My hand slides wetly from where I hid it. I’m sosohorny and wondering if the throb from my pussy is audible. I let my hand flop onto him, graze it over and down the nearest line of scars with my fingertips bobbing over the lumpiest ones.
And that his cock has stitches and was sewn on? That I have this monster fucking me? I’m okay with this. I’m far, far more than okay. It’s some kind of surreal yet sweet kink I’ve found. All mine. A whole new kink.
I turn over until my nose bumps into the side of his chest, close my eyes, and inhale the scent of him. The comfort of his body makes me drift.
My usual thoughts wander by.I’m crazy to want him. I should be in mourning. He’s a killer.
But so am I.Am I though?I want to be.
My phone jangles as a text comes in.
I ignore it, heave in a slow breath. It gets annoyed and bleeps at me again.
“You might have to get that,” Kail says.
I grumble something. I’m not sure what.
He smacks at my ass. “Naughty. It might be important, considering.”
Considering his murders? He’s right. There are no flashing lights outside though. No sirens. How did we both sleep so soundly? For me, at least, I think it’s just him being here? And that he’s on my side. He’s like a guaranteed assault team all by himself.
Once I lever myself halfway to sitting, I lean in over him and kiss his mouth. His eyes are spectacular, blue-rimmed pools and the face scars just enhance his mystique, his…je ne sais quoi.My French is getting some use, finally. “Mr. Picasso,” I whisper, kissing his mouth again. “This ass smacking has to stop.”
The sting from it is rather nice, though. I wiggle said ass and he grabs me there, squeezes.
“You’re sure?” Then he hauls me fully over him and delivers three more butt-jarring smacks while we keep kissing.
My eyeroll is accompanied by a smile when I slide off him and stretch my arm for the phone.
I thumb it open.
“It’s Ron and Molly.”
RON: Dear Hailey. Ron here. We know you’re home and have a friend over. Are you okay? Want to visit us before we go open the shop? Would like to see you.
A friend? I snort at that.
I’m happy, I realize, as if it’s an astounding thing. But it is. Since yesterday, the change in myself is ridiculously stupid. Who am I that I have swung from north to south, like one of those weathercock things?
Am I even allowed to be happy? It’s a thought.
It’s been a few seconds of this, me remonstrating with myself, and Kail has no clue.
I read the text on the screen, twice, three times, while I’m coming to a conclusion.
I am certain who murdered my father. It was Clay, and Dad is still dead, which will never be anything but awful. And maybe I am hellbent on revenge, but the answer is yes.
Yes, I am allowed to be happy.
I just hope I can make it stick.
“They say they know I’m home. I wonder how they do? You know, we should go say hi. I think they know you’re here, somehow. Or that I have”—I make air quotes— “someonehere with me. They may think I have a lover over.” I lower myself backward onto him, angle my head back and eye him past my hair.
“Hailey, saying hi, when I’m me, it can be a problem. Are shotguns involved?”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll explain. Somehow.” I frown. “I’m sure I can.”
“Okay, but before we do that. You wanted honesty.”
