Chapter 44
I pull my shoulders up toward my ears as I breathe in, expecting her smooth thigh to be under my hand. Only, there’s nothing there.
What the hell?
My eyes snap open, and a cold tightness spreads through my ribcage before my brain fully wakes. The bed sheets are cold. The space is empty, the air lost, like the room forgot she was ever in it.
My feet hit the floor. I check the bathroom, then bolt down the stairs, every step loaded with panic because I don’t hear a thing.
Where are you, Bookworm?
The smell of buttery pancakes hits as I close in on the kitchen, then I find her, bare legs swinging as she sits on the island, lost in a book like she didn’t just shave five years off my life.
“Morning,” I greet, already walking in her direction. She looks up, that dimple winking at me. Relief flutters through.
Fuck. It’s damn good to see that.
“Hey, I made breakfast.”
“I can see that.” A tower of pancakes sits beside her. “I also saw that you weren’t in our bed.” My hands slide up her thighs. “New rule, you don’t leave until I say so.” I kiss the spot behind her ear. Her laugh tells me she knows I’m teasing, even if a part of me isn’t.
“Hunger came knocking,” she says. “And you were sleeping so peacefully.”
“Wake me next time.” I kiss her cheek, then tap my knuckles on the counter. “Feels like déjà vu.”
“Last night,” she starts.
Her cheeks tinge pink, and it hits us both at the same time. She’d woken up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. When she slipped back into bed, she snuggled into me, shifting closer and rubbing against me without realizing. Not until she felt exactly what she was pressing into.
Her gasp.
My involuntary moan.
Her mortified groan that somehow made me laugh.
I turned her to face me, kissing her until she was breathless. When I searched her eyes and she nodded, I lifted her leg around my waist and grinding against her while being fully clothed. I watched as her eyes rolled back in pleasure.
She’d touched me gradually, with haste, hesitantly at first, still unsure on what to do. But every reaction she dragged out of me gave her confidence.
Her grip was firm, curiosity dancing in her pupils. My body answered immediately, and my head dropped into the crook of her neck. Her lips twitched, a smile she didn’t quite manage to hide.
I think she liked that, seeing what she did to me.
We fell apart together, slow and messy.
It was perfect.
She still hasn’t seen all of me, doesn’t know how much I relish in control in the bedroom. My body wants to take. My mind holds the reins. She comes first—always.
I won’t dump my desire on her. Not while she’s still learning what she likes, what she wants. While I want to toss her around and have her scream my name six ways to Sunday, she needs safety, and I’m just fine going at her pace.
“Last night,” she says again. “It was… I mean, you…” She stops, unable to finish.
“I know, baby.” My thumb strokes her thigh. “Me too.”
Her forehead rests against mine.
“I like having permanent sleepovers with you.”
My heart does that stupid Grinch thing and grows, but ten times instead of three. God, she says things without knowing what they do to me.
“Oh yeah?” I slide my hand up beneath the hem of the T-shirt I know I’ll never get back. “I think I need clarity on what happens at these sleepovers.”
Her breath catches. “Well, I’m not exactly an expert. The only sleepovers I’ve ever had have been with my boyfriend. We eat food, watch movies, and…” She gasps when my thumb grazes the underside of her breast.
“Did he do that?” I murmur.
“No,” she whispers, breath trembling when I repeat the touch but slower this time.
“Do you want your boyfriend to do that to you?” I brush the other side, and she shivers.
“Mmhmm.”
A grin spreads across my face before I can stop it. “Yeah?”
“Uh huh.”
“And what about this…” Her nipple pebbles under the thin fabric, her body giving me an answer before she can.
“That… Yeah.” Her voice falters, and she squirms, the movement flooding my bloodstream. I pull her closer so she knows exactly how much I need her.
“How about…”
The doorbell rings, exploding through the moment.
My whole body groans in protest. I drop my forehead to her shoulder. Of all the times for humanity to exist, it has to be now.
“If that’s your brother, I’m gonna kill him.”
Erin’s laugh is way too perky.
I force myself to step back, adjust, and breathe. Her eyes drop to my crotch, and goosebumps climb up her arms as she looks away and bites her lip.
We haven’t seen each other naked yet. I’ve seen her in my clothing, hair messy and skin heated with desire, but I want more.
However, I don’t want it at the cost of rushing her or making her feel like she has to match my experience if we start shedding clothes.
So, I tap into my self-control, waiting for the day she asks to see all of me.
I really hope she does.
I open the door to find Brax standing there. The second our eyes connect, the leftover heat in my body dissipates. While I’m glad that it’s Brax and not her brother witnessing my hard-on for the girl sitting on my counter, I doubt Brax is here for anything trivial.
“What happened?” I step aside to let him in.
Erin moves quickly to my side.
“I found Laurel,” Brax says.
My stomach tightens, and my voice is gravelly but full of hope. “She’s alive.”
His attention shifts to Erin. “She’s been looking into you and your mom.”
Erin’s eyebrows pull together. “Why?”
“Still trying to figure that out.” He reaches into his jacket and hands her a photo.
It’s a picture of her and Rudy inside Bakes by the Lakes from months ago holding cupcakes.
“Dom Westmont, the man who shot you, reached out and gave the address your mom was staying at in California. She wasn’t there but this was. ”
Erin studies the image. “We already knew she was watching me and Griff.”
“Turn it over,” Brax says.
She flips it.
One word is there—Lucia.
Her fingers tighten on the edges of the photo until they tremble.
“There’s only a handful of people who know what my real name is,” Erin murmurs. She looks up at Brax. “You think this photo is part of the package someone sent to my mother?”
“I think so, and I think Laurel is who sent it,” Brax answers.
“How can you be so sure?” I ask.
“Elena made those F1 race car cupcakes for a birthday party. One batch went wrong. She gave them out for free the day this picture was taken.”
“I remember. I texted you and asked if Roman wanted one.”
“I pulled the footage from that day,” Brax continues. “Laurel was there. Bertie served her. He told me she was looking for a quiet rental for a short period of time. He offered his lakehouse cabin. She paid cash.”
“So she’s been in Huxley Bay before Clarissa Rose turned up, and we didn’t know?” I ask.
“Seems that way.” Brax scrolls through his phone and hands it over. A wall stares back at us. Pictures, scribbles, and Post-it notes are on it. Strings crisscross the wall like veins, firing out of a photo in the dead center—one of Erin.
“This took weeks,” Brax says, shaking his head. “Maybe months. She’s built her own investigation using some of my evidence.”
Erin frowns. “Your evidence?”
“My security is airtight,” he says, clearly frustrated with himself. “I don’t know how she got in, but only I had access to some of the stuff I saw on her wall.”
“Do you know where she is now?” Erin asks.
Brax shakes his head.
“You have to find her, Brax,” Erin says, the steadiness in her voice morphing into fear. “She’s the only one who can tell us why she and Elliot had drugs that belonged to The Octopus.”
“I’ll find her,” Brax promises.
And just like that, the kitchen, pancakes, my hands on her thighs, and her legs around me feels worlds away.