Chapter Twenty-One
Katie
I wake up in Jonesy’s arms again, smiling like a goddamn idiot.
The scent of leather and sandalwood mixed with sweat and sex has my mouth watering.
I try to purse my lips. I try to remember the reasons this can’t work out, but they’re fading.
The insistent reasoning was like jagged spikes around my heart, but he’s smoothing them over; they’re fuzzing around the edges, and soon they’ll be soft enough for him to hold.
Like he doesn’t already have my heart in his hand.
I’m shocked at how willingly I’ve given it to him.
It’s Jacob Jones. Bain of my monthly ritual with my friends, petulant, argumentative, nothing I would want in a partner.
Especially given that he’s already run from me after we kissed the first time at college.
But it’s different now; it feels different.
He’s acting like this could be something.
The sex is . . . unbelievable. It’s like he knows exactly what I need.
He amps up the fear factor until I’m reeling, and then he calls me princess again, just to ground me to him.
It’s everything I ever dreamed about. Everything I imagined, he’s done it.
I don’t even have to ask; he just knows what I need.
It’s annoying. Because I’m trying not to fall for him again.
I’m trying not to end up a mess like I was when he left to go overseas with the military, but my heart won’t listen.
It keeps screaming that it’s Jonesy; he’s finally taking notice and showing up.
My dumb, stupid heart has forgiven him, but my head is catching up.
It hasn’t had good judgment recently, and it’s suspicious that this is another thing to add to my list of recent fuck-ups.
He snuffles against me, his nose running along the length of my neck. I should leave, but I’ll need to borrow some of his clothes to do so. I’m sure the asshole did that on purpose. This is just another way for him to claim me.
I sigh, looking around the room. Ripped clothes, a knife on the floor, a lamp that toppled over after a particularly vigorous thrust from Jonesy around 2 a.m. last night.
The place looks like a crime scene. I’d hate to think what someone could see under UV light.
It would light up like a damn Christmas tree in here.
Checking my phone, I notice a text from Anthony. They’re ready for us to survey the crime scene, namely, Connor Maddox’s house. There’s something bigger going on here. I can feel it in my bones.
I roll over, running my fingers through Jonesy’s hair, his dopey grin growing as he slowly starts to wake. He peeks one eye open before tugging me even closer to him.
“We’ve been cleared to view Maddox’s house.”
“Good morning to you, too, princess.” He yawns before kissing me. It’s like he didn’t even have to think about it. Just laid one on me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Don’t you want to go and check it out?”
“Absolutely I do, but I have a little bit of an issue to fix first.” He thrusts his hips against me, his morning erection poking against my stomach. “I can’t very well turn up to a murder house with this thing, can I?”
“How exactly is that my problem?” I giggle.
“Have you seen yourself? You’re the hottest woman alive, and honestly, I was just having a very lovely dream where your lips were wrapped around my co—”
I slap my palm against his mouth, and I feel him grin against me.
“We don’t have time for that. Someone ripped up all my clothes again. So I have to swing by my house on the way for a new outfit.”
“I knew that was going to come back and bite me in the ass.”
“You only have yourself to blame. But . . .” I cup his length, my fingers squeezing his balls. “If you’re a good boy today, we can play later.”
His eyes darken, a wicked gleam flashing across them.
“I’ll be so good for you, princess.”
Heat builds in my core, and goddamn, the temptation to slip down between his legs now is almost overwhelming. I could make quick work of it; we are already naked after all. But no. I need to get this job done and prove, somehow, that Connor Maddox isn’t guilty.
I escape his clutches and by the time I’ve showered, de-tangled my sex hair, and pulled on an old Elwood University hoodie and some of his sweatpants, he’s in the kitchen in his uniform cooking eggs.
His eyes dip down my body as if I’m wearing nothing but lingerie, and I move around the other side of the breakfast bar to keep out of his grasp.
“You look fucking good in my clothes,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly. He leans over the counter, pushing a ready-made mug of coffee my way. I bring it to my lips and take a sip, letting out a satisfied hum. Cream and sugar, just how I like it. His eyes are on me the entire time.
“You’ve still got a spit kink then?”
I roll my eyes, fighting the smile tugging at my lips.
Asshole.
◆◆◆
Connor Maddox has the kind of home that when you cross the threshold, you’re straight in the living area.
That is, if you could call it living. There is a lone camping chair in the middle of the room facing the gas fireplace, a mysterious stain on the carpet, and a collection of beer cans overflowing from a wastepaper basket.
The house itself is in an okay neighborhood.
The front yard is large, and there’s a driveway.
Most of the houses on the street have relatively new cars, well-kept lawns, and freshly painted houses.
And from the outside, although a little bare, this house doesn't look much different.
But the lack of furniture inside is eerie.
I walk through the house, the smell of bleach lingering in the air. Detective Williams and Officer Sanchez follow me as I make notes on my phone. Jonesy brings up the rear.
“From this room, we removed handcuffs which were attached to the bedframe—” I sneak a peek at Jonesy, who is suspiciously quiet, looking up at the ceiling, sucking in his cheeks like he’s trying to fight the urge to look at me after what we did last night.
“Also a gag, duct tape, and what appears to be a spreader.”
All he needs on his list is a mask and a kitchen knife, and he’ll have a replay of what Jonesy and I did last night. The ache between my legs throbs.
“What’s a spreader?” I ask.
Jonesy starts to blush—he’s actually blushing. Anthony stares at him and back at me before a crease forms between his brows.
“It’s a contraption that’s connected to a person’s ankles. It extends so they’re not able to close their legs.”
I feel the heat rising on my cheeks too, and suddenly I understand. The clue was in the name, I guess. “Got it. Umm, thanks.”
We work our way around the house before reaching the back door to the yard.
The earth is upturned, spades and trowels littering the ground. Three large holes indicate where the victims’ bodies were buried. Tents have been erected for privacy or to protect the scene from the elements, but it’s easy to see exactly where the bodies were buried.
“The dogs haven’t indicated they can smell any more?”
“We haven't brought them back since that first day. And besides, Maddox ended up telling us the names of the women and their exact locations in the yard.” His tone is clipped, as if he’s preparing to refute my opinions without even considering them.
Jonesy frowns, running a hand over his mouth as if he’s calculating the likelihood of Connor Maddox knowing exactly who was where, their names, and the fact that it’s in his own damn yard and not actually committing the crimes.
Shit.
“Despite the evidence being processed, the investigation is finished. We’re just preparing for the eventual court trial now, Dr. Murphy,” Anthony says, uncharacteristically stern.
“I understand. You’ll have my report in a few weeks.”
He nods, stalking past Jonesy without a word as Officer Sanchez follows, giving Jonesy a small smile that makes my stomach churn.
He heads toward me, turning back to make sure they’re out of earshot.
“Thoughts?”
“I’m not sure. I need to think about this. It’s overwhelming for sure, but don’t you think this is a little convenient? The man we met doesn’t fit . . . well, this.” I wave my hand around. “The bed, the handcuffs . . .”
His eyebrow arches, and I blush. He bends low, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear as he whispers, “You’re so pretty when you blush, Katie.”
My stomach swoops, and I attempt to keep my professional face on despite the grin that’s tugging at my lips. “Dr. Jones, we’re at a crime scene. Three bodies were dug up a few feet away from us.”
“I know, it’s horrific. But life is short, clearly. And I’m obsessed with you. I think they’d understand.”
God, the mouth on this man. We’re at a literal burial site, and I can see the lust in his eyes.
He’d fuck me in this house if I asked him.
How crazy is that? How crazy am I for wanting him right here and now?
Because he’s right. Life is short, and I’ve been sleepwalking through mine for a whole year, and I feel like I might be living again.
I look around to make sure no one is watching, and I squeeze his hand. His smile stretches across his face, and my heart thumps wildly. He looks so happy, all because I’ve held his hand.
“Can we go over everything again? I still think we’re missing something. This confession is a little convenient, don’t you think?” I say, pushing my shoulders back and putting on my professional face.
Jonesy loses his smile and gives me a stern nod. “I agree, and we need to finish our interview with Maddox. But first, there’s something really important we need to do.”
What could be more important than this? My brows pinch together, and his eyes narrow.
“You’re going to learn how to put up a curtain rail.”
I slap his chest, fighting the pull of my cheeks. I twist around and see the detective watching us from inside.
◆◆◆
We head back to my house after wrapping up our walkthrough and start working on the living room. I had a contractor come in to sand the floors and stain them, so now that they’re dry and the walls are painted, we’re moving furniture back into the space.
Well . . . I say we, but in reality, Jonesy uses those biceps he’s been building for the last fifteen years and moves the couch and solid oak coffee table with ease.
We place down a rug, cushions, and a new cozy blanket, as well as hanging up the picture frames.
All I need to do now is hang the curtains, and Jonesy is in the kitchen, grabbing the spirit level for the curtain rod as I steam the light blue fabric I picked out.
After five minutes, I go to find him, thinking he’s somehow got lost in all the equipment that’s been dumped in what will be an eating area of the kitchen, but I hear him talking.
“I understand, sir.”
He pauses, his fingers pushing through his hair. He looks significantly more stressed than when he left laughing five minutes ago.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll get it done.”
My heart clenches in my chest as he hangs up the phone, muttering a curse beneath his breath. He turns to see me just as he slips his phone into his pocket. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, of course . . . just work stuff.”
“To do with the case?” I ask.
He says nothing, slipping past me as he wiggles the spirit level at me as if I were a baby distracted by a set of car keys.
My first instinct is to fight him, as we’ve always done.
But we’re in new territory now. I don’t want to argue with him.
I just want to know what’s wrong. We haven’t been in this vulnerable space before, and if he feels anything like I do, sharing his feelings isn’t the first thing that springs to mind. Not when what we’re doing is so new.
We work quietly as he installs the curtain rod, taking great care to mark the exact spot the screws need to go before committing with the drill.
By the time we’ve finished, he’s barely said a word, save for a few grunts as he holds his arms above his head for long periods, a bead of sweat forming on his temple.
He moves the ladder into the entryway, leaving the room perfect.
I stand at the door and lean my back against his chest. I can’t believe we’ve finished a room, and now, after work, I’ll have somewhere to come and relax that isn’t just curling up in bed.
Jonesy kisses the top of my head, his hand slipping into mine as he pulls me over to the couch. He slumps down, pulling me over his lap so I’m straddling him.
“Thank you, I’ll be able to hang out here now and not head straight to my bedroom after work,” I say, taking in the space. The fireplace is still in its original form, adding some character to the house. Maybe I’ll get to watch Jonesy chop some wood for me, and we can live out a lumberjack fantasy.
“Well, if I had known that would happen, I would have left this room until last.”
I swat his chest, and he grabs me, pulling my wrist to his nose and taking a deep inhale on the spot where I spritzed my perfume this morning.
“You can talk to me, you know? I get that this started as physical and you wanting to help me . . .” I say awkwardly, tilting my chin down so he can’t see my eyes. “What I’m trying to say is . . . I want to be the person you come to. Does that make sense?”
I lift my head and find his brows pinched together, his eyes flitting between mine until he pushes my hair back from my face and kisses me. It’s slow, methodical; his tongue brushes against mine, his teeth nip at my bottom lip. He’s unhurried, like he could spend all night doing just this.
I wanted him to know he could come to me with his problems, and now he knows. The ball is in his court, and I don’t want to push the matter tonight, not when we should be celebrating another room completed.
I pull back for a moment and ask, “Wanna christen this couch?”
“You’ve had the couch for years.” He smiles, the frown disappearing between his brows.
“Humor me,” I murmur against his lips.
I ride him deep and unhurried on my not-new couch.
My orgasm creeps up on me slowly, with hot, wet kisses biting up my neck, fingernails scraping into skin.
When I come down from my high, my hips aching, sweat clinging to my skin, I realize it’s the first time we haven’t used fear to get me off.
I pull him by his hand, letting his cum slip down my leg, and drag him into bed.
His arm curls around my waist, my back tucked against his chest, just the way I like it.
I think of Jonesy as I close my eyes, of how many times he made me smile tonight, and I don’t have any dreams at all.