Page 40 of Pure Killers

That stills me. "You wouldn't."

He doesn't say anything, but is that a chance I can take? His thumb pushes my bottom lip. "I like kissing you, especially when you don't try to make me bleed for it."

And he does it again. He feels so solid through my thin singlet, his hands warm, low on my waist so that the leather of his glove grazes the bare skin of my hip. I'm hot, my body switched on by the attention, so long denied to it. I can feel him, hard through his pants, pressing to the front of my hip. A small noise escapes my lips, moaning into his mouth, as he shifts and pushes that hardness against my centre.

I would hope he didn't hear, didn't feel the way my back arched, but I know he did, can feel his smugness. "This is wrong," I say, hating how breathless I sound.

His hand slides up on my ribs, stopping against the underside of my breast. His thumb presses to my nipple, and I feel thesharp sensation right between my legs. "Isn't it you lot saying crime doesn't pay? You had me tamper with a crime scene. Wasn'tthatwrong?"

"Everyone involved is dead, thanks to you. I'm not keeping anyone else out of prison who should be there with what I did."

"Ah, you are righteous, then?"

"More so than you." His thumb is still resting on my nipple. Not moving, but just the warmth, the idea, is distracting. He towers over me here, and against his usual dark clothes cast in shadow, I feel small and vulnerable in what little covers me. And yet not afraid. No, I’ve come to believe he won’t hurt me, just everyone else.

"Mm, how long since you've let a man touch any part of you?"

Closing my eyes, I turn my face away. “None of your business.” He slides his thumb, a slow flick off my hardened nipple through the thin fabric, and my breath catches.

"Ah, playing the loyal abstinent widow, were you?"

"You're disgusting. And a killer."

"How about this… if when I slide my hand inside your pretty panties in just a moment, you’re not wet… I’ll leave. Our deal is done."

I hesitate, which is probably telling on its own. I know what I've been feeling. Hell, even what I was thinking about before he showed up. "And if I am?"

"Well, since you asked," he murmurs, and I have barely the time to brace as his hand slides down the front of my belly, flicking under the top of my underwear, going lower. It’s sudden, the warm cover of his hand. I don't even know when he took his glove off, but I feel his skin, callused slightly, fingers sliding. My breath catches, hips pressing back against the bench, hands gripping his upper arms, digging into muscle. I'm dizzy off the sensations, scared of more as one finger slides between my labia, slick and questing.

My mouth falls open, breath panting out as he presses once on my apex. My legs want to widen, to let him more access, but I stop them, biting my lip, head swaying back.

"Looks like our deal is still on, then," he breathes against the top of my ear as my head tips forward again. With the heel of his hand, he encourages me back, lifting so the bottom of my butt hitches on the edge of the bench. My knees lift around him, opening, and he doesn't waste any time making the most of it. Fingers sliding inside me, he presses deep and fast, finding wetness to draw back out and circle me with.

"Fuck," I gasp out. Twining his other hand in my hair, he tilts my face back. My breath pants against his chin as he teases my lips with his.

"That’s good,” he whispers, the alteration making his voice staticky at low volumes. “I can feel you getting hotter."

I try to shake my head, to deny, and fail. I'm on a precipice already, taken there so fast it’s dizzying.

"Yes, you need this. Forget who I am. Just give in."

My back arches. I close my eyes, trying to do the opposite of what he says. But his fingers keep up their torture, sliding and pulsing, and just when I think it can't get any harder to keep the orgasm at bay, he lets go of my hair to slide down and cup my breast, softly pinching my nipple through the singlet.

Suddenly with no choice but to do as he says, all thought and sensation that isn't his hands on me falls away. I'm gasping through the abrupt climax, trying to stifle my own sounds. I taste leather as the side of his hand presses between my teeth, obscuring my moans. My body sways, wanting to close and curl around his fingers on me, knees tightening around his hips. It all crashes like a tidal wave, upwards through my stomach and chest, pushing everything ahead of it; care or shame washed away.

When his hand slides away, I try to tense myself, to push him away, unsuccessfully. Holding me upright as my muscles fail to obey me, Needler murmurs against my cheek, "This isn't done."

I sway on my feet as he steps back, and in the sudden wash of delicious exhaustion, I barely protest as he picks me up and carries me to my room, my bed. He's just a dark shape in the doorway then, the light from the kitchen glinting off his dark smile. "I'll see you next time. Be ready, Little Shadow."

Chapter five

Greg Talisof is staring at me, dead-eyed through the glass. The old bruise of a black eye on him is turning green now. I guess they're not fond of old-lady killers in here. "You knew Sharna Wells."

More than knew her… sent her after me, for putting him in here. But only I know that. And Needler, but I'm not counting him since I don't really know who he is. I arrived early. Dirk will be here soon. Since the Needler is the number-one suspect for Sharna, we've been allowed to come and question Greg.

"I knew her," he concedes. For a killer, he has a poor poker face. I almost see tears in his eyes. What did Needler say? Erotic mother-figure? "They say it was Needler?"

"That’s correct."

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