by Karr, Kim
I should have told him the rest of my secrets, but I’d told him enough for now.
I inhaled sharply as a tingling radiated from my core.
Soft, velvety smooth strokes lapped around my clit.
Oh God, that mouth.
That tongue.
The feeling was so intense, my fists clenched the sheets and I moaned from the sheer pleasure that was slowly sweeping through my body.
Wanting to see him, I glanced down. The dark fringe of his lashes brushed his skin just before his eyes lifted to mine.
They were so dark in the light of this room, the rims of brown so much more noticeable. It was as if his eyes were dilated with passion. I’d never seen eyes like his, ever changing based on his mood. They were a dead giveaway to his feelings, a weakness I wondered if he even realized.
I let go of the fistful of sheets in my hands. We all had our weaknesses after all, and he was slowly becoming another one of mine. I slid my fingers into his hair to tangle them around his locks. His hair was the perfect length to thread my fingers through.
Lowering his head, he parted my legs and dove inside me with thrusts of his tongue that made me feel like he couldn’t get deep enough.
The sound he made when my hands gripped his hair even tighter was almost primal. He slid a finger inside me, then another, and worked his tongue in conjunction with his fingers.
My body tensed as tiny flames of pleasure flickered from my core. My senses intensified.
His touch was hot.
His breathing sounded ragged.
And his lips were deliciously wet.
I started to pulsate everywhere.
Wait. I wanted to be the one doing this to him. That was my plan. How had he taken the lead? Remembering one of the positions from my computer screen earlier, I rose on my elbows. “Logan,” I said, my voice hoarse, uncertain. “I want you in my mouth when I come.”
Simple words to describe the act, but still they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as they expelled from my mouth.
He looked up at me with the same uncertainty that had bled through in my words.
But I was certain. Telling him was the difficult part. I gave him a reassuring nod that let him know—yes, I wanted this.
Without hesitation, he shifted his body.
His warm breath was gone and I mourned the loss on my flesh, but soon enough his knees were at my ears. He took his cock in his hand and I gasped at the eroticism of it. I craned my neck up to catch it with my mouth, but he lifted higher.
“Just watch me.”
“I want to taste you.”
“No, I want you to come,” he said. His voice was so hoarse I could tell he must have been fighting against his own release.
I stared up at him in awe as his fist closed around his cock and he started pumping it. I was fixated on the movement. Spellbound at the simple beauty of his cock as he glided his hand up and down it. But then his tongue was inside me again and from a different angle, it was so much more intense. Probing and searching for my pleasure was what I felt he was doing. And he was doing it so well. It felt so good and even though I wanted to, I couldn’t hold on any longer. I had to let myself go. My head tipped and I arched my back as I started to ride the wave of my orgasm.
Logan didn’t stop, though—he pumped his cock while he continued to lick, suck, and kiss all of me until another orgasm hit immediately after the first. This time, my toes curled as an exquisite sensation overcame me, rocking me unlike anything I’d ever felt before. And in that single moment of ecstasy, my body trembled as it came alive under his touch and I cried out louder than I ever had with what could only be described as pure, undiluted pleasure.
Logan had let go of his cock to use both of his hands and I took the opportunity to reach up with the tip of my tongue and lick him.
“Oh, fuck.” The sound roared through the room.
In a roll that I’m not sure if he initiated or I did, I was on top looking down at him.
He grabbed my hips and tried to pull me toward his mouth.
That wasn’t what I had in mind.
My head fell and I started slow, swirling my tongue around his tip before sucking on it. At the taste, I realized how hungry I was for him. I licked every inch of him. When I sealed my mouth over him, he groaned and bucked up. Sure, I’d done this before, but never in this position. Always the guy’s hands were on my head to guide me.
I didn’t need that with Logan.
His body’s response was enough to guide me.
Each time I moved, I took him as deep as I could and each time he hit the back of my throat, he groaned. My mouth sucked, my fingers stroked, and my lips moved in all the ways I could tell he liked.
“Oh fuck. Just like that. Just like that,” he muttered and it didn’t scare me, it thrilled me to hear the pleasure in his voice. His muscles started to shake when my tongue revisited his tip. As I traced a path around the moistness already beaded there, he shuddered and tugged on my hips, quickly rearranging my body and pulling me up to him.
He was back on top of me, his eyes searching mine.
I was okay. I swallowed, my throat tight, my heart still beating madly. He was silently telling me that he wanted to be inside me. I could see it in his eyes.
I wanted that too.
Logan didn’t say anything, though. He just reached between us and brought the tip of his cock to my entrance. We wanted each other so much. We were insatiable, and each time seemed to be better than the last.
Oh, God.
My fingers curled around his biceps and as he slid farther inside me, the blunt tips of my nails dug into his skin.
He thrust into me without resistance.
I looked at him as he looked at me, and he slammed inside me so hard, I cried out in ecstasy.
We fucked like that more than once in the next few hours. I had a fleeting thought that he was marking me, claiming me, making me his. This was something new. No one had ever wanted me like he did. The intensity of the gestures themselves gave me butterflies. And I knew they were butterflies.
With that thought in mind, I was equal parts scared and thrilled.
I was scared because I knew things were happening too fast. Too much was going on in our lives for us to get wrapped up in each other. Yet, at the same time, I was thrilled because I had never felt so worshipped.
It had to be close to midnight before we were lying on the bed facing each other.
“You okay?” he asked with a grin.
I swear I blushed. “I think you know I am.”
I’d cried out in pleasure so many times, there was no way he didn’t know how sated I felt right now.
“You’ve only ever had one boyfriend?” he asked.
The question caught me off guard but didn’t throw me. “Yes. Just the one. Charlie.”
His body stiffened and I wondered if he was jealous. He had no reason to be.
“Charlie and I were best friends. We talked about everything. Liked the same things. Did everything together. But sex wasn’t what our relationship was about. It was a passing act and that’s why, at the time, I thought he was perfect for me.”
Logan seemed to be thinking.
“And you, how many girlfriends have you had?”
Still lost in his thoughts, he mindlessly answered, “Just the two. But I’m not sure you could call them that. I never put a label on either relationship. I preferred not to.”
Interesting. Relationships were never his thing either.
I ran my finger up the scar that marred the inside of his thigh and then over the one under his eye. “These are from him. Both of them, aren’t they?”
He nodded.
Neither scar stole away from the beauty I saw in Logan, but I knew they must have been constant reminders to him. My fingers found his and I squeezed them tightly. “Logan, nothing is going to happen to me.”
He drew in a sharp breath as if he wasn’t so certain.
“Why can’t the police take
care of Tommy? You could go to them and tell them what happened to you years ago. Couldn’t they use that for Peyton’s case and maybe arrest him?”
He bristled. “It doesn’t work like that. Not in our world. There is too much corruption in the BPD, and too many bad guys on the streets. Too often, innocent people end up getting hurt.”
It was all a little surreal.
Logan’s real world was like a TV drama.
The thought saddened me. I kissed the scar under his eye. It was a part of him. Who he was. And no matter the healing, the scar left behind, the depth of the wound was deep. I knew that now.
It was late when his phone rang. Without hesitation he reached for it. “Yeah,” he answered.
Silence.
“I’ll leave now.”
Logan tossed his phone aside and kissed me sweetly. “I have to go out for a bit.”
I grabbed for his wrist before he was fully out of bed. “Who was that?”
Opening a drawer, he pulled out a pair of jeans and answered while slipping them on. “Declan. He has a possible lead on your sister.”
I hopped out of bed and started to dress too.
Logan eyed me carefully as he pulled a long-sleeved shirt over his head. “What are you doing?”
Fastening my bra, I told him, “Getting dressed.”
Sitting on the bed, he shoved on a pair of Converse sneakers that had seen better days and asked, “Why?”
“I’m coming with you.”
Tying his second sneaker, he stood up.
I had my white shirt on now and was looking for my panties.
“Elle.” He was right in front of me, crouching down to meet my eyes. “No, you’re not.”
“She’s my sister.” My voice pulsed with anger.
“And I’ll tell you what I find out as soon as I know anything. This is a fishing expedition. I have no idea if the girl Tommy was seen with was even your sister. And I have no idea who is hanging around waiting for her. I don’t want anyone to suspect you are even looking for her. As far as the world knows, you believe she’s in rehab. Leave it that way.”
Not that he didn’t have a point, because he did. I just didn’t like it. “You’ll call me as soon as you know anything.”
He kissed me in that sweet way he had a few times now. “Yes,” he whispered, and then he tugged me toward him by the front seam of my shirt. “And keep this on. You look sexy as hell in it.”
My blood ran warm like a shot of tequila going down after the third one.
Opening a drawer, he pulled some money out, then grabbed his phone and started for the doorway. I followed him into the suite and watched as he checked his gun before tucking it behind him.
Logan looked at me one last time and then he was out the door.
I glanced around at the vanilla-colored walls and heard a pelting of sorts. When I turned my head toward the massive bank of windows, I noticed the doors were still open and I could see hail as it hit the terrace. My sister always said when it hailed that God was shooting bullets from the sky.
I hoped that wasn’t a sign.
DAY 5
LOGAN
The legend of Killian “the Killer” McPherson was like a shadow over me.
Mostly it was dark and looming, but sometimes it was a blessing in disguise.
Everywhere I went, if people knew me, they moved out of my way. If I asked a question, they answered. If I needed something, they gave it to me.
Tonight wouldn’t be any different.
I was certain of that.
Still, there was a taut awareness in every muscle of my body. I felt confident. Ready to do what I had to in order to find out what the fuck was going on.
Declan was sitting in the lobby of the Seaport Hotel. He couldn’t look more out of place in the regal yet stuffy hotel that screamed aristocratic affiliations. Not that I looked like I fit in much more tonight.
“What’s going on?” I asked him, slipping into the plush beige club chair beside him.
He wiped his hands on his worn jeans. “Miles Murphy, my buddy who works security, said he’s seen someone matching Tommy’s description coming in and out of here with a redhead as little as three or four days ago.”
My brows rose in confusion. “Days or months?” I asked in clarification.
Declan’s silver hoop earrings glinted off the light of the chandeliers that flanked the room.
It made me a little jumpy.
“Days.”
Something keen to excitement whirled in my gut. “Does he know what he’s been doing here?”
Declan shrugged. “I asked if he saw anything suspicious, but he said no. He’s pulling security tapes for me to look at.”
I was impressed. “When will he have them?”
“His supervisor goes on break at one thirty. He said he’ll slip me into the security office then to take a look.”
I glanced at my watch. In sixty minutes I might finally get some answers.
Declan shifted in his chair. “So, I saw Peyton.”
“How was she?”
“She said she’s fine. She told me what happened, and there’s no doubt it was Tommy.”
I nodded in agreement. I didn’t have to ask him if he’d kept his mouth shut. I knew he had.
“She told me you’d walked her from the boutique to the coffee shop and back. Someone must have spotted you with her and then watched her.”
An unease was in the air. Or maybe it was my guilt. “Yeah, I know.”
Tension lined his face. “The flowers that you sent were nice.”
I nodded. I owed her so much more.
“You know, that night was the night I decided to get out.”
My skin prickled at the mention.
“What they did to that girl you were with, it made no sense.”
Something attacked me. Guilt. So fierce and raw and hard that I couldn’t breathe. I clutched at the fabric under my fingertips and couldn’t contain my snarl. “No, it didn’t.”
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. I saw what he was thinking in his eyes. He wanted to ask me why the fuck I would be seen on a popular Boston street with a girl after that night.
I’d been asking myself the same question, and stupidity was still my only answer. My head was so far up my ass worrying about Elle, no one else was on my radar. I couldn’t justify my mistake.
Time passed so fucking slow. For the rest of the time we sat in silence. Declan kept his eyes down, while mine scanned the area for any signs of Tommy or a drug trade operation. I saw neither.
“Hey, man, you ready?”
I jerked my head practically all the way around to find a guy in black security duds, built like a tank, rubbing his hands. He was definitely ex-military. From his haircut, to the frown on his face, to the type of boots on his feet.
Declan and I stood at the same time. “Yeah, let’s do this.”
The security guard’s eyes shifted to me and his nervousness was more than apparent. I was surprised, given his size, but maybe his worry was more about his job than me. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone along.”
Yes, definitely his job.
Declan cleared his throat. “Yeah, right. This is Logan McPherson. He’s the one looking for the dude I described.”
Implication—he’s Killer’s grandson.
I could tell the security guard was uneasy and I had two ways to go with this—intimidate the shit out of him or ease his fears. I wasn’t sure I could do the former and I preferred not to anyway.
It was late and the lobby was empty of visitors. I leaned over. “Show me what you got and there’s a grand in it for you.”
His shoulders straightened. “Follow me.”
We walked down a corridor, through a door marked employees only, and then down a flight of stairs. For a nice hotel, the offices were a shit hole.
Miles unlocked a door at the end of the hall and led us into an eight-by-eight room. There were a few monitors, a couple of com
puters, and large stacks of papers covering every inch of desk space.
“Over here,” he said. He sat in a rickety brown leather chair in the corner that creaked and punched a few buttons on the keypad in front of him. “Here—this is the footage from the last time I remember seeing him.”
On the screen, a black-and-white image just outside the entrance to the hotel presented itself. The date/time stamp informed me that this clip was taped this past Saturday at three ten A.M. My skin went a little clammy when I saw the prick. Tommy was the renegade supplier Patrick was looking for? Could it be? His limp was the first dead giveaway, followed by his short stature. Born with some disease that stunted his growth, he was always trying to make up for his physical impairments with his fists. Sure, he was tough, but that’s not what kept him alive. Everyone was afraid of what would happen if they dared touch him.
A few had over the years and it wasn’t them that suffered, it was their families—their sisters were raped, their fathers beaten, their mothers both.
I still didn’t know if it was Patrick or Tommy commissioning the warnings surrounding Elle, but I knew better than to attack Tommy in a physical way. I wasn’t afraid of what he’d do to me, but I feared what he’d do those around me. Especially Elle, if he found out about us.
Refocusing on the screen, I bit back the bile rushing up my throat. He hadn’t changed—dark hair bleached blond with roots the color of midnight, black bushy eyebrows, and beady eyes.
He was standing casually in the arrival area with a leg propped up against the limestone wall and a cigarette between his lips.
A cab pulled up and he dropped his cigarette and toed it out. A smile came across his lips as he started walking. A woman got out of the cab and he approached her. She was dressed in black, all black, but the red hair told me who she probably was.
Lizzy.
The angle of the camera only allowed me to see the back of her, though, so I couldn’t be certain. Tommy paid the cab driver and it was then that I noticed she had nothing on her—not a coat, not a purse—but she was holding something in her hand.
