Chapter 10
Monty
I’m glad he knows.
I’m glad this happened.
He needs to see the messy, wicked parts of me. He needs to know the truth so that when I leave, he won’t miss me, and I won’t be tempted to come back.
Our kiss overflows with passion, lust spilling over the edge of every move of our lips, his tongue sweeping across mine, stealing my breath and my senses.
When he pulls back, he steps away from the bed. “Undress.”
Breathless, I do as he asks. I pull off my T-shirt and toss it aside before unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them down.
Guy watches me with a feral kind of hunger that frightens me and makes me wet, my underwear damp just from that look.
Once I’m just in my underwear, he reaches back for the collar of his T-shirt, pulling it off, revealing solid abs and a broad, muscular chest. I admire the hair tinged with silver, his huge, flexing biceps and thick veins running up his forearms.
He pushes down his jeans and underwear, and I draw in a small breath at the sight of his thick, solid cock. It’s long, precum shining at the tip, and I go to walk forward, desperate to drop to my knees to taste him.
“Do not move.”
I freeze in place, the roughness of his tone making my pussy ache.
My lungs deflate as he takes slow, confident steps toward me, until I’m tipping my head back to look up at him.
He’s more than a foot taller than me, but I’ve never really felt that until this very moment.
It’s terrifying, alluring, and I wonder what he’ll do to me.
“Can you follow orders, Monty?” he asks, and I nod slowly. “Good. Take off your underwear, sit on the bed, and spread yourself open. I want to see the holes I’m about to fuck.”
Holy fucking shit.
I’ve fantasized about this moment, came over it more than once, but I never dreamed he’d be like this. It’s like he’s transformed, as if his anger over me killing Richard has released him from a cage.
I do as he asks. I peel off my underwear and bra, and his jaw tightens when his eyes lock onto my hard nipples. Climbing onto the bed, I lie down and bend my knees, bringing my ankles to my behind.
And I spread myself open.
“Fuck,” he growls lowly, and he kneels before me. He runs his large palm up my inner thigh, his attention fixed on my pussy. “Are you on birth control?” I nod. “Are you going to let me fill this pussy and ass?”
I think I whimper. “Yes.”
He lets out a breath between his teeth as he admires me, still spread open, my juices leaking onto the sheets.
“Get on your hands and knees, chest against the bed. Use your hands to keep yourself open.”
Usually, if a man was so demanding, I’d push back. I’d be the one making commands, getting on top, having him beg to walk in my shadow. But there’s something about Guy’s presence—he’s so utterly consuming, while somehow making me feel totally safe.
I do as he asks, and when I feel his tongue lick me from pussy to ass, I moan into the bedding.
“I told you once I could arrest you and take you in,” he says, his breath hot on my back. I pull in a sharp breath as the first cuff snaps around my wrist, then the second. I’m totally exposed, vulnerable. “Imagine if I did it to you now.”
Excitement shoots through me and I hate it. The thrill of getting caught is so atypical of a serial killer—taking risks that would be my eventual downfall was something I prided myself on never doing. But over the years, I’ve slipped into profiled patterns. Keeping trophies is one of them.
Guy is the other.
“Imagine if they found you like this.” Another swipe of his tongue, and I whimper. “Cuffed and dripping for me.”
“Guy—”
He spanks me so hard I cry out. “Yes?”
“Please …”
“Please what?” He closes his mouth over my pussy, his face pressed into my ass, and I cry out. He flicks his tongue across my clit, wonderful sensations spreading through my body as he teases me.
He’s gone again, and I pant into the bed. “Please, I need to come.” My eyes roll back as he sinks his fingers into my pussy, twisting and curling them. “Oh fuck—”
“Look at this wet, tight cunt,” he says, and my fucking God, I could come from him talking. He adds another finger, stretching me. “Do you think you can take my cock?”
“Yes.”
Another spank, a turn of his fingers. “Say you’re a killer.”
My pussy clenches. “I’m a killer.”
“Who did you kill?”
“Richard Mason.”
“Why?”
“Because he was a piece of shit who deserved to die.”
“And?”
I squeeze my eyes closed as he withdraws his fingers.
“Because it was hurting you that he was alive. Because I wanted you to be happy.” I’m panting desperately into the bedding, my mind dizzy and wild with desire when I feel him line his cock up to my entrance.
“Because I’d do fucking anything for you. ”
A scream tears from me as he sinks his cock deep into my pussy.
It’s so wonderful, so painfully pleasurable that I cry out over and over, pulling at the handcuffs, the metal biting into my skin. Guy’s groans fill my ears as he sinks deep into me.
“Guy … you’re so … oh fuck, you’re so big—”
He squeezes my ass cheeks, massaging and spreading them. “You’ll feel every inch of my cock in your ass soon. Are you ready for that?”
“Yes, just please don’t stop.”
“You want me to fuck this pussy?”
Tears spring to my eyes from the pressure, the desperation to be fucked until I can’t breathe. “Yes!”
Oh.
My.
God.
One minute, he’s totally still, bottomed out inside me.
The next, he unleashes hell.
Each slam brings with it a higher pleasure than before.
He’s quick, brutal, accurate, fucking perfect.
My cheek and knees burn as they rub against the bedding, the handcuffs burning my wrists.
The curve and size of his cock is everything I’ve ever wanted, and the endless barrage of thrusting has me seeing stars.
The pleasure and tightening builds, and my moans increase.
“Fuck, your pussy is like heaven,” Guy growls.
That’s what does it. His words, his voice, send me spiraling into pleasure. My orgasm barrels into me and I squirt over his cock, soaking my thighs and the bed, the release so wonderful that for a moment I wonder if I might pass out.
My eyes are closed and I’m close to dropping onto the bed when Guy pulls out. He runs his tongue up my thighs, cleaning up my mess and whispering, “Perfect.”
I hear the squirt of a bottle, then his fingers are back—this time, circling and burying deep into my ass. A low moan escapes me and I arch my back, eager to feel him there, desperate for him to take me again.
“You’re greedy for my cock,” Guy says, positioning himself behind me. “You might not be so eager in a minute.”
“Give me your worst.”
His laugh is low. “You’ll regret that.” The first push of his dick has my eyes flying open. I breathe, relax, each inch bringing with it new threads of pleasure. “My fucking God, you’re tight.”
I can’t speak, can hardly think. It’s like his cock has thickened, lengthened, become harder than steel as he buries it in me. And when he starts to fuck me, I’m devoured by lust. I fall into it, allow it to swallow me whole, and I’m not quiet about it.
My wrists ache from the cuffs, my throat burns from my screams, but I never want it to end. Just the fact that Guy Gibson, Chief of Police, my friend’s father, the man who should be arresting me, is pounding my ass is its own kind of ecstasy.
It seems beautifully endless. I come over and over, the pleasure blurring together until I’m sure I’m floating away from myself. All the while he praises me, tells me I’m beautiful. I drink up every word and motion until he comes.
“God, Monty—” He shouts, and I come along with him. The orgasm is dizzying, and I smile into the bedding, wild from the sensations he’s given me. His grip on my hips loosen, and he slowly pulls out, his cum spilling out of my ass and over my pussy.
Then, he’s gone. The room falls silent.
“Guy?” I call out, my voice raspy. Silence. “Guy!”
“I’m here.” He smooths his hand over my back, and I let out a breath of relief when he kisses my spine. “I’m here.”
“I thought you left me.” My voice cracks, and I hate that tears fill my eyes. Another kiss, this time on my shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Goose bumps shiver across me as Guy cleans me with a warm, wet cloth. Once he’s finished, he uncuffs me, rubbing my arms to work blood back into them before lying beside me and pulling me into his arms.
We’re breathless as we lie together, absorbing what we’ve done. The line we’ve crossed, and how this changes everything.
With my head resting on Guy’s chest, I whisper, “Lina.” Lifting up slightly, our eyes lock. I can’t regret what we’ve done, and I won’t regret this. “My real name is Lina.”
We work in comfortable silence. While Guy cuts up fruit, I slice bread, preparing a board for us to snack from.
I’m in his T-shirt and he’s in his sweats, glorious body on display.
When I finish with the bread, I slide my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his back. Just to feel him. Just to be close.
The last time I told someone my real name, I was sixteen. The moment I decided to become Monty, I didn’t look back. I’ve had hundreds of names since that point, but I always came back to Monty because it was safest. To me, Lina died when my parents and sister did.
Now, someone else knows. The chief of police, of all people.
But when he turns in my arms, cups my face, and kisses me, there’s not even the smallest part of me that regrets it.
“Hungry, Lina?”
Tears fill my eyes and I extend the kiss, holding onto him. “Say my name again.”
“Lina,” he whispers, kissing my nose. “Lina.” A kiss on my cheek. My chin. “My Lina.” He kisses away my tears, and then my arms are around his neck—and I’m sobbing. Fourteen years of pain pours out of me and into him and he holds onto me as I cry, my chest jerking with sobs.
His Lina.
I’ve never been anybody’s before.
No one has ever wanted me enough.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers, and I nod, sniffing. He picks me up and carries me to the couch, and I cuddle into him, the board of food balanced on his lap as we eat.
“So, you’re really British then.”
I laugh quietly. “Yes. Did you think I was faking the accent?”
“You never know.” He eats a strawberry, then feeds me one.
I moan. “We need more of them. Those are the last. I’ll go to the store tomorrow.”
“Don’t hit anyone while you’re there,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “Can I know everything about you?”
For the first time, that question doesn’t anger or frustrate me. It makes me feel honored—honored that Guy Gibson wants to know.
“My name is Lina Fox.”
“Fox,” he says, and Fox the dog lifts his head from the rug, his tail wagging.
I smile. “I know. At first, I thought calling him that was your way of telling me you knew, but it was just a wild coincidence.” I eat another strawberry.
“Keep going,” Guy says quietly.
“I was born in Bath, England. I’m thirty years old, and I had a sister called Ava.
She died when I was sixteen, and so did my parents.
I was left everything, and we grew up wealthy, so I didn’t need anything, but I didn’t want to stay in England, either.
So, I came to America.” He puts his arm around me, and now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.
“I was never a rebellious kid, but my family’s death must have messed me up because when I came here, I was a different person.
I started fights on purpose, got my arse kicked a fair few times.
” He laughs and kisses my temple, and I smile.
“Then I met someone who kind of put me on a path to this.”
“Who?”
“Just an old friend. He’s who I want to see in New York. He’s not exactly warm and friendly, but I love him, anyway. And he tolerates me.”
“Like most people, I imagine,” he says, and I nudge him playfully. “So, why the name Monty?”
I grin. “I like the Monty Python films.”
He bursts into laughter, and I press my face into his chest as I laugh, too.
“What was your childhood like?”
I sigh. “When I was younger, it was pretty magical. My sister was my best friend. Christmas Eve was her favorite time of year. We used to have this tradition.” I adjust myself next to him so I can play with his beard.
“We’d open one present on Christmas Eve, and it would always be pajamas.
And even though we always knew what it was, it was so exciting, you know?
” My smile is real, like it always is with him, but I never thought I’d look back on these memories and want to share them. “We were happy for so long.”
He takes my hand, kissing my fingertips one by one. “What happened to them?”
My smile fades, and in my mind, I hear the crack of a gunshot, smell my mother’s perfume, and watch blood spreading through silk sheets. “They were killed.”
He watches me. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
We’re quiet for a while, and I lift myself out of the memories before they become too painful.
“Do you have to go to New York?” Guy asks quietly.
I tilt my head up, my heart lifting again. “You really want me to stay?”
Our eyes are locked, that sapphire blue snatching my breath as always. He kisses me softly. “I really want you to stay. With me.”
My breathing picks up. “Together?”
He nods gently. “Together. But … if we do this, then you have to promise me: no more killing.”
Panic grips me. I’ve never given myself to someone before.
I’ve made sure that I never needed anyone. People let you down. They lie to you, abandon you, use you. If you leave first, you can never be left. I built a wall around my heart, and Asher may have chipped away at it, but I have a feeling Guy would bulldoze it down.
But when you’re drifting from place to place, all you’re looking for is a home. A forever place to settle down, to finally rest.
Maybe for me it isn’t a place.
Maybe for me it’s Guy.
… Maybe he’s the home I’ve been searching for.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll stay. And I promise … no more killing.”
Fireworks erupt, bangs and crackles outside the window. Colors light up the living room, blues and pinks and reds dancing across the coffee table.
I glance over my shoulder, then back at Guy. “If you planned that, then your timing is impeccable.”
He laughs. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”
Moving aside the food board, I grab Guy’s hand and pull him to the window. I open the drapes further, allowing the color to light us up. My smile spreads, and Guy puts his arm around my waist to pull me closer.
“Happy New Year, Lina,” he whispers.