Without a word, he hooks a couple of fingers in the side of my shorts and the panties beneath. Down my legs and off they go. Which is when he crawls between my legs. His face is positioned just so, and my legs are lifted over his thick shoulders. The heat of his body against the touch of the cooler night air is stirring in all sorts of interesting ways. Guess he enjoys al fresco dining, and who am I to complain?
He nuzzles my inner thigh. Rubs his mouth against my sensitive skin. The light graze of his stubble is a breathtaking thing. Just amazing. My nerve endings light up like fireworks. And everything low in my stomach seems hot and heavy. No part of me isn’t focused on him and what he’s doing. The feel of his breath against my sex is making me so wet. There isn’t room in my mind for anything else. In this one moment, he’s my whole world and I don’t hate it. He traces the crease where my torso meets my leg with the tip of his nose. Just this ever so gentle touch is both too much and not enough. I need him a couple of inches over like my life depends on it. But of course, he takes his time.
Something I learned last night is how much he likes kissing. The man can make out for hours. And he kisses my labia now, sucking and licking with utmost skill. My eyes roll back in my head and the stars up high disappear. His thumbs hold my lips open as he lavishes me with attention. My heartbeat has moved south, sitting between my thighs. He fucks me with his tongue, eating me as if nothing else matters. As if he has never tasted anything better in his life.
The way this man goes straight to my head. Nothing could be more potent than having his mouth on me. My heels move restlessly against his back. My hands are tangled in his hair. Noone has done this for me before. Not like this. Noah doesn’t stop until I’m shaking from head to toe. He grips my thighs tight, holding me in place, as he lashes me with his tongue.
Someone’s loudly panting and moaning and it’s me. There’s every chance I’ve even forgotten my own name. His talented tongue draws circles around my clit. Around and around until I lose my fucking mind. The teasing flicks of the tip of his tongue are killing me. I have unfortunately forgotten the English language. But someone needs to tell him to stop messing around and finish me off before I accidentally tear out his hair. Which is when the whole universe explodes. White light as far as the eye can see. Planets and stars and moons are reduced to ash and dust. It’s like my body is gone, scattered to the corners of the earth by a strong breeze. The post-come float is heavenly. I never want to come down. But someone is putting my panties and shorts back on me before picking me up in strong arms.
“You’ll sleep now,” he says.
And he has me so relaxed he’s probably right.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Noah leaves for work at nine the next morning. Waking up next to him is everything. His arm thrown over my middle and his warm breath on the back of my neck. To sleep so soundly while sharing my space with someone is a revelation. The way we fit together seems perfect and simple so far. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I feel like cool girls live in the moment. They definitely don’t indulge in a mental breakdown before breakfast. But death can do things to you. And the knowledge that Grace was murdered sits heavy in me like a stone.
I stumble down to the kitchen and make myself some coffee. Then I sit on the back steps beneath a clear blue sky while the very good boy performs a thorough inspection of the backyard. Auggie has settled in with no problems (give or take eating a pillow) and I love having him around.
A story on corruption amongst local cops has the media too busy to hang around my door. The sheriff’s department is the shiny new dramatic headline on the local newspaper’s site. The update on Grace’s murder is sparse as can be. Nothing more than a rehash of previously reported facts with nothing new on offer. Though there is a photo of my aunt walking into the office of the Chief Medical Examiner. She seems so alone. I know logically there was nothing I could do to save my cousin. But the feelings of guilt linger just the same.
No idea what to do about it yet, however.
The desktop computer I do my work on is set up in the corner of the dining room on a nice old wooden desk. The study or war room is too full of the mission for me to be able to work in there. To be able to concentrate effectively. Certain areas of my life require compartmentalizing. Numbers were never really mything. Odd how data inputting has become my main source of income. Guess life just happens like that sometimes.
The knock on my door comes at around midday. Auggie barks his little heart out. Just gives the noise his utmost commitment. I check the security camera on my cell and swear up a storm. Her presence here isn’t a complete surprise. However, surely I can be forgiven for hoping this particular shitshow wouldn’t happen.
“That’s enough. Bed,” I tell the very good boy. And he gives me a thoroughly disappointed expression but does as asked. It’s with a heavy-ass heart that I unlock and open the door. “Hello, Aunt Beth.”
She gives a sharp nod to the interior of the house, and I step back to let her enter. I don’t love letting her into my safe space any more than I did the detective. But doing this on the doorstep isn’t the answer. The woman used to intimidate the heck out of me when I was a child. Now, however, she seems smaller and a good deal less scary somehow.
I always knew she didn’t like me. It wasn’t something she particularly bothered to hide. Though to be fair, it’s not like she behaved as if she liked anyone. The fights she and Grandma used to get into. She’d made the walls of the old house shake with her sharp words. Guess some people are just born bitter and angry.
Her hair is the same perfect shade of platinum blonde as I remember. And her features a sharper version of her daughter’s. She wears her grief like armor. Though the black sheath dress she’s wearing is creased as fuck. Something she never would have allowed under normal circumstances. My living room and life in general are given a derogatory sniff. But honestly, if that’s the worst she does I’ll count myself lucky.
“What was Grace doing here?” Her lips are a tight line. “It can’t have been just to visit. She hadn’t thought about you in years.”
The comment is ouch though probably honest. “She was on a fishing expedition for the people making the documentary and podcast about me.”
“Why was she involved with those cockroaches?”
“Guess she needed the money. She said she was broke.”
Her brows draw down tightly. “What?”
“Apparently the deposits on stuff for the wedding and getting kicked out by her ex really set her back.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” And she seems so honestly perplexed that her daughter didn’t feel comfortable going to her during a time of trouble. “I would have helped her. But I hadn’t heard from her in weeks.”
My mouth opens and then closes. Because what the fuck can I even say? Telling a freshly bereaved mother that she’s both horrific and terrifying is not the answer. Honesty is all well and good, but it’s not going to help anyone right now.
She might even have figured the answer out for herself. Because her chin trembles as she asks, “And how, Sidney, did my daughter end up dead?”
“I don’t know.”
Her hand lashes out and I see it coming. How the flat of her palm smacks hard into my cheek. The sting of her slap is a hell of a shock. She really gave the hit her all. I wonder if the woman plays pickleball or something. She has a great swing. And this assault, like her sniff of much disdain, is no surprise. Her pale pink–tipped dagger of a finger points at my face. “This is because of you, Sidney. You are the bad seed, the rotten fucking apple.”
“I understand that you’re hurting, Aunt Beth, but—”
