CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
INNOCENT BOYS she humored me. From time to time, she even put forth her own input, as she had just now, and I appreciated it.
But while I was obsessing over Tommy, I had also started to neglect her and my role as her fiancé. I recognized it, and I was ashamed. But why couldn't that have been enough to turn this shit off in my head long enough to talk to her about something, anything else?
I have to try.
I turned from the screen to watch as she worked lotion into her hands.
“Or, uh, maybe it's N-O-L—”
“I'll worry about it later,” I said, dropping my phone onto the nightstand. “Come here.”
She glanced over her shoulder as I reached across the bed. A single blonde brow rose as her lips twitched toward a knowing smile.
“For what, Detective?” she asked, mischief heavy in her tone.
“I think you know what.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she turned away, but not before I could catch her smile.
She was still such a good girl, even all these years later, and I loved that.
I loved that, after half a decade together, I could still make her blush, make her excited, make her want me in the way she deserved to be wanted.
I bet she's already wet, I thought, biting the tip of my tongue around a grin.
It never took much.
She put the bottle of lotion back into the nightstand drawer and stood. I watched her back as she loosened the tie of her robe and let the white, fluffy material drop from her naked shoulders and onto the floor, revealing her smooth, fresh, clean skin, all the way down to her mid-thighs.
Through lazy, hooded eyes, I stared at the length of her backside, from the curve of her ass up to the long column of her neck.
What a stunning work of art she was. A painter could only be so blessed to have a subject half as beautiful as her, and somehow, I was the lucky bastard who got to share her bed for all of eternity.
Over the mattress's surface, I went to her on my knees, taking my shirt off and throwing it aside.
I pressed my chest to her back, slid my hands around and up, moving over her belly to the rounded weight of her breasts.
My lips found her neck as I kneaded her flesh, rolling her pebbled nipples between my fingers, and I groaned with mounting pleasure, my erection painful in my now-too-tight jeans.
Meg gasped, laying her hands over my wrists, pulling them away, allowing her the freedom to turn and press her bare chest to mine.
“My boobs are so sensitive right now,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Isn't that a good thing?” I asked, moving my hands over the expanse of her back to grasp the rounded curve of her ass.
She laughed breathlessly, gasping a bit as I ground my hard length against her.
Fuck, I needed to get out of these jeans.
“Not this kind of sensitive,” she said, catching the corner of my mouth with her lips. “This is like I'm moments away from my period kind of sensitive. They hurt.”
“I'm sorry, babe,” I said with a frown. “We don’t have to—”
“No, it's okay,” she replied, peppering kisses along my jaw, down my neck, and toward the dip at the base of my throat.
Her fingertips skated their way down my chest and abs to the waistband of my jeans.
I held my breath, eager anticipation thrumming beneath my skin, as I watched her pop the button and pull down the fly, her fingers deft and skilled after doing this so many times over the years.
And never had I grown tired of this part of the routine.
I could never be tired of her.
“Hey,” I whispered, grasping her chin in my hand and tipping her head back, her mouth upward.
“Yeah?” she whispered back.
I sought her gaze, danced within the endless sky hidden within her eyes, and said, “I love you.”
She held my erection in her hand, moving in languid strokes as she replied, “I love how much you love me.”
“There's no limit to how much I love you,” I said. “Every single day, it grows and grows and grows.”
“I know,” she said, her hands soft but her voice softer. “I know because that's how I feel about you.”
“It's endless, Meg,” I said, strained by pleasure and emotion combined. “Every time I think I couldn't love you more, I do, and it takes my fucking breath away.”
She could only nod, and I knew she understood.
I knew because I saw it in her eyes, I felt it in her touch, I heard it in the way she gasped when I laid our bodies down and fit the breadth of my hips between her spread thighs, sinking in until our flesh melded and molded and our hearts thumped in time with one another to a song only heard by them.
And we moved together, changed positions, and moved some more.
I watched her climb the ladder of ecstasy, and I followed behind, caring more for her pleasure than I could ever about mine.
She clutched my shoulders, dug her fingernails in, and her orgasm was released with an escalation of screams, every pulse and wave of her body coaxing my own until it spilled out with a groan that came from somewhere deep, deep within.
Then, as we descended, she reached for my cheeks, grasping them between her palms, and she kissed me, hard and needy. I tasted her sweat before I tasted her tears, and when I realized she was crying, I pulled away, diving into her watery gaze.
“Babe,” I said, laden with concern, “what's wrong?”
“I just love you so much,” she whispered, wiping her cheeks. “And I'm PMSing, and I'm hormonal, and …” She laughed, embarrassed. “And that was just really good.”
I couldn't help but laugh, brushing my thumbs beneath her eyes. “Yeah,” I replied. “Yeah, it was. And I love you more.”
***
She fell asleep easily, lulled in a way only good sex could.
I wasn't as lucky.
Something she'd said pricked at my brain and wouldn't let up until I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and opened a browser.
I'd been searching for Tom, Tommy, Thomas Nolan. But never had I tried alternative spellings of the name.
Nolen. Nolin. Knowlan.
God, the options suddenly seemed never-ending and daunting, but it only meant that my search was far from over.
There was no reason to give up now, and it didn't matter that I had to be at the station in six hours.
Nothing mattered except continuing the search for the man whose house my father had dragged me into twenty years ago.
So, first, I tried Thomas Nolen, then Nolin. I wasn't even entirely sure what exactly I was looking for, not sure if the man was dead or alive, but I scoured the internet for anything I could find. Anything that would lead me in the right direction, only to find nothing.
I tried Knowlan next and was met with the same luck—nothing.
Fuck. I glanced at the time. I'd been at it for an hour and a half now, and if I was going to be at all rested for work, I needed to sleep now.
Let's try one more.
I sucked in a deep breath and typed in Thomas Knowlen, scrolled through ten or so pages, only to find … yep, you guessed it … nothing.
My head flopped back against the headboard, and I released a quiet groan. My jaw moved from side to side, my chest puffing out with frustration.
Give it up, my mind told me. Just give it up. What the hell is the point of hunting this down anyway?
With a nod, I laid my phone on the nightstand and threw the covers back. Wincing, I got out of bed, careful not to disturb Meg, and padded across the room and out the door to the hallway, lit by nothing but a night-light in the shape of a little iron lantern.
A quick drink of water, a stop in the bathroom to take a piss, and I'll go to bed. That was what I told myself, quickly tiptoeing down the stairs and across the living room to the kitchen.
I passed the kitchen counter, where a stack of mail sat. Magazines. Catalogs. Letters. Bills. So many fucking bills, all the damn time. They poured in, they never stopped, and—
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Tommy's kitchen table and chairs had been stacked with mail. Hadn't I looked? Hadn't I glanced at the top of one of those piles?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I leaned against the counter and ground the heel of my palm against my forehead. “Think,” I mumbled from between my clenched teeth. “Dammit, think.”
My eyes squeezed shut, and I tried to conjure up the memory of that filthy kitchen.
The grime on the floor. The peeling tiles.
The stacks of moldy dishes in the sink. The flies and maggots.
Fuck, it had been so disgusting, so horrible.
My nose burned with the sting of tears at the thought.
I remembered the stench, the feeling of that floor beneath my hands.