Page 106 of Half the Summer's Night
He whirls me around and tosses me into the cold grass. I cry out and make a half-hearted attempt to crawl away. He’s too quick for me, though. He throws himself on top of me, pinning my arms overhead. His mask leers, and my clit pulses at the sight of those ugly features.
“You kept me waiting,” Rowan purrs, wedging his hips between my legs. I can feel his erection straining against his pants. “You know I don’t like to wait.”
I whimper softly, rolling my hips up against him. “I’m sorry, baby,” I mutter. “You know how busy I’ve been.”
“You work too much.” Rowan pins down both of my arms with one hand while he slides the other between my legs to gently cup my pussy, his palm grinding up against his clit.
I moan softly, bucking into his touch. “Well,” I pant out, “Not all of us have—oh, fuck! Seasonal jobs?—”
Rowan yanks my yoga pants down and grunts in appreciation when he sees I’m wearing nothing underneath. I squirm against the cold ground, aching with need. Rowan just slides his fingers along my slit, teasing me.
“I work all year long,” Rowan growls. “Someone’s got to keep you coroners busy.”
He slides one finger inside my pussy, and I groan at the intrusion. No matter how many different ways he touches me—out here in the cold graveyard, up in my warm bed, in the big sunny suite on the top floor of the Palm Breeze Hotel, whichis always unbooked this time of year—nothing compares to that first touch of his leather-covered finger pushing up into my cunt.
“Fuck,” I gasp. “More.”
He pushes another finger inside me, stretching me wide to the cold. “Like that?”
“Yes,” I gasp, shoving my hips toward his hand. For a few minutes, he fucks me with his hand, sliding his two fingers and out of me with his slow, careful precision. I shudder, legs quaking, on the verge of orgasm?—
And he pulls his hand away.
“Not yet.” He slides his hand up under my shirt, then under my bra, so he can squeeze and massage my breasts. I stare up at his mask. At his eyes, burning behind the mask. Burning straight into me.
“Take it off,” I say huskily. “I want to see you.”
He leans back on his heels, taking his hands with him. “Touch yourself,” he orders, and I do, snaking one hand between my legs and grabbing at my breast with the other. For a moment, he just watches me, silent and dark like the killer he is.
Then he pulls the mask away.
It’s still a surprise, seeing Rowan beneath that twisted face. Sweet, shy Rowan, who curls up on the couch with me to watch horror movies. Who helps me make dinner and holds my hand whenever we walk along the beach, just out of reach of the cold, foamy waves.
But Rowan isn’t what he seems to be. And neither, I know, am I.
“Better?” he asks, still in his rough, gravelly killer’s voice.
“Fuck me,” I pant. “Please.”
Rowan grins. Then he unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out. I can barely see it in the dark. He bats it against my pussy, against my clit. More teasing. I moan.
“You’re so fucking mean,” I whine.
“I’m a killer,” he says. “Be grateful this is all I’m doing.”
I smack him for that. Or try to. He catches my hand before I can make impact.
“I do the spanking around here,” he says.
Then he rolls me over, pressing me face down into the grass. I groan and lift my ass for him. The first strike of his leather-covered hand rings out into the cold, windy night and makes my flesh sting.
“Again,” I pant.
He hits the other side of my ass, a little harder. Heat sparks in my clit. The third strike makes me groan and shudder, and Rowan rewards me by sliding his fingers down into my slit again.
“I can feel how wet you are even through my gloves.” He draws his hand away and climbs on top of me, his cock pressing up against my pussy. He pulls my hair to the side and nuzzles my neck, his mouth leaving blooming spots of warmth on my skin. “Are you ready for me, little detective? Ready for your killer’s cock?”
“Yes,” I cry. “Please. I can’t fucking stand it anymore.”
