My Killer Vacation

“Myles,” she whimpers against my mouth—and I know exactly what she’s asking for. So I look her in the eye and pump the curved, spit-slicked end of the vibrator into her pussy, slowly, slowly, until my knuckles meet her damp lips and she’s sobbing. “Please, please,” she chants. “Please.”

Goddamn. It’s happening again. Just like in that cave, just like in that bedroom before the buoy crashed in, I’m losing myself. I’m sinking into her so completely, nothing else matters. There’s no parking lot, no street, no crime to solve. If that isn’t a warning signal, I don’t know what is, but I can’t keep my mouth from raking over her soft one, capturing her whimpers and twining our tongues together in a way that says, yeah, that’s right, I’ll fuck you so nasty, you’ll never be the same. Can’t stop myself from pressing that vibrating nub to her clit and loving the way she jerks between me and the car, her thighs hot and restless around my hand.

And we’re in this other place right now, this place with no pretenses, so I open my mouth and everything I’ve been keeping trapped in my head comes pouring out.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” Keeping her clit stimulated, I work the thick curve in and out of her wet entrance. Nice and slow and deep, deep, deep, pressing when I can’t go any further. Grinding. Listening to her gasp and beg for more. “Your eyes. Your smile. Yeah, you’ve got me dying over those, then you throw in that ass. God. I’d kill to hit this from the back. Hell if you don’t move in a way that says you’re ripe and tight where it counts.”

“Oh my God, stop. Stop. No, don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Her mouth is on mine, hungry, tongue kinky, hand gripping my shoulders as if she’d like to climb me and never come down. Not sure I would let her, either. “Pretend,” she cries into our next kiss. “Pretend it’s you.”

Just when I think she’s done blowing my mind.

Later, later maybe I’ll stare into space and marvel over this second grade teacher asking me to play-fuck her with a vibrator, but right now? Ah Jesus, all I can do is comply. I position the toy in front of my bulging zipper, flatten her upper half against the car and I fuck her with the vibrating silicone. As if it’s attached to me. I’m painfully aware that it’s not, but her enjoyment eclipses my agony. Her ass is squeaking ever-so-slightly up and down the car door, my hips thrusting between her semi-spread legs, vibrator sinking in and out, and she’s biting on that bottom lip, tits puffing up and down, because here it comes, any second now she’s going to get swallowed by an orgasm and I get to watch. Me. I have that privilege.

“Every time you use this thing, remember that my cock is bigger,” I growl against her ear. “And I’m somewhere out there, thinking of you while I stroke it.”

God help me. I’m not even inside of her, but I swear I feel her clench on the heels of those words. Her fingertips tear at the front of my shirt and she pants, whines my name, rolls her hips and works out the orgasm, her pleasure slipping down the vibrator and pooling in my palm. Coating my fingers. She rides the thrusting silicone, her thighs pulsing around my working hand, her tits swelling in the neckline of her dress and I just marvel. I damn well marvel.

“Masterpiece,” I rasp, kissing her, muffling her cries. “You little fucking masterpiece.”

“Too much!” she screams into my mouth after a few more seconds and I carefully tug the smooth curve from inside of her, slamming it down on the roof of the car and kissing her like my life depends on it, fingers tunneling into her hair. My cock is swollen and pounding in my jeans. She’s wet. She’s kissing me back, still horny. I could have her right here, right now. Next time she comes, I’d feel that cinch of her pussy around me and it would be heaven. I can finally get rid of this pain in my balls that I haven’t been able to bring myself to handle alone because everything inside has her fucking name on it— There is a loud slam behind me.

My life flashes in front of my eyes.

Mentally, I bolt out of the fog and assess the threat, gun pulled from the small of my back. Weapon pointed at the ground, I back Taylor between me and the car, looking for the source of the noise. And I realize with a sweep of relief that it’s the door of the tavern. A group of rowdy young people are stumbling out of the bar, knocking the door into the side of the building in their exuberance. My adrenaline takes a nosedive and I’m suddenly covered in cold sweat. She’s saying something to me, but I can’t hear her over the ringing in my ears. Anything could have happened while I was kissing her with my back turned. Anything. Am I out of my mind to put her at risk like that? I’m not fit to be a detective. I’m not cut out for this. If I manage to solve this case and leave without anyone getting hurt, it’ll be a miracle.

“Get in the car,” I say to her, my voice like gravel. “Call your brother and tell him you’re waiting. Both of you need to get home.”

“Myles—”

“Please, Taylor. Just do it.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but climbs into the driver’s side, instead. Makes the call to Jude. A minute later, her brother comes out of the bar humming and I stride past him without saying a word, even when he calls my name.

I need to get my head back on straight. Now.

She’s been satisfied. No more slip-ups now.

Not even when the slip-up tastes like redemption.





Chapter 13





Taylor





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