Chapter 21
21
A fter a moment of hesitation, they found the third death certificate easily enough. They’d entered the post office, seen the walls of boxes, and realized none matched the number they had. They’d stared at each other blankly for a few taut seconds before Lina resolved the issue. She might think she didn’t know her father, but Viper disagreed. It took her less than a minute to figure out that he’d pick a box with the same four numbers used in Leavenworth, only not one that ended in an even number. Apparently, the good doctor didn’t like even numbers.
Twenty boxes met their criteria, and they hit the jackpot on number seven.
Joyce King, aged sixty-one, died of sepsis related to bacterial pneumonia in a Seattle hospital three years earlier. They sent a picture to Leo before boarding the ferry again, then spent the ride back to the mainland tossing around ideas as to what the certificates meant.
None of the three deaths appeared connected. The hemorrhage and the stroke were possibly related, but the sepsis stood out as different. The patients were from all over—Seattle, Indiana, and Boston—and they died at different times. Leo would uncover more than they would, but to kill time on the ride, they each ran internet searches on the three patients. For Joyce and Jeremiah, they only found obituaries. For Annibel, they found both an obituary and an article about the wrongful death suit her husband had brought against the hospital, although they found nothing about the disposition of the suit. It was either still ongoing, settled, or withdrawn, but they hadn’t discovered which.
Night had long ago blanketed the area when they exited the ferry in Anacortes. Lina plugged the directions to the house Leo booked into the navigation system, and Viper followed the guidance south. Twenty-five minutes later, he turned right onto a gravel-packed road, passed by a copse of trees, and pulled to a stop in front of a fairy-tale cottage.
After turning the car off, he remained seated, taking in the charming home, with its wraparound porch and views of the lake glittering in the nearly full moon. Set on a couple of acres, he could see no neighbors other than the great blue heron sweeping over the water.
“I think Leo overdid it a little,” he said.
“There’s a hot tub, too,” Lina said, her own gaze on the building.
“A hot tub?”
“Hmm,” she nodded. “On the other side of the porch, looking out over the lake.”
He chuckled. “Last one in is a rotten egg,” he said before sprinting out the door and around the corner. He heard Lina laugh behind him, but she didn’t follow. Judging from the sounds he heard, he could only guess that, acting much more adult than he, she’d unlocked the house and deposited their bags inside before joining him outside. She kept the lights off as she stepped onto the deck, closing the sliding door behind her. Now, it was just the two of them in the moonlight with a hot tub.
“Having fun?” she asked, eyeing his clothes scattered around the deck. He’d undressed as he walked and could have been tidier, but damn, did he love a good soak in a hot tub.
“Heaven,” he said, resting his head on the back of the tub and closing his eyes. His body wasn’t as damaged as many who’d served and done the kind of work he’d done, but it was creakier than the average thirty-four-year-old.
He heard the rustle of clothing and forced himself to keep his eyes closed. When Lina’s pants unzipped and the slide of denim over her skin echoed through the still night air, he lost the battle. Easing them open enough to watch, he followed the movement of her arms and the bend of her back as she tugged her pants off. She’d already removed her shirt, and when she straightened, she stood in nothing more than a black bra and panties. She set her hands on the curve of her waist and looked to be contemplating something. A beat later, she scanned the deck again, her gaze lingering on his boxer briefs draped over a chair.
She stilled. Was she thinking about him naked? Or maybe debating whether to get as naked as he? Or, if he was damn lucky, maybe both.
He waited, his stomach—and other parts of his body—tightening. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, although every third one hitched a little. She shifted, and her breasts swayed gently with the movement, drawing his eyes. She was either cold or aroused.
He hoped for the latter. Hoped that the idea of him naked did the same things to her as thinking of her sans clothes did to him.
She took a deep breath, straining the cups of her bra, then reached behind her and undid the clasp. His stomach jerked when the material slid away, and the urge to reach for her, cup her in his hands, take her into his mouth, surged through his body.
No longer trying to be discreet, he opened his eyes fully as she hooked her fingers under the waistband of her underwear and shimmied them down her legs.
He drank in the sight of her, standing naked in the moonlight. She was probably cold. He should probably beckon her into the warm water. Instead, he stared, his gaze traveling over her, memorizing every curve, every dip. Instead, he wondered if the curls between her thighs were as soft as they looked. Instead, he imagined tasting every inch of her. Twice.
Never in his life had he felt the need to touch a woman, the need to feel her skin under his fingers, the need to hear what she sounded like when she lost her mind with pleasure.
Whether any or all of that would happen tonight, he didn’t know. He hoped so. Although, the anticipation wasn’t so bad either.
His gaze lifted and met hers. Without taking her eyes off him, she sat on the edge of the tub, swung her legs over, and lowered herself down, a moan of bliss escaping her throat as the water rose over her shoulders. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
Unexpected contentedness washed through him. As aroused as he was, something steady and sure underpinned his more primal urges. Nothing he could name, but he felt it. And he knew, as he had since he answered her text a few days ago, that what happened next between them meant something.
She fluttered her arms in front of her, the water swirling around them. Steam gathered on her neck, and she lifted a hand to brush it away, her fingers trailing gently over her skin.
Roxanne’s words came back to him, and he fought the urge to cross the tub and pull her against him. Lina opened the door to something more between them during their conversation in the car. Now, he needed her to decide whether to walk through.
His mind anchored on that advice, but as it did, another interpretation formed. Roxanne had spoken about Lina’s needs, but he wondered if she’d had him in mind, too.
Once again, he thought about their earlier conversations. He’d talked about his deepest struggles—allowing himself to believe that someone would—could—want him. Lina needed to make the choice for herself as much as he needed her to—freely—choose him.
Her eyes opened, and she met his gaze. He had no idea what thoughts filtered through her head, but the dance of light on her face and the subtle softening of her expression held his attention. Time stretched taut between them, and their breaths began syncing, the water rippling around them as they inhaled and exhaled together.
He’d read about tantric sex and had friends who swore by it—he didn’t know if that’s what was going on now between him and Lina, but something sure as shit was. From across the tub, he’d swear he felt her hands on his body, her lips moving over his, the brush of her breasts against his chest.
He reached under the water and wrapped his hand around himself, needing to relieve the pressure. He stroked himself leisurely, firmly as they continued holding each other’s gaze. She shifted, and while he couldn’t see under the surface, he knew she squeezed her thighs together. He didn’t stop the low rumble of pleasure that came from deep within him.
Her gaze tore from his, lingering on the flex and pull of his arm before dropping to the water. She might not be able to see him, but the expression on her face—her parted lips and rapt focus—told him her imagination was filling in just fine. Her breathing hitched, and need clawed through his body. But he didn’t stop.
When she dipped a hand down between her legs, he groaned and forced himself to slow down. If she intended to pleasure herself by her own hand, he had every intention of watching. Every intention of seeing her body bow and face flush as the little death burst through her.
Her breathing grew shallow, and her eyes fluttered but stayed open. Despite the space between them, he felt her creeping closer to the edge, her pleasure teasing her.
She sucked in a deep breath, and his body tightened in anticipation. Only the sounds of her completion never came. Instead, like him, she pulled back, withdrawing her hand and letting her fingers float along the surface.
Her heated gaze found his, and in the next moment, she crossed the tub. Her legs straddled his thighs, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and her lips descended on his.
Releasing his grip on himself, he framed her face and kissed her long and deep. The way he’d wanted to that first night, only now it was better. So much better. She rocked against him as they kissed, and everything he imagined, the heat of her body, the feel of her skin against his, became a reality.
As their tongues and bodies tangled, he reveled in her. In the feel of her pressed against him and her fingers clinging to his shoulders. In the way she angled her head, deepening the kiss, as if she craved him as much as he craved her. Aware of every tiny detail—the curve of her waist, the crease of her hip, her curls brushing his thighs, and her chest caressing his—what truly held him in awe, what had his heart galloping and an emotion he couldn’t name both pressing in on him and setting him free, was something so much bigger.
She’d come to him. Despite what this physical connection meant—or maybe because of what it meant—she’d chosen him.
Releasing his mouth with his name on her lips, she rose, offering herself to him. Wanting everything she offered, he tasted her, cupping her other breast, teasing both her nipples, one with his mouth and the other with his fingers. Running her hands over his short, tight curls, she arched into him.
A familiar heat enveloped his tip as she whispered reassurance that she was protected. His fingers tightened in anticipation, and he sucked her deeper into his mouth. A flood of warmth flowed from her body, and she sank onto him in one smooth motion.
“Lina,” he hissed, releasing her and letting his head fall back as pleasure ripped through his body. She didn’t give either of them a moment to acclimate as she began moving. His hands dropped below the water, and he gripped her hips as she rode him. Her head fell back, her hair dancing on the surface of the water as it rippled against the sides of the tub with her movements.
Somewhere across the lake, a motor started. A bird plunged into the water for a meal. His senses so heightened by the feel of Lina, he felt, heard, them all. Every movement, every sound, every touch would be seared in his memory for a lifetime.
He wanted her to ride him for hours. He wanted to feel her slick body taking his in, closing around him. He wanted this moment, this connection—to her and only her—to never end.
But her body pulsed around him erratically as it hovered on the edge of an orgasm. And he needed to give her what she sought.
Reaching between them, he found the spot that would take the edge off her need. A long, low moan escaped her as she quickened her pace, his name crossing her lips in a heated, whispered plea.
Her short, gasping breaths filled the dark, quiet night. “Jackson,” she said again. Desperate to give her release—to feel her pleasure—he gripped her hip as he found the angle, rhythm, and pressure that pushed her past the breaking point.
She cried out and ground herself onto him. Transfixed by the sight of her back bowed and the heated flush spreading over her body, he drew out her orgasm, drowning in each squeeze, each pulse, each tug of her body on his.
When her body slowed, he shifted his hands to her waist and waited for her to catch her breath. It didn’t take long before her eyes fluttered open and she looked down. Still impaled on his very ready erection, a half smile tugged at her mouth as she leaned down and kissed him.
Their lips danced and teased, and he slowly began rolling his hips, moving inside her. He had every intention of working her back up, of cascading over the edge together next time. But for now, he wanted to enjoy every slide of their bodies together.
They kissed under the moonlight, moving in an age-old dance. His hands skimmed her body, stopping whenever she sighed to explore the area. He already knew her breasts were sensitive, but so was the small of her back, the nape of her neck, the spot under her ear, and her inner thigh.
Splaying his hands across her back, his thumbs resting under her breasts, he lifted her until only his tip remained covered in her heat. Rocking his hips, he dipped in and out, teasing her with hints of more.
“Jackson,” she said, trying to twist her hips out of his grip to take more of him. “Please.”
Not ready to give in yet, not ready for this to end, he didn’t give her what she wanted. At least, not entirely. He deepened his thrusts, giving her more, but not all.
She whimpered as her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her breath hitched, caught, then hitched again as the beginning of her next orgasm teased him. The base of his spine tingled as primal needs fought for dominance. With her next plea, they broke free, and his control snapped.
Lifting her from his body, he rose, turning them both. “Knees on the bench and hands on the edge,” he managed to say before thrusting fully into her from behind.
She cried out, arching into him as her fingers curled over the wood. He gripped her hips, holding her steady, and increased his pace, the delicious tightness of the position heaven to his body and soul.
“You are a fucking miracle,” he muttered, thrusting in and out. She made a sound, another whimper laced with enough desire to spike his adrenaline even more.
“More, Jackson,” she said, her voice breathy and uneven with his movements. Lifting her hips, her knees now almost entirely off the bench, he gave her what she asked for. What they both wanted.
A curse tore from his mouth as he moved in and out of her body. Little cries of pleasure flowed from hers in sync with his thrusts. The heat built between them and when the tingling in his lower back returned, he reached forward and slid his hand into her curls again. She jerked against him, but her silent scream told him everything. Without warning, her body clamped down on his. Pleasure shot through him as swift and sharp as a lightning bolt.
He wasn’t going to give up so easily, though. He wasn’t going to let this end between them until he couldn’t take any more. And right now, he could take more.
He thrust through Lina’s second orgasm, drawing it out as long as possible. And when she started coming down, he changed his angle, shifted his fingers, and brought her back to the edge again.
Her panting urged him on, as did the tiny, surprised gasps that she seemed to be fighting but couldn’t. The idea of her losing control sank its claws into him, and he wanted it desperately. So desperately that he gave up a bit of his own sanity as his fingers dug into her hip and his other cupped her mons. In that moment, making her come again so he could join her was his single reason for existing.
He didn’t stop the words flowing from his mouth, and between clenched teeth, he told her all the ways he wanted to take her, all the ways he wanted to feel her body milk his. He didn’t stop the words telling her exactly what it would feel like when he emptied himself inside her body and how he planned to do it again and again and again.
When her fingers slid down and covered his, pressing him tighter against her mons, she sucked in another deep breath. Pleasure bordering on pain coursed through him, and when he felt her body tighten, his last shred of sanity fled.
His movements became erratic as he lifted her two inches higher, changing the angle, allowing him even deeper. She inhaled another cry, and her body clamped down on his. This time, he was powerless to ride through it and instead gave in to the pleasure. Heat spread down his thighs and up his chest as she spasmed around him, tugging him, holding him in her body. He thrust in three more times, the tightness of her grip making it hard for him to breathe.
Then they broke. She cried out, her body holding on to his so tightly he could no longer move. Pulling his hand from her curls, he gripped her hips and pressed in as deep as he could go. Rocking into her heat, pleasure seized his body, stealing his breath and everything but the feel of her with it. His release came as subtly as an explosion, his body jerking as he emptied himself, the lingering pulses of her orgasm pulling every drop from him.
Letting his head fall back as he caught his breath, the chilly night air doing nothing to cool his heated skin, he eased his grip on her hips. When his heart raced a little less, he lowered her knees back onto the bench. Her hands no longer curled over the edge of the tub, but rather one arm lay draped along it, her forehead resting against it.
Releasing her hips, he traced a line down her spine before setting his hands along her rib cage. She still drew deep breaths, but they were rhythmic and steady. Because he couldn’t help himself, he slid his hands forward and cupped her breasts, swaying in the water.
She didn’t protest as he weighed them in his palms, tracing and tugging gently on her nipples. He intended his touch to be leisurely, appreciative, but when they responded to him, peaking and beading in his hands, his body twitched.
She chuckled, her voice muffled by her position. Turning her head, her eyes landed on his. “I want a bed, Jackson. And several hours to ourselves.”
Too sated to smile fully, he managed a lazy grin. “Never say I don’t give you what you want.”