Page 80 of Whistleblower

“Fuuuck,” he roars as he spills inside of me, pumping furiously until the very end, collapsing on top of me. We lay there for a while as his twitching calms. Eventually he joins me in the post-orgasmic euphoria. His bed might as well be a cloud in the sky. I’ve never felt so satiated, like there’s nothing else in the world that matters.

He falls to the side of me, smirking, but he omits the, “I told you so.” Propped up by his elbow, he uses his finger to trail the space between my breasts, down my belly button, and the thin strip of trimmed hair that leads to my still sensitive clit.

I feel his cum seeping down the inside of my thighs but I stay still, unmotivated to get cleaned up at the moment. I’m comfortable here, under his embrace. I must look high off happiness, but Linc’s brows are furrowed in distress. His eyes are glazed over like there’s a storm brewing. It’s obvious he’s lost in a troublesome thought.

“What’s on your mind?” Even my voice is worn and cracking.

“We’re in so much trouble, Bambi.” Linc’s eyes lock onto mine.

“Why?”

“Vesper warned me… I’m not allowed to keep you.” He touches my lips and then brushes his thumb against my cheek. “But now there’s no fucking way I can let you go.”

TWENTY-NINE

LINC

I woke up alone.

In the past it would’ve relieved me knowing my date excused herself before I needed to ask, but this morning I was less than thrilled to be by myself, in bed. My disappointment quickly dissipated when I heard a ruckus in the kitchen—some clanking, something metal rolling around, and then Eden hissing, “Shit! Shhhh.” I assume she’s talking to the pots and pans because no one else is here.

After the third crash, I pull myself out of bed and make my way to the kitchen. She swivels around in surprise when I enter. Eden’s long hair is wavy and loose, spilling over her back and shoulders. She’s wearing one of my button-down shirts, the tail covering her ass but leaving her silky thighs on display. Judging by the little pebbles poking through the shirt, she’s not wearing her bra and she’s removed the last remnants of her makeup.

Her hand lands on the curve of her hip. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“This is a good look on you,” I say with a smirk.

She shrugs. “I was unprepared for a sleepover. I thought we’d be going back to my place last night. I wasn’t entirely sure if you had a place, or slept upside down in a basement.”

“Really? More vampire jokes this morning?”

Closing the space between us, I wrap my arms around her then trail my hands up her thighs and over her bare ass until I’m disappointed to feel the lace band of her thong. No bra, but underwear, nonetheless.

“I just mean you look comfortable here, and by comfortable I mean stunning. I want you barefoot, in my shirt, and looking this relaxed all the time.”

Tilting her chin up, she finds my eyes. For a moment she stares at me, her eyes nearly glowing in satisfaction. She melts when I speak to her like this. It makes me sad when Eden drinks up my adoration like she’s been dying of thirst. Who’s been treating her so poorly that she doesn’t expect kindness?

“I need to tell you something.” She parts her lips and pauses. I’m almost expecting a declaration of love, but instead she whispers, “I borrowed your toothbrush this morning. It’s a pretty invasive move, so I felt the need to fess up.”

I duck down to kiss her forehead. “You’ve had more intimate things of mine in your mouth, Bambi. I think we’ll find a way past the toothbrush.”

Giggling, she spins out of my arms to attend to the pot filled that’s beginning to boil noisily. Eyeing my kitchen in total disarray, it’s clear Eden’s been busy.

“That smells good. What is that?”

“That,” she says over her shoulder, “is breakfast, that is not breakfast—bolognese.” A timer dings and she quickly pops a pan of buttered, sliced bread into the oven. “Or are you sick of Italian food after last night?”

“Not at all,” I say, sliding out a bar-height chair tucked under my kitchen island. I don’t have a dining table—I don’t usually have guests. I eat at this massive kitchen island that Eden has prepared a feast on. Good, I’ve been in and out of town so much, the groceries would’ve gone to waste. “Italian is my favorite.”

“I’ve always wanted to go,” she says, stirring the sauce on the stove with a wooden spoon. “My dad told me one time when he was in Italy, he had an affogato that was a religious experience. He told me he seriously considered going AWOL and hiding us in Italy where we could drown ourselves in espresso-soaked gelato. I mean I was twelve, so I really shouldn’t have been drinking espresso anyway, but…”

I’m quiet for a moment but when she doesn’t respond, I prod. “But what?”

“It was one of a million things we didn’t get to do together.” Eden fills a mug with freshly brewed coffee and sets it in front of me. “How do you take it?”

“Black is fine.” I grab the mug by the handle and take a sip. “How long was he sick?”

“It wasn’t too noticeable until the last six months. Or maybe it was for longer, and he hid it.” She grabs her half-empty mug and touches her lips to the rim. With her eyes down in shame, she speaks into the cup. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve put off my doctorate. I don’t know why I was in such a rush. I was building my portfolio and always had a big project, or an exam, or presentation. Looking back, I should’ve just lived instead of working so hard to set myself up to live. Does that make sense?”

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