My Killer Vacation — Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Myles

hat am I doing?W

Something bad. Something very unwise.

Put her down. She’s not for you.

Tell that to my fucking stomach. Or my chest. Both of which locked up tighter than the US Treasury when I saw her standing on the beach. First there was relief to see her safe. Then there was this bone-deep satisfaction that I haven’t even begun to unpack. All I know is I liked her waiting for me. I liked us arriving at the same destination and breathing the same air. Even when she’s pissed at me, which has been most of our acquaintance, it doesn’t occur to me to walk away. Or take off. It’s almost natural to stick.

Or follow her siren song of an ass all the way home. Jesus,

what has gotten into me?

She’s wife material.

She’s someone’s future wife.

That should be the reason I go back to my motel room and drink whiskey until the peppy apple scent of her dulls in my blood. Instead, the fact that she’s someone’s future wife is the reason I’m kicking open the rear screen door, with my cock already at full mast. I’m jealous. God, no wonder people do stupid shit when they’re feeling this way.

It’s like my insides are all gummed up and functioning improperly. I’m sweating, muscles tense. And all I can think about is ruining her for anyone else.

Apparently jealousy goes hand in hand with selfishness.

That gives me pause.

Selfishness. Now that’s a sin I’m familiar with.

I don’t want to be that way to Taylor.

Ican’t. I…like her. I like her sense of humor and the way she swings wildly from one extreme emotion to the next, as if she’s feeling too much of everything. She’s all bright splashes of color on the gray canvas I’ve been staring at while half awake. She’s mischievous and doesn’t let me get away with being rude. Why don’t Ihate that? Shouldn’t I?

Bottom line, this is messy. This attraction between us is so fucking messy, I would be downright irresponsible—a bastard—for giving in. I’m the experienced one. When she says she won’t tie any of her strings to me, I shouldn’t take her word for it, nor should I want to commit cold-blooded murder to the man who earns those strings. Yet I know if the nameless, faceless son of a bitch was in front of me right now, I’d be doing a life sentence in no time.

No.

Pull back. I’m just in the moment, right?

I’m touching her. I’m hot as hell to swap orgasms.

I’ve never needed on this insane of a scale before, so my emotions are probably heightened. As soon as we work this out of our system, I’ll have my head back on straight.

I just have to make doubly sure she’s on the same page, so I don’t lead her on.

“Taylor,” I say, dragging her off my shoulder, her tits sliding over my shoulder and pressing up against my pecs.

Damn. As soon as we’re eye level, I keep her there, which means her feet are dangling nearly a foot off the floor and I try really hard not to dwell on how protective that makes me feel. My hold tightens. Roughly. “Hey. You understand this is physical. Nothing more. Right?”

“Right.” She nods, those vivid green eyes trained on my mouth. “I promise. You’re a tool of self-discovery for me.

That’s all.”

“Right.” Why am I suddenly made of stone? “Okay.”

My throat feels uncomfortable. Maybe I just need

clarification.

“So when you say tool—”

“Should I take off my clothes?” Earnestly, she searches my face. “Or are you going to?”

Fine. Fuck it. I’m a tool of self-discovery. Sold. “Me. I’m taking them off.”

I don’t even know where we’re going. Only that I’m suddenly carrying her through the living room to the back of the house to get away from the multitude of windows that look out onto the street. We enter one of the bedrooms —one that doesn’t look to be occupied—and I kick the door shut behind us, settling Taylor on her feet.

My palms sweat as I look her over, taking in our height difference and her trusting expression. Her hard nipples, windblown hair and flushed cheeks. I’m a split-second from backing her onto the bed, hiking up her skirt and just ringing myself dry between her legs. But a quickie is not what we’re doing here, is it? She asked me for something.

Help me learn exactly what I want. And how to ask for it.

There is a purpose here. If I forget about it… That’s too much proof that she’s getting to me.

She’s not, I reassure myself, while removing my weapon.

Engaging the safety and setting it on the dresser. “Here’s the thing, Taylor,” I say, my voice sounding like a buzzsaw.

“You won’t know what you like until you’ve had it. You might not even like it…”

Her lashes momentarily shield her eyes, like she’s shy.

Fuck me for being so turned on by that. “Rough?” she asks.

The saliva in my mouth dries up. “Yeah. Rough.” I take a step in her direction, my pulse going from a gallop to a sprint. “I’ll show you a little. You tell me if and when I go

too far.”

“Do we like…designate a safe word?”

“We don’t need a safe word. You just say stop.” The urge to comfort her wins before I have the chance to arrange a battle. Tugging her close by the front of her tank top, I keep pulling until my lips meet her forehead and I kiss her there. “I know what stop means, sweetheart.”

She nods. Trusting me.

My heart knocks faster.

This is getting too personal already. That’s not what she asked from me and I don’t have it to give anyway. With a lot

more rigor than intended, I unzip her skirt and shove it down past her hips. The soft denim has barely pooled around her ankles when I grip two tight handfuls of her ass and yank her up onto her toes. The gasp she lets out against my throat burns me alive. Once again, I am this close to pinning her beneath me on the bed and fucking the tension out of us both, fast and furious, but somehow, even with my dick harder than iron, I restrain myself.

“Still think you want to be manhandled?”

Halfway through my question, she’s already nodding

eagerly.

Sweetly.

Sweetly? I wouldn’t know sweet if it bit me in the ass.

Teeth gritted, I spin her around to face the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room. I watch her eyes connect with us. The study in contrasts we make together.

Her in a tank top and panties. Pretty. Wide-eyed. And then me behind her. A jaded motherfucker with three days’ worth of beard growth damn near twice her size. This is what she asked for, though. Isn’t it? She’s still on her toes, her sexy backside flush to my lap right now, gently grinding left to right, for a reason. She’s been hungering for something and not being fed. How is it possible to be relieved by that and find it unacceptable at the same time?

I pinch the hem of her tank top between my fingers, taking a few seconds to graze her belly with my thumb, because goddamn, she is so soft. Her ass stills in my lap at the action, her eyelids fluttering. She likes it. As much as she wants a taste of hard and fast, she likes being touched gently, too, and knowing I shouldn’t, I file that away for

later.Later? Yup. Can’t help it. Can’t help cataloging the acceleration of the pulse at the bottom of her neck when I peel the tank top over her head, leaving her in cream- colored panties and a matching… “What is this?” I ask, running my index finger back and forth under the thin shoulder strap, looking down over the top of her at those two full, ripe tits, cupped in lace. How they plump when I tug on the strap. Fuck. I can barely keep from growling. “It’s not a bra, but it’s not fit for public, either.”

“Oh, um. Yes,” she murmurs, chest rising and falling.

“It’s a bralette.”

Never heard of one. “Cute.”

Her eyes flash to mine in the mirror. “I don’t want to be

cute.”

“Guess we better take it off then.”

I watch her toes curl into the rug. Nervous but excited.

“Good.”

Instead of working it up and over her head, I surprise her by drawing the straps down her arms, then slowly dragging the dainty lace garment down her ribcage, belly, hips. And then I stop, settling my mouth against her ear.

“You pull it the rest of the way. All the way to your ankles.”

She’s breathing harder now.

She knows something is coming—and she’s right.

I’m not operating some kind of game here, though. I’m moving on distinct reflexes that come directly from this woman. How she moves, how she breathes, what it means when she swallows harder than usual. It’s like I tune into her channel and some untapped source inside of me knows

how fast to move, how slow, when she’s ready for more. I’m too mesmerized by the sight of her sexy, tan-lined body in the mirror to worry again about the fact that these blind reflexes have never existed in me before. That they’re specific to her.

Taylor chews her lip a moment, then takes hold of the bralette, shimmying it down over her hips in a way that makes her naked tits jiggle. Rounded and full and topped with pouting nipples. I groan at the intense rush of pressure between my legs, tearing my attention from the reflection of her breasts in order to look down, watch her bend over right there in front of me in a thin pair of panties, pulling the bralette down her knees, over the curve of her calves, until the lace touches the ground.

But I don’t let her stand up.

I slide my fingers into her hair and keep her bent over, pulling her head back. Just her head. Slowly fisting her hair tighter and tighter until she whimpers.

“Jesus. Look at you.” My free hand twists in the back panel of her underwear. Twists and twists until she cries out because the material is so tight over her pussy.

Separating her lips and ass cheeks, applying pressure to everything in between. “Would anyone call you cute now?”

Still being held in that bent over position, she studies her reflection through glazed eyes. “No,” she hiccups.

“No.”

“No. Me either.” I lean back slightly, tugging her twisted panties to one side, groaning at what I reveal. “Well, let me clarify. I can see your tight asshole and nothing could stop that from being cute, but the rest of you?” I press my lap to

the taut curve of her ass, letting her feel the painful effect she’s having on my cock. “Nowyou’re a girl who likes to fuck dirty.”

A shudder wracks her body and I have the most compelling urge to gather her against my chest, warm her up. Tell her how beautiful she is. But I’m not going to pretend I’m not enjoying this. What we’re currently doing.

Taylor watching herself in the mirror. Witnessing the surprise come over her, the change in how she sees herself.

She’s nearly naked, bent over in front of an unscrupulous man, tits on display, mouth swollen, pupils eclipsing her

irises.

Lust. She’s in it.

My God, so am I.

I’ve never been harder in my life.

Or at least that’s what I think. Until she seeks out my

eyes in the mirror.

And says, “Rougher.”

So much blood travels south so fast, I almost double over on top of her. I’m aching to pull down her panties and pump home from behind, just like this. She’s wet. I don’t need to feel her pussy to know it. The evidence is part of my consciousness. It’s in my veins. She’s practically trembling in front of me, her ass working up and down in my lap. Hips tilted up. I know what the hell she’s asking me for.

I twist her fisted panties one more time, lace biting into sensitive flesh until she cries my name, her thighs starting to tremble. “You want me to slap the cute out of this ass?”

“Yes.”

My hand is already moving, but not to spank her. Not yet.

No, I reach between her legs and massage her pussy roughly, leaning down to mutter praise against her spine.

Drawing her so close to me I can’t tell where she ends and I begin. I’m losing control here. I’m no longer thinking objectively. Sensation is leading me completely, along with a driving hunger for her satisfaction. The best she’ll ever have. As soon as she begins to grind her sex into my palm, I let go, remove my hand from between her thighs and rain a smack down on the supple curve of her right buttock.

I don’t know what I’m expecting. Gratification, yeah. A

feeling of authority, sure.

I get those things.

But just like that morning, a savage sense of responsibility takes over, demanding I soothe her immediately afterward. Like it’s my job. My right. I cup the place where my palm connected and rub it, my mouth kissing up her spine and burying in her hair. “Good. That’s a good girl.”

Even while I’m kissing her neck, licking over sensitive spots and whispering words in her ear, I raise my palm again and bring it down even harder—and she whimpers, “Yes, yes, yes,” so I do it again. I repeat the pattern three more times. Spank, soothe, spank, soothe until her knees are so weak, I’m holding her up. “Rougher,” she whispers.

And I’m done. I’m fucking done.

I might be dominating her, but she’s owning me.

I let Taylor go down on her knees and I straighten, grappling with the zipper of my jeans. My composure is in

the incinerator. All I hear is her asking me for rough.

Rougher. All I can think about is getting my cock in her gorgeous mouth and she wants that, too, or she wouldn’t be helping me lower the zipper over my painful swell of flesh. She wouldn’t be exhaling on my belly, kissing me there with tongue, totally unrestrained, tilting her face up to meet my groaning advance, allowing me to sink my cock into her mouth without waiting or teasing or playing

games. Yes.God yes.

Just urgent. Just rough.

“Blame the size of it on every goddamn thing you do.

Never been bigger or harder in my life. A little twitch of that ass and I’m stiff. Fuck. Just like that. I’m hard even when you’re pissed at me, baby.”

In the spirit of giving her what she needs—Christ, when did I ever want anything else?—I take two fistfuls of her hair, wrapping the silky strands around my wrists and I sink deep, deep, deep, grinding in and out of her sweet, giving mouth, hips rutting up and back like an animal and she loves it. God help me, she takes me deeper than I’d ever expect her to offer and then some, dipping her tongue into my slits and ridges and using her hands to fist fuck me.

I’ve died and gone to heaven. No, higher. I’m in an undiscovered promised land.

“That’s good, Taylor. That’s so fucking good. Lick what you did. Suck what you did.” On some indescribable level, I know I’m not going to feel complete unless this ends inside of her. I want her mouth on mine. Want my body anchoring her. I need her skin, her scent, her heat. “You and that dick- tease mouth get on the bed,” I rasp, drawing myself out

from between her lips with a pop, urging her to her feet, turning, backing us toward the bed. “On your back, Taylor.

Panties off. I swear to God, I’m going to fuck you sideways.”

“I would like that very much,” she says breathily, falling onto her back and struggling to get the underwear down.

There’s a mouthwatering flash of wet flesh— Glass shatters behind me.

I don’t think. I throw myself on top of Taylor, covering her completely with my body, arms wrapped around her head. Sharp stings of glass land on my back one by one, burning pricks that definitely draw blood. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a large red and white buoy tumble to a stop on the ground near the side of the bed—and rage blooms inside me to an unholy degree.

Taylor could have been hit by that buoy.

“What…what was that?” she whispers, the fear in her

voice making my stomach drop.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Stay objective. Easier said than done. I’m almost dizzy with rage. I wait several beats to make sure nothing else is coming. Then I slide Taylor off the bed and rush her to the bedroom door, blocking her from the window with my body the entire way. “Go to the bathroom and lock the door.”

She hesitates, going up on tiptoes to stare at the broken window over my shoulder. “Oh my gosh. Even the vandalism is nautical-themed.”

She’s makingjokes at a time like this? All I can see is her unconscious and bleeding on the bedroom floor. I let my guard down. I let it down.“Go. Now.”

As soon as she disappears into the bathroom and I hear the lock click, I fasten my jeans as quickly as possible and jog to the front of the house, gun in hand. There is a set of taillights at the very bottom of the hill turning on to the main road, but it’s too dark to get a description of the vehicle, let alone a license plate number.

“Goddammit!” I roar through my teeth, ripping out my cell phone to call the police.

A voice answers in my ear a moment later, but I have to hang up, because I’m not ready to respond. I’m thinking of the woman inside. How utterly lost I’ve been in her for the last half an hour. Lost enough that I stopped paying attention, my effectiveness compromised. And because of that, she could have beenhurt. One day around Taylor and I’m not just breaking my rule about letting my emotions get involved while I work a case, I’m shattering it.

And now that there is obviously a real threat toward her, Ican’t let it happen again.