Morrie pulled back. “I think your pussy needs some attention,” he growled, his cold eyes alerting me that he wasn’t talking about Grimalkin.
“Meow!” she butted his arm.
“Sorry, kitty,” I shoved her off my lap. “This hug isn’t for you.”
Grimalkin’s clawsclack-clackedon the wooden floor as she trotted away, howling about the unfairness of it all.
Morrie trailed his fingers along my jaw, pulling my head toward his and claiming my mouth for a long, languid kiss. I forgot all about Grimalkin, losing myself in Morrie’s expert touch. This guy was an expert kisser. Locking lips with him was an act of surrender, giving up rational thought and falling headfirst into his psyche. Kissing Morrie was like jumping off the high dive board, like the first dizzying splendor of inebriation.
Slowly, Morrie unwound my scarf from my neck and tossed it on the ground. One by one, he flicked the buttons open on Jo’s shirt, the tips of his fingers barely stroking the skin underneath. My breath hitched as he let the fabric fall open, his arms sliding around my waist to undo my bra.
“What about customers…” I murmured.
Relax. I flipped the CLOSED sign.
My eyes swiveled from Morrie to the bust above the door, where Quoth perched still as a statue, his dark eyes boring into mine. He tilted his head to the side, asking permission to stay, to watch, and I nodded. I liked it that he watched; that helikedto watch.
Morrie popped the clasp on my bra, and with agonizing slowness, slid the straps off my shoulders, pushing the bra and my shirt fabric down my arms, trapping my hands at my sides. A cold draft blew across my bare nipples, which already stood firm and pert, desperate for his touch.
But Morrie didsolove to tease. He bent down and kissed my neck, my collarbone, along my forearms. Everywhere but my breasts. I growled at him and he grinned.
“You should know by now that you only have to ask,” he purred. “I love it when you beg.”
I growled again. My whole body buzzed with electric energy. “Morrie, would you be so kind as to suck on my nipples until I scream for mercy?”
“Why, Ms. Wilde, I thought you’d never ask.”
Morrie’s lips closed over my nipple. I arched my neck as a cord of fire tore through my body. His tongue rolled me between his lips. Morrie’s fingers trailed over the waistband of the tartan pants, slowly tugging at the drawstring knot until I groaned with frustration and undid it myself. Morrie chucked, his musical laugh sending another wave of heat through my body.
With his lips still around my nipple, Morrie slid his hand between my legs, cupping my mound. Heat pooled inside me. I pushed my hips forward, desperate for more.
Morrie slid down my trousers and flung them behind him. They caught on the stuffed armadillo, so his head just poked out from under the tartan. Quoth fluttered down and perched on top of them, his eyes locked with mine.
I raised my legs onto Morrie’s shoulders. He slid between my legs, his face lit up like he was unwrapping a present at Christmas. Morrie pressed his lips against my throbbing clit and my whole body shuddered. His tongue moved in slow circles, so I could feel every tiny movement reverberating through my veins. My fingers curled around the arms of the chair as I fought to stop myself melting into a puddle on the floor.
All around me, towers of books stared down in silent disapproval. But I didn’t care. Pleasure built inside me as Morrie drew my clit inside his mouth and sucked it lightly. The pressure was so intense I cried out. My nails dug into the chair. Morrie released me and teased tiny, light circles on my clit.
And all the while, Quoth’s brown eyes remained locked on mine. At the edges, flecks of gold appeared. Something about his gaze was so intimate, almost more than what Morrie was doing to me.
Mina,Quoth said inside my head.You’re so beautiful. I love you.
Morrie sucked my clit deep into his mouth and I was gone gone gone, my body shaking in raptures of pleasure. My head lolled to the side, keeping Quoth’s gaze even as flickers of blue neon light danced across my eyes.
Morrie stood up. “Less grumpy now?”
“Much.” I held out my hand and Morrie helped me to my feet. His ice eyes raked down my body as I pulled on my knickers and Jo’s trousers and slumped behind Heathcliff’s desk. I knew what he wanted – to slam me up against the bookshelf and bury himself inside me. But Morrie liked his games, and he was playing one now. He wanted me to beg him for it. I wanted to, oh how I wanted to, but I had so much work to do before tonight’s event. “Where’s Heathcliff? I want to run over the details for the week with him.”
Morrie made a face. “His Lord Tetchiness is still in bed. He said that he’s not going downstairs while the shop is filled withwriters. According to him, they’re worse than customers.”
I groaned. Heathcliff was the only shopkeeper I’d ever met who got grumpy when his shop was popular. And thanks to me, Nevermore Bookshop was doing better than ever.
A month ago I’d wrested free rein from Heathcliff to run the shop however I wanted. I wasted no time in remaking Nevermore Bookshop as a must-visit bibliophile destination. I took new photographs for our website, started an Instagram account, and organized my first ever bookshop event. Famous local crime author Danny Sledge was going to be giving a reading this evening about his latest novel,The Somerset Strangler. And tomorrow he’d be running a full-day workshop for crime writers. We had attendees coming from all over the country to learn from this master storyteller.
My stomach fluttered with nervous excitement as I thought about the workshop. Even though I’d never written a book, I would be sitting in on it with therealwriters. For some reason that excited me more than anything else about the event. I’d filled my whole life with books, and it would be interesting to peer behind the curtain and see how plots and characters really came together.
Or it might be the fact that I’d seen far too many murders in the last few months, giving me enough plots for a wholeseriesof crime novels.Danny Sledge better watch out, or I could boot him off the bestseller list!
But the event wasn’t going to happen if I didn’t get the shop ready. I pulled out the list I’d printed in huge letters and inspected everything I had to do. We needed to tidy up the Events room. Danny’s publisher, Brian Letterman, would be arriving with a box of books for Danny to sign, and I’d need to enter them into the new digital inventory system Morrie and I set up (against Heathcliff’s protests) so we could offer them for sale.
