Page 86 of Tourist Season
For the first time, I wonder if I can help her escape it when I had a hand in putting her there.
That thought haunts me as we pack Sam’s equipment, bringing anything that connects him with us to my rental and Arthur’s Jaguar where they’re parked at the back of the building, out of sight from the road.
After debating the best plan for the body, we agree that we should leave Sam here at the distillery, but take a final sweep through the space to ensure we’ve erased our presence so it looks like the unfortunate accident it was … almost.
If we remove him from the scene, it will only pique the interest of the Sleuthseekers. They’ll be rabid for details, and they won’t stop until they unravel the mystery. But if it’s an accident, we might have hope for fewer problems. And if Vinny wakes from where Harper clocked him in the head back at the inn, it will be his word against mine. His wild story about his unhinged boss kidnapping me for an interview probably won’t hold much weight with the pragmatic Sheriff Yates, particularly not against my alibiof sleeping soundly at Lancaster Manor’s cottage with my girlfriend at my side.
We’re heading down the slope to the lower entrance of the distillery for a last check of the scene, still talking through the finer details of our plan, when we hear the sound of a car engine and gravel crunching beneath tires.
Harper and I both stop abruptly, holding our breath. But there’s no way we’re mistaken, not when we hear the engine cut out, followed by the creak and thud of a car door closing.
Someone has pulled to a stop at the main parking lot of the Lancaster Distillery.
“Maybe it’s the drone guy,” Harper whispers as we peer through the windows at the body just visible in the dim light.
“Maybe,” I agree, though I clasp a hand around her wrist, ready to pull her back toward the path that leads to the vehicles. A flashlight sweeps across the windows at the opposite side of the building. Slow, careful footsteps make their way toward the entrance, followed by the creak of the door as it opens and shuts.
We turn and jog toward the cars.
“But I don’t think we should wait around to find out.”
CHART DATUMNolan
MAYBEISHOULD BE WORRIEDthat we missed something. Terrified that Yates will finally figure out how to do his job and come knocking at our door. I should feel like running away from this place.
But I don’t. I feelalive.
It’s nearly three in the morning, and the adrenaline has been going all night. First it was the encounter with Sam. Then escaping from the distillery. Then racing to the Capeside Inn. We swept through Sam’s and Vinny’s rooms to either erase or steal anything we could find that appeared too connected to Harper and me, and then we took the murdered tourist and all the evidence to Lancaster Manor, hiding it all in the shed. Even after we managed to get the tourist’s stiffening body into the oversized chest freezer, we both felt far too energized for sleep.
So we decided on the next best thing.
Ropes cross Harper’s skin, each soft cord carefully and precisely laid against her flesh. One loop sits across her neck. Two intertwined cords drop down the center of her chest, ending just aboveher pelvis. Perpendicular lines fan from a series of knots. Above her breasts. Below them. Across her waist. Even down each thigh. An intricate network binds her arms behind her back. I took my time to tie each knot and position each rope exactly where I wanted. Over an hour later, her upper body is immobilized, and she’s completely at my mercy.
With the final knot tied, I savor my work, letting my gaze travel slowly over every inch of her flesh. I catalog every detail. The flush in her skin. The goose bumps on her thighs. The shimmer of arousal gathered at her entrance. The way she shudders as I drag a finger across her pussy and to her clit. The sound of her moan, the desperate edge to it when I remove my hand.
“Open,” I say as I hold my finger between us. Her lips part, and I lay my finger on her tongue. “Suck it off.”
Her lips close and she sucks hard on my finger, my cock hardening as her tongue rolls across my skin. When I remove my finger from her mouth, I trace it across her lips.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask.
Harper nods without hesitation. “I was pretty bad tonight.” She feigns a pout, batting her lashes at me. “First I removed a body from a crime scene, and then I killed a man. I deserve to be punished.”
“I thought the rumor was going to be that the first man got lost walking his dog at night and the other was a workplace accident,” I say, reaching over to her nightstand where my supplies are laid out. I clean my hands with a sterile wipe, and then pull a pair of latex gloves out of the box, sliding them on.
“You can’t believe everything you hear.”
I smirk, my pulse already climbing in anticipation. Pillows already piled behind me, I lie back on her bed, my upper bodypropped up on the mattress. “Then I guess you’d better get on my cock and receive your punishment.”
Harper’s eyes darken with need. She’s on her knees near the center of the bed, close to my lower legs. She rises higher so she can start crawling closer, her balance unsteady with her arms bound so tightly to her body. I make no effort to help her, content to watch her struggle. She keeps her eyes on my erection, managing to get her left knee over my thighs with a little effort, then shimmies her way up my body until her pussy is lined up with my cock. With a bit of maneuvering and still no assistance from me, she sinks herself onto my length, enveloping me with her slick heat.
“Ride it,” I command. And she does. With slow and careful motion, she rises and falls, rolling her hips as she bites her lip. When she starts to gather a steady rhythm, I reach over for another sterile alcohol pad. “What’s your safe word?”
“Ballmeat.”
“That sounds pretty bratty to me.”
“Just a little bit.”
