Page 11 of Love & Other Killers
“I know my flighty little Blackbird,” he says, running his free hand up the length of my thigh and back down again, setting off a tingle of heat low in my belly. “I know when your mind is elsewhere. So where is it?”
I look down at the phone in my hand where the web page is open to a news story from two years ago. One with Autumn’s smiling face pulled from social media. It’s the same photo the press used days after our first encounter, too, when she was touted as the social media influencer turned “only survivor of prolific serial killer Harvey Mead.” She looks so carefree, her smile vibrant, her blond hair lifting from her shoulders on a strong breeze.Serial Killer Survivor Goes Missing, this headline says. “You remember that woman who was stuck in the cellar at Harvey Mead’s house? The one who went running through the barn?”
Rowan’s brow furrows and he shrugs. “Yeah. Kind of, I guess.”
“Well, I saw her.”
“Saw her?” The crease deepens between his brows as I nod, the muscles in his arm tensing. “What do you mean? Saw her when?”
I swallow, passing the phone to Rowan. “Today. Here. At the clearing overlooking the farm.”
Rowan sits upright, panic flashing across his features. He glances at the screen, but I don’t think he really digests any of the story, not when a thousand fears are probably racing through his mind. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“Probably because you would have hunted her down and killed her when she’s not doing anything wrong.”
“Not doing anything wrong?” he parrots back to me, ignoring my point about the killing. He gives me a slice of his lethally sharp glare. “She was following us.Watchingus. Watchingyou.”
I could be angry at the possessive tone he takes, or the way his glare doesn’t soften, not even after I wrap my hand around his wrist. But I know his fears are not unfounded, not for people like us. It would take so little for Autumn to undo our lives, if that’s what she really wanted. But just like my instincts were right about Allan Munster, I know they’re right about her too.
“She doesn’t want to hurt us. She’s not asking for anything. She’s known who we were all this time, and she’s never said a word to the authorities or the press about us,” I say as I pull my phone from Rowan’s grasp and place it on the cedar nightstand. “I think she just wanted to say thank you, in her own way.” I run my hand up his arm, my palm coasting over his shoulder and up his neck until it rests on the side of his face. It’s only with this touch that his eyes soften, but just a fraction. “Today’s the anniversary of Harvey’s death. She lost her boyfriend that day. I’m sure it’s a lot to process, but I’m confident she doesn’t mean any harm.”
Rowan sighs, his eyes drifting closed as he presses his cheek into my palm. “I’m not a fan of the idea of someone watching you, Blackbird. Especially not as we’re playing our game. It’s dangerous.”
“So is the game itself, but we don’t stop playing.” I lean a little closer, catching hold of his navy gaze when his eyes open. They dart down to the dimple next to my lip and darken. “And I don’t stop winning.”
“Blackb—”
“Don’t you start. I won.”
“With my help—”
“I. Won.”
“But I cracked him over the head—”
“A survivable injury. Lark lured him in. Rose still axed him first. And I sliced his throat open, so the win is ours. Stop arguing with me, Butcher. Just take the loss.” My faux pout does little to disguise the teasing grin that begs to erupt as I give his face a gentle pat. “Just take it like agood boy.”
The change in Rowan is instantaneous. From wary interest to absolute hunger. From man to ravenous beast. I shriek as he grabs my waist and drags me to the center of the bed in a single swift tug. And then he’s looming over me, devouring every laugh that tumbles from my lips.
“Like agood boy, love?” he says as he drags my sleep shorts down my legs and tosses them to the floor. I can barely cage my moan as he spreads my thighs and prowls toward my pussy. “When have I ever fucked you like agood boy?”
Any words I’m about to say are lost on a gasp as Rowan descends on me like a starving man. His tongue rolls over the curved triangle piercing at my clit before he sucks it into his mouth, toying with the bar as I writhe in his unrelenting grip. He grasps it between his teeth and tugs, treading the thin line between pain and pleasure. He forces my legs wider andleaves fingerprints on my thighs to the sound of my desperate moan. With his gaze soldered to mine, he breaks away from my clit to trace the piercings that frame my pussy with his tongue, each one surely seared into his memory from the many times he’s lavished them with his full attention.
“You haven’t answered my question, love,” Rowan says as he blows a thin stream of air from the fourchette piercing all the way to my clit. “Or maybe you can’t, because you know goddamn well that I’ve ruined this tight little cunt of yours every single time I’ve fucked you. Just the way you like.”
Rowan is right, of course. There’s nothing good or merciful or innocent about the way he breaks me open and puts me back together. Of course he would stop the moment I ever gave the word. He would never hurt me in a way I didn’t want. But he’s a hunter. He tracks every ounce of my pleasure as though it’s his prey. He relentlessly consumes it until I can’t take any more, until I’m breathless and boneless and aching in all the best ways. He fucks me like a demon that’s devouring my soul. And he toys with me like one too.
“You know what I think?” he asks as he pulls back my pussy lips with his thumbs to blow another thin stream of air across my entrance as a shiver racks my body.
I shake my head, and his hard stare darkens until I finally say, “No.”
A grin tugs up one side of his lips. “I think that maybe Fionn and Rose weren’t enough that first time in Nebraska. Maybe you wanteveryoneto hear how I make you scream.”
Blush flames in my cheeks as Rowan descends on me once more, plunging his tongue into my channel as his fingers tease my swollen clit. I bite down on my lip as he increases the pressure. His other hand snakes beneath my tank top. I peel my shirt off, tossing it to the floor, and then he’s toying with the metal heart that surrounds my pierced nipple. A quietmoan escapes when I climb closer to the edge of an orgasm, but it’s not enough for Rowan.
He pulls back, rising to his knees. With a tug, the towel unfurls from his waist. He grips his erection with a fist, pumping once down the shaft as he lines himself up to the apex of my thighs. And then he presses his palm flat on my stomach and feeds his cock into my pussy, inch by inch. “You’re being unusually quiet. Are yousureyou don’t want to scream?”
I whimper as he slowly pushes in. Stretching me. Filling me. Flooding all my senses with his touch. His heat. The smell of soap. An electric current spirals through my flesh. He picks up a rhythm of deep thrusts and I let out another moan, louder this time. A grin kicks up one side of his lips.
