by RC Boldt
Envisioning how she’d wrap her long legs around my hips, urging me to fuck her harder, arching into every thrust, has tingles spreading at the base of my spine. “Jesus, fuck,” I grit out between harsh breaths. I work my fist over my length in long pumps, wishing I was balls deep inside her.
A groan is ripped from my throat as my abs contract, the head of my cock growing more sensitive with each glide of my palm along the length. I’d give anything to thrust inside her sweet pussy and feel her clutch at me while I made her come even harder than she had on my fingers.
I imagine what her breasts look like. A perfect handful with nipples pink like her lips, I’d fasten my mouth around them, sucking the hard tips until she moaned, letting out little gasps like she did in the alley. Her pussy would contract around my cock, and I’d suck on her little tits while I fucked her good and deep until she came. Her inner muscles would strangle my dick, coating me with her sweet juices and sending me over the edge.
My muscles seize an instant before I shudder, pumping my dick in long, firm strokes, and I come so hard I nearly lose the ability to breathe. Chest heaving as I drag in oxygen to my lungs, I blink my eyes open and stare down at the shower drain, watching as the water washes my release away.
I can’t shake the feeling it won’t be so easy to erase the evidence of the impact that woman has had on me.
Settling in the chair, I stare at my laptop screen, studying the contents of the files I’ve “borrowed” from the police that contain even the slightest of links to the Dixie Mafia. I don’t put much weight in Warren’s theory of the Ashford woman coming back for revenge. It just doesn’t seem likely.
The person behind these attacks is well-trained enough to take on handfuls of men and leave them for dead. Someone who knows their way around weapons and who kills with confidence.
Is it a sleeper? Someone in the Dixie Mafia who’s been biding their time before deciding to take over the crime organization for themselves? Are they hiring others to do the hits, like the woman?
I click on the files, again, and know I’m in for a late night. But I don’t care. I will get to the bottom of this and eliminate them.
Because they’re in my way, too.
27
Her
The hot water pelts down on my skin, practically scorching me in the shower, and I welcome the singeing sensation it brings. Bracing my hands against the wall, I pinch my eyes shut against the barrage of emotions brought on from the night.
From the alley. From him.
I lean my forehead against the cool tile, water cascading over my body, and I let my mind wander now that it’s safe. Now that I’m alone and not vulnerable.
A part of me is grateful for that cold gust of wind that brought me to my senses earlier tonight in the alley. If it hadn’t jolted me from the all-encompassing haze of lust, I would’ve let him fuck me against that brick building.
Another part of me, however, resents that I drew things to a halt and didn’t follow through. That I left him with a cock so impressively hard after taking the pleasure he willingly and expertly gave.
A tiny whimper escapes me when I think about how good his fingers felt inside me. How he ground the heel of his palm against my clit with just enough pressure. How my inner muscles clenched his fingers as I rode out my release.
My fingers curl against the hard tile at the memory of how good he felt in my grip. If I’d been brazen enough tonight, I would’ve slid my hand beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs to guide him to my entrance and taken his hard length inside me. He’d pin me against the brick as he drove in deep, thorough thrusts.
A rush of breath spills past my lips when I realize I’ve moved a hand from the wall to touch my clit, circling it and intermittently gently tugging and toying with it between my thumb and finger.
I don’t even know his name. But my body doesn’t care. It overrides my mind’s attempt at blooming shame within me now that Pandora’s box has been opened. I’ve never thought about a man since my family’s deaths. But now, for some insane reason, that man is pure temptation calling my body to his. The ache between my thighs is incessant and the need, the overwhelming craving to be filled—not by just anyone, but by him—is undeniable yet unequivocally alarming.
Shudders race through my body as my mind imagines he’s here with me in this shower; his firm, lean muscled body flush against my back and one large palm gripping my hip like he had earlier. His other hand cups my breast, the pad of his thumb toying with my nipple as his cock surges deep inside me.
I arch into his touch, urging him on, and his teeth nip at the sensitive spot on the side of my neck just below my ear. The decadent way his pulsing length has me stretching around him and the possessive grip he has on me only make me wetter, and his hoarse groan at how I coat his cock with my slickness rumbles through me, setting my nerve endings on fire.
Holding me firm as he thrusts deeper, he buries himself inside me and stills. I whimper when he refuses to move, his fingers moving to toy with my clit.
“Such a greedy pussy,” he scolds in a husky voice. His words have my inner muscles clenching, and he groans before withdrawing nearly his entire length before driving back inside, his thrusts growing wilder and more unrestrained.
The onslaught of torture he inflicts on my sensitive clit never eases, and blazing need singes me as he sends me plummeting over the edge. My orgasm barrels through me, my body straining as I come apart a moment before he stiffens with a low groan, spilling inside me. Shivers skate along my spine as my ragged breathing slowly calms.
The hot water wanes, leaving it lukewarm, and I open my eyes to stare at the tacky blue shower tile, one top edge chipped. And I’m faced with the undeniable knowledge that something dangerous has shifted inside me tonight.
As if that’s not frightening enough, an eerie sense of foreboding has tagged along with it.
28
Her
A few days later
I’m a glutton for punishment…or I have a death wish. It’s a toss-up as to which one might actually be the case.
If this bar wasn’t already in a sketchy part of town, I might look suspicious. Standing across the street, I linger in a shadowed spot, my back to the large oak tree a few feet away from the sidewalk that’s seen much better days. The concrete is riddled with cracks and raised in some areas as if a mini-earthquake unsettled it.
A part of me wants to go back inside and see if he’s there. Something deep within me feels the need to apologize for leaving him high and dry. My mind is now a convoluted mess because, me? Apologize? I’m a murderer who’s worried about a man thinking I’m some sort of dick tease. But only because he never struck me as a jerk. He seemed almost…nice. Nice yet mysterious, still exuding an air of danger.
The same enigmatic stranger who managed to reach deep inside to wake my body by both his presence and touch.
I draw in a deep breath; the frosty night air makes my nostrils feel as if they might freeze from inhaling it. My heart rate kicks up when I dart my eyes to the left of the bar’s front to the very alley I let that man—
The wind whips past me suddenly, battering my face, but it’s not the sole reason for the chills racing down my spine. I sense someone nearby, approaching in the dark. Instinctively, I reach for my sheathed weapon, my fingers poised over it while I carefully survey my surroundings. Because I don’t have an attack planned for tonight, I’m only carrying my knife.
A man steps forward, emerging from the bulk of shadows that appear to curve protectively around him, and I recognize his build, the way he carries himself. Once he draws to a stop a few feet away, in the sparse amount of light from the flickering streetlight in the distance, I notice a hint of surprise drift over his features.
“We meet again.”
His deep, slightly gravelly voice dances over my skin, those eyes never leaving mine. I can’t help but wonder what he sees—how he sees me. If he detects anything at all, that I’m not a good person like I once was
. I wonder if he senses what I’ve become.
I take a deep breath before forcing out the words. “I wanted to apologize for the other night and—” I jerk suddenly, caught off guard by something pressing against my knee. When I look down, I’m startled to find a dog with fur as dark as midnight peering up at me. My head snaps up as I ask the man, “Is he yours?”
He doesn’t look at me. In fact, he seems confused by the dog’s appearance. But then he baffles me further when he answers slowly with, “He’s mine.”
When I frown, he finally meets my eyes, and something indecipherable glitters in the depths. “He’s not normally”—he glances at the dog once more—“friendly.”
“Does he…bite?”
A barely there hint of a smirk tugs at one edge of his lips. “Only if he doesn’t like you. But it seems like you’ve got yourself a friend.” He lifts his chin, gesturing to where the dog nudges my leg with his head, silently urging me to pet him.
“Do you mind if I pet him?” I ask cautiously.
“Have at it.”
Slowly, I hold out my hand for the dog. “Hey there, cutie.”
“His name is Kujo.”
I murmur softly to Kujo. He nudges my open palm with his head, tail wagging when I indulge him by petting his silky coat of fur. “You’re a sweet boy. Yes, you are.”
I raise my gaze to the man. “How long have you had him?”
“Not very long.”
I murmur more sweet words to the dog until finally the man peppers me with, “What were you trying to apologize for before Kujo interrupted?”
Oh. Shit. That. I straighten and resume my apology. “For the other night.” I wince. “When I left you…you know. I wanted you to know it wasn’t my intention or…”
Dammit, I’m screwing this up royally. Even worse, his intense gaze never strays from mine.
“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” he finally says. A brief beat of silence hangs between us. “Except for leaving before I got your name.”
There it is. It’s exactly what I was trying to avoid.
Buying myself time, I rush out with, “You first.”
“Hunter.” His answer comes so readily, so eagerly, it catches me by surprise.
Hunter. Somehow, the name suits him well. He looks like a skilled hunter, the way those sharp eyes always seem to study his surroundings, never giving a hint of missing the slightest details. He tips his head to the side, silently reminding me that I haven’t reciprocated.
I press my lips thin, wondering if I’ll regret this. “Cate.” Though I’d never shortened Caitlin or been given a nickname, something within urges me to stick close to it.
Hunter’s eyes search my features, and I wonder if he’s trying to determine whether I’m telling the truth. “With a C or a K?”
C. “With a K.”
Something flares in his gaze, and I wonder if he detects my lie.
No, it’s more likely my paranoia.
“Pleasure to meet you, Kate.”
A huff of a laugh escapes me. “The pleasure’s all mine if the other night’s anything to go by.” My eyes snap open wider as soon as the words spill free. Holy shit. “I’m sorry. That was—”
“Funny.” The edges of his mouth tip up a fraction, and a deep yearning slams into me to witness a full-fledged smile from him. To see if his eyes will crinkle at the corners.
A strong gust of wind batters us, and he scans the area. “I need to get this guy home.”
I nod. “Right.” I take a step back. “I should head—”
“Want to join us for a drink?”
Eyes widening, I stare at Hunter and can’t shake the feeling that he’s surprised himself by the offer. His lips press into a thin line before he nods toward Kujo. “Obviously, this guy only gets water.”
I tip my head to the side, finding myself more mesmerized by this mysterious man. “Was that a joke?”
There’s an odd quality to his gaze now. “You in?”
Unsettled by his sharp, assessing eyes, I stuff my hands into the pockets of my peacoat, certain to slip one hand past the gap I made in the inner fabric, enabling me to reach my sheathed weapon. When my fingertips graze over it, the simple contact soothes me, making me feel secure.
Hunter’s eyes dart down to where my hands are hidden beneath the fabric, and I’m bombarded with the feeling that he senses what I’m doing, which is impossible.
You in?
His question needles me because I know if I go with him, it means embarking on something entirely different than what’s been my mission all along. Yet I can’t deny the onslaught of yearning to take advantage of this moment and not be afraid. To truly indulge myself while I’m entrenched in this pathetic excuse of a life. To actually feel something other than hollow indifference because something about Hunter calls to me.
“I’m in.”
29
Hunter
What the fuck am I doing?
I just invited a fucking stranger to come home with me. It doesn’t matter that I had my fingers buried deep inside her pussy a few nights ago. She’s still someone I don’t know. Someone I haven’t vetted.
She got nervous when I asked her to come back with me. I knew it the moment she shoved her hands in her pockets. Something about the way she did that gave me the impression that I made her uneasy, which irritates the fuck out of me even though, if she really knew me, her uneasiness would be completely warranted.
I’m a man who’s made killing my life—my career—and I’m the best there is. I sure as hell didn’t get to this point by letting anyone under my skin.
But I can’t deny the pull I feel—the attraction to her that I’ve never felt for any other woman. If it were tangible in some way, I imagine it would crackle in the air between us like a high-voltage electrical charge.
It doesn’t take us long to get back to my place. We don’t make small talk along the way, yet it’s somehow not the least bit awkward.
When we get to my door, I hesitate. “I wasn’t planning for this, so if you don’t mind waiting while I clean a few things up…” I gauge her reaction, partially to see if she chooses to bail and use this as a way out.
Fuck if every part of me isn’t begging for her not to. It grates on me to admit it, but I’d be damn disappointed.
“No problem.”
My shoulders relax, stunning me with the realization that I’d tensed, preparing for her to leave.
Rushing inside and closing the door behind us, I leave her in the entryway and quickly stride over to my desk where my notes lie. It’s not like there’s anything that would cause a ruckus if the average person saw it—that kind of shit is stored electronically, and multiple steps to ensure only I can access it. The main file I printed is the one on the Ashford woman who disappeared after the shooting, and even that doesn’t contain anything top secret. Well…assuming one can hack into the police department’s database, of course.
Not wanting to make Kate wait longer than necessary, I shove the file beneath the closed laptop. Even if she’s a snooper, she’ll likely assume I’m a private detective or something along those lines.
Approaching where she remains standing, now with her jacket in her hands, I tip my head, gesturing for her to precede me and venture farther inside. When she steps past me, my entire body draws tight as I’m assailed by how right it feels to have her in my space.
She’s a woman I don’t even know, yet I feel as if I know her on a deeper level. And not only because I’d made her orgasm in a fucking alley. It’s something I’d scoff at if anyone else would’ve mentioned it. But facing it head-on sends me reeling because there’s no mistaking it.
There’s an odd sense of familiarity about her. Like we’ve crossed paths before even though I know we haven’t.
Watching her as Kujo nudges her leg so she’ll pet him yet again, I’m stunned by my dog’s actions. This is the same damn dog I’ve been training with the bite sleeve, the one whose viciousness knows no bounds
and who caused so much damage to the first bite sleeve that I had to purchase a replacement.
The dog who hasn’t shown any interest or affinity for another human since he showed up at my door.
“Want a beer?”
Her jacket lies near my own discarded one, now draped over one of the chairs. Kate sits on the floor, petting Kujo, who’s settled his head on her thigh. “I’m good for now, thanks.”
She returns her attention to my dog, murmuring to him in a gentle tone. I head to the fridge and grab a beer, twisting off the cap with the opener.
The peal of Kate’s laughter ricochets through me, acting like soft fingertips tiptoeing along my spine. Her laughter sounds almost rusty as if it’s become foreign to her.
I move closer to where I can better observe the two and lean against the wall. Dangling the neck of the beer from my fingertips, I watch as Kate plays on the floor with Kujo, her amusement unequivocally disarming and spreading a sense of lightness through the place.
It still screws with my head how he immediately went up to her. He never does that shit—with anyone. Hell, the damn dog growls at kids, for fuck’s sake, like he’s about to eat them for a snack. He hates everyone except me.
And now, it seems, Kate.
I take a long drink from my beer and study her while Kujo lies on the floor and tunnels his head beneath the hem of her shirt. I can tell the instant his cold, wet nose makes contact with her skin by her surprised laugh. What is it that makes Kujo trust her?
“Kujo.” My voice is stern and curt. He immediately sits up, ears perked. “Go lie down.” I jerk my chin in the direction of his plush dog bed in the far corner on the other side of the room. Slowly rising, he pouts like only he can.