Page 16 of Can't Stop
I fight the urge to look back at Rayna and mouth, What the actual fuck is happening? Because this just gets odder by the second. At least this woman doesn’t put me at risk of losing the love of my life. I can almost handle the creep factor as long as Samuel isn’t in our vicinity.
When the door swings wide, we step into a bedroom and glimpse two child-sized beds. They cower against the far walls like terrified rabbits, and I don’t know how we’re expected to sleep on crib mattresses. At least the room is clean, I guess.
Rayna drops her backpack on the bed closest to the door. She runs her hands down her jean-clad thighs and peers at the room as if she’s stepped into her own version of hell. It’s a bit too white, clean, and clinical. The lacey curtains and gold-trimmed furniture don’t help, either.
The older woman’s voice changes again, this time shifting to that sweet voice we first heard. “If you aren’t joining us for our lunch service, we do hope you’ll make it to dinner. It’s served promptly at six p.m. in the dining room on the first floor. Tonight’s menu is meatloaf with a bird’s nest.”
With that, she turns and leaves.
“Okay, what the fuck is a bird’s nest?” Rayna whispers once the woman’s footsteps recede down the hallway.
“I’m more concerned with how the fuck we’re supposed to sleep on these beds. Rayna . . . this is doll furniture.”
A sly smirk slides across her beautiful face. “Who said anything about sleeping? I thought maybe we could partake in a little fun this evening.”
“As tempting as that is, I think it’s best we keep our wits about us. Something is off about this place. Who keeps the morgue at the inn, bones?” I shake my head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
She pokes out her lower lip and flops back on the bed. “You mean to tell me you can resist this? All of this?” Her fingers raise the hem of her shirt, giving me a perfect view as she slides her hand beneath her waistband with a moan. “Fuck, the fear almost makes it better.”
Tearing my eyes away from her, I kneel at the side of the bed and unzip my luggage. “I don’t doubt that, but we’ll have plenty of time for getting each other off once we’re out of this town. Until then, we have to stay focused.”
Rayna’s nails tickle my scalp before she grabs my hair and tugs my mouth toward her pussy. “Fucking taste me. You know you want to.”
I press my lips to the crotch of her jeans and blow warm breath against her. She’s right. I want to taste her. I want to devour her and drink every drop of her pleasure straight from the source. Especially when she moans like that and grinds against my face.
But it isn’t wise.
“We could check off another tick on the adventure list, you know,” she whispers as I nibble her from outside her jeans. “Remember the?—”
“I remember.”
“The morgue is just downstairs . . .”
When I agreed to an orgy among a body pile, I thought that it would be bodies of our own making. Victims of this year’s harvest. The final crescendo of passion after a night of symphonic murder. To utilize bodies of people who didn’t die by our hands feels kind of gross. Inauthentic.
“I don’t know, bones. I really think we should keep our heads on a swivel. As much as I want you to sit on me and rotate, this place is fucking dangerous.”
Rayna sits up with a shrug, but I know that mischievous glint in her eyes. “Fine. If you don’t want to check out the morgue, have fun sitting on this bed. I’m going down there.”
As she stands and leaves the room, I don’t argue. It would be pointless. Instead, I simply stand and follow her as she creeps down the hallway.
“There may not be enough bodies for this,” I whisper. “It’s a small town. How many dead people can they have down there?”
“Shh!” Rayna pins me with a glare, and I close my mouth. She motions through the stair railing, and I peer over the side. Down below, the older woman sits at her desk, scrawling something into a ledger.
“Any idea how we’ll sneak past her?” I ask. “We don’t even know where the morgue is.”
Rayna points again, and I see a placard beside a door that reads MORGUE. Touche.
Still, we’ll be forced to sneak past that desk to reach it.
“We’ll need some sort of distraction,” Rayna whispers.
“Oh, is that all? Well, let me just pull this distraction machine out of my pocket, and?—”
I’m silenced by the bell tinkling above the front door as it swings open. Rayna and I sink further into the shadows so that the guest doesn’t see us, but I saw enough of that sharp jaw to know that it was Samuel. Seconds later, their voices filter up to us.
“Are they in their room?” Samuel asks.
