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temis, from my mission. Rage and hatred eat at me. Need vengeance. But the howling of the demons cripples me. Need to appease their rage…silence them…only one way to do that.
I’ll leave early…satisfy the demons. Then they’ll release me long enough to destroy Tyche. I can purge, move on. All accounts must be settled. All goddesses must stand at the sacrificial altar. As must I.
It’s her will. And the will of the gods.
Hunterdon County, New Jersey 9:15 A.M.
Yesterday’s crime scene had left both Derek and Sloane quiet and grim. The murder of that poor head nurse had been horrifying. Even after the body was removed, the memory lingered—Gertrude Flyer, in pools of her own blood, her throat sliced open, not to mention the image of the weapon that must have done this to her—all that had thrown Sloane more than she’d expected.
It had taken a glass or two of Merlot and a long, hot shower—one she’d intended to take solo, but wound up otherwise—to start Sloane’s unwinding process.
The process had been furthered by the massage Derek had given her afterward.
And brought to a successful conclusion by a long night of marathon lovemaking.
Now Derek’s fingers were biting into Sloane’s hips, his grip anchoring her as he drove them both toward orgasm. Sloane sat astride him, her thighs clamped against his sides. She was trembling from exertion, her body rising and falling, moving faster and faster as the urgency to climax increased.
She was so close…so close.
“Now,” she managed, her nails digging into Derek’s shoulders as she reached the limit of what she could bear. “Now!”
His grasp tightened to just short of painful, and his lower body thrust upward so fiercely that he lifted Sloane off the bed. It was exactly what she needed, his penis lodged so deep inside her, stretching and filling her until it pushed her over the edge. She exploded into orgasm. It wasn’t gentle, tender, or shivery. It was hot and wild and primitive, boiling up from the very core of her being, then erupting, storming through every pore of her body.
She cried out, but her cries were drowned out by Derek’s shout as he came in a convulsive rush, his hips pistoning back and forth as he spurted into her.
For one brief instant during that maelstrom of sensation, their gazes met, each one seeing the intensity—and the raw vulnerability—in the other’s eyes.
The instant passed.
Sloane collapsed on Derek’s chest, shaking with the aftermath of her physical efforts, feeling like she’d run a marathon. Her muscles felt watery, and she let every part of her go limp. She could hear Derek’s heart racing against her ear. His breath was coming in short, raspy pants. The two of them were both drenched in sweat and Sloane shut her eyes, wondering if she’d ever have the strength to move again.
“Did I succeed?” Derek’s voice was hoarse, his fingers combing through her damp hair.
“That depends. What was your goal?”
“To take your mind off the phones that haven’t rung yet, the DNA results that aren’t in yet, and the jpeg that hasn’t arrived yet.”
“In that case, yes. You definitely succeeded.” Sloane propped her chin on his chest. “Then again, you’ve succeeded four times already since last night.”
“Give me fifteen minutes and a protein bar. I’ll make it five.”
Sloane laughed. “I’ll give you a half hour. It’ll take me that long to get my muscles to work, and to eat my own protein bar.”
“We’ll compromise. Twenty minutes, a protein bar each, and this time I’ll do most of the work. You just have to lie back and enjoy.”
“Now, that I can manage.” Sloane blew out a contented breath. “We are pretty amazing together…in bed,” she hastily qualified.
He got her implication, and ignored it. “Just pretty amazing? In that case, we definitely need round five. I’m going for very amazing.”
He drew her mouth down to his. Their lips brushed, parted, then fused in a slow, heated kiss. Derek was just about to deepen the kiss and say “screw it” to the twenty minutes and protein bars, when the bed dipped in a rolling wave motion. Sloane’s mouth was nudged aside, replaced by a cold, wet nose. Derek lurched back, startled, and found himself staring into Moe’s soulful brown eyes.
Seeing that she’d captured his attention, she nudged him with her snout, and barked.
One bark. That was all the other two hounds needed. Racing paws tore through the house, and an instant later, all three dachshunds were on the bed, bounding from blanket to pillows, and barking to be heard over one another as they squirmed their way in between Sloane and Derek.
Larry leaped off the bed first, rushing to the bedroom door, then turning to glare pointedly at Sloane.
“They need to go out,” Sloane said, biting back laughter as she saw the douse-of-cold-water expression on Derek’s face. “I usually jog with them at dawn. It’s way past that. Larry’s letting us know that they’ve been more than tolerant, but that they’ve reached their limit. FYI, they won’t be holding it in much longer. Soon they’ll be donating puddles for me to clean up. Larry’s the most direct. He’s issuing an ultimatum. Curly’s going for a more subtle approach. He’s prancing on my back, pausing now and then to scratch me like a bone he’s digging up. And Mona’s feigning patience and holding it in so she can flirt with you.”
