Page 21 of Savage Stalkers
I slide my fingers back inside her, curling them this time. Her body jerks, and I pull my fingers out of her, then drop to my knees. I spread her cheeks apart, lean forward and lick her pussy, making sure I clean every last drop of Silas’ cum from her. She moans around Kain’s cock, her body shakes, and her muffled cries get louder. Moving my hand, I press my thumb to her tight little hole, and as I suck her clit into my mouth, I push my thumb in her ass.
A strangled noise escapes her, and she gasps for air around Kain’s cock—I don’t have long left with my mask off before I get caught.
Her scream rips out, echoing through the room. Her whole body shakes, and I groan into her, licking greedily as she squirts. I hear Kain’s groan as I lap up every drop, refusing to let a single bit go to waste. My tongue works faster as I seal my mouth over her until she trembles so hard she can’t hold herself up, and herbody flops onto the table. I don’t bother wiping my face; instead, I smirk at Kain as I slip my mask back on.
I glance over at Silas, who is looking at the mess we’ve made, and I shake my head. Shifting around the table, I help Skye sit up as Silas moves to get her sweats and hands them to me.
Once I have her dressed, she smiles at me. “That was... wow,” she says, before laughing.
I have to agree—that sure was something else.
Chapter Ten
Skye
The Hawthorne mansion feels smaller every time I return, like the door is closing on a life I’m no longer sure I want to be part of. I wait in the foyer, the garment bag draped over my arm, listening to Mom’s heels click against the marble floor as she approaches from the sitting room.
“Skye, darling, you’re late.” Her voice has a familiar tone of disappointment, which I’m used to hearing. “Mrs. Brown has been waiting, and her time is valuable.”
I follow her down the hall toward the formal living room. “Sorry, traffic was?—”
“Traffic is an excuse used by people who don’t plan their time appropriately.” She doesn’t look at me as we enter the room. “Mrs. Brown, thank you for your patience. This is my daughter, Skye.”
The seamstress looks up from where she’s sitting. She’s a tiny woman, probably in her sixties. “Beautiful girl,” she says. “Let’s see how this dress fits you.”
I smile back, but it feels fake. Everything here feels forced.
“The event is in two weeks,” Mom continues. “Security will be handled by Lawson Security. Their head of operations will arrive shortly to give a briefing.”
I carefully unzip the garment bag, revealing the stunning midnight-blue gown inside. Even seeing it for the second time, I have to admit it’s gorgeous.
“Perfect choice,” Mrs. Brown says, examining the dress. “The color will bring out your eyes.”
I lift the dress from the bag, and Mom’s voice stops me as I head toward the guest bathroom.
“Use the upstairs guest room.” Of course, god forbid I use a room actually convenient for me.
I climb the grand staircase with the dress draped over my arm, glad that the guest room Mom mentioned is the closest one.
Closing the door, I lay the dress on the bed and strip out of my clothes, dropping them on the plush carpet floor as a fuck you to her bitchiness.
I’m struggling with the zipper when I hear voices downstairs. Mom’s tone is one I know well—her business voice, the one she uses when she wants to impress some jackass. And a man responds, his voice deep and familiar.
I crack open the bedroom door and peer downstairs. From this angle, I can see part of the foyer.
The guy from the library stands near the front door, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His blonde hair is styled to perfection, and he looks completely different from the last time I saw him, when he was sitting in that study room with his feet up on the table, calling me names and being generally obnoxious. What is he doing here?
“Mr. Lawson, thank you for coming personally,” Mom says. “I know your firm handles only the most exclusive events.”
So his last name is Lawson, and he owns a security company, apparently.
“I make it a point to handle my VIP clients personally,” he replies. “Security isn’t something I delegate when high-profile guests are involved.”
I duck back into the room, and force myself to focus on the dress, zipping it up. When I finally work up the courage to go back downstairs, I find them in the living room reviewing a floor plan.
“There she is,” Mom says as I enter the room. “Mr. Lawson, this is my daughter, Skye. Skye, this is Kain Lawson from Lawson Security.”
He looks up from the papers, and our eyes meet. “Miss Hawthorne,” he says, extending his hand.
