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“Every time you use this thing, remember that my cock is bigger,” I growl against her ear. “And I’m somewhere out there, thinking of you while I stroke it.”
God help me. I’m not even inside of her, but I swear I feel her clench on the heels of those words. Her fingertips tear at the front of my shirt and she pants, whines my name, rolls her hips and works out the orgasm, her pleasure slipping down the vibrator and pooling in my palm. Coating my fingers. She rides the thrusting silicone, her thighs pulsing around my working hand, her tits swelling in the neckline of her dress and I just marvel. I damn well marvel.
“Masterpiece,” I rasp, kissing her, muffling her cries. “You little fucking masterpiece.”
“Too much!” she screams into my mouth after a few more seconds and I carefully tug the smooth curve from inside of her, slamming it down on the roof of the car and kissing her like my life depends on it, fingers tunneling into her hair. My cock is swollen and pounding in my jeans. She’s wet. She’s kissing me back, still horny. I could have her right here, right now. Next time she comes, I’d feel that cinch of her pussy around me and it would be heaven. I can finally get rid of this pain in my balls that I haven’t been able to bring myself to handle alone because everything inside has her fucking name on it—
There is a loud slam behind me.
My life flashes in front of my eyes.
Mentally, I bolt out of the fog and assess the threat, gun pulled from the small of my back. Weapon pointed at the ground, I back Taylor between me and the car, looking for the source of the noise. And I realize with a sweep of relief that it’s the door of the tavern. A group of rowdy young people are stumbling out of the bar, knocking the door into the side of the building in their exuberance. My adrenaline takes a nosedive and I’m suddenly covered in cold sweat. She’s saying something to me, but I can’t hear her over the ringing in my ears. Anything could have happened while I was kissing her with my back turned. Anything. Am I out of my mind to put her at risk like that? I’m not fit to be a detective. I’m not cut out for this. If I manage to solve this case and leave without anyone getting hurt, it’ll be a miracle.
“Get in the car,” I say to her, my voice like gravel. “Call your brother and tell him you’re waiting. Both of you need to get home.”
“Myles—”
“Please, Taylor. Just do it.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but climbs into the driver’s side, instead. Makes the call to Jude. A minute later, her brother comes out of the bar humming and I stride past him without saying a word, even when he calls my name.
I need to get my head back on straight. Now.
She’s been satisfied. No more slip-ups now.
Not even when the slip-up tastes like redemption.
Chapter 13
Taylor
I hold up a handful of sand and let it sift through my fingers, the little grains carried off on the Sunday morning Massachusetts wind. The cool, misty air is exactly what I need on my skin after waking up from a dream about Myles this morning. If I was a good swimmer like Jude, I would fling myself into the Atlantic in an attempt to finally cool down, but I’m much better off watching my brother take a dip from the shoreline.
Turning on my butt in the sand, I look back at Myles standing at the top of the staircase leading down to the beach. A phone is pressed to his ear and he’s speaking into it with that husky drawl, his eyes covered by Ray-Bans. His dark hair is blowing in the wind. From my vantage point down below on the beach, he’s back to looking like an ancient highland warrior who time traveled and found himself clad in jeans and a hoodie.
When he spies me watching him, he pauses mid-sentence, jaw tightening. But he resumes his pacing conversation a moment later. Letting him see my exaggerated eye roll, I angle myself toward the ocean again in time to find Jude limping—only slightly now—out of the surf, slicking the hair back from his face and grinning. My smile blooms automatically.
“When did he get here?” Jude asks, holding his hand out for a towel.
I toss him the bundle of blue terrycloth embroidered with an anchor. “He’s been here on and off all night. That’s him. On and off. Hot and cold.”
“What happened between you two in the parking lot last night?”
Even in the cool breeze, I’m suddenly swamped in heat, bombarded by images. The moving memories that caused me to toss and turn all night, only to finally fall asleep, wake up and find the sheets sweaty. Myles ripping open the packaging of my Thumper. Spitting on it. How his upper lip curled in a snarl every time he thrust the toy inside of me. His possessive kisses. The way he moaned when I peaked. Am I just supposed to carry on with my normal life after that frenzied public encounter? I don’t see how that’s possible. My clothes feel different, nerve endings on high alert, buzzing all the way to my hair follicles. I’ve been fired into a heightened state of awareness, then dropped from the mountain peak.
