by Leigh Lennon
“So, no regrets in the morning?” I ask.
“No fucking regrets in the morning. I promise.” He kisses the top of my head again. “Now get some sleep because you start school. Gotta have my star pupil on the top of her game for the first day of classes tomorrow.”
I fall asleep in his arms, and it’s the best night’s sleep since before my parents were slaughtered. But in my slumber, the nightmares don’t keep me awake, but as I drift off, I only dream of calling Wells mine.
I push myself from the bed, ready to give Wells all sorts of hell. Securing a bra on, I slip on my yoga pants and am through the threshold leading to the kitchen when what I believe is the shower running grabs my attention. I’m upset, thinking he indeed regrets his decision when I cross back through the room and open the doors to the bathroom, and the silhouette of his perfectly formed body is behind the white shower curtain.
He peeks his head out at the intrusion of his privacy. “Hey, sweetheart, what are you doing?”
His simple smile, a little lopsided, sends my heart into a pitter-patter. I really am in a good mood.
“Yeah, at first, I thought you left me.”
He sticks his index finger out toward me, telling me to come to him. “I told you last night that I‘m not leaving you. I may be a stubborn son of a bitch, but I keep my promises.” I get closer and closer to him, and when he steps from his shower with one foot, he grabs me by the hips. His large frame is nothing compared to my hundred and ten pounds. He lifts me, placing me under the water fully clothed.
“What the fuck, Shanahan?” I begin, and he smiles as I use his last name. “I’m dressed.”
But he’s naked, and I’ll never tire of seeing him in his full glory.
“Yeah, do you know what this means? I can undress you now.”
I hadn’t even thought of this perk, and he rips my top and bottoms off me. “No underwear, you naughty little girl.” His tone is lowered, and sultry, thick with desire as his eyes rake over my body.
“Yeah, I was too pissed off to put them on, thinking you had left me.” My own pitch matches his.
“Yeah, but now it’s just you and me. What do you think we should do, my sweet little thing?”
I lean up on my tiptoes to swing my arms around his neck. “I love you calling me your sweet little thing.”
“Yeah, you’re the sweetest, and I’m about to show you how sweet you really are.” He pushes me against the back of the shower, kneeling. “Hell, Mal, I love this. I love everything about this.”
I want to tell him how much I do, too, but I’m rendered speechless when his tongue reaches my clit. His fingers open me up, and he thrusts two fingers into me. I hold his head for support. I roll my head back where the glass of the shower stops me, but nothing compares to the torture I’m enduring when he gets me just close enough and stops his assault, only to begin over after waiting a couple of seconds.
“Please, Wells, let me come.”
He pulls his tongue from me, pushing his head back. “All in good time, my sweet little thing, all in good time. Believe me, you will be thanking me.”
His tongue continues to torture me, his fingers following suit, and all the time, my pussy begins to contract, just on the precipice of an orgasm, and he pulls out.
This continues for many minutes all the while, his free hand palms my ass, and it’s almost like a non-gentle massage for my ample rear.
Every time he stops, he tells me how much he loves my body.
“Fuck, I love your ass.”
“Hell, you’re sweeter than any fruit I’ve ever eaten.”
During his little fuck me with his tongue and fingers fest, he twists my nipple, sending shockwaves to my pussy. “These are mine. Your tits are mine, your ass is mine, and sure as fuck, your cunt is mine.”
I never liked someone referring to my woman bits as tits, cunt, or pussy. Sure, I’ll use this slang because it’s me. But when Wells uses these terms, I’ll surrender everything to him.
“They are yours; every bit of me is yours. Have me as you will because they are not going anywhere.”
His fingers return to my pussy; this time, he must use more than two fingers. “Say it, you love me finger fucking your tight cunt.”
My head rolls back again, the glass stopping me. “Fuck, Wells.” I’m barely able to breathe. “Yeah, I love you finger fucking my cunt.”
His head disappears between my legs. Both his fingers and tongue speed up, and I know he’s not pulling out this time. “Oh, fuck me hard, Wells, I’m so close.”
He answers my wishes with further fervor, and when I lose it on his touch, dropping into his arms, he settles me on his lap, holding me tight, until the water leaves us a little wrinkly. But I couldn’t care less about this. I wanted him to hold me as close to him as we can get, forgetting about the real world outside, and live with the two of us, the only ones in our realm of reality.
Chapter 21
Wells
Her body is beautiful. Everything about her is amazing. Her full tits are more than a mere handful, and her nipples are remarkable. In the couple of times of our intimacy together, I know how to tease them, making them harden with one slight lick of my tongue.
The water had started to cool, so I pulled her up with me, washing her hair. I never understood how caring for her basic needs would be such an erotic task. But it is. “Come on, Stewart has probably figured out where you are by now. He’s not a bad detective,” I say as I watch her dress—after I had to sneak into her room, grabbing some dry clothes from her suitcase. “I should have brought all your stuff in here,” I mention, looping my belt around my jeans.
“You want me in your room?” She’s been brushing her long hair as I send a little glance her way.
“Yeah, woman, I want you in my bed, every night I can get you. And since you’re under my roof, I need you with me. You read my thoughts. You bring a focus back into my life.”
“I want this, too, but I still want…”
I cut her off. I know where she’s going with this. “I’m not asking you to move in here, not yet, Mal. I know you want a normal life, something you build for you without anyone taking it away, but I hope you know you’ll always have a place to lay your head.”
I approach, wrapping my arms around her. “And a boyfriend who will want to get laid by your sweet pussy any chance he gets.”
She doesn’t hide the fact she’s in my room when her laughter reaches points of hysterics, and I silence her with a kiss. Because this girl is so much trouble, but wanted trouble, in my life, I only laugh with her.
“Come on, let’s get you ready for your first day of school.” She reaches for my hand, and we exit the bedroom at the same time, expecting to run into Stewart, with a fresh pot of coffee for us, sitting at the table, with more journal entries from Annie Strickland. No, what I’m faced with rounding the island, separating my living space from my eating space, is Vanessa. And as she pulls her coffee mug to her lips, she’s not in the least bit furious. An almost knowing look covers her face when she says, “We have another victim.”
My heart falls, but I barely catch Malia before she faints.
“Sorry,” Vanessa rushes me, “I figured you’d tell her, and it was less drama, getting you by yourself, after the morning you two shared.”
She’s not jealous, or the complete jerk she had been yesterday.
“Come on, let’s put her on the couch.” Vanessa checks for her pulse. “It’s strong. She’ll wake on her own.” She’s been an EMT, before switching over to another civic duty she thought she’d love.
“Are you going to report me?” I ask with my girl still cradled in my arms.
She shrugs halfheartedly, taking a long pause before answering. “Would it make a difference?” I shake my head. “So, all it would do would get you kicked off a case you know better than anyone.” I sit down with Malia, draped across my lap, and challenge Vanessa to make me leave her.
“Okay, so we’re doing this out here.
Great.” She sits in the overstuffed chair while Stewart brings a kitchen chair out. “So, a murder was called in this morning, but it’s odd. If the murderer can’t find a perfect family to match the Stricklands’, he makes his own. But what I find more odd is the configuration of the house.”
“Yeah, I noticed it last night,” I whisper when Malia’s eyes come to me, and her chocolate orbs are staring at me.
I give Vanessa a deep stare, a silent warning not to discuss this any further. “Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?”
She tries to ready herself, sitting up, when Vanessa is on her knees, her fingers on Malia’s wrist, checking her pulse. “Are you light-headed?”
Mal won’t find out because I won’t let her go. When she doesn’t answer Vanessa’s question, she continues to stare blankly at her.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. She was an EMT before becoming a cop.”
Vanessa doesn’t allow her to process this before she begins to order her, “Let me look in your eyes. Look toward the light. I want to check your pupils.”
Mal does what she is told while Vanessa finishes her little exam. “You look fine, but I’d really love it if you didn’t go to classes today and maybe get checked out by a doctor.”
Vanessa is talking to me as if I can change Mal’s decision, and I won’t even attempt to try.
“Nope, I’m not letting him dictate my life.” She won’t be told what to do.
“I can tell you this, though, I don’t think you should be driving.” This time, Vanessa knows Mal won’t change her mind.
“Well, that’s not a problem. She doesn’t have her car here, so I’ll take her and then pick her up.”
Vanessa stands, straightening her suit. “Okay, but you need to eat first and get plenty of fluids.” She walks toward the door. “Shanahan, I’m sending you the address to meet Higgins and me once you get Ms. Strickland settled.”
She’s out the door without a goodbye. “She’s not taking you off the case?” Mal asks.
“Nope. She knows she needs me anyway. I think she knew how I felt for you before I did.”
“Um, I’m still here.” Higgins stands, reaching for his badge and piece. “I’ll meet you at the scene.”
He’s out the door, and I’m left holding Malia in my arms. “So she’s really not going to remove you from the case?”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“Well, she’s not as much of a bitch as I’d expected.”
“As much of one?” I ask.
“Yep, understand, she’s still a raging bitch, but at the same time, a raging bitch who earned a little of my respect today.” We begin to laugh, and it’s in the everyday little traces of us, away from this case, I see so much more with this woman in my arms.
The police tape is up, blocking anyone without a badge from entering the house. And as soon as I pull up, after dropping Mal off at the university, I see a few news crews. I’m surprised we’ve gone this long without them all up our asses.
“Detective Shanahan.” Leela Cesarea runs past me, blocking my destination. I attempt to sidestep her, but she knows me too well, too fucking well.
“Leela,” I say to the beautiful Italian newscaster, “you know I can’t say anything.”
She gives me a little wink, and hell, she’s cute. She always has been and spunky as fuck. But she wanted commitment when I was only ready for casual after breaking up with Vanessa. “But I’ll be the first one you come to find if you have something to pass on, right?”
Her dimples and small stature remind me a little of Mal, but I never saw a future with Leela like I do with Malia. But we sure had a fun six months.
“Leela, I trust you’ll leave all my personal stuff out of this story?”
“So it is about the Strickland murders?” she asks, but if I’m going to leak something to the news purposely, it’ll be to the one person who I know can report it and not use what she knows of my past with the victim.
“Leela?” My tone is stern, and she understands the more authoritative part of me.
“Yes, Wells, I can report a story and not throw you under the bus by how well I know you.” She winks again, and I begin to walk around her as her arm connects with mine. “I hope you don’t let her go this time.” Leela is a great woman, but she knew my heart belonged to someone else. And she’d even questioned me once about my feelings for Mal. She stops, calling out to me one last time. “By the way, Detective, if there’s something to share, you know where to find me.”
Leela is a woman who was fun as fuck. I hope she finds her happily ever after one day and soon.
Vanessa is seething on the porch, a porch similar to the Strickland house. “Fuck, tell me you told that Twinkie where she can stick her fake ass boobs.”
I ignore her, walking into the crime scene, and like the other night, a dummy is on the floor positioned like Gracie Strickland, and unlike two nights ago, mannequins sit as a representation for the mom and Malia’s young brother.
“Do we not have any victims?”
Vanessa nods her head, but I’m not sure if she’s answering no to victims or no to the fact we weren’t that lucky.
“Come in the kitchen. This is where it really becomes a mind fuck.” Like Martin Strickland, a man in his forties lies on the floor, and I turn to look for a mannequin to represent Malia, and there’s one, similar to the mannequin from the other night. “There’s another mannequin in the sunroom,” Vanessa continues.
My heart falls. “Does he have a little girl?”
“Her mother had her for the night. The father and mother were divorced, and it was the mother’s weekend.”
I tilt my head upward, looking at the ceiling, as to give my brain a rest for a second. But in this stance, I see something. “What the hell is that?”
I point at a chandelier over the kitchen island. I’m tall enough that I can reach for the envelope as if it had been expertly placed right there for us to find. Pulling the one sheet of paper from it, with my gloves on, Vanessa crowds in next to me. Apparently we’re reading it together.
Dear Detective Shanahan,
I wonder if you’re putting the clues together. I never thought I’d find someone like Annie. Yep, you all got that part right. Annie was the love of my life, but as Malia has grown, she’s become my new obsession. And like Annie, she’ll be mine one day. Smith Turner was too fucking dumb to pull off something like this. Or am I Smith Turner trying to throw you off the scent? Speaking of scents, I love Malia’s. It’s cinnamon with a hint of coconut. Right, Detective Shanahan?
Sincerely,
Your Neighborhood Psychopath
“Wells,” Vanessa begins, “is he right? Is that what she smells like?”
I don’t have to answer, bolting out of the house and to my car. My next destination is the university, where I’ll be one of the many watching her every move.
Chapter 22
Malia
Art History has always been a fascination of mine, and here I sit, in my first college-level class, listening about my favorite piece of art, David. I’m a sponge, absorbing everything as my mind focuses on Michelangelo and more of his paintings and sculptures. A familiar aroma overtakes my nose, and when I twist my head to the right, Wells occupies a seat in the huge auditorium lecture hall.
“What the hell?” I whisper. Not only are two plainclothes policemen flanking the entrance of the lecture hall but I also have Kenzie, the female cop, standing as if she’ll hurt anyone who gets within five feet of me.
I’d been met before my class by the dean of students, my advisor, and this particular instructor. They assured me all my professors were aware of my entourage, and they were doing everything to ensure my safety. Not only did I have some of Seattle’s finest but several campus security were also hanging around me. I wager to guess they’ll be everywhere I go.
Now, after one day of showering with this man, I have his aftershave burned into my memory as a scowl forms on his handsome face. The subject of the murders, like I h
ad avoided like the talk about the birds and bees by my aunt Mally, must be the reason he’s back in my presence after not only two hours apart.
“We’ll talk later. Just pay attention,” he demands.
He can’t be real right now. He’s technically put a large flashing sign reading, Don’t look. And you know you can’t help but look.
I twist my watch around on my wrist. Five more minutes of lecture, and although I love Michelangelo, I won’t be able to concentrate, not anymore.
I pack up my binder, push it into my backpack, and scoot out of the back seat of the chair as everyone cranes their necks back to watch.
In the bright sun of a late summer day, I stand close to Wells on one of the many pathways leading from building to building.
“Please be straight with me?” I beg. The plain clothed officers are still watching every move I make though all I want is his comforting arms around me.
“Shit. This is going to be hard. But I really need you to think.”
I’m lost in his bright aquamarine eyes. “As long as I’m here with you, I’ll be okay,” I whisper for only him to hear.
“Your perfume, how long have you used it?” His question is out of left field, and I’m caught off guard.
“I don’t wear perfume. But I use body butter, then an after shower spray. I guess, that would make it seem like I wear it, but why are you asking?”
“What are the scents of your body butter and after shower spray?”
This line of questioning is odd, but I answer him anyway. “I’ve been using a coconut body butter and a vanilla cinnamon spray.”
His eyes flash in an anger I’ve never seen, not like this. “How long have you worn it?” He almost barks the question at me.
“Let’s see.” I think, counting back. “The spray of vanilla cinnamon, probably for five or six years. It’s all I’ve ever used. But I found this coconut butter at a health store before leaving Oregon. It’s thicker than lotion, and as a matter of fact, I started wearing it the first day back in Seattle. But surely, you smelled that this morning, right?”