Dredge #2
Tennessee whispers across my thoughts like a threat, bringing with it the comments Yates made when he visited the cottage, something I still haven’t brought myself to tell Nolan about out of the fear he might go on a blood-soaked rampage.
“Look,” I say, shaking the sudden burst of anxiety off as I lift the heavy hanging basket to shove it at Bert, “I’m not getting into my love life with you three weirdos. One of you doesn’t even know who Thanos is. You can’t be trusted.”
Bob grins when I turn toward him. “‘Love’ life, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up and water my flowers, you nosy old gossip.” The three men laugh as I turn away and stalk toward my backpack, which I left in the shade of the Starlight Boutique’s striped overhang.
“And it was definitely Sharkimedes who killed Jake,” I toss over my shoulder. “I can feel it in my bones.”
That’s all it takes to set off another argument among the three men, deflecting their interest from my romantic escapades.
I dig out a granola bar from my bag and chew each bite with more force than is probably necessary as I watch them hang the new flower basket that I’ve created to match this year’s Taste of Terror theme: Love & Other Killers: Celebrating Romance in Cape Carnage.
Blood-red begonias and black cherry petunias and bleeding hearts cascade from the planter.
If I’m being honest with myself, which is maybe not my favorite pastime, Nolan was my first thought when they unveiled the theme a few weeks ago when we were still digging up bodies, barely talking to each other.
Nolan was there in my mind when I picked out each flower.
He consumed my thoughts more and more, until somehow, he became a presence in every moment that passes.
Even when he’s absent, he’s still there.
And maybe the most complicated thing about it is how much harder it should be.
It shouldn’t be this easy to fall for the man who came here to destroy me.
But I can’t seem to stop it from happening.
A deep sigh escapes from my lungs, doing little to clear my thoughts as I watch the three Bobs pack up and start moving to the next pole. I’m about to grab my backpack and follow them when I’m shocked into rigid stillness.
The anal plug vibrates in my ass.
A tourist couple walks by and I give them a weak smile and salute. I don’t have time to wonder if they can hear the quiet buzz of the toy before it turns up a notch. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I hiss, planting a hand on the brick wall of the Starlight Boutique’s storefront to steady myself.
“You all right, Harper?” Bobby calls from down the street as the two other Bobs start setting up for the next hanging basket.
“All good,” I say with a wave.
“You coming?”
I choke on a laugh. “Yep. In a minute.” The vibration turns up another level and I clamp my lips together to trap a whimper. When I’m reasonably sure I’ll be able to keep my voice steady, I say, “Why don’t you get started without me and then we can take a break at the Bean?”
Bobby’s face lights up at the prospect of a coffee break and he gives me a double thumbs-up before turning to join his friends.
The moment his back is turned, I whip my phone from the pocket of my jean shorts.
I’m about to unlock the screen to text Nolan when his contact appears as an incoming call.
“Riddick?” he scoffs through the line. “Come the fuck on.”
“‘You keep what you kill,’” I reply, forcing my voice an octave lower than it typically goes.
“Please don’t compare me to Vin Diesel.”
“You give me more Karl Urban Vaako vibes, honestly.”
“Thank fuck.”
“So,” I say, pivoting a slow turn as I let my gaze pan across the shops and parked cars lining Main Street. Though I search every face, I don’t see Nolan anywhere. “You’re stalking me.”
“I’m hunting you. And maybe I like toying with my prey.” The vibration turns up and my hand clenches into a fist against the rough brick. “Tell me about this Sharkimedes and maybe I’ll turn on the other one.”
My thighs squeeze together as though that could possibly alleviate the ache between them. A remote control panty vibrator presses against my clit hard enough to make itself known, but not enough to give me any relief for the building need.
“You know you’re desperate for a little”—the vibration turns up again—“release. So, Sharkimedes . . . ?”
The sensation is foreign but fills me with need.
My breathing turns ragged. My panties dampen.
I search for Nolan again, my face probably filled with undisguised want, with the torturous desire twisting low in my belly.
“It’s a g-great white,” I stammer. “He’s eaten a couple of tourists over the years. ”
A low chuckle rumbles through the line and my clit throbs in response. “Really? Sounds to me like a story Arthur would make up to cover his tracks.”
“Maybe.” A pause settles between us as I scan my surroundings again.
I give another weak smile to a couple who walks by.
My gaze follows them until they make it to the three Bobs, who’ve set our equipment in a neat pile next to the pole and are about to cross the road toward A Shipwrecked Bean.
A frustrated whine catches in my throat as the silence stretches on.
I turn again. Nolan must have been close enough to hear every word of our conversation, but I still see no trace of him. “Nolan . . . ”
“Yes?”
“You said you were going to turn on the other one.”
Silence.
I roll my eyes. That fucking anal toy buzzes mercilessly, indifferent to my suffering. I try to walk it off, pacing from one end of the Starlight Boutique storefront to the other. And I’m 99 percent positive it only makes my predicament worse.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Nolan Rhodes. I swear to god, I’m going to take my garden shears and—”
A hand clamps across my mouth. An iron band of muscle wraps around my waist. And then I’m dragged into the cool shadows of the narrow alleyway between the boutique and the store next door.
“And what, Harper? Not ‘I’ll chop your balls off,’ I hope,” Nolan breathes against my neck, my pulse surging toward his exhalations.
I stumble, but his arm is there to catch me as he drags us deeper into the alley.
“I don’t believe most people’s threats, but you’re not ‘most people.’” Nolan releases me behind a stack of pallets leaning against the wall.
He spins me around, pushing my back up against the brick, his palm anchored to my lips once more.
A devious glint sparks in his eyes as they make a slow pass over my features.
“You look so pretty when you suffer for me.”
I growl into Nolan’s skin and he smirks. When I try to rip his phone from his hand, he laughs. It’s infuriating how much I love that sound.
“Now, now,” he says, holding the phone just beyond my reach.
He turns the screen toward me. It’s open on an app, a pink line traveling across the top of the screen.
Nolan stares straight into my eyes as he slowly drags the level upward.
The vibration in the anal toy increases.
My eyes flutter closed as I moan, and then, just as suddenly, the vibration goes down to almost nothing.
“You wouldn’t want me to leave it on low, would you? ”
I unsuccessfully try to bite the hand that covers my mouth, and that seems to delight him.
Nolan’s leg slips between mine and he uses his weight to keep me caged to the wall as he focuses on his phone screen.
A breath later, the vibration increases.
And then the panty vibrator finally starts.
My whimper is met by the heat and the scent of Nolan’s cologne, spice and bergamot.
His thigh presses harder to my center, trapping the vibration against my clit.
“You don’t think I’d really leave you unsatisfied, do you?” Nolan purrs against the shell of my ear. I’m so desperate for relief that I grind against his leg, slowly at first, but still enough for him to notice. His hand drags away from my mouth, cradling my jaw.
“I don’t know.” My breath shudders as he tilts my head, exposing my neck to kisses. One long, slow lick passes through the sweat on my skin. “You can be a bit of a dick sometimes.”
Nolan’s laugh is a whisper on my flesh before he sinks a bite into the juncture between my neck and shoulder. I gasp, sinking my weight down harder on his thigh.
“Yeah, but you like it.” He turns the vibration a little higher on both toys, and I fight the urge to writhe against him. “It’s not just these toys that have you soaking wet.”
Nolan sets the phone on the edge of a nearby shipping pallet, then he’s unfastening the button of my shorts and slipping his hand into my panties.
His finger slides through the moisture gathered at my folds, and then his touch is gone.
He leans back to show me the arousal glistening on his skin, then opens his mouth and licks it off.
His eyes flutter closed. If he were to tell me he needed my taste to live, I would believe him.
The way he groans. The way he stills. The way his pupils consume the color of his irises when his hard stare finds me again. His desire for me devours us both.
“Christ, Harper,” he hisses as his fingers slide back into my shorts again, this time pulling the vibe from the magnet that holds it to my panties so he can use it on my clit himself. “I want to fuck you so badly.”
“Then do it.”
“Later.”
“Or now and also later.”
I slip into the sensations he lavishes on my body as he presses a kiss to my lips, sharing the taste of my arousal.
The slow slide of his tongue over mine. The warmth of his palm as it cups my breast. The steady hum of the toy in my ass.
The swirl of the vibe in his other hand, the pulse pushing me closer to the cliff edge of climax.
I come closer to unraveling with every second that passes.