Love Kills Twice

by Rien Gray

  It’s an easy rhythm to fall into, encouraged by the palm resting at the back of my head. There’s no force, just a pressure that never quite lets them escape my mouth. The scent of sex and sweat spills across my senses, salt lingering on the back of my tongue as I lick around the head and delve back down. When my nose brushes the bronze teeth of their zipper, my name leaves Campbell’s lips like a prayer.

  I wonder if I can make them come, if this will be enough, but when I reach for the black leather of their belt, wanting to bare Campbell even more, their fingers sink into my hair and form an iron grip. I’m panting when they pull me off their shaft, but I’m stopped from asking why when I see a square foil packet between the fingers of Campbell’s other hand.

  They gesture with the condom. “Do you want to put this on, or should I?”

  It doesn’t take a genius to put together what’s happening next, and the wet, aching heat trapped between my thighs answers with a heavy pulse of need. “I’ll do it.”

  The latex rolls on with ease, and I rise with Campbell’s grip, a quiver passing through my knees. It’s a twinge, more painful than pleasurable, and I’m about to curse the hardwood floor when Campbell steadies me. Fingers brace my hips, my thighs, and then I’m lifted up against the door, their hips slotting against mine. They’re firm and ready against my stomach, pressing through dark linen.

  “You have no idea how tempting it was to let you stay down there,” Campbell says, then kisses me, hard.

  I return it, biting their lip. My tongue soothes the press of teeth, and I grip their shoulders tight so they can spare a hand to hike my dress up and out of the way. “How long would it have taken until you were fucking my mouth? Or are you too restrained for that?”

  Their laugh is short, but the reaction is so sweet. “If you like being choked that way too, I can arrange it.”

  “Later.” I put that fantasy into the air, like a promise. “I want you in me.”

  I want, I want, I want, and Campbell’s fingers find proof that I’m wet, that there are no barriers left between us. Campbell teases my pussy in slow strokes until I gasp, hips jerking forward, trying to rub against their shaft as if that friction will sever their last thread of patience. Instead, it destroys mine, forcing a needy moan from my lips.

  “Campbell⁠—”

  Their hand leaves me, and it would be a torment if Campbell didn’t press hard inside me with their next breath, filling me to the last inch. I have to relax to take them all in, but I savor the stretch, pleasure sparking electric through my whole body.

  They’re so close, close enough for me to read their eyes. They’re not looking anywhere else, not thinking about anyone else but me.

  I’d give up a lot more than Richard for it to stay this way.

  Chapter Twelve

  CAMPBELL

  I should have been satisfied after the first time, but it wasn’t enough.

  Justine let me know her body, her taste, her touch. Curiosity’s spark might have been sated, but the rest of me stayed hungry. So hungry I called the moment the ink dried on my plans to kill Richard, knowing there was one night left for us. When she answered without hesitation, it lit a fire inside that refused to go out as I waited, burning white and blinding the second we kissed again.

  Now that I’m moving inside Justine, it’s so hot I can barely think. She clutches me close as I find a rhythm, bringing our bodies together so she’s pinned back against the door. I tighten my grip under Justine’s thighs, right along the swell of her ass, and roll my hips into another firm thrust. I’m not rushing this, but I want her to feel all of me, as deep as she can.

  “I wondered if you would make me wait,” I whisper, looking deep into Justine’s eyes. They’re black with desire, brilliant with need. “If I’d overplayed my hand.”

  “As if I could stay away from you after last time,” she gasps.

  That was part of my calculations, but I’d never say such a thing out loud. Instead, I sink into her again, reveling in the way Justine clenches tight like she’s not going to let me go. Her nails bite through my shirt, and the faint ache spurs me on, pleasure racing a bolt of lightning up my spine every time I thrust hilt-deep. She fits perfectly around my shaft, so wet there’s not even a hint of resistance.

  “More,” Justine says, pulling me into another messy kiss before she murmurs, “I can take it.”

  I smile against her lips, keeping my pace restrained despite the immediate temptation. “Oh, I know you can take it. The question is, do I want to give it to you?”

  “Now who’s being a tease?” One hand slides up to grip the back of my neck, fingers tapering through my hair. “Like I can’t feel how hard you are.”

  She rolls her hips down at the same time I push up, and we groan in unison. I could keep up the game, or I could take what I want. Right now, what I want is to take Justine to her very limit, to have her scream my name until she’s hoarse. So I bare my teeth, giving her just a second to register the predatory look, and start to move inside her exactly like she needs: hard, fast, and relentless.

  “Fuck.” Justine rakes five hot lines down my back before she throws her head back and moans, shaking with pleasure. “Campbell, don’t stop, don’t you dare⁠—”

  I’m half tempted to dare just to see what she’ll do, but it’s so much better to feel Justine like this, giving in while still demanding more. I kiss down the line of her jaw, scraping my teeth along her throat, and she gasps high and sharp. Maybe I can’t leave the wrong sort of marks, but I can make her dream about it, the same way I’m sure she’s dreamed about my fingers wrapped around her throat.

  “Can you come like this?” I growl, so focused on fucking her my senses collapse to that single primal drive. Justine is malleable as gold under my hands, searing hot as I taste the sweat off her skin. “Or do you need something else?”

  “I can, I…” She gulps down a ragged breath, followed by a curse when I don’t stop to hear her answer. I’m not sure I ever want to stop. “If you keep going, Campbell. Use me.”

  Burying my face in the curve of Justine’s neck, I do just that. It would be selfish if she hadn’t asked for it, pumping my hips like a beast in heat, but the moment Justine starts to whimper and tremble, I know she’s getting close. I am, too, chasing that sweet friction with every thrust, but I can make myself last. I will, for her.

  She claws at me as she comes, crying out with every tight pulse of pleasure as if there’s so much tension inside trying to escape her it’s trying to pour right through my skin. I’m wild with it, continuing to move while my name leaves her lips in shattered syllables.

  “Are you close?” Justine gasps. “T-take what you need.”

  My hips jerk, bliss spilling through my body in hot, short bursts, and Justine holds me through it, her fingers tangled in my hair to keep me cradled against her shoulder. Instinct keeps me thrusting until we’re both at our limit, panting and flushed with afterglow. I sink back into her one more time, keeping our hips locked together as our eyes meet again.

  Justine’s hair is a beautiful mess, spilling in waves down her shoulders every which way and that. A few strands cling to the column of her throat, rising with quickened breaths. Her lipstick is half in ruin, the scent of sex sticking between us and warring with the dark rose notes of Justine’s perfume.

  “I’m going to fall if you let me go,” she says breathlessly, and when I smile, a little laugh leaves her lips. “Fine, be smug. My knees couldn’t take it, not after the floor.”

  “Does that mean you need me to play nice?” With a careful shift of my weight, Justine’s heels meet the hardwood again. Her legs tremble, but I’m holding on, savoring the quiver of muscle under my fingertips. “I don’t mind.”

  She kisses me again, slow and deep this time. “How about you take me to bed so we don’t have to worry about my knees at all?”

  I have to pull out to do that, and Justine hisses through clenched teeth when it happens. My eyes flicker downward, taking in
the thatch of black curls between her thighs, the slickness painted clear on smooth, flushed skin. The condom comes off without issue, although it’s a bit more difficult to zip up into my pants.

  “Someone’s getting distracted,” Justine teases, drawing my eyes back up.

  I raise a brow, and the next sound out of Justine’s mouth is a yelp of surprise as I sweep her off her feet. It only takes a few steps before I deposit her on the bed, but she shivers when her back meets the cool sheets.

  “You’re unbelievable,” she murmurs. “Now get your clothes off.”

  Justine gets what she wants, but only after I strip her out of that pretty dress. I have her again with her legs spread wide, kneeling between them while I worship her pussy with lips and tongue, adding my fingers one by one until there’s nothing more she can take. It’s even better than the first time, coaxing out another orgasm with Justine wet against my mouth and fluttering around my hand all at once.

  When she draws me up against her for another kiss, one hand falls between my legs, and I tense up. “I’m fine.”

  “Sorry.” It’s a soft, genuine apology, not the guilt-laden reflex I’ve heard from her before, so I let it go. “I feel greedy. You always give more than you take.”

  “It’s what I prefer,” I admit, and settle down on my back next to her, belaying the temptation to bring our bodies together again. This felt good, but I have to keep my head on straight so the mask doesn’t drop too far.

  She presses against my side, fluid with languor. Fingertips brush up my stomach and along my ribs, tracing the eagle tattooed there, gripping a sword and key.

  “That’s an army thing, right?” Justine murmurs, and I bite my tongue. “I should have known you were military. You’ve grown out the hair a bit, but…”

  “I really need to get that ink removed,” I comment, clipped and dry.

  With her cheek on my shoulder, I feel Justine frown. “Why?”

  “Because it’s an identifying marker, as you’ve just proven.” My hand clasps over hers, and Justine’s fingers still. “But I suppose it hasn’t mattered so far.”

  A curious hums leaves her lips. “What did you do in the service? Let me guess, special forces.”

  I laugh softly. “You don’t recognize the symbol, then.”

  Justine sits up enough for me to see her eyes, the piercing look she’s giving me, searching for the truth. “I don’t. What does it mean?”

  “It’s the quartermaster corps insignia. Very glamorous.” I keep my tone even, so the weight of what happened doesn’t settle into the words. “I spent most of my tour in a desert with one of the only rooms that never lost air conditioning.”

  “Where was that?”

  “The morgue.”

  Justine frowns, and then her eyes widen as the pieces fall together. I shouldn’t enjoy her finding out more about me; there are too many risks. Except part of me wants to know how deep she’ll go before something makes her recoil.

  No one ever gets very far.

  “So you took care of dead soldiers.” It’s probing, not accusatory, so I agree with a soft sound. “Oh.”

  A hundred questions cling to that oh. I stay quiet, letting Justine sort out which one of them matters to her the most.

  “I’m not judging,” she starts, and smiles, bashful, “because I absolutely hired your services, but how does…”

  “How does a mortician become an assassin?”

  Justine nods.

  Maria. Emily. Chris. Lee. Brandon.

  “Because I realized that, for a lot of people, death is in their best interest.” My eyes drift across her skin, every inch that I’ve touched and learned. The difference between life and the end is an escalation of pressure. “It’s not a sad consequence, or a tragedy. It’s what many, many people want, and they use it to keep the world spinning in their direction.”

  Her frown deepens. “Then why were you at the graveyard before? Why do you care, if death is a good thing?”

  “Because if anyone with authority had cared about five teenagers getting blown to pieces…” The words slip out of my mouth, tight and defensive, before I can stop them. “I was twenty. A year or two makes a lot of difference then.”

  She presses closer to me, fearless. Her thumb draws circles around my tattoo, slow and soothing. “Were they in your unit?”

  “In the larger detachment, yeah. They were grunts, front-liners. Medic. Mechanic.” Not even old enough to drink, yet armed to the teeth. “But we were close. Like family. They’d come in to cool down, then tell me to make sure they looked real good when the time came.”

  Justine swallows hard. “That’s…grim.”

  “They were joking.” The irony doesn’t escape me, even now. “Everyone’s immortal until a bomb goes off and turns an armored vehicle into scrap and blood.”

  I was the aftermath. I had to pick up every single piece of the people I cared for. I had to separate them from each other because after that much violence, it’s almost impossible to tell the difference. I remember the ceremonies because they were mine. I remember superior officers talking about duty and service and patriotism, and I remember that brand-new soldiers showed up a week later to take the place of my friends. In whispers, we were told to take vengeance, and if that accomplished the mission faster, so much the better.

  Stopping the war was never in question. Peace isn’t productive enough.

  It broke me.

  Who I am now is what came out the other side.

  “I’m sorry, Campbell,” she whispers.

  “There’s no need. I can’t even be angry at the people were responsible,” I admit quietly. “We shouldn’t have been there to begin with. Half the time, it was kids killing kids.”

  That isn’t what got to me, in the end. It was everyone above them, using us like pieces on a chessboard, blood for blood for blood. I wanted to have that choice, that power, so I learned how to make it mine.

  As it turns out, I’m very good at my job. On better days, the people I’m taking out of the world make it a better place.

  On worse days, I take contracts on women like Justine.

  “It must be lonely,” Justine says as if she understands.

  She just might, but that’s a more dangerous thought than the rest.

  “By necessity,” I counter. “That’s how this works.”

  “At least I can keep you company for a little while.” She kisses my shoulder, calf rubbing against mine. “Or longer, if you’re up for it.”

  I close my eyes and throw on the brakes. I’m taking enough from Justine, even more than she knows. I’m lying every second she’s in bed with me. “I need to get cleaned up.”

  When I sit up, worry flashes through her expression as though she’s done something wrong, same as the first time. The truth won’t help, so I kiss her instead, so hard she gasps. By the time I pull away, heat lingers low on Justine’s face, her fingers gripping the sheets tight now that my body is out of her reach.

  “I’ll be out after a shower,” I murmur and slip out of bed before she has a chance to answer.

  At least that part is honest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  JUSTINE

  I collapse against the bed when the bathroom door closes. The force of Campbell’s kiss lingers on my mouth like a brand, and when I touch my lips, they’re soft and swollen with it.

  Of course, I shouldn’t be getting attached, much less pressing for more. When Richard dies tomorrow, this is probably the last time I’ll see Campbell, ever. I push the sheets off my legs and stretch, looking for where my clothes have gotten to. I work the knots loose from the tangled straps of my bra and slip on my dress, a frigid sheath over my skin compared to the warmth of the bed. I can shower at home, keeping Campbell’s scent on my body for a little while longer.

  They didn’t tell me to leave, so I don’t. Instead, I flip on the light and take in the whole of the room. It’s almost identical to last time, except the clothes they have out of the suitcase have c
hanged. The heavy black crate still rests against the wall, unlabeled and an instant beacon for my curiosity.

  Messing with Campbell’s belongings is probably out of line, but I don’t want to break anything; I just want to understand. They live a life so far apart from mine that it doesn’t seem real. Until I touched Campbell, I wasn’t quite convinced they were real either.

  My fingers catch on the underside of the lid and pull, to no avail. I trace the front of the crate and find the dials of a combination lock, the ridged metal of each one cool to the touch. They’re bound to click if I toy with the numbers, so I give up on that idea. Even in a room where no one else is supposed to be, Campbell resets their locks. Habit, probably.

  I really should have known they had been in the military.

  The look on their face while explaining the tattoo, though⁠—that I hadn’t expected. It held the same echo of loss as when we were in the potter’s field, as if the glass guarding Campbell’s eyes had been pried out and tossed aside. Putting two and two together was simple, but I can’t imagine my heart going that cold, willing the rest of my body into a weapon. Even with Richard, grief and anger are dueling flames inside me, sparking every time I think about what he’s done.

  I leave the crate alone. The desk is the only other piece of furniture Campbell seems to have touched, with a cell phone and its charger tucked beside an open laptop. Their phone screen is dark, and when I tap it, another lock appears, prompting a password. Even with the security blur across the screen, I can tell Campbell hasn’t changed the background from the factory default.

  With only one chance left, I expect a second locked screen when I brush a finger over the laptop’s touchpad. The computer flickers to life, revealing a plain white document full of typed notes.

  At the very top is a picture of Richard. I scroll through the page before I can stop myself, fascinated with every little bullet point. Some of them are true gems: Outsized ego, easy to manipulate⁠—focus on his self-importance if he needs to be lured. Beneath it: Keeps vasodilators next to his whiskey.