Chapter 5 #2
Even though I’m a breath away from tipping her over onto this worn-down carpet so I can bury myself into whatever part of her she’ll allow, I bark a laugh.
“You think?”
“Jury’s still out.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” I murmur. “Give me a head start at least.” Now she’s the one laughing. Laughing as she jacks me off while riding my hand—drenching my hand—in a serial arsonist’s house.
Fuck it. I have to touch her. As lightweight as my gloves are, there’s still too much material between us. With her back to my front and both of us still facing the wall, I press my gloved fingers against her mouth through her mask.
“Take it off,” I growl.
When she freezes, I do too, hoping like hell I didn’t just ruin our game with my command.
Then she pushes her mask up with trembling fingers and delicately bites the leather tip of my glove, tugging on it just like she did with hers.
She does the same to each of the fingers I slide past her lips until she tugs the glove off.
“Good girl.” I stroke my now-bare hand down her cheek, her actual cheek. It’s so soft that I rest the pads of my fingers there while I lift my other hand. “Keep your mouth open for me.”
This time, she parts her lips without hesitation, and I press an open-mouthed kiss to the back of her neck as a reward for her compliance.
She quickly strips off my other glove and drops it to the floor along with its partner, letting her head loll against my chest when she’s done.
I press my bare thumb into the heat of her mouth, and she sucks it obediently.
The pull almost makes me come without any assistance from her hands, and I reluctantly lower her mask back into place.
Any loss I feel at hiding her mouth again vanishes when I reach for the zipper of her hoodie. Fingerprints, the tiny, still-rational part of me whispers, so instead of touching it myself, I murmur, “Unzip for me.”
She fumbles with it before obeying, falling back against me with a pant as I use this new access to cup her tits, plucking and tugging at her nipples until they’re hard little peaks under the thin, stretchy fabric.
“Wish I could suck these,” I mutter, even though I know it’s not what we’re doing here tonight. Still, I want to put my bare hands on her, so I reach for the hem of her shirt. All I find is uninterrupted material. Puzzled, I slide my hand up and down her stomach.
“Surprise, Gomez,” she says, soft and wicked. “It’s a bodysuit.”
“Seriously?” I say on a groan.
“Who’s winning now?” She releases my cock long enough to spit into her palm, then slides it back down my length. My vision goes blurry, and I consider taking the L, which would also kind of be a W for me and an RIP for Howard either way.
“Do not swab yourself for DNA afterward,” she orders me.
“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t dream of it,” I say shakily. “Neither of us is collecting evidence, right?”
“Right,” she breathlessly agrees. The pull and tug on my cock feels so fucking good that again, I consider throwing in the towel and letting her win.
But I’m desperate to hear what it sounds like when Morticia loses control.
So I grab her fingers, the ones still gripping the knife, and use my other hand to pull the stretchy fabric away from her stomach.
“What are you—”
I move our hands until her blade rests against the material.
“Nothing you don’t want to give me,” I remind her.
Then I wait as she sucks in a ragged breath and exhales on a slow shudder.
Once, twice. On her third shaky breath, her fingers twitch forward, and she pushes the point of the metal into the fabric, creating a tiny slice.
It’s the permission I need to drag the steel all the way across the center of her bodysuit, parting it cleanly without letting the blade touch her skin.
“Good fucking girl,” I murmur when the weak light reveals a pale section of her belly.
Her breathing’s erratic as I release her hand so I can slip both of mine into the opening I’ve created, moving one up to her breast and the other down to her cunt.
She makes an ungh sound when I pinch her nipple and her clit at the same time.
“Shhh,” I caution, not bothering to hide my smug satisfaction at making her make such undignified noises. “The neighbors.”
She nods shakily, but when I dip my index finger into the arousal that’s pooled between her legs and slick it upward, she gives a strangled laugh.
“Gomez! If you want me to be… fuck… be quiet, then stop being so goddamn good at this.”
Like hell am I letting her win now. I use my size and position to my advantage, pressing my body so close that she has to bend her wrist at an impossible angle to get to my cock.
“Cheating,” she gasps as I drape myself over her so I can sink my middle finger into her hot little cunt while working her clit with my thumb.
“I told you, no such thing for us,” I reply. “Give it up, Morticia. Come on my fingers and let me take care of that bad man for you.”
“I d-don’t need you to…” But it’s too late. Her pussy starts to convulse.
“That’s right, killer,” I whisper as her spine bows and her breath leaves her lungs in shudders. “Let go. Let go and give it to me.”
A strangled, desperate cry accompanies her orgasm as it travels through her body and she jerks in my arms, and I have a flash of something familiar, an echo that doesn’t fit inside this closet.
But it’s gone as fast as it arrived, and I stroke her and pet her and murmur encouragements until her shakes subside into adorable little tremors.
After fifteen years of hearing people drop the performance in session, I’ve learned that everyone sounds like someone I’ve heard before when they finally let go.
When she sags against my chest, I find her ear and whisper, “I win.”
“Fuck,” she says raggedly, “you.”
“You tried that. Didn’t work.” Even though my dick’s screaming for release, satisfaction laces my tone. “And a deal’s a deal.”
When she doesn’t answer, I reluctantly pull my hands away from her body and spin her to face me. My right hand is wet, and I pull my mask away from my mouth far enough for me to slide my fingers underneath and suck them clean.
“Fuck, Morticia. You taste so sweet.”
“Sweet enough to let me—”
“Hell no.” I grab her shoulders and give her a gentle shake. “A deal’s a deal.”
“Goddammit,” she mutters. “Fine. When will you do it?”
Before I can answer, she sucks in a breath and glances down at her hand. Even in the low light, I can see blood on her palm.
“Morticia.” My hard-on deflates immediately. “What did you do?”
I reach for her, but she steps away, squatting to rummage through her backpack.
“It’s yours, not mine.” When she stands again, she’s got her gloves back on and a thin package the size of my palm in her hand.
I squint at it, trying to decipher what I’m looking at. “What is this?”
“For your leg,” she replies. “I’m, um, sorry. For stabbing you.”
I blink down at what she handed me and wonder if that psychotic break I’ve been waiting for has finally arrived because I would’ve predicted Morticia was the kind of woman who’d roll into her kill scenes with all-black Band-Aids that she had to special order.
Instead, I’m holding an oversized adhesive bandage with Valentine’s Day conversation hearts printed on the package. BE MINE stares up at me.
I’m rarely speechless, but this did it.
Morticia makes an annoyed sound and reaches out to take it back. “If you’re not going to use it—”
“No takebacks,” I say. “But I’m fine. You barely pricked me.”
A lie. The hole she opened in my thigh throbs like a sonofabitch, although it looks like most of the blood got on her.
She shrugs as if to say, suit yourself, then asks again, “When will you do it?” She’s returned to that low, sexy-as-fuck voice she’s been using all night as she briskly zips her hoodie to cover the gash I made in her bodysuit.
Apparently I’m the only one of us who’s still off-kilter from this encounter.
“Tonight.” I shove the bandage into my pocket and bend to grab my gloves as my brain fires back to life. “I’ll figure out some way to stage a nice little accident.” Shit, I shouldn’t be this open about my methods. “But it’s got to be fire because…”
I gesture around us at what I can only assume is the festival of physical evidence we’ve left behind.
“Right. Fire.” There’s strain in her voice that wasn’t there before, not even when she thought I might hurt her.
I start to ask her how that makes her feel, but as Rue pointed out the day she unknowingly set Howard Marshall’s death into motion, that’s a paying client thing, not a stranger-you-made-come-in-a-closet thing.
“It’s a shame,” Morticia says, interrupting my wandering thoughts. “All kinds of things can happen when you leave accelerants lying around.”
“Are you my dream girl?” I breathe. Despite it all—my disappointed cock, her hand covered in my blood, the absolute fucking stupidity of everything we just did—I’m grinning under my mask.
“I’ll take one of the jugs to the garage and sprinkle a little aluminum on the outside to make sure the authorities don’t miss it.
Then I’ll tuck ol’ Howie in bed nice and tight while the room next door goes up. ”
She hesitates. “Sure you don’t need any help?”
I do. Stay with me. Kill with me. Be mine.