Chapter 8 #2
Her fingers moved faster. The sound intensified, a wet, rapid friction that echoed in my ears.
She arched her back so violently I thought she might snap.
Her tits pressed even harder against the glass, the skin turning a flushed, angry pink from the pressure.
She was clawing at herself now, her nails digging into her own hips, leaving red crescents in her wake.
"Yes," I whispered. "Do it."
She groaned louder, her hips bucking. Her fingers worked the clit with a brutal intensity.
She was drenched, the water and her own juices mixing, sliding down her thighs.
I gripped my shaft, stroking myself in time with her movements.
I imagined my hand replacing hers. I imagined the smell of her soap and the musk of her arousal.
I pumped my hand harder, my breath coming in short, jagged bursts.
I was staring into her soul through a lens, watching her most private moment of surrender.
I imagined the steam filling my own lungs.
I wanted to reach through the screen and pin her wrists to that glass.
I wanted to be the reason she made those sexy sounds.
Lantana’s breath hitched. Her entire body went rigid.
"Oh! Aaaaah!"
She cried out, a sharp, soaring note that cut through the roar of the shower.
Her hips locked against the glass in a final, convulsive thrust. Her fingers buried themselves deep inside her, her body shuddering in the throes of a massive, prolonged climax.
I watched the ripples of pleasure travel through her, the way her toes curled, the way her chest heaved as she fought for air.
She slid down the glass, her body spent, leaning against the tile as the water continued to pour over her.
I didn't stop. I pumped my cock faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I watched the way her breasts heaved, the way the water clung to the fine hairs of her pussy. I visualized her mouth on me, her tongue swirling around the head of my cock, sucking the pre-cum from the slit.
I groaned, my muscles locking. I came hard, the heat splashing across my stomach and the floor of the loft. I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the television, my heart racing.
I needed to meet her. The voyeurism was a start, but it was no longer enough. I wanted the scent of her. I wanted to feel that friction against my own skin.
I stood there for a long time, my heart hammering against my ribs, watching the water wash the evidence of her pleasure down the drain.
Lantana stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her chest, the fabric clinging to her wet curves. She wandered through the apartment, dripping water on the hardwood floor. Her phone buzzed on the counter, and she quickly picked it up.
"Hello?" she asked.
A brief pause filled the apartment before low laughter drifted through the audio, rich and warm enough to pull my attention away from everything else. Even through a tiny mic, there was something about the sound that lodged beneath my skin.
"No, I haven't poisoned anyone today," she said dryly as she crossed toward the kitchen.
Roulette.
It had to be Roulette on the other end of the call.
There’s only one Harlot who sounded amused enough to ask a question like that in the middle of the night, and only one of them seemed capable of treating murder accusations with the same casual irritation most people reserved for telemarketers.
Lantana opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water before balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear.
Her dark hair remained damp from the shower, curling against her bare shoulders while droplets slid slowly down her skin.
She twisted the cap free and took a long drink before continuing the conversation.
"At this point I'm beginning to think my reputation has gotten completely out of hand."
Whatever Roulette said earned another laugh and she shook her head and leaned against the counter.
"Well, that’s not my fault. If men acted more civilized, they’d have better odds."
The comment pulled an unwilling smirk from me. I liked her mouth far more than I should have.
Not just the way it looked but the confidence in her voice.
Her laughter drifted through the speakers again while she wandered barefoot from the kitchen, leaving faint traces of water across the hardwood floors. There was something strangely intimate about watching her exist inside her own space, completely unaware that anyone might be paying attention.
Her tone softened slightly. "Yes, I know Duchess is worried."
She listened for a moment, absently twisting the water bottle between her fingers.
"I'm being careful."
Another pause followed before she rolled her eyes dramatically toward the ceiling.
"Oh, please. Those RBMC boys never waste an opportunity to stick their noses where they don't belong, especially when they hear rumors about us."
Every muscle in my body tightened and my attention sharpened immediately.
The silence on the other end lasted only a few seconds.
"You seen one already?" Roulette must have asked.
Lantana laughed under her breath and took another drink of water before answering.
"If I do, I'll make sure to give him something that paralyzes him in more ways than one."
Her laughter followed immediately afterward, but my amusement died instantly.
Powertrain’s words flashed through my head and questions I'd been trying to ignore suddenly resurfaced.
I'd spent days watching this woman through security feeds, convincing myself I understood who she was, and every instinct told me she wasn't responsible for the murders.
Yet hearing her joke about paralysis dragged me right back to the beginning.
Back to the bodies and back to Sam Lovino. Back to the reason I was in New York in the first place.
Lantana continued talking while crossing toward the couch, completely unaware that a man sitting alone in a dark apartment several blocks away was dissecting every word she spoke and questioning every conclusion he'd made about her.
"No, I'm not scared for myself," she said quietly after listening to whatever Roulette said next. Her voice carried a seriousness that hadn't been there moments earlier. "I'm worried somebody is trying to pin this on us."
The playful edge disappeared entirely. And for the first time all night, she sounded every bit the Road Captain Duchess trusted.
A long silence followed, then she spoke again, softer than before.
"And if that's what's happening, they picked the wrong women."
The certainty in her voice lingered long after the conversation moved on.
She eventually tossed the phone onto the couch and disappeared farther into the apartment.
I remained staring at the screen long after there was anything left to watch because the feeling twisting inside my chest had become impossible to ignore.
What had started as curiosity had become something far more dangerous and what should have remained a simple investigation had become personal.
The obsession I'd been trying to dismiss was still there, tangled around every thought involving her, but now something else existed beside it.
I doubted her.
It was a suspicion I couldn't quite shake no matter how much I wanted to. And the worst part was that none of it changed what happened every time I looked at her.
I still wanted her.
Definitely more than I should.