Page 14 of Murder & Mayhem

I moan, tilting my hips for more, and he happily obliges, repeating the action before swirling his tongue around my clit. After a moment, he pulls back, his lips glistening. “Feet on the bed, Trouble. I want you spread wide for me.”

Oh, Jesus, if that doesn’t turn me on even more.

Doing as he instructs, he works me over with just his tongue until I’m a panting, moaning mess, then he inserts two fingers into my needy cunt, pumping in time to the movement of his tongue on my clit. My hands are in his hair, mussing it up as I grind against his face, desperate for more. I can feel his stubble rubbing against my inner thigh, the rough texture only intensifying the sensations. I’m so close. I can feel my release just about to burst out of me when he inserts a third finger. Three’s the magic number, and it sends me careening over the edge into oblivion as I cry out his name. My toes curl into the bedsheet and my head falls back, even as my grip on Oliver’s hair tightens. He keeps pumping his fingers and working me over with his tongue until I’m a whimpering, boneless mess. Only then does he give me some relief, pulling away.

I hear him get to his feet, and the sound of a zipper fills the air before clothes hit the floor. Despite how relaxed I feel, I manage to find enough energy to lift my head, taking in all six-and-a-half feet of his gloriously naked body as he pumps his very hard-looking dick.

Catching me watching, he strides toward me, and the bed dips as he pushes one knee into the mattress and begins to climb on top of me. He dips his head to meet my lips, our tongues clashing in a heated kiss. I can taste myself on him, and damn does the combination taste so fucking good.

I wind my arms around his neck, tugging him down on top of me, while I hitch a leg over his hip, bringing the tip of his dick in line with my hot, greedy core. Just before he pushes inside, he pauses, pulling back. “Condom?”

Oh, yes, that pesky little thing. Why do I keep forgetting about that when I’m around these guys?

“Uh, I’m clean. Got tested two weeks ago and haven’t had sex since. And I have an implant.”

“I’m clean too. Got tested before I was paroled.”

“What about since you were released?” I don’t know enough about Oliver’s past to know when he got out of prison or what he’s been up to since, but he shakes his head.

“You are the only person I’ve slept with since I was arrested.”

My lips part at that honest admission, and so many questions flash across my mind, but before I can ask a single one, his lips are back on mine, obliterating all of them as the overwhelming desire to come apart on his dick consumes me.

This time, there’s no hesitation as he pushes past my barrier, easing into me one inch at a time until I can’t take it anymore.

“Oliver,” I groan. “Fuck me!”

“Sure thing, Trouble.” His grin is feral as he pulls back until only the tip of him is inside me. Then in one hard thrust, he slams all the way in, making me cry out as pleasure courses through me.

Our bodies are slick with sweat, our breathing ragged as we race toward our orgasms. My nails dig into his back, which only seems to egg him on as he ups the power of each thrust, hammering into me.

“Oh fuck. Fuck. Oliver.” My words are barely more than incoherent babbles as a spark ignites in my core, setting my entire body on fire. I scream my release as I dig my nails harder into Oliver’s back, tightening around him. He finds his own release with another couple of thrusts before collapsing onto the bed beside me.

Panting heavily, I lift my hand to swipe the sweat from my forehead, but I pause when I notice something red embedded beneath several fingernails. My eyes widen as realization dawns. “Shit, Oliver, I must have broken the skin on your back.”

I turn to gape at him as he rolls onto his side. There’s a grin on his face as he leans in, and his eyes twinkle—fuckingtwinkle. “Oh, Trouble, I don’t mind you marking your territory.”

Chapter 6

After another round of shower sex, we finally got cleaned up, and I offered to drive Red home—which had been the whole reason why I’d gone into her room in the first place. I couldn’t stop touching her the entire drive over, and the unfamiliar peaceful feeling in my chest only confirms that whatever this is between us… it’s meant to be. I don’t know if I’d say it’s fate or what. I’m not even sure if I believe in any of that crap, but it just feelsright.Like something inside of me just clicked into place when I finally got her to face her feelings head-on and acknowledge that she felt this thing too.

“So…” I begin, when we’re about halfway back to her apartment. “What exactly is your plan with the Antonellis?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” she admits with a casual shrug. “As I said, I saw Dante there one night, so I’m hoping he might be a regular, or maybe I can get some information on which clubs he, or the others, frequent.”

I give a thoughtful nod of my head while I continue to navigate the streets of downtown Black Creek. “And, uh, how are you planning on getting close to him if he is a regular at Belle Donne?”

I keep my gaze fixed firmly on the road in front of me, but I don’t miss the side-eye she throws me. “Are you asking if I’m going to sleep with him?” Her voice is carefully neutral, giving nothing away. I mull over my response before vocalizing the words, not wanting to say the wrong thing and cause an argument between us already.

“I was simply asking if that was your game plan.”

“And how would you feel if I said yes?” Before I can stop the involuntary reaction, my hands tighten around the steering wheel, and she lets out a long, suffering sigh. “Thisis why I didn’t want any sort of relationship.”

“Even if we weren’t in a relationship”—cause we sure as fuck are after this afternoon, even if I have to keep insisting on it—“I’d still have issues with that plan,” I argue, trying really fucking hard to keep my calm. “Because Icareabout you.”

There’s a moment of silence on her side of the car, and I glance her way, noting her tense posture and how her hands are twisting the strap of her bag. “Well, it’s a moot point. I’m a dancer at Belle Donne. Not a sex worker.”

I’m careful to make my sigh of relief silent—not wanting her to know how relieved I am to hear that—and we drive the last couple of blocks to her apartment in silence. Before she can scurry out of the car, I reach across the seat and gently tug her face around to meet mine. Only when she looks up at me, do I say anything.