by Rien Gray
I flicker my eyes upward to meet hers and find a longing that threatens to devour me on the spot. I strip Justine’s panties down her legs, far slower than I have to, refusing to break that gaze until there’s nothing between me and dark, slick curls but air. When her knees part wider, revealing the swollen folds of her pussy, it’s impossible to resist.
I bow my head, letting Justine soak my lips before my tongue gets to work.
Chapter Nine
JUSTINE
Oh god, their fucking mouth.
If I didn’t have one hand buried in the back of Campbell’s hair, both of them would be gripping the sheets until my knuckles ached. It starts as a slow exploration, learning the shape of me with long, deliberate strokes until they’ve teased their way up to my clit. Then it’s all heat and the pressure of Campbell’s lips, capturing that sensitive swell as a moan forces its way out of my throat.
They never stop moving, relentless but precise, seeking out every little spot that makes me squirm or jerk my hips. A broad sweep of Campbell’s tongue spreads me open before they delve lower, the first shallow thrust into my pussy making me shudder. My nails scrape down the nape of their neck, and the groan muffled between my thighs sends a wave of pleasure pulsing through me.
I was expecting a hundred different things when they brought me to the hotel—to be pushed to my knees, to be taken against the door without a care for the bed at all, but not this ravenous worship. They suck at my clit until a whine is captured between my teeth, stopping at the verge of oversensitivity to plunge back inside me again, swift and hungry.
Campbell uses their arms to lock my legs in place, hooked tight so I have no place to go that isn’t rocking my hips against their mouth, seeking more friction. Every lick against my folds feels like they’re savoring me, trying to drink down every drop as the tide of sensation rises and recedes, coming back stronger every time. Tension coils low in the pit of my stomach, and I ache when Campbell stops, pulling away to look up at me.
“Please, don’t…” It’s hard to fit words together when I just want to drag their head back down until there’s nothing but release. “Campbell.”
“The more desperate you get, the more you say my name.” They smile, wolfish. I’m at their mercy, and there’s no pretending otherwise; touching myself couldn’t possibly compare to Campbell’s lavish attention. I missed this, being desired without any other motive. “How many times should I make you come, Justine?”
I clench around nothing, the tell trembling up my thighs and against Campbell’s grasp. “Until your name is the only thing I can say.”
That must be the right answer because their tongue is back at my clit, lapping in eager strokes. I press one of my heels hard against Campbell’s back as I get closer to the edge of release, but they don’t seem to mind at all. Which is a good thing since I’m not sure I can stop myself when I’m bucking against their mouth, chasing every bit of pleasure I can get. I don’t remember the last time someone wanted me this much, focused on nothing but making me come.
I do the moment Campbell kisses my clit, sucking hard until my whole body is drawn to that single aching point. Orgasm comes in a hot rush, flooding my whole body with bliss as I twist against the bed, my hand locked in an iron grip against chestnut hair. Campbell doesn’t stop until I’m panting for breath, a quiver going through my thighs with every echo of ecstasy.
Gray eyes watch me come back down, and when my fingers relax, I stroke back through Campbell’s hair. The touch is simple, but one I’ve been given permission for, and even that shred of intimacy is enough to sate a very different sort of ache lingering around my heart. It’s been there for so long I’d put it out of my mind until now.
“You look so content when I’ve only gotten started.” Campbell might be able to keep lust from reaching their eyes, but I can hear it in the tenor of their voice. I like it; I want more. “But if you’re tired already…”
I pull Campbell’s hair and have to stifle a moan when their laugh vibrates right between my thighs. “Not until you wear your jaw out, killer.”
They don’t hesitate. Campbell’s gaze is sharp as a blade as their mouth surrounds me again, where I’m twice as sensitive before. I curse under my breath as they spread my legs wider, but I’m surprised when Campbell lets one of them go. It doesn’t make sense until fingertips brush against the entrance of my pussy, and I encourage the contact with a moan.
One finger thrusts forward, moving in tandem with their tongue. It’s a slow stretch, easing into me, but I’m so wet there’s no resistance at all. When Campbell adds a second, I gasp, and it hits me that these are the same hands they kill with, the ones that are going to cut Richard right out of my life.
I squeeze tight around their fingers and hiss Campbell’s name between my teeth, every flicker of their tongue against my clit adding another spark of pleasure to the mix. Each time they thrust deep, a slick sound betrays my arousal, but how could I be anything but dripping with what they’re doing to me?
“You feel so good.” I have no idea how they feel about praise, but there’s nothing else to say when it’s the truth. “Keep fucking me. Harder. Harder, please…”
At first, they don’t listen, staying to that even rhythm, tongue toying with me in slower strokes. It’s not until I moan Campbell’s name again that the next thrusts become more forceful, pumping deep into me. I arch my back off the bed when they curl their fingers, providing a delicious pressure that draws out a tremble from head to toe.
The first orgasm was like popping a cork, the kind of relief that only comes after being pent up for so long. This feels different but just as good, pleasure building for pleasure’s sake. Whenever I tighten around Campbell’s fingers, that approaching peak gets higher.
They must sense it because the flat of Campbell’s tongue presses flush against my clit before their hand picks up its rhythm. Each thrust sinks them to the knuckle, filling me over and over until all I can do is cry out. I come around their fingers with a whimper, twisting my face back against the pillow as if it will stifle the sound.
Recovering with ragged breaths, I shiver as Campbell’s weight shifts, making their fingers briefly twist. It’s a delightful sensation, one I haven’t indulged in for years.
“Open your eyes, Justine.”
I do, and find Campbell’s face an inch from mine, my arousal shining slick across their mouth and chin. Tilting my head up, I kiss them and taste myself, biting into the swell of Campbell’s lower lip. They groan, but then their hand starts to move again, and it’s my turn to stifle a cry against their mouth.
“I don’t want you to look away from me, understand?” Campbell whispers.
Every thrust is slow and deep, so I can’t mistake how far they’re inside me. I have to steal another quick inhale to figure out how to form words again. “I understand.”
After two orgasms back to back, I’m attuned to Campbell’s every touch. I’m so sensitive, but wet enough to give in the second they add a third finger. Their thumb draws a half-circle around the hood of my clit, and even that near miss is enough to make me jerk my hips up against their hand.
It’s impossible to focus on anything but that movement and the depth of their eyes, watching my face as if they’re memorizing every reaction. Maybe they are. The warm, tender ache between my thighs sharpens with need as Campbell’s pace builds, fingers curling against a certain spot deep within. A staggered curse leaves my lips, and I grab at their shoulders hard enough to bruise.
“Campbell.” Another clever circle around my clit and tension tightens low in my stomach, taut as wire and burning like gold. It’s almost too much, but I want to come for them one more time. “Campbell—”
“You’re so close,” they whisper, “don’t fight me.”
Their mouth brands my throat with hot, biting kisses, and every little spark of pain is a new catalyst for my desire. I wonder if Campbell is leaving marks, but spread open by their fingers and rocking my hips to get them tha
t much deeper, I don’t care. I’d pay to see the look on Richard’s face if he caught me coming home, well fucked and finally satisfied.
That thought pushes me over the edge, and it’s everything I can do not to close my eyes as pleasure takes over everything else. Campbell stays braced above me as I thrash beneath them, their fingers continuing to thrust until I pull at their shirt, shaking from the overload of sensation. “I can’t…”
“All right.” Campbell’s hand withdraws, and even though I asked for it, the sudden absence is enough to make me shiver. “I think I have my promise’s worth.”
They might, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get away with a little bit more. I reach down between our bodies, capture Campbell’s wrist, and bring their hand up to my lips. I kiss the top of their fingers, holding that gray gaze before bringing them into my mouth. They’re slick up to the knuckles with my arousal. I clean every drop of it away with my tongue, and Campbell watches until the only thing I can taste is their skin.
“Temptress.” Campbell turns their wrist, breaking my grasp. “I didn’t say you could touch me there.”
“Does it really count?” I smile, watching as they sit up. Our hips meet for all of a second, and if I wasn’t already exhausted with pleasure, I’d tempt Campbell for more. “Considering where your hand’s been.”
Languor leaves me listless as Campbell gets off the bed. I turn on my side to watch them, wanting to reach out. My gut instinct tells me better, letting them take the distance they need. I feel a little better when they flash a hint of a smile my way.
“I’m a huge fan of technicalities, so I’ll let that one go.”
I laugh, following Campbell with my eyes as they disappear into the bathroom. The sink turns on, water blotting out every other sound until it’s off again. They reemerge with dry hands and a clean mouth, shirt unbuttoned all the way down to their hips. The glimpse of sculpted muscle along their stomach is truly, deeply distracting. Question is, how do I talk them into getting that shirt the rest of the way off?
They take off their shoes, leaving them next to a heavy black crate. I hadn’t noticed it when we first came inside. A tumbler lock is on the front, the numbers spun to zero. Campbell’s belt clicks as they open the buckle, and I drop my voice low and teasing.
“Are you going to use something in that box on me, or take care of the rest yourself?”
Their hands still, and when my eyes flicker up to Campbell’s face, I find an empty mask in place of any expression. I swallow hard, knowing I’ve just crossed some sort of line, but I’m not sure what exactly to apologize for. After they’ve told me not to say sorry so many times, there’s a rough irony in being unable to when it’s necessary.
“Campbell,” I say softly.
“I think you should go.” They buckle their belt again, fingers walking up the buttons of their shirt and drawing them shut. “You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”
That’s definitely not in question. “Of course. But…”
“Good.” Campbell cuts me off with a faint smile. The feeling doesn’t reach their eyes. “It’s nothing personal, Justine.”
Maybe not, but I still want to know where I overstepped. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Do you need me to call you a car?” they ask, which doesn’t answer my question at all. “Or are you taking the train back to Oak Park?”
Right. I need to pick up my car before a cop slaps a ticket on it.
With a sigh, I put my bra back on and find my underwear where it was abandoned at the end of the bed. Standing on unsteady legs, I zip my skirt back up and throw my blouse on over my shoulders. I’m busy buttoning it up when I realize I have another question I need to ask.
“I’ll call my own car.” Brushing my hair with a quick rake of my fingers, I hope it’s not mussed enough to draw attention. “Do I…need to cover anything?”
Campbell’s eyes sweep over me. It’s a methodical examination, lustless, so utterly unlike a moment before. “You might want to wash off your makeup in the bathroom, but otherwise you’re fine.”
I step past them into the bathroom without another word. The mirror looks like it’s been hanging there for fifty years, but it’s polished and spotless. My eyes are dark and wide in the reflection, lipstick awry, and a flush of pink and red is fading along my neck. I definitely missed a button halfway up my blouse.
Splashing my face with cold water helps some, even if the combination of the warm, full satisfaction between my legs doesn’t match the nervous wrench in my stomach. I banish what’s left of my makeup and leave the bathroom after fixing my shirt.
Campbell is sitting at their computer and doesn’t look up when I come back in. The warm darkness now feels like an icebox. I take that as the dismissal it is and leave the hotel room before I can make another mistake.
Cool Chicago air whips across my skin, and I shudder while heading toward the front gate. As far as having sex goes, this is the first time the one-sidedness has ever been in my favor. I shouldn’t complain when this is the best I’ve felt in years.
Except I still want to know what’s in that crate. Was it just an excuse because they didn’t want me to reciprocate, or something else entirely?
Chapter Ten
CAMPBELL
Her taste lingers on the back of my tongue.
It’s a potent distraction compared to the dull necessity of examining blueprints and marking out the last details from the photos I took. Richard has a nice clean gap between one of his classes and when office hours officially start, and I’ll take another few days of observation to make sure he doesn’t have a habit of company during that time. Security will be no problem on a campus that size as long as I don’t make too much noise on my way out.
The timeline has Justine at work, but I’ll make sure she reinforces her alibi in a few other ways, just in case. I didn’t get my reputation by taking half measures, and it’s simply easier when the police have no reason to be suspicious at all.
Justine.
It’s too bad I won’t have the chance to tell Richard I took his wife to bed before I kill him. The look on his face would be priceless, but I need the element of surprise for a clean execution, and talking makes things messy.
I already know so much about both of them. They each offered me a scalpel to cut into the heart of their lives, their marriage. Richard was a lot more self-aggrandizing, but that’s to be expected. He wanted an easy escape, and she wants vengeance.
My notes are solid. I have enough time to get into Richard’s office and set up my rope trick, cut him down, and do a little rearrangement. Over thirty thousand people die a year from slipping and falling, often in the workplace. Most cops can’t even fathom the mechanics of what I do to suspect it, much less steer the investigation that way. Between contracts, I read a lot of forensic papers to make sure none of them are catching on.
If I’m real lucky, he’ll already be drinking. With any alcohol in the system, Richard skips from having a suspicious death right to being yet another preventable tragedy. Maybe the college will do a PSA about it. I smile, marking the last blueprint before pulling up my notes on the laptop.
Not a single blank is left. Birthday, blood type—university health systems are painfully insecure—and as many living relatives as a fine-toothed sweep could give me. That’s an extra precaution; I’ve known contractors who killed someone in witness protection without knowing it, or wiped out the sibling of a CIA agent. That kind of heat can end anyone’s career, and it’s not a good way to go.
I hover over the file folder, wondering how voyeuristic it would be to look at the notes I have on Justine. It’s not like I need them when the real woman was just with me, but there are a couple of pictures inside.
Two buzzes ripple through my phone: an incoming call.
“Hello?”
Sofia clears her throat before answering. “Hey. Got a minute?”
“That depends.” I lean back in my seat, letting my eyes drift away from t
he screen; better to not have the distraction. “Good news or bad news?”
“You sound…different.” The last word rolls over her tongue like a piece of hard candy. “Relaxed.”
She’s too smart; it’s why I fund her retainer a year ahead of schedule. “When am I ever not relaxed?”
“You’re confident and in control. There’s a difference between that and what’s going on right now.” Sofia clicks her tongue. “Oh, I see. Never mind.”
Now she’s toying with me. We’ve known each other far too long for that. “Sofia.”
“There were three possibilities. But you don’t drink and never get high, which leaves you getting laid, and that is absolutely none of my business.”
I laugh. “Why did you call, then?”
“Let me check my notes. I’m still stuck on you being warm-blooded.” Papers rustle over the line. “Oh, there it is. A new contract came up.”
I’m busy this month. “Where and when?”
“Across the pond, whenever you’re available.” Sofia taps a pen against her desk twice in quick succession. “Okay, who was she?”
“You’re very fixated on this,” I say, amused. “And who said it was a ‘she’?”
“I’ve background checked enough women for you to know when it’s about work and when it isn’t.” Another tap. “But you didn’t ask me this time.”
It’s a good thing I pay her to keep me out of prison. Sofia would have me locked up in a heartbeat if she were on the opposite side of the courtroom.
“Don’t worry about it.” She will, but it doesn’t have to be a federal case—so to speak.
“A client?” It takes a lot to surprise her; this is almost worth the trade-off. “Is it—”