Chapter 19 Maddox #2
“Maddox!” She gawks at me, squirming and flicking her gaze between me and the man at the other end of the car. He’s quickly forgotten the second my knuckle is back against her clit, adding just the right amount of pressure to bring her close to the edge without taking her to the end.
Her glare is vicious when I stop.
I don’t bother hiding my smirk. “Are you going to tell me what I want to hear, or will I need to find out for myself?” I can feel her wetness through the fabric, but I want her to say it. When she doesn’t answer, I pull my hand away. If looks could kill, she’d be making art out of me. “So?”
Through gritted teeth, Reyna grinds out a demanding “Yes.”
In a single motion, her panties are pushed to the side and my fingers find home.
Her warm cunt clamps down around me, and I almost finish like a fucking teenager.
Moisture soaks my hand. It feels illegal that I can’t sit her on my cock this very second.
I curl my fingers and grin triumphantly when she slaps her hand over her mouth to cover her squeak.
Her addictive scent fills my lungs as I nuzzle my nose into her hair and whisper against the shell of her ear. “I’m just making sure you aren’t telling me another lie.”
Shudders work through her frame, staring up at me through glazed brown eyes. I feel like a fucking king. I draw out of her to slide another digit in, pumping them until she’s struggling to stay upright in her seat.
Reyna lets out a sound of betrayal when I pull out of her to slide her saturated underwear back in place, rubbing her over the fabric.
I bite back my grin and pretend not to notice her glaring at me in disbelief as I right her clothes, making sure her skirt is lowered and her coat covers her legs for warmth.
Reyna is too focused on murdering me in her mind to notice we’ve come to another stop and one more person has come to join us in the car.
“Put your headphones on, look out of the window, and pretend I’m not here,” I tell her once the doors close and we’re trudging along the tracks.
She does none of those things, shooting daggers at my profile the entire time I respond to emails on my phone, sliding my hand up and down her inner thigh, dangerously close to her core only to deny her what she wants.
If my cock is throbbing, then it’s only fair that she’s suffering too.
The mutual torture lasts several long, painful minutes before we get to our stop and she all but shoves me out of the seat and storms out of the subway, leaving me in the wind. The brat makes me jog to catch up to her and grab her elbow just to get her to stop.
“What?” she barks, whirling to face me.
Something tells me she won’t receive my shit-eating grin well, so I only just manage to keep it at bay. Without a word, I grab the scarf from around my neck and wrap it around hers, then forge ahead without her so that it’s her turn to huff and walk faster to catch up to me.
It’s only a twenty-minute walk to the house, but due to Reyna’s most unfortunate wardrobe malfunction, I hail us a cab and use the willpower not even God possesses to stop myself from warming her pussy for her.
The silence must do us some good because by the time we’re dropped off a block away from our destination and moving around to the back of the house, Reyna no longer looks like she wants to stage my murder.
Yes, she’s vibrating, but it’s with the gleam of an artist about to start a new project. I had the exact same look three nights ago as I was climbing up the steps of the back porch.
Jeremy Warren lived in a slice of suburbia fit for a recently divorced Michelin chef who threatened to kill his ex-wife and child and left them with nothing while he got to keep the backyard and the white picket fence.
Like we’ve done this dance before, we search through the windows of Jeremy’s house and our surroundings for signs of life before facing each other.
“Remember, you asked for this. If I go down, you’re going down with me” is all the warning I get before Reyna rummages through her satchel, slides her hands into latex gloves, pulls out a black plastic container, glances around, then walks right up to the back door.
I arch a brow as she lowers herself to her haunches, right at eye level with my cock, which is twitching with the wrong idea. I fully harden when she opens the container and starts picking the lock.
Committing a felony with my student is not quite the field trip I expected. One may even call it a date.
Color me shocked and feral when the door clicks open in under three minutes. I don’t think I’ve been this turned on by something so mundane in my life.
Reyna stands, brows pinched, shooting me a hesitant look. Her apprehension sets me on edge. Perhaps I’ve read her wrong, and she sees the person behind the art as a villain, abhorring the sin while appreciating the nuances only from a lens.
“You’re really okay with this?” she asks carefully. “It’s… this is illegal.”
Christ, isn’t she just adorable. I nod. “Of course.”
“Someone—” She cuts herself off like she wants to choose her words carefully. “Somebody died in there. It won’t be a pretty sight. You can wait outside if that’s what you’re more comfortable with.”
I assure you, I was inside when he was killed, and I was extremely comfortable with it.
I don’t miss that she didn’t say it was disgusting or vile. “I appreciate your concern but open the bloody door before you catch a cold. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
She studies me. I’m not sure what she finds, but whatever it is, it lightens her, and, dare I say it, she almost looks ecstatic about it. I suppose carrying out imprisonable offenses is more fun when someone is there to commit them with.
Reyna offers me a pair of gloves and shoe coverings from her satchel. We both look ridiculous with the white rustling clouds on our feet, but I can’t help but fight the smile on my face. This woman is a dream.
Romance isn’t part of the syllabus, but neither is homicide. It seems I’m expanding my curriculum today.
I open the door for her while she fishes out her camera, and trail after her, staying close to watch her reactions. She sucks in a shuddering breath when her arm brushes against mine, and I try not to smirk when she tries to hide her reaction from me.
I might hazard a guess and say that little Miss Sinaga is frustrated.
She stays back to let me walk into the lounge first, wringing her hands as she waits for me to take in the room and either back out or faint or do whatever it is the average person does when they see blood coating the once-white walls and dreary gray furniture.
Before I gave this house my artistic touch, it looked more like a bachelor pad, with all white and glass everything, than a home.
Now? Reyna doesn’t bat an eye or look remotely fazed by the gruesome sight.
The most I manage to offer her is raised brows while I survey the area as if I weren’t the one who staged it.
The plan was to make the scene as horrific as possible. Seeing as there are bloodstains all over the ceiling and crystal chandelier, I’d say I achieved that goal.
“Do you think your killer did it?” I wonder out loud once she’s had enough time to look around.
“Yes,” Reyna answers without hesitation. Her cheeks pinken. Is my student embarrassed about being so bloody intelligent? That won’t do.
The corners of my lips twitch, and I finally take it as my turn to study her reactions. She watches me just as skeptically. Does my student think I doubt her? If this were a test, she’d be getting an A+.
“What makes you so certain?”
“Look at the place.” She motions at the walls and tables like it’s obvious. I wait for her to continue. She sighs. “You may school me on mise-en-scène, but here, I can learn from the master.”
How receptive would she be to getting eaten out on the couch two feet from where I dismembered a man? Because if she says that again, I’m going to insist we contaminate a crime scene.
“You’re impressed by this?” I’m not above fishing.
“Always.”
My chest expands. My head probably does too. I doubt I’ll fit through the door anymore.
“Do explain how you’re certain your killer did this. It’s a gruesome, chaotic sight.” I sound far too upbeat for someone who is meant to be a level-headed person witnessing the remnants of a bloodbath. But neither of us is normal. There’s no point pretending we’re something we’re not.
Reyna lets her camera hang from its strap around her neck to show me a picture on her phone. Jeremy does not look good there. Seems rigor mortis well and truly set in before his cleaner found him.
She points at the corner of the screen. “There’s a coin three feet away from the body. Payment for the ferryman, and Cerberus has three heads.”
Actually, I had put the penny on his forehead. Someone must have knocked it off. As for the coin, she’s right in that it was for the ferryman, only it’d be an insult to pay that amount.
I’ll give her seven out of ten.
“You got all that from a penny?”
Penny for your thoughts, Miss Sinaga.
“Yes.” She shrugs, walking around with the camera back in hand to document the scene. “Charon won’t be granting him passage with that amount.”
I amend my answer. She gets full marks.
“You don’t believe me.” I dislike her defensive tone.
“On the contrary. I believe you wholeheartedly. I want to see this piece through your eyes.”
Reyna is full of blushes today. Only this time, she turns her face away in an attempt to hide that she’s biting her lip.
She pauses next to the corner table at the end of the couch and motions at the sleek black object beneath the lamp. “An hourglass symbolizes the afterlife, but there’s no sand. It’s not that the subject’s time is up; there’s nothing else for him beyond death.”
Her shoe coverings rustle against the bloodstained carpet as she ducks down and peers up beneath the lampshade.