Southernmost Murder

by C. S. Poe

“I have to make some phone calls,” I snapped. I wasn’t mad at him. I was mad at Tillman. And dead Cassidy. And Skelly. And Ghost Smith. And—God, I was just angry! Why was all of this bullshit happening? Why now, when all I wanted was to spend a week and a half with Jun before he went back to New York and God only knew when we’d see each other again?

  Jun came up behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and dug into the knotted muscles. “It’s after eleven,” he said, voice still calm. “You don’t need to be waking up staff tonight when there’s nothing that can be done. Call first thing in the morning, once you’ve gotten some rest.”

  Read: Once you’ve come down from that twelve out of ten on the rage scale.

  I shrugged his hands off and marched into the kitchen, where I began rummaging through the cupboards. I had Jolly Ranchers and Starbursts in there somewhere, and I needed to stuff those bags in my face right now.

  “What’re you looking for?” Jun asked.

  “Candy. Before I light up because I’m really stressed out!” I didn’t mean to yell, but I’d found my breaking point that night, and it was dealing with murder. I just—nope. Nope, nope, a thousand times, nope. Hashtag nope.

  I heard Jun’s quiet steps go upstairs, and I realized I’d probably pissed him off. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and here I was, shouting at him like it was his fault I couldn’t find my sugar and artificial color, Red #40. I slammed the upper cupboards shut and started pawing through the bottom ones, full of dry foods and pots and pans. Maybe I’d eaten them all and forgot to replenish stock.

  Uuugh.

  I stood and went to the fridge to read the grocery list I kept held in place with a Cthulhu magnet. Soy milk, scallops, celery, potatoes, candy—crap. I sighed and thumped my forehead against the fridge. I could hear Jun coming back down the spiral staircase and entering the kitchen. Then I smelled tobacco under my nose and looked to the side.

  Jun was holding a cigarette out.

  “I haven’t had one for a month,” I protested weakly, taking it.

  “I won’t say anything.”

  Fuck it. One wouldn’t kill me.

  Well. I said that back when I was sixteen, too, and here I was, thirty-eight and trying to quit. It’d kill me eventually.

  “Just one. And I need to pick up some candy tomorrow.”

  “All right.”

  I put the cigarette to my lips, and Jun held a lighter out, cupping a hand around the flame as he lit the end for me. Sweet, delicious nicotine. I missed you so much!

  “Better?”

  I nodded and blew the smoke out to one side. “Better,” I reluctantly agreed. I went to the sink to use it as an ashtray, since in my bold attempt to quit, I’d thrown all of mine out. “Why do you have cigarettes? I thought you quit years ago.”

  Jun moved to stand in front of me. “I always keep a pack around.”

  “For emergencies?”

  “You never know.”

  I snorted and brought the cigarette to my lips again. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  I didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I tried to not think of anything but inhale, exhale, and tap the ash. I was like Joe Pesci when I was agitated. Not a pretty scene, and I definitely didn’t want Jun to remember my kitchen freak-out as one of the highlights of his trip.

  I looked up. Jun was staring. “How did I land someone like you?” I asked. It was more of an internal thought, but it sort of slipped out. Once, Jun had been nothing to me but my boyfriend’s partner. And now…. Now he was everything to me.

  “That’s what I’ve been asking myself all day,” Jun answered. He put his hands on either side of the sink, keeping me pinned where I was.

  “Ever think that sometimes we have to get royally screwed over so we can appreciate life better?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Matt was a shitty boyfriend,” I stated.

  Jun nodded but didn’t say anything. Maybe out of respect for the fact that they’d worked together for several years.

  “And I fell for that hardass, bad-boy vibe,” I continued. “Even when he treated me poorly, I just took it because he was this guy who was big and strong and so much cooler than me. When he cheated, I thought—you know, he must have had a reason. So there had to be something wrong with me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” Jun answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

  I stared at my nearly finished cigarette. “When I met you, the voice of reason that kept Matt from putting his foot in his mouth, I think that’s when I started liking you. You were always so calm and collected. I enjoyed hanging out with you. I should have recognized back then that you were so obviously the better choice, but… maybe I would have never learned how you felt if Matt hadn’t been the way he was.” I reached awkwardly around Jun’s arms to tap ash off the cigarette. “Would you have ever called me on your own? If Sebastian never reached out to the FBI?”

  Jun’s gaze sort of wandered. “I’m not sure.”

  I took another drag from the cigarette.

  Jun looked at me again. “I was in love with you for a long time, even after you moved. It felt like a part of me left with you.”

  Jesus Christ. My hand with the cigarette shook a little.

  “It would have hurt if you didn’t want to renew our friendship. But I… think I couldn’t bear having my heart broken again, having you in my life once more and still keeping at arm’s length.”

  “But you did call,” I said, managing to not have my voice crack as I spoke.

  Jun smiled a little. “Because you’d given my name to Sebastian, not Matt’s. I thought… you remembered me for a reason.”

  “I’m glad you did,” I insisted. “Duh, right?”

  Jun’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “Duh,” he agreed.

  I put my free hand on his slender hip. “Dating the wrong guy taught me a lot. And I can be dense. I need hands-on learning activities.”

  Jun chuckled. He reached for my cigarette and took the last drag. He dropped the butt into the sink and exhaled slowly. “I love you very much. And I’m honored you’ve given me a chance to earn hearing those words from you.”

  My throat tightened. How the hell did Jun get away with saying things like that and still come off as cool and suave and utterly sincere? I reached up with both hands and put them around the back of his neck. I pulled Jun down to me.

  Our mouths touched.

  Simple, sweet, and with just a bite of nicotine.

  Chapter Six

  THERE HADN’T been sex.

  In fact, I was lucky I’d even managed to make it upstairs after the cigarette and kiss, because I was so tired, I thought I’d puke and pass out. It was the kind of fatigue that made your skin hurt. Totally brutal, but somehow I’d navigated the stairs, changed into pajamas, and even remained vertical long enough to take a leak.

  Anyway, I slept like I was dead. But the life of a narcoleptic was both too much sleep and never enough, and all good things came to an end.

  I customized my alarms because life was all about the little pleasures. Nicki owned all of my scheduled nap wake-ups, and until recently Taylor had always started my mornings off. But I found her voice, lovely as it was, didn’t keep me awake at six, so now it was my longtime go-to girl, Britney.

  Because Britney. Need I say more? Didn’t think so.

  I raised my head from the pillow and stared at my phone before grunting and dropping back down. “Too early….”

  “Turn it off,” Jun murmured from behind me.

  I reached out, blindly groping for the phone before silencing the alarm.

  Jun sighed, rolled over, and pressed against my back. He slid an arm around me, and his breath warmed the back of my neck. I touched his arm briefly, and holy shit! He wasn’t even flexing and it was like a rock.

  “Good lord,” I muttered, voice raspy. “You are deceptively jacked.”

  Jun gave a sleepy laugh and tightened his embrace. His cock pressed against me,
sliding into place between my cheeks with only our thin cotton pants separating us. He was hard and ready to go if I gave the word. Nice to know everything downstairs was in perfect working order.

  “Time to get up,” I said against the pillow, words a bit slurred.

  “Yeah?” he asked, making no attempt to move.

  “I don’t want to mess up my schedule. Six o’clock, time to go.”

  Jun hummed and loosened his hold on me. He slid his hand along the slight curve of my body and rested it briefly on my hip before letting go entirely. “I’ll start a pot of coffee,” he said, sitting up.

  “Oh, wait, it’s decaf,” I replied, turning to watch him.

  Jun put his glasses on and gave me a critical look.

  “I bought some regular grounds for you. In the cupboard above the coffeepot, on the left.”

  He leaned over and kissed me so gently, it was like a whisper, then went into the bathroom. Jun came out a moment later, looking far more refreshed and alert than I ever hoped to be in the morning. I sat up in bed so I could lean over and watch him go downstairs. Jun was fucking ripped and I’d been too tired the night before to even notice. He wasn’t a bulky guy, just 100 percent lean muscle.

  Jun walking around shirtless was going to give me a case of the vapors.

  By the time I’d stumbled out of bed and brushed my teeth, I could smell coffee perking in the kitchen. I yanked a ratty T-shirt on, took my phone, and made the morning commute down the stairs that I hadn’t considered a hazard when I first was looking to rent the place. But two years later, I hated myself every time I had to navigate them half-awake.

  Aubrey Grant, age thirty-eight, killed by a set of stairs. In his defense, they really brought the look of the cottage together.

  Jun held out a cup when I entered the kitchen. “I made yours first.”

  “Aww, you’re a gentleman.” I thanked him and took the mug.

  I missed normal coffee, but I had to be strict about what I ate, just like when and for how long I slept. When there was no cure for a disease, the best you could hope for was management. My doctor advised staying away from stimulants like coffee and energy drinks and taking a prescription instead.

  Jun put a new filter into the machine and started a pot for himself. “Why drink decaf?”

  “Psychological, I guess,” I said before sipping my coffee. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  He leaned against the opposite counter and crossed his arms. I was pretty sure only my libido was awake so far, because he was talking and I zoned out, thinking mostly about licking his chest. I bet Jun tasted good.

  Mmm….

  “Aubrey?”

  I startled and looked up. “What?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Were you listening?”

  I set my mug on the counter before hoisting myself up. “I admit I wasn’t.” I took another sip of coffee. “I was preoccupied.”

  “With?”

  I smirked. “Sexual fantasies.” I motioned Jun over with a little “come hither” wave.

  His crossed arms relaxed to his sides, and Jun pushed away to come stand in front of me. He put his hands on my knees, slowly spread my legs, and moved to stand between them. He stared at me again, awaiting further instruction.

  I slid forward, wrapped my legs around his waist, and locked my ankles together. “What do you want?”

  Jun swallowed. “You,” he whispered. “Any way you’ll let me.”

  In that one moment, there was nothing. Nothing in the entire world but him and me.

  “I want your mouth,” I said. “And I want it to be fucking filthy.”

  An intake of air.

  Dilated pupils.

  And then Jun crushed his lips against mine, pushed his tongue into my mouth, and shoved me farther back on the counter. He bit my lip, then moved down to suck on my neck, and it was like a direct on-switch for my dick. I gripped him hard, pressing Jun against me, encouraging him to leave a mark because fuck if I gave a single shit what people thought when they saw a deep purple hickey.

  He let up with a gasp, licking the column of my neck before kissing my mouth like a man who’d been dying of thirst and finally came upon an oasis. Jun’s taste was pure passion. Just male and heat and a clever tongue that was going to make me shoot before I’d even had a full minute of playtime.

  I managed to push him back, breaking the kiss. “Too fast.”

  “Sorry.” His hands left my body.

  “N-no, I mean, make it last a bit longer,” I said. I took Jun’s hands and put them back on my chest.

  “Oh.” He laughed, breathless.

  I grabbed a fistful of his hair, and he gasped again. “Suck me.”

  “Yes,” Jun said obediently, a tremble in his voice. He slid his thumbs into the waistline of my pants and tugged them down with a bit of shifting about on my part.

  My cock jutted straight up as it was freed from my pajamas. The head was already oozing precum from just a few heavy kisses, so if there was any doubt regarding whether I was digging the control I had over Jun in bedroom matters, that flew wherever my pants had gone. Jun took his glasses off and set them on the counter before he planted his hands on either side of me and leaned down.

  “Kiss it,” I ordered.

  Jun’s hot lips pressed against the head, kissing over and over as he worked down the length to my balls.

  I swore quietly. “You speak three languages, and I bet give the best head in the world too,” I murmured, watching Jun. “What can’t that tongue do?”

  Jun’s breath was hot against my balls, and that goddamn glorious tongue snuck out to give each a good lick.

  I hummed in the back of my throat and reached down to hold the base of my cock. I tapped it against Jun’s cheek and left a glistening spot of spit and precum. “Show me how much you can take.”

  Jun groaned like he was coming apart at the seams, and I reveled in it. Jun deep-throated me, his knuckles turning white and his biceps flexing as he gripped the counter. I loved that this handsome, strapping, dangerous man had my cock stuffed down his throat because I’d ordered him to.

  “Fuck,” I moaned, one hand still holding a fistful of hair. “I bet you could come right now, just from getting me off, right?”

  Jun let up a bit on my cock, managing a strangled whimper as he sucked the head and swirled his tongue around the crown.

  “Oh God!” I gripped his head in both hands, leaning over as Jun stroked my orgasm closer with each swipe of his tongue. My breath came out hard and erratic, and my stomach clenched. “Jun—Jun, yes! I’m close! Fuck, I want you to come right now!”

  I felt his body tense and shudder just then. And that revelation—that I really had managed to get Jun off by more or less telling him to—made the floodgates open. The first spurt erupted in Jun’s mouth before I could find my voice to warn him. The second hit his lips and cheek as he pulled off, and a weak third dribbled down his chin.

  My hands slid from Jun’s head and my arms hung limp at my sides. My head thumped back against the cupboard door. “Jesus.”

  Jun stood straight, wiping my cum from his face with a thumb and licking it clean.

  Holy every-expletive-known-to-man.

  I tried to say something, but it came out like a half-assed grunt.

  “Filthy enough?” Jun asked.

  I started laughing. I’d shot my load on his face, he was licking it off, and had to ask if it was filthy enough? “What do you think?”

  Jun smiled.

  I slowly sat up, gripping his biceps. “I think we work pretty well together.”

  He nodded and curled a hand around my cheek and jaw. Jun leaned close and kissed me, sharing the taste of myself. “I’ve waited a long time to do that,” he whispered.

  “You know what they say about delayed gratification.”

  Jun chuckled. “Three years of wanting to blow you is pushing it, and I’m a patient man.”

  “I plan to test every ounce of patience you have,” I murmur
ed. “I’ll make you putty in my hands.”

  Jun’s lips parted, and he kissed me a bit harder, our tongues twining together briefly before he finally pulled back. “I should shower.”

  “I should clean the counter.”

  He laughed and went to fetch my discarded pants.

  I hopped down, taking the offered clothing. “I’ll start breakfast while you clean up.”

  “Okay.” He combed his fingers through my hair and left the kitchen.

  I stood still, listening as Jun’s footsteps vanished up the stairs, and I was left alone in the kitchen to fan my face with a pot holder. Nothing like a morning romp to get the blood pumping.

  I scrubbed the counter clean of sweat and any wayward cum shots while eyeing my phone in its bright pink case sitting beside my now-cold coffee.

  Damn it.

  I called the housecleaner and kept last night’s news vague—the Smith Home was closed for a few days, no need to come by. Then I called Herb and the two other part-time tour guides. I was a little more honest with them—the house was closed by the police for a few days because of intruder activity last night, and someone had been hurt. Frankly, I think they were all happy to have a few extra days off during the busy season.

  Adam was the only employee I leveled with.

  “A murder?” he shouted.

  “Yeah.” I propped the phone between my ear and shoulder so I could rummage through the fridge. “The motion detector went off last night, but when Jun and I got there, someone had actually broken in.”

  “And died,” Adam concluded.

  “It was Lou Cassidy.”

  “The pirate guy?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Oh my God. This is…. I thought this kind of stuff didn’t happen down here. Awful…,” he murmured, voice quieting on the other end.

  I pulled out a few containers of berries and a big avocado from the fridge. “Whoever else had been in the house stabbed him in the chest with Smith’s marlinespike.”

  “Holy…,” Adam said, sort of breathless. “God. I… I just bumped into him at the grocery store the other day. He’s really dead?”

  “Really,” I said. “I’m sorry. I know this is not the sort of phone call you want early in the morning.”