Kissing the Killer(126)

I could feel my orgasm coming on heavy and hard. I bit down on his finger and he grunted with pain.

“Be nice,” he growled as he fucked me harder, rougher.

“I’m close,” I said.

“Come on this fat cock then,” he grunted. He began to fuck me rough, deep, and hard, and I tipped my head back, letting the pleasure wash over me.

And then the orgasm hit, convulsive and incredible. Each new thrust of his sent shocks down my spine, making my muscles contract. My mind went blank with total pleasure, entirely and completely free.

Slowly it ebbed and began to slide away. He smiled down at me. “That’s good,” he said. “And now it’s my turn.”

I nodded, breathing deeply, my heart pounding. He moved back onto his knees and held my legs up, slamming his cock even deeper inside me.

“Oh fuck, Easton,” I gasped.

He fucked me rough and without mercy. I loved it, loved the sweat dripping down our bodies, loved the serious look on his face as he looked at my tits, my lips, my face.

“Come on,” I moaned. “Fill my pussy. Fuck me deep.”

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Fill me, Easton. Fuck my pussy.”

“I want you to swallow this load. I want you to swallow my cum.”

“Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Fuck, girl,” he groaned. “I love hearing those words.”

“Come whenever you want. I’m yours.”

“Shit,” he gasped. He kept slamming into me, thrusting deep and hard, his whole muscular body taught with anticipation.

And then he pulled out, tearing off the condom. I moved toward him as he brought his cock into my mouth.

He thrust once, twice, and then his hot cum filled my throat.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, orgasming hard. I sucked him, working him as he came in my mouth.

I swallowed every single drop.

Slowly, his orgasm subsided, and he collapsed onto the floor.

I slid off the couch and curled up next to him. I loved the feeling of our naked, sweat-drenched bodies together.

There was nothing else in that moment but me and him. I forgot all about the murders, the danger, the anger, and the pain.

There was just us.

I didn’t know what we were, but I knew I wanted more of it.





20





Easton





The woods were lovely, dark, and deep as I wound my way up along the same dirt road from the day before. Visions of Laney’s delicious body danced in my head as I pulled up to the clearing where I first saw the body of Luisa Suarez.

I’d spent the day getting in touch with Sheriff Sloan, which was a surprisingly difficult thing to do. Then again, he was a small town sheriff with some huge murder cases on his docket, and he was probably busier than he’d ever been in his whole life.

Meanwhile, I was in and out of bed with Laney. Since our parents both had to go to work, we were free to roam the house, to explore each other as much as we wanted. Twenty-four hours of fucking pleasure and sweaty sex meant I was cleaned out and clear-headed in a way I hadn’t expected.

I thought she was a distraction. I thought she was something I needed to get beyond, to get past, if I was going to do my job. But I was beginning to see that Laney was so much more than that.

I parked my car and climbed out. Sloan’s truck was a few feet away, and as soon as I got out, he opened his door.

“Easton,” he said.

“Sloan.”

We shook hands.

“Why the fuck am I out here?” he asked.

“I wanted to talk to you about Luisa Suarez.”

“I figured.” He gave me a serious look. “It’s dark and I’ve had a long day, so let’s make this fast.”

“Did you bring what I asked?”

He nodded. “All the pictures you could possibly want.” He held out a manila folder.

I took it from him. “Come on.”

I walked off toward the tree where Luisa was found, Sloan in tow. We stopped in front of the spot and stared in silence together. Without the body, it was just another tree standing in a small clearing. There was nothing significant about it, not since the scene had been cleared by forensics.

But we both knew that only two days earlier, it had been the spot of a grisly, gruesome murder. It still held weight, almost as if the residue of the horrible crime still hung thick in the air.

I opened the folder and began to page through the pictures. I stopped when I found what I was looking for.

“Remember this?” I asked Sloan, holding up the photo.

“Of course. We still have no clue what ‘TON’ means, though we have some theories.”

I nodded. “I know what it means.”

He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “You could have told me over the phone instead of bringing me out here, son.”