his tongue pressed into my mouth. I sighed into it, my tongue becoming bold, a growl escaping his lips spurring me on. His arm went around my hips as he moved onto his back, rolling me on top of him. My legs slipped between his, my hands moving up to cup his face as my mouth got hungry on his, biting into his lower lip, as his hands roamed my body. They toyed with my hair, then down my back, cupping my butt.

  He knifed upward, taking me with him so he was sitting up and I was straddling his waist. His lips moved from mine, kissing down my neck. "You always spark like this?" he asked, his voice almost rough.

  "No," I sighed, tilting my head to give him better access.

  "Just for me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he sucked hard at the spot where my neck met my shoulder.

  "Yes," I agreed because it was true.

  Between my thighs, I could feel his erection pressing hard against me and my hips instinctively jerked forward, feeling him rub against my clit and ripping a strangled moan from me. Johnnie's head pulled backward, watching my face as he rocked against me, hitting the sweet spot again and making me gasp. Then I was gasping for an entirely different reason as I suddenly went flying backward, landing with a slight bounce against the mattress. Johnnie's hands moved up my calves, my thighs, across my hips. His fingers dipped into the waistline of my pants, pushing open the button and undoing the zip with a quickness that was almost unsettling. I felt his fingers slide into my panties. They had just barely brushed the triangle above my sex when my mind snapped back into place, making me jerk violently away from him.

  "Whoa," he said, pulling his hand out of my panties and holding them both up at me, palms out. "Okay." My hands went up, covering my face as I made a strange whimper. "Baby, hey," he said, taking my wrists and pulling my hands from my face. "It's alright. We'll stop."

  I pulled my wrists from him and pushed to sit up, turning and sitting off the end of the bed, my back to him. "Sorry," I mumbled, feeling a strange cocktail of want, of need, mixed with a strong dose of fear with a embarrassment chaser.

  "Don't be sorry," he said and his body slid behind me, his legs wrapping around the outsides of mine, his head coming to rest on my shoulder, his arms tight around my belly. God, why did he have to be so good? It made everything all the more confusing and complicated. Because it was easy to dislike a bad boy; it was simple to dismiss a shameless manwhore. But as much as Johnnie was those things, he was more. He had a depth I didn't let myself see before, afraid of liking the huge well of potential I would find there. "I'm not bleedin'," he said oddly.

  "What?"

  "Know you think you cut me. I ain't bleeding, angel. Shouldn't be sorry for saying no."

  "I don't want to lead you on."

  "Honey, I'll take whatever you are willing to give me and I won't be angry about not getting more."

  "I'm not a tease," I said moving away to stand, facing him.

  "I never said you were."

  "I'm..." Oh, god, was I really going to tell him?

  "Amelia, you don't need to..."

  "I'm a virgin." Okay, apparently I was going to tell him.

  His shoulders dropped, his mouth opening slightly, his eyes going a little wide like it was the last thing he was expecting to come out of my mouth. Which was warranted. Who the hell was a virgin in their mid-twenties besides religious freaks and really unfortunate looking people? His brows drew together as he reached out and snagged my wrist again, pulling me into the open space between his legs. "You're a virgin?" he asked, his voice an odd little whisper.

  "Yes," I said, swallowing hard as his finger moved across the pulse point in my wrist.

  "Aw honey," he said,
giving me a sweet smile and pulling me to him as he laid back down, then rolled us onto our sides.

  "I know it's weird..." I started, uncomfortable with the silence.

  "Just 'cause it's not common doesn't mean it's weird," he countered, stroking my hair off my neck.

  "Says the slut," I said with a teasing smile, needing to lighten the mood which felt unnervingly weighted. "When did you lose it?"

  He snorted a little, giving me a grin. "Fifteen."

  "Seriously?" I yelped.

  "It was a Mrs. Robinson situation."

  "Do I even want to ask?"

  "Ms. Nafta."

  "Bobby's mother?" I screeched.

  "She was a babe back then. Just divorced; on the prowl."

  "You were fifteen!" I objected, grossed out.

  "And horny as a rabbit," he agreed with a wink.

  "Gross."

  His smile spread for a second as his hand landed on the side of my neck and rested there. "Angel," he started, his voice more serious than I was used to it being, but it was still almost unnervingly soft. "You've held onto this for a fuckuva long time. If you're keeping it for someone special, I understand and I respect that more than you'd know. That being said, honey, if you think you'd want to give that to me... I'd make sure it wasn't something you'd regret." He let that rest for a moment, let it settle in. "But don't mistake that for expectations. Okay?"

  I wet my lips, swallowing past the lump that was suddenly lodged in my throat. "Okay."

  "Okay. Now I think we should get outta bed, yeah?"

  "Yeah," I agreed, pretty sure I was seconds away from crying out 'take me, take me!'. Getting out of bed was definitely a good idea.

  He rolled up fast and I followed more slowly. In the living room, his phone started buzzing and he went in search of it. "Make yourself at home, darlin'," he said over his shoulder as he disappeared.

  Following instructions, I went into the bathroom, splashed some cool water on my face, tried to settle my nerves. What man handled news like that the way he did? I remembered the guys I tried to date in high school and college. I remembered their reaction being something like a country salivating at the idea of sticking their flag in new soil. They wanted to be the conquering party. They wanted to go where no man had gone before. To them, that was nothing. It was a different kind of notch to have in their bedpost; it was a story to tell their boys over beers: 'Oh yeah, took her V-card. Man, she was so fucking tight!'. Can't say that was exactly the kind of attitude that prompted leg-spreading.

  But the way Johnnie responded? Perfection. It didn't sound like some challenge to him. If anything, he made it sound like it was a gift, like it was something precious he would count himself lucky to receive.

  How the hell was I supposed to resist that?

  I sighed, turning off the light in the bathroom and walking through the apartment, Johnnie's voice a quiet, but not secretive sound coming from the living room so I felt safe enough to venture out. He gave me a small smile as he paced in front of the front windows that overlooked the street and I moved into the kitchen, finding a glass and filling it with water.

  "You hungry, baby?" he asked, coming into the kitchen and I hadn't even heard him end his call. "We'll order in."

  "No... I can... make something," I supplied, moving toward the fridge. It was the least I could do with him helping me with my problems. Besides, I wasn't used to take-out. There weren't many options for it back home so I always cooked my own dinner. But when I opened his fridge, all I found was a six pack of beer, a Chinese food carton, and a bottle of ketchup. "I'm guessing you don't cook," I said, closing the door and turning around to see him grinning.

  "Honey unless it's coming in a can or a take-away container, I'm not eating."

  "But... don't you miss home cooked meals?"

  "Been a long fuckin' time since I had one so I don't know. I mean Breaker can grill a steak, but that's about it."

  "Can I cook for you?" I asked, the words coming out bolder than I felt.

  "You wanna cook for me?" he asked, ducking his head, almost looking a little... sheepish.

  "I mean... I, um, like cooking and..."

  "You wanna cook for me," he said, this time with much more certainty and a hint of amusement. "Okay. You can cook for me. Gotta get some supplies so I need to go put on a shirt 'less I offend that stupid 'no shoes, no shirt' policy."

  "I think they'd make an exception for you." Oh. My. God. I did not just say that out loud! What the heck was wrong with me?

  "Like my body, huh?" he asked with a boyish grin I both wanted to slap off his face and take a picture of so I never forgot it.

  "It's just... you know... with all the tattoos... it's practically like a shirt," I fumbled dumbly, only succeeding in making the grin spread.

  "I like your body too," he said with a wink as he went toward his bedroom to, presumably, grab a shirt.

  "Don't look at me like that," I said at Millie who had jumped up on the counter somewhere in the middle of my rambling. I swear she was giving me a look that said, 'could you be any more awkward?'. Judgmental furbag. "You don't have to talk to him. You don't understand."

  "Talking to the cat?" Johnnie's voice asked, sounding amused as he walked back in with a plain black v-neck tee on.

  "She was silently judging me," I defended on a self-deprecating smile.

  "Hey, she was all for me sending you some chrysanthemums."

  "Chrysanthemums?" I asked as he led me out into the hallway.

  "Yeah I told her that roses were more likely to say 'sorry for being a dick'."

  I watched his back as I followed him down the stairs. "You weren't a ... you know."

  "Dick," he said, stopping at the bottom landing and watching me. "Come on, you can say it." I pressed my lips together for a minute. Of course I could say it; it just felt weird. He threw an arm around my shoulders, leading me out to the street. "Don't worry. Stick with me and you'll be a master of cuss words, darlin'."

  "Not sure that's something I aspire to," I said, stopping when he did beside a sleek black car that I knew enough about cars to know it cost about as much as my college tuition had. "This is yours?"

  "Keep your tongue in your mouth," he said, opening the door for me. "Don't want drool all over the seats."

  "Ha ha," I said, slipping in, worrying more than a little bit of the possibility of my shoes being dirty.

  "Relax," he said, getting in the driver's seat. "It's just a car."

  "It costs more than some people's homes."

  "Still just a car," he said dismissively and I got to sit and wonder how much one got paid for shooting someone. Apparently it was a lot judging by the apartment and the car.

  "Do you like it here?" I asked, watching the endless stores pass by.

  I felt his eyes on my profile. "It's home." I felt myself nodding at that, though I wasn't exactly familiar with the concept. "How about you? You like it in Alabama?"

  I felt my shoulder shrug. "It's nice there."

  "That's not an answer." I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to find a way to explain it. "It's just not home," he said simply and it was exactly the right thing to say.

  "I guess. It wasn't bad when..." I trailed off, uncomfortable talking about my friendship with Ben when Johnnie had such bad blood there.

  "When my Pops was around. You know honey," he said, pulling us into the grocery store parking lot, "you need to have people. I know you have your walls up and you have reasons for that, but it's no way to live."

  "I guess you're more well adjusted than me, huh?" I asked, thinking of how much damage it must have done to him to be so abused by his father. But despite that, he managed to start over, build a new life, let people get close to him. We got out of the car in a silence that felt uncomfortable. Johnnie's hand went around my hips and stayed there, steady and familiar, like we walked like that all the time. "Hold on, I need to get a buggy," I said, trying to pull away as he led m
e toward the doors.

  "A... buggy?" he asked, his lips twitching.

  "To... put the food in..." I said, not understanding what was so funny.

  "Call 'um 'carts' up here, pumpkin," he informed me.

  "Cart, carriage, buggy... whatever you want to call it, we need one," I said with a wave of my hand. "What?" I asked when all he did was stand there and smile at me.

  "You're kinda cute." I shook my head at him, turning and going back to grab the darn cart. Johnnie walked beside me as we moved through the produce section. I was just putting a bag of green beans in the cart when he leaned in close and whispered in my ear like it was some big secret, "We look like a couple." I felt myself jolt at the words, not sure what he meant by that. Was that a good thing? Was it a bad thing? Was it just an observation? "You know, you could just ask," he told me, arms behind his back as we moved toward the meat department.

  "Ask what?"

  "Whatever it is you're thinking when those little lines go between your brows."

  "Some thoughts are private," I countered, bending over to look at the pork chops to avoid having to look him in the eye. He said nothing as I picked out my selection and placed it in the cart. When I started walking again, his hands were no longer clasped behind his back. I knew this because his hand was suddenly behind my back, as in tucked inside my back pocket, as in resting on my butt. I froze mid-stride, turning to look at him with wide eyes. "We can't walk through the store with your hand on my butt," I whisper-yelled at him.

  "Sure we can," he said on a shrug, squeezing my butt for emphasis.

  "It's inappropriate," I objected as he started pushing the cart with his free hand, making me walk forward with him.

  "Yep," he agreed.

  "People are looking at us," I tried, because they were and it was borderline mortifying.