She slid had a hand between her legs and touched herself.
He didn’t smile. He watched. She wrapped her leg around his calf. He used the action as leverage to spread her, pushing with his knee. Under his rapt attention, another rush of moisture trickled from her. She swirled her fingers in it, gliding over her clitoris, her body involuntarily arching against an intense burst of heat.
Her body burned. Her muscles contracted. She moaned.
“You’re awe-inspiring down here.”
She laughed.
“I mean it. All plump and pretty.”
“Pretty and plump? That’s not a compliment.” But her body reacted as if he’d told her she was a goddess come down to earth.
He inserted two fingers, pumping lightly as she worked herself. “You grab me and hold me. Tight and hot. Believe me, it’s a compliment.” Then he backed off with his hand and thrust his tongue inside her. Her fingers bumped his nose.
It was surely the most erotic sensation she’d ever known, an odd intimacy as together they propelled her towards climax.
“You’re so close,” he murmured as if her taste on his tongue signified something. Then he blew on her again.
She arched, gasped, the mere touch of his breath an aphrodisiac. Or maybe it was his burning gaze on her.
“Come when I do,” she begged, the need to do it together suddenly more important than all her fears.
On his knees, he pumped his cock, then he leaned over her, bracing himself on his hand. With every movement, his tip skimmed her opening, not entering but promising so much more.
She worked faster, harder, sliding in all her wetness. Sensation spiraled down to just her fingers on her clit. Her vision blurred. She bit the flesh between his neck and shoulder. She wanted to watch, to absorb his groan and the wet slap of his palm on his cock, but her mind shut down. She arched and ground. Finally she screamed as the delicious frenzy of orgasm shot her out of her body to the ceiling. She came with the hot spill of his cum all over her clitoris, all over her fingers, dripping down to fill her. She came with his name on her lips and his shout in her ear. She came forever.
His voice pulled her back from heaven. “Lick your fingers.”
His essence. His semen. His manhood and his virility. She opened her eyes to the deep blue need in his. He hovered so close, but barely touching. His arm shook with the strain of holding himself up. Then she did what he told her to.
Meeting his gaze, she put her fingers to her lips, spreading his taste all over. Opening her mouth, she slid two wet fingers inside and sucked him in. His taste, hers, mingling on her tongue. She’d tasted him before, she’d taken him in her mouth, she’d swallowed him. This was ... different. This was them together, blending, until their combined tastes became one and she couldn’t tell them apart.
Blue flames leaped in his eyes, then suddenly he swooped down her, taking her mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss. She opened for him, swirling her tongue with his. Her thighs climbed his legs and clasped him to her. Max held him with all her strength.
When he pulled back, she couldn’t force her eyes to open, and her body failed to respond to her mind’s command. She lay limp and exhausted and frighteningly satisfied.
“Sleep,” he whispered.
With his taste on her lips and the scent of lovemaking in her nose, she fell asleep like a child who hadn’t learned to fear the dark.
Chapter Seven
Witt, ensconced before a glowing monitor in the Lines Library, typed in the names from Cameron’s yearbook. Happy as a clam, the man was at home with a computer, which made Max wonder how much time a cop spent pounding the streets for answers versus pounding the keyboard. His task, though she hadn’t specified Cameron as the organizer, was to search on every single person who signed Cameron’s book. If there was no last name, he would flip through the book and search on anyone with that first name. Should be enough to keep him busy the rest of the day.
He’d let her sleep for a couple of hours. Despite her exhaustion, it had been more than enough. Max slept like the dead, or the deeply fulfilled. They’d shared something. She couldn’t say what, maybe didn’t want to say it. Not yet. It was enough to admit to herself that she’d shared something important with him.
Kinky and sick are the products of a warped mind.
What they’d done together seemed the furthest thing from sick and kinky. She’d keep telling herself that until she truly believed it heart and soul. She would believe it.
Atta girl, Cameron whispered. Now go do the obituary thing.