Corrupted: Saint Cecilia Slayings Book Two

by Blanco, N. Isabelle

  My balls slap against her on a particular deep thrust. My thighs shake harder. Harder . . .

  Her clit pulses, more swollen than I’ve ever felt it, slick with us. There’s no way there isn’t as much of my precum mixed in that as her juices.

  Fuck, it feels like I’ve come already, although what’s building could be nothing other than another monster orgasm.

  Our tongues clash. I keep my eyes open, needing to see her.

  Needing to see those glimpse of us in those mirrors, fucking like possessed animals.

  Kiera fists my hair, holding me in place. Her kisses turn even more frantic, her legs spreading to take more of my cock.

  I groan into her mouth, spreading my fingers along the sides of her clit.

  Feeling that pussy stretched tight, somehow getting more swollen.

  It’s building for both of us and our cries grow to an insane level, bouncing off the mirrored walls. “It’s coming, baby.” I thrust deep, rotating in circles, and she yelps adorably at the sensation. “It’s fucking coming. This cock is about to flood this pussy again.”

  Light gray eyes roll to the back of her head, chest arching.

  Releasing my hold on her hair, I tug that bra down. Watching her plump tits bounce free in the mirror is the end for me. The sight is lurid, perfect, and if I could fuck her tits at the same time I’m fucking her pussy, I would.

  Pinching a tight nipple, I pound her with all my strength. “Kiss me again, Kiera. Lick yourself off my lips. I’m about to give it to you so good, baby.”

  Whimpering incoherently, she seeks out my lips, tongues reconnecting on a slide—

  It’s so fucking amazing I can’t even shout. Can’t even move. My hips push into her as far as possible, my dick hitting the end of her. The growl that leaves me is shattered by my inability to breathe as time freezes, cock pulsing, hell about to break loose . . .

  That shout tears free, my body crushing her to the bed, shaking hips picking up where they left off.

  I’m screaming like a goddamn madman, twitching, trembling, my dick trapped in the most excruciating pleasure yet.

  Against my fingers between her legs, her clit is throbbing just as hard. She’s screaming for me, too, taking every plunge, rotating those hips for more.

  “Ahhhhh, fuck. Ah, fuck. What—never—” I can’t talk. Can’t handle this. I’ve given her every drop, yet my body won’t stop fucking her into the mattress like an inconsiderate brute.

  Torrents of sweat drip down the sides of my face. I collapse onto her, feeling lost, nothing making sense anymore.

  It isn’t until she lets out a dainty cough that I realize I’m crushing her.

  I fall to the bed next to her like a useless lump, reaching for her—

  Kiera whirls on me, throwing one leg over my hips, one arm over my chest . . .

  Then she does the most unexpected thing of her:

  Raining soft, cute kisses all over my sweat slicked skin, she begins thanking me, her voice full of something I can’t define.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Maverick. Thank you.”

  “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” - James 1:17

  Thank you.

  What does that even mean?

  I’m still glued to the same spot on the bed with Kiera curled into my side trying to discern what the hell those words could possibly mean. I feel compelled to ask her, have the query sitting right on the tip of my tongue, but given the raw, emotional way in which she practically bestowed them upon me, I can’t find it in me to follow through.

  Instead, I relish the feel of her small frame clinging to my own, how she fits so perfectly against me. Hand draped possessively over her ass, I lay still as she unbuttons my shirt and draws invisible circles on my chest.

  “I meant what I said,” she murmurs suddenly, luminous gray pools boring into the side of my face.

  I meet her stare with a curious brow. Aside from that “thank you,” I honestly can’t remember anything she said, as horrible as that sounds. Everything following the moment she opened the door of her home is a giant blur. “Which part?” I play it off.

  Kiera bites her lip, cheeks flushing slightly. “How I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  My chest squeezes of its own accord and I can’t help but smile. Reaching out, I cup her face, brushing my thumb along the apple of her cheek. “So it’s not just me? ‘Cause fuck, you’re on my mind all day long.”

  “You’re just saying that,” she scoffs playfully, yet somewhat wistful as well, her gaze trailing back down to my chest.

  My lips settle in a thin line. I don’t like that tone.

  She’s drawing those invisible circles again when I finally grip her wrist, halting her movements. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Kiera.”

  At the edge in my voice, she drags her eyes back up to mine, those perfectly arched brows of hers furrowing once more. She doesn’t speak for several moments, several moments where this is unexplainable silence hangs thick between us . . . but in a mere blink, she’s on top of me.

  The tips of our noses brushing, lips a hair’s breadth away. “See me then. Be with me.”

  My body tenses beneath her, mind racing into overdrive within seconds. She can’t possibly mean . . .

  “I am with you,” I tell her, raking my hands up the sides of her body.

  “No, I mean like be with me, be mine, only mine.”

  The whole world screeches to a stop.

  Everything, including her.

  I’m not a commitment phobe, not in the slightest, but a relationship with Kiera just isn’t feasible. Her family is still locked in tight on the suspects list, for crying out loud. If a single word got out that I was with her right at this very moment, I could kiss my career goodbye.

  Not to mention we’ve recently just met.

  Maybe that’s what she means? I search her gaze, wondering. Is she asking me for a full commitment of some sort or simply to date? See where this goes.

  Something tells me it’s the latter. She wants exclusivity with me while we pursue this.

  Whatever this is.

  One thing’s for sure: regardless, it’s still a horrid impossibility.

  But in the same hand . . . I do want that with her. I want Kiera to be mine.

  Sighing, I roll her onto her back and settle in between her legs, dropping my forehead to her own. “We can’t, baby. Not now, not with the investigation still going on.”

  “So we can’t even see each other from time to time?” she asks in a low tone.

  The confirmation of what I was thinking does nothing to make me feel better.

  I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. The idea of having her all to myself lights up every circuit in me. Closing my eyes, I bask in the way she rubs her lips along mine.

  How her arms and legs come around me.

  “Just promise me a few moments here and there . . . and that I’ll be the only woman you give this to.” Her comment is punctuated by a delicious, wet tap kiss.

  Holy shit. She’s making me hard again. Just like that.

  I kiss her back, hating this weakness. “And you? You’ll be only mine?” I run my hands up and down her thighs. “You won’t let some other asshole touch you like this?”

  Her eyes glow with happiness at my show of possessiveness.

  And that’s the moment I realize how well and truly fucked I am.

  “Maverick, I haven’t allowed anyone else to touch me since you.”

  I scowl. Why is her so off? Yet her stare is so earnest. Straight beseeching.

  With a groan, I let my forehead fall back to hers. “Let’s take it one day at a time. And no one can know, baby. Not yet.”

  “I understand.” She giggles with happiness, a truly mind-scrambling sound, and tugs me back down for another kiss.

  I’m definitely going to hell.

  I’m probably going to end up losing my
job for sure.

  I still don’t know her family’s connection to the killings, although it might all turn out to be a heck of a coincidence.

  Going to have to worry about that later. The feel of her under me, lips on mine, and the promise of exploring this crazy connection further is the only thing I can think about.

  No wonder it’ll all end up where it does.

  No fucking wonder.

  I was a goner from day-fucking-one.

  * * *

  Walking through my front door, I inhale a deep breath.

  The taste and scent of Kiera is reawakened with the move.

  Lies. It’s been haunting me since I dropped her off and we spent nearly fifteen minutes making out in my car as if it was going to be the last time we saw each other.

  I felt so empty after she walked inside her place that I couldn’t even head straight here. I drove around Boston for nearly an hour, in a daze of need and confusion.

  God. What the fuck am I doing with my life? Ruining it. As always.

  Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe it’s a matter of time before this addiction to self-destruction consumes me and I become just like my Da.

  My ego screams, I doubt it! Never!

  Common sense? Shall we exhibit all the evidence of your bad decision making?

  Yet Kiera doesn’t feel like a bad decision. Perhaps it’s all this lust talking, the lingering taste of her pussy fucking with my mind, but she just doesn’t. Only known her for a few weeks, yet I only feel okay when I’m with her.

  More lies. I’m not okay with her. I’m on a whole other level. A deranged, delicious level I don’t want to fight.

  I just fucking don’t.

  Frozen right inside my door, I stare at my empty condo. Saddest part?

  Dropping my keys into the key holder, I take out my vibrating, personal phone. Notifications have been going on non-stop. I ignored them while with Kiera.

  Staring at the screen, I choke out a curse.

  Five text messages from Ruby.

  Apparently, her Nathaniel Blackstone fixation didn’t die down after my warnings to her and I simply don’t have the energy to deal with it at this time.

  I read through them again.

  Ruby: Where are you?

  Ruby: Pick up. It’s urgent.

  Ruby: Jesus, I know you were mad at me earlier but seriously. PICK UP.

  Ruby: Remember that break in at the Conley Terminal? Well, I was passing by and guess who else is here with his group of friend’s again? HINT: YOU HATE HIM.

  Ruby: OMG. You’re not taking this seriously. Where the hell are you? We need to talk about what I saw!

  Ugh. Not now Ruby. Not fucking now.

  I yank on my hair and drop my cell on the side table.

  As I turn to head deeper into my condo, my second phone starts going off in my pocket.

  My work phone.

  So help me God, it better not be her with this shit . . .

  I bring it out so fast it nearly goes flying out of my grip. Turning it over, I see my lieutenant’s name flashing across the screen.

  Shit.

  I hurry to answer. “Quinn.”

  “We just got the call. You need to get to St. Cecilia’s right now. Another victim’s been found at the scene.”

  To be continued . . .

  Camera flashes, rowdy reporters, and inquisitive journalists make up the pandemonium outside of headquarters at 1 Schroeder Plaza. With civilians in a panic after another gruesome murder, an urgent press conference was called to order in attempt to ease their minds. Lieutenant Thayer, my colleagues, and I stand diligently behind Captain Porter as he delivers the news and answers questions, all of us suited up to the nines in our uniforms.

  “These heinous crimes are without a doubt the work of a serial killer, one I can assure you will be brought to justice soon. We will not rest until our city is safe once more,” the Captain vows, arising a round of applause as thunderous as the sky above.

  “Captain!” a woman’s voice bellows above the ripple of praise. “Given the killing style, could this by any chance be the resurfacing of the Boston Slasher?”

  Captain Porter shakes his head and raises his hands for silence. “That could very well be a probability—however, we’re not one-hundred percent certain at this time. Our detectives are working around the clock to find consistencies between the murders, both new and old.”

  “Are you sure it’s a serial killer?” another reporter asks. “If so, what are the connecting factors between these murders aside from the killing style?”

  The DuBois Family, I blurt inwardly. However small that connection may be, they’re it nonetheless.

  A connection I hate more each day when it keeps me from being with Kiera. I had a “Good morning” text from her when I woke up and I couldn’t even respond. Had zero time after getting a call from the Captain regarding the conference.

  She probably thinks she scared me off after wearing her heart on her sleeve last night.

  If she only knew.

  If she only fucking knew how badly I want to claim her as mine and shout it from the goddamn rooftop.

  A woman I just met and one tied to this fucking case.

  “Captain, over here!” Another reporter’s bark draws me away from thoughts of Kiera. “It seems the murders all trace back to Boston’s circle of wealth. Are you planning to implement higher security in those areas?”

  Captain Porter goes on to explain how that could be a coincidence, something I know he’s doing to keep the panic at bay for the time being. Unfortunately for him, it backfires. The reporter almost immediately counters in outrage, prompting a few others around her to agree. Just as Porter is about to respond, a quick flash of movement across the street grapples my attention. I lose track of everything around me as I cut my eyes to the source.

  One look is all it takes and I feel them widen.

  Hell, they nearly burst from their sockets as I take in the distant scene.

  It’s Kiera . . . and her brother Elon. They’re arguing, and no, I’m not mistaken. It’s clear as day. The expression on her face is nearly murderous. From one moment to the next, he reaches out and captures her face in palms.

  Angrily.

  Possessively.

  My heart rate spikes at the sight of it.

  N. Isabelle Blanco is the Amazon Bestselling Author of the Allure Series, the Need Series with K.I.Lynn, and many others. At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.

  That is, until coffee came a long and took over everything else.

  Nowadays, N. spends most of her days surviving the crazy New York rush and arguing with her characters every ten minutes or so, all in the hopes of one day getting them under control.

  Sign up for her newsletter at  http://bit.ly/NIBnewsletter to be the first to know how all these arguments turn out.

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  Self-published author Dee Garcia was born in Miami, Florida. A voracious fan of romance novels and a long time lover of the written word, her mission is to craft unique, compelling stories that will give her readers a place to briefly escape the monotony of everyday reality. With fierce, headstrong heroine’s and swoon-worthy, possessive Alpha males weaved into her thrilling tales, Dee hopes to leave her mark on the Indie world, one decadent plot twist at a time.

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