Depraved: St. Cecilia Slayings Book Three

by Blanco, N. Isabelle

  K: Too forward? If anything I’m flattered and pleasantly surprised. About time you got my number. Tell me, just how naughty did you have to be to get your hands on it? ;)

  I can see her face donning that little wink she sent. My dick, apparently, can see it, too. Fucker kicks beneath my slacks at images of Kiera giving me that face before she wraps her pretty pink lips around it.

  Fuck me.

  A quick scan of my surroundings ensures no one is in the near vicinity before my thumbs tap against the screen.

  Me: You don’t want to know, trust me lol.

  K: I do, actually, but how about you tell me later? I need to see you.

  The last bit almost immediately puts me on high alert. I scope out the office yet again and sit up straighter, heart thrashing in my chest. The first place my mind goes to is Elon and their unsettling disagreement.

  Me: Is everything okay?

  K: Everything’s fine. I just . . . miss you. Miss your arms around me, your lips on mine. The way your body presses me into the mattress so perfectly . . .

  This girl.

  Jesus Christ, this girl.

  Me: You know I’m at work, right? Are you trying to kill me?

  K: LOL! You’re lucky it’s just words I’m sending . . . That’s all I’m going to say. But seriously, let me see you. I need my Maverick fix.

  Me: When?

  K: Tonight?

  M: We can make that happen, but remember, we have to be discreet . . .

  K: Worry not, baby. Leave it to me. I’ll find the perfect spot and text you the deets later.

  “What’s with the goofy smile?”

  The sudden sound of Ruby’s voice nearly sends my phone flying through the air. It fumbles in my grip a few more times before I’m able to lock the screen and shove it into my pocket. “Jesus, Ruby, what the fuck?”

  Wrong question to ask, because she eyes me with suspicion as she sits at her desk. “Good news?”

  That raised eyebrow irks my soul. “Private news. Now tell me where we’re at with Mrs. Digby. Has she called to schedule her time to come in?”

  “She did, actually. Funeral preparations are still underway, but she said she’ll be in Friday afternoon to speak with us.”

  I nod. “Good. Good.” My pocket vibrates and my heart leaps with the knowledge that it’s probably Kiera responding. Checking is an impossibility, though. Especially with the Queen of Nosiness sitting mere feet away.

  “I never heard back from you in regards to the thing,” Ruby mumbles.

  No need to wonder what she’s talking about. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with Kiear, as usual, I would’ve spoken to Ruby about Nathaniel outside work. “Got caught up helping my mom with something all day yesterday. I’ll definitely message you about that later.” Hopefully she’ll take the hint what I mean: after work.

  Ruby nods, typing away at her desktop. “Fine. That works.”

  Thank you, Jesus.

  For the next half hour, my phone burns a hole through my pocket, my mind fixated on checking for that text. When Ruby finally gets up to go to the bathroom, I almost thank God aloud for the reprieve. I’m quick to slide my phone back out.

  K: There’s this bar in Cambridge that I know about. It’s far enough away from our neighborhoods.

  Just seeing her offer reawakens my semi, cock elongating to full length in my slacks. I almost want to beg her to meet me now, yet it’s not realistic. Checking to make sure there’s still no sign of Ruby, I hurry to send my reply.

  Me: You tell me when and I’ll be there.

  Her reply is instantaneous, despite the delay in my own reply, and shit, my cock’s way too fucking hard right now.

  K: Tonight. Meet me tonight. I can’t wait any longer.

  I shift in my seat, light-headed from this lust, and speed-type my reply.

  Me: Send me the address, baby. I’ll be there.

  “This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.” - Galatians 5:16

  The bar is called King’s Landing and thankfully I find parking right outside. Normally, I don’t drive to bars, but I’ll be with Kiera tonight.

  Praying that’ll help me control my need for the drink.

  What am I saying? Of course it will. My addiction to this woman is officially more powerful than my alcoholism.

  Running my hand through my hair to smooth it one last time, I exit the car and head inside. Her last text said she’d be near the back. My heart races with primal lust as I scan the area. I feel like some goddamned hunter searching for its prey or some shit.

  When I finally spot her, all the way at the back, I freeze in place.

  Her silver eyes seem to flash in the shadows and I don’t miss the way they travel my form, taking in my blue jeans and simple black t-shirt.

  She’s not the only one enjoying the view.

  I myself can barely restrain my tongue from rolling onto the floor. Even with the distance separating us and the dim lighting, I can just make out what she’s wearing. Her dark hair hangs loose around her shoulders, accentuating a long-sleeved—and quite see-through—black blouse. It’s so sheer, the black bra containing her tits shows through perfectly. A shiny, light pink skirt encases her hips, showing off miles of legs all the way down to the black pointy stilettos strapped around her ankles.

  I’m so fucked.

  If I walk out of here without laying a single finger on her, it’ll be a miracle.

  A deep breath and I shuffle my way over, our eyes locked the entire way. The closer I get, the more prominent her smirk becomes, and by the time I slide into the chair beside her, it’s a full-on devious grin.

  Leaning over, I plant a soft kiss on her cheek, lingering as I murmur, “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hey yourself,” she coos in return, and before I can so much as withdraw from her space, she’s grabbing my face in a firm grip and smashing her lips to my own.

  Passion.

  Urgency.

  Relief.

  There’s a little bit of everything in this kiss, longing included judging by the way she sighs contentedly. It’s fierce, yet tender, too—addictive and all-consuming. I almost can’t pull away. Almost wish we weren’t in this fucking bar right now so I could hold her hostage beneath me and bury myself inside her until tomorrow.

  Kiera giggles and gives my lower lip a quick nip before easing back. “Later.”

  A promise, one I know will remain true on both ends. If I don’t maul her first, she will without a single doubt.

  I nod and shift back into my seat, grabbing one of the menus on the table. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not for food,” she counters salaciously. “But I could use a drink.”

  So much for not drinking tonight . . .

  “Pick your poison, baby,” I tell her as I glance around the bar for the waitress.

  “A Manhattan, please.”

  My head snaps back toward her in surprise, brows nearly touching my hairline.

  “What?” She smiles.

  “Nothing,” I chuckle, “just didn’t pin you as a whiskey girl, that’s all.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I don’t know, I just assumed fine wines were more up—”

  “Don’t assume, Maverick. It makes—”

  “An ass out of you and me,” our voices echo.

  Kiera smiles and swiftly lifts a hand, signaling the waitress I’d missed during my observation. Seconds later, a quirky little blonde sidles up beside our table. “What can I get you guys? Ready to order?”

  “Nothing to eat for the moment. Not yet anyway. She’ll have a Manhattan, three fingers of Jameson for me, please,” I answer.

  “Coming right up,” Nikki—as her name tag reads—quips with a pleasant grin.

  She’s gone after that, leaving Kiera and I alone once more. We exchange a look, one brimming with unrelenting tension, when suddenly, those gray irises slip down my bicep.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
<
br />   She’s eyeing my tattoo, the only one I have.

  Eyes twinkling with curiosity, she raises my sleeve, baring it fully to her gaze.

  Hands in prayer, clutching a rosary, in front of a black cross, the backdrop to the entire piece being a group of black and gray flowers. It covers my bicep from shoulder almost to my elbow.

  Based on how she’s looking at it, she seems to like it.

  I open my mouth to ask her—

  “A good Catholic boy like you, tatted?” That saucy eyebrow arches once more, teasing me.

  There she goes again with that good, Catholic boy crap.

  Although I did spend my life trying to be one. Even if I failed one too many times.

  “What would you do if I licked you here?” she asks.

  I’m lost. Lost. Instantly horny and out of control. Eyes on hers, I mumble, “I’d let you lick me anywhere, and you fucking know it.”

  Then, before I can finish comprehending the nature of what’s about to happen, she leans in and does just that.

  Light gray eyes wide, flashing hot and cold, and framed by those lashes, lock on mine. Her suckable lips part, and next thing I know, she’s running her flat tongue up the length of my bicep, over my tattoo.

  Shameless.

  Tempting.

  Stare on mine the entire freaking time.

  The sensation of that wet tongue spirals through every inch of me, unleashing a cataclysmic reaction.

  My brow furrows in confusion at the unprecedented, unearthly, unprecedented amount of lust that takes over me—

  Did she really just lick my tattoo like that, as if running her tongue over the underside of my dick?

  No time to answer my own question. I rear off the seat and drag her up with me. Thank God we’re in a nearly isolated, darkened part of the bar. Hopefully no one sees me lift her into my arms, forcing those legs around my waist, or how I palm her now-bared ass, the leather of her skirt cinched all the way up to her hips.

  I can tell by Kiera’s expression and how she shifts in my arms that she wants to kiss me, but my attention is focused on finding an even more private area.

  Somewhere.

  Anywhere.

  I need to be inside her in the next few seconds, consequences be damned. All I can do for both our sakes is try to not get us caught.

  Stomping further into the bar, I do find a semi-usable spot, an alcove that’s in front of what looks like the back exit of the bar.

  I send a silent prayer that no one really uses it, and barrel us straight inside.

  Slamming her into the wall, I take her lips, hearing my own animalistic grunt as I get a taste of that tongue again. Kiera gives me that sexy little whimper, and in an instant I’m reaching between her legs, fingering soaked, bare flesh.

  I rip my lips away, panting against hers. “No fucking panties?”

  Her eyes glimmer mischievously, and the sexy, needy response she gives me? “Give me that cock I love, baby. Now.”

  God. Damn. She gets me every single time.

  “Think you can keep a lookout while I fuck this pretty little pussy?” I grit, spreading her roughly.

  “I can try, but I can’t make any promises . . . I-I lose all sense of sobriety when you’re inside me . . .”

  Glad I’m not the only one.

  Grinning like a lunatic, I lower her a fraction for easier access and bring my lips to her ear. “Unbuckle my belt and take it out.”

  Without an ounce of hesitation, Kiera reaches between us and deftly does as I commanded. First the belt, then the button and the zipper. I hiss the second her hand wraps around it, already pulsing in anticipation of being buried inside her heat. I was hard enough already, but fuck, her touch turns my dick into fucking steel. She smirks, humming appreciatively while she’s at it, and aligns the tip with her slit.

  “Eyes behind me, baby. Keep those eyes behind me,” I demand, and with a simple shift, I’m easing inside her.

  Filling her slowly.

  Invading every inch of what’s mine.

  Because that’s exactly what Kiera is . . . mine.

  “Jesus Christ . . .” My eyes clamp shut as her heat envelopes me, sucking me in greedily.

  I wanted to savor this, but I physically can’t, and it has nothing to do with our surroundings. I’m just lost in the moment—in her—as always. Before I know it, I’m fucking her into the wall like a reckless brute.

  Not like—you are reckless. Maverick the reckless idiot, ruining his life for a spoiled socialite whose family is somehow tied to the case he worked so hard to be on, that obnoxious voice pipes up, drawing an irritated growl from deep within.

  Not now.

  Not. Fucking. Now.

  I don’t want to think about any of that shit now.

  In an attempt to drown it out, I shove Kiera further against the wall and fuck her faster, harder, hyper-focusing on the moans slipping past her lips and how her body fits flawlessly against my own.

  “Oh God, oh God,” she whines, tightening her grip around my neck, her fingers tunneled through my hair.

  The poor girl is holding on for dear life, and yet, I can’t stop myself from grating out, “Fuck God. It’s Maverick, baby—say it for me.”

  “Mav . . .” Another glorious moan. “You feel you so good . . .”

  “I can guarantee you feel even better. This pussy is utter perfection, Kiera—every inch of it, of you.” Chancing a glance at her face, I’m met with a cinched expression; eyes shut, mouth slack. “You’re not watching,” I remind her.

  “I know, but fuck it, who cares? If we get kicked out, it’s just— Fuck, right there! Right there, right there!” She nearly screams it as her hands steal beneath the collar of my shirt and her nails claw into my back.

  Thank fuck for the music drowning her out.

  Her cunt floods.

  Tightens and flutters.

  She’s close, and I’m right there with her, my balls tightening, spine tingling.

  “The next time I take you, it’s gonna be in my bed. You hear me?”

  “Whatever—” She chokes on the next thrust, head hitting the wall, eyes rolling back. “You want . . . Oh fuck, whatever you want is yours, Mav. Yours!”

  In my head she’s shouting something else. Telling me she’s mine. Only mine. That no one else will ever have her but me.

  Shit. Those thoughts are nuclear. A toxic but glorious cocktail that shoots off between my synapses, forever altering the landscape of my mind. I fall into her, hands against the brick of the wall. Thank God she’s still hanging onto me, claws deep in my back.

  Growling up to the ceiling, I press deep, pulsing, rotating my hips, flooding her with everything.

  Fucking trying to imprint myself on her.

  Kiera gasps my name, losing her voice, and seizes around me, her orgasm nearly destroying me as her walls caress my over-sensitive dick.

  Out of breath, near delirious as usual after fucking her, I lower my head to her shoulder. Trying to catch my breath is futile, especially with the thoughts going through my head.

  We need to move.

  Re-adjust ourselves.

  Someone is going to catch us.

  I’m a cop and am risking my career engaging in this kind of public behavior.

  Each time with her is better than the last. It’s not dulling or becoming desensitized in any way. The addiction isn’t getting easier to handle. In fact, it’s growing worse.

  I just invited her to my house, despite all our talk of discretion, in the middle of us fucking.

  Don’t want to take it back.

  But most debilitating thought of all?

  Fuck my life. I think I’m falling in love with this girl. I really think I am.

  “But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.” - Romans 8:25

  The next morning, I’m standing in my bathroom, staring into the mirror. Freshly showered, shaved, and in nothing but a towel, I have nothing left to focus on except the gigantic mark on
the left side of my neck.

  The giant, purple mark that’s in the shape of perfect, dainty teeth.

  Fuck. Fuck. In the craziness of last night, I didn’t even notice when she did it. Didn’t feel it. Clearly, she did. It’s right there, plain for the whole world to see.

  The whole world.

  I’m not going to be able to hide that hickey with my collar. Here I was days ago, talking shit, judging Nathaniel for his own “indiscretion,” yet there is mine. A thousand times larger.

  Brighter.

  Bolder.

  How the hell am I going to hide that thing from my bosses?

  I want to be annoyed about it, but in reality, my dick’s tenting the towel, bouncing up and down eagerly.

  In my head, though? A mess of emotions.

  It’s like Kiera wanted to mark me. Claim me. And God damn me—which clearly he has—because I fucking love the idea.

  Love it.

  Next time make sure to mark her.

  I exhale a rough breath, running a hand down the side of my face. Definitely lost my mind last night. Didn’t even get a chance to ask her about Elon. Didn’t get much of a chance of anything before everything went to hell and then some.

  We snuck back to the table undetected. We ordered more drinks, ate a little. I took her home.

  And I almost didn’t let her out of the car.

  Even after fucking her again, right across the street from her estate—where anyone could’ve seen us.

  “I thought you said the next time you took me, it’d be in your bed.” she pants, bouncing on my dick in the driver’s seat as I pump into her.

  “I had to have you again, alone. Next time, though”—thrust—“I’m serious.”

  “Anything you want, Mav. Anytime, anywhere . . .”

  So much for being discreet, huh?

  I scoff at myself, stare trained on the mirror, and roll my eyes. Jesus Christ, how idiotic could I be?

  That self-deprecating voice in my head doesn’t even have the chance to respond, thankfully, because out in my bedroom, I can hear my personal cell going off. Pushing off the vanity, I amble toward the source and spare a quick glance at the caller ID.