Chapter Nine
Kevlar
“So tight and wet for me.” I thrust my fingers inside Lacey’s sweet heat. Her juicy pussy is on fire for me. Fucking greedy, her muscles squeezing and contracting. She’s close to getting off, but I want her coming on my cock.
When I slip my fingers out of her, she cries out at the loss.
But I don’t give her time to miss me for long.
I bury my face between her thighs and eat her like Sunday dinner.
I don’t know if she’s been with other men or how many.
All I know is I’m giving her new memories.
Her past is just that. Her past. I want to be her future.
She may be married, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m going to make her mine.
All mine.
I flip her over on the bed and slap her ass. “On all fours. Arch your back.” I put on a condom and rub my dick between her ass cheeks, teasing her until she’s begging for it.
My cock is rock hard, and when I push the head past her slick heat, she whimpers, clutching the tangled sheets in fistfuls.
I lose myself in the feel and the sound of her.
The hum of our bodies slapping together.
My sweetness feels so good, you’d think this is my first taste of pussy.
My first time fucking someone. My eager girl drops to her elbows, arching her back higher.
Fuck me. I can’t hold back. I grab her wavy hair, twisting the dark locks around my fist, using the grip to pull her onto my cock harder and deeper.
Her moans spill out of her like a prayer. I keep my hand fisted tight in her hair, yanking her head back so when I sink into her, I see the way her eyes glaze over at every thrust. I start slow, savoring every inch as I stretch her out, my fingers punishing her hip, leaving their mark there.
“Fuck, Kevlar,” she breathes out my name, needy and desperate with her spine bowed for me in pure submission.
I slam into her deeper, and she cries out, knuckles whitening in the sheets. The sweet sting of my hand lands on her ass, and she clamps down so tight around me I nearly lose my rhythm.
She’s wild for my cock.
Fucking loves how I’m fucking her.
“Is this what you wanted?” My words hitch on a ragged groan. “Me inside you, filling your cunt up?”
She nods frantically, and I lean forward, bite her shoulder, licking the mark I leave behind. Wanting everyone to know she’s mine.
“I want to ruin you,” I grit out, thrusting rougher, harder. So motherfuckin’ deep until the bed frame rattles against the wall. I want to fuck away the sadness. The amnesia. Every bad thing that’s ever happened to her and to fill the spaces with nothing but this.
Me.
Us.
Nothing but the two of us.
I pump my hips as I grip her sides. My dirty girl meets me thrust for thrust, giving back as good as she’s getting. Fuck, she feels too damn good.
I let go of her hip long enough to find her swollen and pulsing clit. I massage in tight, rough circles, timing the motion to my thrusts. “Come on, sweetness. I want you to paint my cock.” I’m so damn close to shooting my damn load, but I want to make sure she gets hers first.
I keep my concentration on where our bodies meet as I piston into her, sweat slicking my arms and chest. Her hair, now damp with our sex, clings to my arm as I pinch and tweak her taut nipples.
Her whole body goes rigid. My name leaves her lips in a muffled cry that she screams into the pillow. There’s never been anything better than her shattering into a million pieces at my touch.
I’m nowhere near through with her.
I want to make her come again and again.
I roll onto my back, and she sinks back down onto me. “Ride me,” I order, giving her hip another squeeze, knowing I’ve probably left bruises shaped like my fingertips there.
Lacey circles her hips, bouncing on my thighs, working my dick like a pro at a porno rodeo.
Her breath hitches in her throat, coming out in breathy pants that let me know she’s about had enough.
I take her missionary style. Giving it to her, soft and sweet as she comes down from her latest orgasm. When she’s recovered, I pick up the pace.
I ram into her over and over, chasing the edge until I explode inside the condom, emptying myself so hard I see fireworks bursting behind my eyelids.
For a second, the world goes silent. There’s only the erratic drumming of my heartbeat in my ears and her soft breath fanning across my lips as I nearly collapse on top of her in a sweaty, spent heap. My weight presses down on her, but she strums her fingers across my shoulders, fully sated.
I know one thing.
I never want to let her go, but I roll off her and dispose of the condom. Lacey goes into the bathroom, then comes back, nestling her head in the crook of my neck.
I comb my fingers through her hair, enjoying the sound of her breathing. Loving the way she fits perfectly snug against me.
“What’s the first thing you remember?”
“Would it be cheating if I said waking up to you on the beach?”
“You remember that?”
“Parts of it.”
I kiss her forehead. “I’ll allow it.”
“Gee, how sweet of you.”
“You really don’t remember anything about yourself?”
“When I try to think about the past, it’s this fuzzy picture show. I catch glimpses of shapes, but the more I try to focus on making them out, the more my head hurts.”
“Maybe you should stop trying.”
She pulls away, looking up at me.
She chews on her thumbnail. “I don’t think I have a husband. If I did, wouldn’t I remember something about him?”
“Maybe he didn’t leave an impression,” I tease, but in reality, the thought of any other man having any kind of claim on her makes me sick to my stomach.
“I know this will sound awful, but if I do, I don’t want to know. Not if it means I’m going to lose this. Here with you…you feel like the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Currently, I’m the only thing that’s happened to you.”
“I’m being serious.”
“I know. I’m trying not to think about the heavy shit right now.”
“I wish we could stay like this forever.”
“Good thing you don’t have to make any decisions right now.”
She nods, and the conversation dies. I continue stroking her hair and her side until sleep eventually claims both of us.
I awaken to Lacey plastered against my side, her head on my chest, her leg hooked over my thigh. Careful not to wake her, I slip out from under her body and grab a quick shower before going downstairs to see what I can rustle up for breakfast.
Prez is coming out of his office with Buford. The two of them wearing hard expressions. Ones that say I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.
“I’ll give you a ring if I hear anything else.” He gives me a nod on his way out.
“We need to talk,” Prez tells me, and I follow him back into his office. “Close the door.”
“What’d you find out?”
“Buford says a guy showed up at the station late last night saying he was looking for his missing wife. Gave this picture.” He slides the photo across his desk.
The second I look at the photo, I know it’s her with lighter hair.
“Her name’s not Lacey. It’s Heather Manning. She married this guy, Phillip, about three years ago. He claims they had a fight a couple of nights ago and she stormed off. Said he thought she’d take a few hours to cool off and come back.”
“So why’d he wait two days to report it?”
Prez lifts a shoulder. “Said he knew that a person has to be gone at least forty-eight hours before filing a missing person’s report. Says he is concerned that something bad happened to her. That he’s worried she’s suffering a mental breakdown. Guess this isn’t the first time.”
“What’s Buford say about it?”
“He’s not wrong. Forty-eight hours is the procedure for an adult, but she walked away willingly, so there’s not a lot to go on.
He didn’t tell him her whereabouts. At least not yet.
Said the guy gave off weird energy, like he was nervous or lying about something.
They are married as far as he can tell, but how she was dressed and where you found her…
I don’t know. Shit doesn’t add up. Not completely. ”
“Shit.”
“Buford also said that they’re from Atlanta. Here’s her profile.” He turns his laptop around.
There she is. Lacey with blonde hair. Her profile picture is of her and some dipshit in a suit.
Is the husband right? Did she have some kind of freak out and run off, or is the guy full of shit?
“You need to talk to her and press her for answers. Buford can hold off a little longer. Another day, maybe two at best.”
“Fuck.” I scrub a palm over my face. “I don’t want to tell her. Not until we dig into this guy a little.”
“Figured that’s what you’d say. I’ll get Rook and Gotti on it.”
“Thanks, Prez.”
“Guess you fucked her, huh?”
I can’t stop the grin tightening across my face.
“Always the crazy ones.” He laughs.
“She’s not crazy.”
“You attract crazy. Look at your sisters.”
“Hey now.”
“Do you know Candyce pulled a gun at the strip club?”
“She did what?”
“Guess you wouldn’t have heard yet.”
“Fucking Graves. I’m going to kill him.”
“He wasn’t there. Was here at church when it went down. Candyce went to Cooters and Hooters. Said she wanted a job. I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking, but she saw that Cherry Bomb chick and went after her.”
“She sent Graves nudes.”
“That idiot.”
“Tell me about it.”
“When I know more about your Heather––Lacey. Whatever you want to call her, I’ll let you know. We’re still in lockdown. We don’t know that this prick isn’t the one shooting at you.”
Heather Manning. I roll the name around on my tongue, wondering if it will ever sound right. Lacey fits her personality. Fits her. She doesn’t look like a Heather, but whatever her name is, she looks like mine.
I step off the elevator, pushing the food cart to my room.
My girl is still sleeping when I wheel breakfast in.
Slipping back into bed with her. I wrap an arm around her from behind, pressing my lips to the side of her neck.
I cup one of her breasts, rubbing my thumb over her nipple while sliding my other palm down to her pussy. I wake her up with my fingers in her.
“Ah. Ah.” She wakes up moaning for me, reaching for my dick.
Her deft fingers grip me, stroking my shaft, guiding me to her heat. I enter her slick hole in one swift thrust, sinking into liquid velvet. Fuck me, I want to nut all in her. Claim her in every way. She might be married, but she’s meant to be mine.
She’s my sweetness.
My Lacey.