Chapter 38 #3
Aw, these poor women … Kudos to them for finding the strength to approach this godly man, but that’s a miss.
Jealousy never even enters my mind as I witness the disinterested way he looks at them.
It doesn’t matter if one of them has an amazing rack on display, and the other endless legs.
He’s utterly immune to the charm of the pretty blonde and her redheaded friend.
I arrive back at my seat before he can fend them off, and I decide to take care of it. “Hi,” I greet him with a playful smile. “Is this seat taken?”
Amusement bends his lips. “By all means … take away.”
The two women move to the side so I can sit on the stool, appalled frowns bending their perfect eyebrows. “I’m Alexandra,” I continue, leaning closer to him. “I saw you from the other side of the room and decided I had to have you.”
A light glimmers in his eyes as he understands what I’m doing. “I’m Andrew. Andrew Wilson. And I think you stole my line.”
That’s when the women give up, confused by what’s happening. I cross my legs so that my knee is against his and pick up my pint to take a sip from it. Ugh, I missed this.
“So tell me, Andrew Wilson, what do you do for a living?” I ask before bringing the glass back to my lips.
“Hopefully, you. All day, every day.”
I nearly choke on my beer. “Baby, that was so good,” I approve, giggling.
Maybe it’s because we’ve been Alexandra and Andrew for longer than we should have, but the little game quickly dies down, and we become ourselves again.
For a solid two hours, we flirt and talk, drinking from our glasses and forgetting about everyone else.
I don’t know how we still have so much to tell one another, given that we just spent literal months together 24/7.
But the conversation flows and never dies down.
Or when it does, the brief silences are charged with looks that speak for themselves.
We’re definitely tipsy when we come back home. I might even be drunk, to be honest. On him and the alcohol. We don’t even make it past the door, as he slams me into it as soon as we enter.
My legs are on each side of his hips as he presses himself onto my heated core. I moan into his mouth, my fingers running through his hair, tugging, pulling.
“Fuck me right here,” I beg, undulating into him. “Then we’ll save the footage from Iris’s camera.”
“You naughty girl …” he groans. “I love you so fucking much.”
“Me too …”
He kisses me again, his tongue hot and bold against mine, and his hands roam all over my body, fondling, grazing, and squeezing.
With hurried moves, he works on the fastening of his pants, and I send one of mine between us to tug the slim strip of lace covering my pussy to the side.
My phone rings in my clutch. We both halt what we’re doing and stare at one another. Any other ringtone and I would have dismissed it. But this is The X-Files theme song. It’s Special Agent Lewis calling us. Fuck, I hope it’s not bad news …
Lex lets me down, and I grab my clutch from the floor to retrieve my phone. “Hello?”
“Miss Walker, hello. Is Mr. Coleman around?”
“He’s right here. Wait … Okay, you’re on speaker.”
“I don’t have enough time on my hands right now to sugar-coat it, so apologies, I’ll just dive right in.” I’m already imagining the worst when she speaks again. “Norman Becker is dead,” she gravely announces.
Those four words leave me confused and disoriented, just like Lex, it seems. “What?” he asks. “How is that even possible?”
“We’re still investigating. Becker was being transferred to another facility tonight, and a truck rammed into the prison van. Becker died of his injuries on the way to the hospital. They have the truck’s driver in custody for interrogation. I’m on my way there right now.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” I insist, refusing to believe it. “Isn’t this some sort of trick he pulled off?”
“Yes, I’m sure. He was positively identified by fingerprints. They had to do it that way, because … there wasn’t much of his face left to recognize.”
“Did he suffer?” I ask next.
“The EMT’s report is that he drowned in his own blood and was conscious the whole time. So, it’s safe to assume he did, yes.”
“Good.”
Becker was a piece of shit, and he’s now rotting in hell, which is exactly where he belongs.
“Do you have any information about the driver?” Lex wonders.
“So far, just a name. And it matches one of Becker’s victims. So, I’m venturing it might be a family member, who was out for revenge.
” We’re still absorbing that when she says, “Okay, we’re pulling up at the police station.
That information was confidential. His family needs to be informed before it breaks out. Is that clear?”
“Oh, I’m not coming near that mess with a ten-foot pole,” I say.
“Thank you for letting us know, Special Agent Lewis.”
“You’re welcome. Stay out of trouble, you two.”
“Will do.”
I hang up, and we stare at the phone in perfect silence for an entire minute.
Reality takes its time settling in, but it does settle.
Becker is dead. There will be no trial to manipulate, no loophole to exploit, no last-minute escape.
Not that it truly mattered—there was more than enough evidence to bury him, regardless.
Still, the relief confirms what I hadn’t fully acknowledged.
Some part of me expected him to survive it.
But Becker is gone. Permanently. He will never hurt anyone again. No more women will suffer at his hands. No more butterflies added to his collection. No lawyer can save him now.
“Is it bad if I feel good that he’s dead?” I ask, genuinely concerned for my soul.
“If so, then I’m just as bad.”
“I didn’t realize how worried I was that he’d find a way out of this.”
“Me neither. I knew he might eventually become a problem again, once locked up and with nothing else to do with his time. Men like him are resourceful, and seeing us in his office weeks before his arrest probably convinced him that he was right about me being Nammota and we’re responsible for what happened. ”
“Yeah, I also had that thought. But that won’t happen now. He’s dead.”
I can’t believe how hard I’m smiling at the thought. I know I’m supposed to “love thy neighbor” and everything, but fuck that shit.
When I look up at Lex, he’s as elated as I am.
“Celebratory door sex?” I suggest, in the mood to resume what Lewis interrupted.
“Fuck yeah.”
I’m back in Lex’s arms, pinned to the door in no time. We’re kissing again, invigorated by this turn of events.
We made out the whole elevator ride up, then as we stumbled our way through the hallways. Between that and the evening of small touches and heavy flirting, I’m drenched. And he must know it, because as soon as he’s freed, he aligns the thick tip of his cock with my opening and slams in.
“Aah, fuck,” I moan, biting my bottom lip.
“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he rasps, already thrusting into me.
“I am. I’ve been yours for so long, baby …”
“And I’ve been yours from the first moment I saw you. I just didn’t know it yet.”
My smile is so wide it hurts my cheeks. I can’t believe this is what the rest of my life will look like. That this is the man I’ll spend it with.
It seems he feels the same because, still ramming into me with deep and long thrusts, he moans, “Marry me.”
We both freeze, taken by surprise. Did he—did he just ask what I think he did? Is this a proposal? Definitely not the kind I was expecting, but I couldn’t care less right now.
Still planted in me, still immobile, he moves his upper body away to look down at me. “I didn’t—”
“Yes,” I say, cutting him off. “I’ll marry you, yes.”
“No.” He frowns. “I didn’t mean it.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t mean it like this,” he explains. “To ask it like this.”
“Too late. You asked. I said yes. We’re now engaged,” I say matter-of-factly.
“No, I—I was working on something. An actual proposal.”
His panic is endearing enough for me to ease off.
He wanted to make the moment special, but between the door sex, the exhilarating sense of freedom, and the booze, he got a little carried away.
As much as I want this to become official, I don’t want to rob either of us of the actual proposal he’s working on.
So, feeling magnanimous, I suggest, “Okay, from now on, I get to call you fiancé behind closed doors, but it won’t become official until you ask for real.” He considers it, eyebrows twitching as he ponders. “Does that work for you?” I insist.
“If I say no, will you not call me that?”
“Probably not.”
He chuckles. “Alright, then. We’re engaged in this apartment only. I swear to God, Andrea, if your mom calls to congratulate me, I will spank you until you can’t sit down.”
“And you think that’s a threat that’ll work on—Ah, shit!” His surprise back and forth into me punches the air out of my lungs. “Okay,” I reluctantly agree. “We’re half engaged.”
“I can work with that,” he tells himself, still trying to salvage this.
Feeling very in love with him, I kiss the underside of his jaw, all the way to his ear, and whisper, “Now, if you could resume fucking your very needy fiancée, she’d appreciate that a lot.”
I feel him twitch inside me, and I know some of his precum is now coating my walls.
“Fucking hell … I’ll never win a single argument in this relationship, will I?”
“Probably not.”
“And I’ll never learn to say no to you.”
“I hope not.”
I bite the underside of his jaw, then run my tongue over the spot. “Now, fuck me, fiancé. Show me what a good husband you’ll make one day.”
Just like that, another twitch. Oh, this man is beyond whipped. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life making him lose his mind.
The decades ahead of us might not be boring, after all. How could I ever be bored of this man?