Page 30 of Catch
Then, without warning, the tone in her voice changed, and although I still couldn't understand the exact words, it no longer felt like it was a part of the song I had recognized before. In fact, it didn’t sound like a song at all. At least not in the traditional sense of the word.
But it was definitely my new favorite sound…a moan, soft, with a whimper that made my hand pause and my spine stiffen. Then I heard it again, only it was deeper, louder.
“That’s it, baby,” I growled, so low I hoped she hadn’t heard me. I knew she was on the other side of that wall, pleasuring herself the same way I was, and probably for the same fucking reason.
The moans stopped, though, and I instantly regretted saying anything. She probably couldn’t hear what I said, but she could hear me speaking, she could hear my tone. And in turn, that meant she knew I heard her as well.
Without thinking, I slapped the wall, hard enough that there was no questioning that I was there. I could hear her gasp and Ithought I had ruined the whole fucking thing, but then I heard her moan again, softer than before but definitely from pleasure.
To show her it was okay, I moaned as well, stroking myself again as I did. My hips began to buck, the movement of my hand not feeling like enough, and I moaned again, louder and without any hesitation.
In return, I could hear her, throwing caution to the wind and finishing what she had started as she listened to me as well. Once I heard the guttural and unmistakable sound of her release, I let myself go, grunting and hissing as I came all over the tile in front of me. I wanted her to know that I was with her, that I too couldn’t help myself, and that it was okay.
When I heard her water turn off, I turned mine off too and climbed out, grabbing a towel from the hook. As I dried myself off, it finally hit me what had just happened, and panic started to seep in. Not for me, but because I hoped she was okay. I shouldn’t have interrupted her; I shouldn’t have banged my hand on the wall.
I should have respected her privacy.
Hanging my head low, I prepared myself for her not to show her face again. In the morning, she’d probably want to leave. But just in case, I was going to head to the kitchen like I promised her I would and hope she was okay.
Before I could make it all the way into the kitchen though, I smelled something burning and the smoke alarms went off. Running, I opened the oven to a plume of smoke, grabbed the pan out, and opened the kitchen door.
I waved the smoke away from the alarm, hoping there wasn’t some trigger that notified the fire department. The last thing I needed was my brother and his crew showing up.
Carefully, I put the pan down on the stove and waved the smoke away from the…
“Oh no,” I heard behind me, her gasp sounding innocent and sweet despite the fact that not only had she burnt dinner but she…
“You cooked my prized catfish?”
Chapter Sixteen
LOXLEY
I staredat myself in the mirror, wrapped tightly in a towel, my skin still damp from the shower. In my hand was the fallen tile, the one that had come loose from the wall when Miles slapped it from the other side. My reflection looked as torn as I felt, half mortified and half ready to march into the kitchen and throw the tile at him, all while telling him to get a better contractor if he planned on being horny in the shower on a regular basis.
Not that I hated what happened. God, I didn’t hate it at all. It wasn’t his fault he heard me. It wasn’t his fault that I’d... let him. I had been too needy, too lost in the moment, to care when I got louder, knowing full well he could hear me. But now, staring at the aftermath, my face flushed for entirely different reasons as overthinking sunk its claws into me.
It was official. I’d have to run away again.
The thought flickered, but it was ridiculous and fleeting. There was no way I’d end up lucky enough to get pulled over by another hot cop who’d be willing to put up with me the way Miles had.
The shrill blare of the smoke alarm snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. For a moment, I froze, the tile still clutched in my hand, before bolting toward the kitchen. The towel wasbarely holding on as I sprinted, my damp feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
“Uh oh,” I gasped, skidding to a halt. Smoke curled lazily from the open oven, and there was Miles, pulling my dinner out of it with an exasperated look on his face. Thankfully, the alarm stopped blaring as he got everything under control.
“You cooked my prize catfish?” he asked, pointing to the blackened remains on the tray. His expression was somewhere between annoyed and amused, but it was hard to tell if he was serious or just messing with me.
“It won you a prize?” I asked, incredulous.
“Best catch 2022,” he replied, deadpan, as if I should have known. His tone hinted at a story involving tournaments and a proud trophy, though no such backstory had ever come up before.
“You said anything except the gun safe,” I countered, clutching the towel a little tighter in defense of my culinary failure.
“I did,” he said, nodding slowly. “But how was I supposed to know you’d char the poor guy?”
“Excuse me?” I stepped closer, the indignation rising in my chest. “I’m not the one who yanked him out of the ocean and butchered him.”
“He’s a catfish,” Miles corrected, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So he came from the lake, not the ocean.”
