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“There is no room for uncertainty.” I turn my head to face her again. “You will be coming all over my face, fingers, and cock. The question is how soon.”
Her mouth drops again, but her eyes glimmer with lust.
She’s fucking intoxicating, the weight of her beauty hits me in the middle of my chest like a lead ball and practically knocks the wind out of me.
Fuck.
Pushing aside the thoughts of all the ways I want to fuck her, I ask, “Where would you like to go?”
I hear her take in a slow breath, and instantly I feel the shift in energy within the confinement of the car, tense and uncomfortable. “Tante Hattie’s. I want to ask her a few questions.”
It should strike me as unusual, but it doesn’t. I remember how Dominique had only focused on the pentagram on her car, how she’d photographed it, and scribbled notes. It seemed nothing else existed to her, nothing else in the crime scene, or the surrounding area. Nothing.
I recall the article had said she’s an expert criminal investigator. Are the Voodoo and supernatural symbols what she’d been called in to work on for the case? Is that her area of expertise? Is that what she wants to talk to Hattie about? The woman everyone went to at the back of the restaurant, like my mother did to get her fortune told?
