Page 4 of Sinful Seduction
“Yep.” I scrunch my eyes shut and close my lips.Because fuck, I don’t want him to hear me moan.
“Well, are you coming?”
“Mmhmm. In a sec.”
“Good,” he snaps out, passing through a door and pulling it shut behind him. “I’ll text you the address. See you there in twenty.”
“Uh-huh.” I end the call and toss my phone, and planting my feet on the bed, I shove upwards with a violence that I almost feel bad about.
Almost.
But I don’t.
I explode and fill my wife, drenching her core with white, hot cum that drips out again. There just isn’t enough room for my cock, my seed,andher release, too. She chokes on her cry, twitching over me, bringing us to a clenching stop that crushes my cock and vibrates all the way to the base of my heart.
In the silence, I hear the thrum of her pulse. In the dark, I feel the moisture of her tears on her cheeks. And in the almost-midnight solitude, I drag her down. I force her to lie with me, to take just one more minute before we’re forced to rejoin the real world. And because this is my favorite part, I bathe in the aftershocks of her pussy clenching around me. The electrical current that two humans create until a man obsessed with fucking learns that he’s kind of obsessed with that minute or two right after, as well.
Minka pants, long, chest-expanding breaths that have her lifting and lowering over me. Her hair creates a curtain over my shoulder, her lashes tickling my flesh. So many tiny sensations I never paid attention to before her. The tang of her sweat on my tongue, the most delicious beverage I have ever consumed. The dew that forms between her skin and mine, sosoft, so comforting, even when everything outside of us is hotter than an inferno.
“I didn’t like hearing Fletch’s voice while I was coming.”
I bark out a laugh, destroying the gentle silence this hour rewards us with.
“It was weird and uncomfortable,” she snickers. “It almost ruined what we’d been working hard for.”
“Oddly, it didn’t hinder my orgasm one bit.”
She pushes up and sits high over me, glowering in the shadows, though that glower makes way for a smile, too. “You’re a freak.” Exhaling, she combs her fingers through her hair, dragging the long locks into a ponytail, only to pause and glance longingly toward the mess that is our bedside table. “I need a hair tie.”
“You need a sleep.” Still, I reach out and search the table. “I’ve been called into work, Chief. But I don’t hear your phone ringing.”
“That’s because, usually, the responding homicide detectives arrive on scene, determine death,thenmake the call to the medical examiner’s office. But seeing as how we know calling me is a foregone conclusion, why don’t we skip the part where you pretend I don’t have to get dressed too, and we can share the ride to wherever the hell we’ve gotta go?” She accepts my offering and works the elastic into her hair. “If Imustget up, I’d rather ride with you.”
“I could call the medical examiner’s office and request adifferentM.E.” While her hands are busy, I sit up and nibble on her plump bottom lip. “I wonder if you realize I could simply call someone else? Ya know, one of the M.E.s on the night shift. It’s a whole phenomenon where these humans sleep during the day,knowingthey must work at night. And those who sleep at night, work during daylight hours.”
“Sure, except I can’t sleep without you.” She finishes with her hair and smacks a kiss on my jaw, then she spins away, disconnecting us with the cold callousness of a woman with no heart. She leaves my cock bare, wet with our mixed pleasure, and inches toward the edge of the bed. Snagging one of my shirts, she shrugs it on and makes her way toward the door. “Give me two minutes to shower the sweat and sex off, then I’ll be ready.”
“We could shower together.” I squint as she opens the door, the blinding light from the living room television screaming along the hall. “He won’t notice.”
“If we shower together, I doubt we’ll be only two minutes.” Her eyes dance with what I swear is challenge, with ‘force your way into the shower, Malone, and test me.’ But then she grabs the hem of my shirt, tugs it downto cover her thighs, and dashes into the hall. In the space of a single second, the bathroom door slams and makes a pointed, unwavering statement.
Stay out.
Groaning, I flop back against the mattress, my cock still hard despite my release, my skin sweaty, my sheets messy with what we’ve done, and unfortunately for me, my door wide open, so if my brother wanders this way, he’ll see more than I feel like dealing with when midnight is so near.
“Dammit, Fletch.” I roll off my bed and slide silky boxers up my legs, then I find a pair of jeans and a fresh shirt to change into just as soon as Mayet vacates the bathroom. And since I have time, I use the two minutes to find an outfit for her, too. Pants and a blouse. Short sleeves, because it’s still so fucking hot. And lightweight material, so she doesn’t sweat even in the dark.
I count seconds in my head, all the way to a hundred and twenty, so when time is up and the pipes rattle in the walls, I head into the hall, push my way through the bathroom door, and tag team my way under blissfully cool water.
“I picked clothes out for you.” I close my eyes and tilt my face back. “You’re in charge of coffee. Meet me in the kitchen in three minutes.”
She snorts. But I guess she agrees because she makes her way into the hall and closes the door behind her back. Thirty seconds later, the delicious scent of fresh coffee weaves throughout the apartment and promises there’ll be no sleep for either of us tonight.
ARCHER
Ibring our car to a stop just feet from the yellow tape officers have already set out, our crime scene approximately fifty yards from the massive bridge that crosses the city and connects two halves with a bay that cuts straight through the middle. This area used to be a bustling hive of commerce. Ships came, and cranes stacked imported goods over in the yard, that is, these days, not much more than a haven for the homeless.
Old containers make for decent shelter in Copeland’s harsh weather. They’re barely more than iceboxes in the worst snowstorms, though anything is better than exposure to the freezing wind when a man is trying to sleep and hoping against all hope that he’ll wake again tomorrow. But that winter shelter becomes a cruel oven in the summer.
