Aren’t I lucky?
I laugh at my hilarious inner monologue. It isn’t a smart thing to do. Megan is giving me that look again, not the sympathetic one, the one she gave me in the cabin days ago. She’s looking at me with love in her eyes.
I snatch her hand off my chest before raising it to my mouth. When the vein in her neck flutters in excitement, I draw my lips over my teeth, halving the impact of my bite. I don’t do it because I’m an upstanding guy who buys a dozen roses for a first date. I do it to weaken her eagerness. She wants me to bite her. Not just her wrist, her entire body. I don’t answer to anyone’s pleas. I do what I want when I want.
Except when it comes to your father.
Feeling my qualm slipping, I ask, “You ready?”
Not waiting for Megan to answer me, I head for the door. Recalling my request for her to wear running shoes instead of the strappy shoes she’s been getting around in the past few days, she tugs them on before shadowing me to the elevator bank. With our suite the entire top floor of the hotel, the elevator car comes straight to us—the important guests.
We ride the first ten floors in silence. The tension firing in the air is electrifying. It has the same dramatic edge that kickstarts my pulse before every hunt but in a unique way. It is a foreign feeling that is extremely hard to explain. If I had to put it into words, I could explain it as if I’ve swallowed the antidote for crazy—like that’s even possible.
After pushing aside the unexplainable as a consequence of arriving to a hunt with the target in tow, I continue counting our descent—only thirty-four floors to go.
My wish to evade the confines of an enclosed box triples when the elevator comes to a stop at the twelfth floor. Because the uniformed officer is deep in conversation with a plain-clothed detective, he doesn’t immediately notice Megan and me standing at the back of the empty car.
I have a cap hanging low over my eyes, but Megan’s face is completely exposed. She looks identical to the photos every news agency in the country has been broadcasting hourly since our escape, and she knows it.
A vein in her neck pulsates as her eyes calculate the distance between her and the officer’s gun. She’ll never make it in time. His gun case is clipped shut, meaning she’d be shot by the detective before she could remove the gun from his partner’s hip.
Not calculating the risk as expertly as me, Megan steps toward the officer. Before she gets us both killed, I grab her wrist, pin her to the wall, then seal my mouth over hers.
The squeak she releases when my tongue delves between her cherry balm-flavored lips alerts the officers that they are not alone. They balk before cocking their heads to the side to watch the spectacle of Megan climbing my frame so she can grind against my stiffening shaft.
As my tongue strokes the roof of Megan’s mouth, I watch the officers in the elevator’s mirrored wall. I’m hoping the presidential suite keychain dangling from my back pocket will enhance my ruse.
It does—along with Megan’s hearty moans.
Every stroke of my tongue along the ridges of her mouth triples her husky groans, and I’m not going to mention her prolonged grinding against my crotch. She kisses me like she’s starved of taste, and I’m the only man who has ever caressed her in such a way. She kisses me until I forget why we’re kissing. Then she kisses me some more.
My tongue doesn’t need to continue the exploration of her mouth. The officer’s grumbled comment about impatient honeymooners ensured we were left to ride the elevator alone, but no matter how many times my brain commands me to withdraw, my mouth refuses to listen. Megan tastes like heaven and hell wrapped up in one sadistic little skitzo package.
It is only when a computerized voice announces we have arrived in the underground parking garage do my teeth relinquish Megan’s lip from its torture. The meow she releases when I place her onto her feet is her heartiest of the weekend.
“Soon.”
Failing to hear the deceit in my tone, Megan skips out of the elevator car, my promise lightening her steps. Our hike to a row of cars far away from prying eyes slows when a deep voice shouts for us to stop. Although their demand isn’t one you’d expect upon discovering two escaped inmates from a mental institution, it still prickles my skin with hesitation. It was laced with authority, the tone an officer uses when making an inquiry.
“Remain calm,” I instruct Megan while tugging her to my side.
When we spin around to face the voice, my intuition is proved spot on. A young officer I’d guess to be mid-twenties has a clipboard balancing on his washboard stomach. He stands to the right of a group of rental cars. He appears to be matching the tags with the guests of this hotel.
Goddammit—I knew we should have left yesterday.
I’m getting careless.
She’s making me weak.
I stop glaring at Megan to raise my eyes to the rookie officer. “Can we help you, officer?” I keep my tone friendly, even though I am anything but.
He stops peering at his clipboard to lock his eyes with mine. It is virtually impossible with how low the rim of my cap is. “License and registration, please. No vehicles can enter or exit this garage without being jotted down on my sheet.”
He taps his pencil on his clipboard as his smirk increases to a smile. He’s not smiling to be friendly. He has Megan in his sights. I’m not surprised. For each day she is weaned from medication, the more beautiful she becomes. The healthy dose of psycho in her eyes has done wonders for her complexion.
“Hey, you look familiar,” the officer croons, heading our way. “Are you from around these parts—”
“Should I be concerned about the number of officers here this evening, sir? My wife, she’s pregnant. I don’t want anything to happen to her and our unborn son.”
