Page 81 of The Woman at the Funeral

I was relatively sure that was honest. She was irritated about it, flicking ash carelessly into the sink.

We shared some more small talk that she kept circling back to Blair, which only managed to piss me off until I had to fake a phone call and leave.

I wanted to take a walk to calm myself down.

But being on the streets any longer than absolutely necessary was not a good idea until we found Matt’s laptop, tablet, or phone, and could figure out who he might have been in contact with.

So I dipped into a cab and headed back to the safe house.

Then I walked in.

And she’d been standing there in an uncharacteristically dressed-down black romper with a couple of white buttons down the front. Judging by the thin straps—and the way the material teased over the swells of her breasts—she wasn’t wearing a bra under it.

Suddenly, the perfect way to get rid of the tension coiled in my gut came to me.

I was across the room in seconds, my hand grabbing the back of her neck, and my lips crashing down on hers.

There was no hesitation as her hands rose to grab my forearms, then slid up to wrap around my neck.

Her lips were hungry on mine, tongue teasing, teeth nipping.

Turning her, I slammed her back against the wall, swallowing her moan, enjoying my lack of control.

Well, there was certainly more where that came from.

My hands moved out, grabbing the straps of her romper and dragging it down.

In one motion, she was naked, save for a barely-there pair of nude panties.

My hand glided down the curve of her hip, then slid into her panties.

“So wet for me already,” I murmured against her lips, getting a throaty moan in response as my thumb found her clit, then two fingers slid into her tight pussy.

Her head fell back, slamming into the wall, exposing that pretty neck of hers.

I leaned in, tracing up her throat with my tongue, then sucking the skin over her pulse point as I started to fuck her with my fingers.

“Tell me what you want,” I demanded, teeth nipping her earlobe, feeling her pussy tighten around my fingers in response. “Do you want me on my knees, face buried in your sweet pussy, or—”

I broke off at the pained sound that escaped her.

“I want you inside me,” she said, voice deep with need. “Now, please,” she cried, her need stripping me bare.

Before I could even start to give her what she needed, her guilty hands were working my belt free, then undoing my button and zip, before reaching inside to grab my cock and stroke me. Once, twice.

A groan escaped me as I reached for my wallet, pulling out a condom.

She whimpered as she lost my fingers.

But as soon as we were protected and my cock rubbed up her cleft, she lost all her objections.

“Tell me again,” I demanded as she rocked shamelessly against me. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” she said, hands grabbing my ass, trying to force me downward.

“No, that’s not what you said.”

Her little whimper went right to my cock.

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