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We were both sweating. We were both breathing at once, together.
Fear slipped out, breaking through some wall inside me. He saw it, and his eyes grew tender. His touch softened. He said again, gently, “Are you going to leave me?”
He began moving again, slowly pushing in, going to the hilt and grinding against me, but he dropped his head down, his lips finding mine in the softest, the most loving kiss, as he breathed against them, “Little Billie.”
That did it. I flooded over him, coming, and I cried out, “No.”
“No what?”
My climax was exploding inside me, but I panted, “I won’t leave you.”
“Good,” he growled, and his mouth dipped to my throat.
He began fucking me. He rode me through my tremors, and this time, it was for him. It wasn’t long before his hand found my throat, resting there as his eyes found mine, and he grated out, “Because you’re mine, Billie. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine.” He pushed one last time inside me, before he groaned. “All mine.”
I was his, but as I ran a hand down his back, I thought, You’re mine too.
33
BILLIE
They were scared in the days that followed.
I didn’t know if Brett said anything. I doubted he did, but they were still scared. Brett too. After that night, the floodgates were opened. We had sex multiple times every night. When we went to bed. In the middle of the night. Sometimes in the morning before he left for the stadium. A few times, as soon as he got home, he was reaching for me. There was something insatiable in both of us, like we were both starving for the other, needing to reassure the other that we were still there, that we could still touch each other.
That the other wasn’t gone, but I knew Vicky and the rest were also scared.
Scared of how I’d react.
Scared that I’d shut down.
Scared I’d run away.
Scared I might collapse.
Vicky. Howard. Lo. Roger.
They all watched me.
I supposed I’d do the same in their shoes.
It was the worst during Dee and Martell’s funeral. Martell’s daughter and both of their extended families wanted to have their funerals together. Identical closed caskets were at the front of the church and Martell’s daughter married them in death.
I lost it.
It was my fault—no. It was the killer’s fault. It was the Midwest Butcher’s fault. Martell’s daughter didn’t blame me. She made that clear to me, but it didn’t matter because my mind knew where the blame should logically go, but my heart didn’t.
They died because of me.
Brett slept at my place that night, and I just wanted all the emotions to go away. Every single one of them. I wanted no memories. I wanted no feelings. I wanted no thought. He helped erase them by fucking me until I was either burning from his touch or I was sleeping, passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Today was Sunday, and Vicky had decided to have a couple friends over—Travis and a few of his cop buddies. Roger was in heaven. Howard knew how to instantly man-speak to them, so there was a lot of that happening outside.
As I washed the dishes, I watched them from the kitchen window as they walked down the driveway, poking in the dirt.
“What are they doing?” I asked Lo, as she was helping dry the dishes.
“They’re laying down wires for sensors.”
