Chapter Thirteen – Abby
When Ezra steps away and says he needs some air, I wonder if one of us should go get him.
I don’t think it’s normal for him to need some air while he’s, uh, working, but at the same time, I don’t dare stop what I’m doing.
I can’t. I’m in the groove, so to speak.
Plus, I’m halfway through, so I might as well power through it and get the job done.
Doing this with a handsaw is actually way easier than with a knife. I don’t know what I was thinking, doing all this with a sharp knife before. The serrated edge really does amplify the ease with which you can cut through bone.
Silly me.
I finish the ankle, and then I look at Royal from across the bed. He’s long since finished his side, though he still grips his saw like there’s more he wants to cut. He stands closer to the light of the room, and from this angle, I can see a bit of his dark eyes in the eyeholes of the hockey mask.
He’s staring straight at me, but since his face is covered, I can’t get a read on him.
“You doing okay over there, Royal?” I ask, sounding quite breathless. Seriously, listening to me, you’d think I was in the middle of getting freaking instead of, you know, doing my part for this D.D.K. victim.
For a few moments, the only thing we do is stare at each other from across the bed.
I see his chest rise and fall with heavy, haggard breaths, and I wonder if he always gets this worked up during a killing.
I sure don’t remember him seeming so labored last time, but I guess at the end there, I wasn’t really watching.
And then something changes. I don’t know what’s going through his head, but Royal squares his shoulders and moves around the foot of the bed, making a direct beeline toward me. I’m about to ask him what he’s doing, but as I turn my body to face his, I realize just how close he’s standing to me.
So close. Two inches, maybe. If I breathe deeply, the front of my chest will touch him. My head is angled back so I meet his eyes, and just like him, I still hold onto the bloodied saw.
Royal sets his saw down on the bed to my left, and then he reaches for the one I hold, placing it in much the same way.
His gloved hand moves to his mask, and his fingers curl around the bottom of it.
One second later, and his mask is lifted off his face, now resting on the top of his head, allowing me to see the expression the mask previously hid from me.
And he’s… he stares down at me so intensely the air is literally pushed out of my lungs. His black gaze, colorless, is so deep and powerful I am motionless and speechless. I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything but stand there and wait for him to do something else.
Because, obviously, he has to do more.
Royal doesn’t say a word as he lifts a hand to my mask, lifting it just as he lifted his. The mask sits on the top of my head, threatening to slide off, but he rectifies that by placing both his gloved hands, bloodied as they are, on my face. He bends down and takes my lips against his.
If I thought the air was pulled out of my lungs before, I’m sucked dry right then. He kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before, all fire and heat and passion, the kind of kiss that makes my toes curl in my boots.
Literally. My toes curl before I know what’s happening.
My eyelids fall, and I lean into him, slow in grabbing hold of his shirt just above the dark plastic apron. We’re a bloody mess, but neither of us cares. Why would we? His mouth on mine ignites something deep within me I don’t even recognize, something so unfamiliar.
These emerging feelings, as terrifying as they are, don’t feel wrong. No, how could these feelings be wrong when it feels so damn right?
I moan into the kiss, and Royal responds by dropping one of his hands to my lower back and pulling my body harder against his.
I fit so snugly against him, and I can’t help but moan again.
He’s so arched thanks to how tall he is, and my head is so bent back to accommodate the kiss, but it doesn’t matter.
It’s not just a kiss. It’s so much more.
It’s everything. It’s fairytale stuff, minus the dead guy two feet away.
It’s not long before I feel something hard pressing against me, and when I moan a third time, the hand Royal kept on my face drops to my ass, and soon enough I’m being picked up, whirled around, and pushed against the wall, and not once during the move do our mouths break their lip lock.
All the teasing. All the comments. Maybe they didn’t mean a thing in the beginning, but now…
Now I want it all. I want more. I want everything Royal has and then some.
And Royal? It is beyond clear, as in crystal-freaking-clear, he wants the same thing.
Things happen fast after that. Things move so quickly neither of us have time to stop and think if this is a good idea or not. Does it matter? Right now, in the heat of the moment, the resounding answer to that question would be no.
Royal’s mouth moves off mine, dropping to the base of my neck.
I shiver when those ravenous lips of his trail kisses along a part of me that’s a thousand times more sensitive than I ever knew.
He keeps his hands hooked beneath my knees on either side of him, his body all I need to stay right where I am.
I set my arms over his shoulder, moaning even louder.
I can’t help it. It feels too good.
He nips at my jaw, and I let out a soft whine. I can’t remember ever wanting something so badly in my life before. My entire body is on fire—because of him. Because of who he is and what he does. I want so much more than a make-out session against the wall.
I want to be fucked against said wall.
“How long do you think we have before Ezra comes back?” I whisper, and Royal responds by grunting and nipping at my ear. “I’m just saying… if you’re quick, we can—”
Turns out, I don’t need to say anything else. He’s on the same wavelength as me. He lets go of the undersides of my knees to tear off everything below my waist. With my arms firmly wrapped around his neck, I hold myself up while he frees the most important part of me.
The next thing that comes out? Should be pretty obvious: his cock.
I don’t have a good vantage point from where I am, but when he spreads open my thighs once again and invites himself between my legs, that hard cock leading the way, I have the feeling I won’t be disappointed in its size or its skill.
I throw my head back when I feel the tip of that cock prodding my entrance, and my lower half is as relaxed as it can possibly be as Royal pushes inside of me. And I swear I see stars when that dick pins me against the wall.
Wow. Just… wow. It’s been so long, I forgot what it can feel like, how amazing it can be.
I forgot how it feels when you actually want something so badly you can’t think straight.
My life has been devoured by the hunt, by me working to sharpen my killer skills, that having a nice, hard fuck was the last thing on my list of things to do.
But Royal here is ready for the challenge, and as his body gets to work, as his midsection grinds against mine, I lose myself in the moment, even if it doesn’t last. If it’s just a one-time thing, then that’s what it’ll be.
His cock plunges into me with record speed, my back thumping against the wall in sync with his body.
A low, animalistic growl leaves his chest, and I close my eyes and surrender to the sound, to the way our inner beasts collide.
If this is how it is for other people, I totally get it now.
I understand why some people are willing to throw everything away for connections like this.
“Fucking hell,” he murmurs against my ear, “you feel so good. So. Goddamned. Good.” Each word is accompanied by either a grunt or a groan, and is spoken in line with his hard thrusts.
I want to tell him he feels good too, that this is the kind of sex it should be every time, but no words escape me. The only sounds that can come from me are moans that match his.
He pounds into me with wild abandon. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or maybe it’s because it feels too damn good—or, hell, it could be the simple fact we aren’t supposed to do this—but a low pressure starts to build within me on its own accord.
I can’t fight the feeling. It’s too powerful, too strong to ignore, and soon enough it sweeps over me like a tidal wave, the kind of immensely powerful action that cannot ever be stifled.
The heat, the pleasure; it’s all too much. I throw my head back and bang it on the wall in the process, but the sudden pain from such action doesn’t even register in my brain. The pleasure drowns everything else out, and I moan loudly as my thighs try to squeeze together and my inner core tightens.
Royal’s wide chest rumbles in what must be appreciation, and just when I think he can’t possibly go at me any harder, he does just that. His speed picks up, and as I ride out the high from my orgasm, he must chase his own release.
His pleasure follows suit. He rockets forward, practically snuffing out the air in my lungs in the process, but the moan that leaves his throat tells me everything.
Though I can’t see his face, though his nose is buried in the crook of my neck, the pleasure filling him is enough to choke.
Short, rapid-fire bursts of speed between my legs and a low warmth are the signs that an orgasm took hold of him.
It’s a few moments before he slows down, and then he remains buried inside my core, holding onto me like I’m his lifeline—the same way I currently hold onto him. He nuzzles against my neck, whispering, “Fuck, you’re enough to drive me crazy.”
And then he lifts his head and stares deeply into my eyes, adding, “And I thought I was already crazy.”
It’s such an out of pocket thing to say, especially after what we just did, that I can’t help but laugh.
I laugh like it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, but I try to keep relatively quiet, not knowing when Ezra will make his reappearance.
The sound that comes from me is a stifled chuckle as Royal is slow in pulling his cock out of me.
He sets me down, and after we untangle from each other, we work to put ourselves away. It’s a racing game for me, since a certain something starts leaking out pretty much right away, but I manage to catch the cum with my panties before it has the chance to fall to the floor.
How awkward would it be if we’re caught because of some semen?
“Well,” Royal says once we’re both put together, and our masks are back on, “that was…”
I have the feeling the man doesn’t trail off like that often, so I take it as a compliment. Or, I guess, I should take it as a compliment to the P.o.P.: the Power of the Pussy. I grin, but since he can’t see the grin behind the mask, I say, “Yeah, it was.”
Before he has the chance to say anything else, someone near the doorway coughs, alerting us to his presence.
Both Royal and I turn to look at Ezra, and we find him standing there with his arms folded over his chest, his masked face cocked.
You don’t have to see his expression to know what look he’s giving us beneath his mask.
Royal tries to play dumb, “What?”
“Really?” Ezra says. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
This time, Royal doesn’t say anything; all he does is shrug.
I feel myself giving an awkward smile, but then I remember he can’t see my face, so I drop it and say, “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Everything is great.” Hmm. I might lather it on there a bit too thickly. Oh, well.
I mean, again, we are two consenting adults. What does it matter? It’s not a big deal, right?