I can’t respond, can’t speak, all my mind is able to manage is a roll of my hips, my body begging for more. He immediately responds, pulling back and plunging in again, and again, and again. Each thrust is harsher, deeper, wilder. His fingers grip my hips, no doubt leaving bruises as he ruts into me like a man possessed. I’m completely at his mercy, letting him lead me toward pleasurable destruction.
“Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel.” His name rolls off my lips like a prayer.
“Come. On. My. Cock.” Each word is punctuated by a sharp thrust of his hips.
I’ve never had sex like this before. It’s wild, untamed, and utterly intoxicating. It’s as if my entire body and soul are being tightly constricted and consumed while my mind is empty, free, weightless. His piercing scrapes against my inner walls as he pistons in and out of me. I can’t stop the cascading waves of electrical pleasure that begin to shoot through me. My mind goes blank and my eyes close as my orgasm builds.
“No!” Gabriel roars as his thrusts become stuttered and uncontrolled. “Eyes on me!”
My eyes snap open, staring into his as I come undone. My body bows as my muscles contract in ecstasy. Wave after wave of pulsing pleasure sear through me and a scream leaves my lips.
“So fucking beautiful,” Gabriel’s grunts before he follows me off the cliff of release. Rope after rope of warmth sprays against my walls, coating me in his cum. His roar of pleasure echoes around us as he finishes.
One, two, three, four, five.
I count my breaths in. Then out. Trying desperately to regulate my breathing and calm my racing heart. Gabriel’s heaving form has collapsed on top of me, his back rising and falling with each choked inhale.
“Ali,” he whispers into my hair slightly. “I’m obsessed with you.”
I don’t answer him, can’t answer him. But the truth hangs heavy between us—I’m utterly obsessed with him as well. That truth is as terrifying as it is comforting.
EIGHTEEN
Detective Kaitlin Pierce
Seven Days Since Allison Clarke’s Murder
The man sitting across from me is a Devil disguised as a gentleman. I’ve seen enough evil in this world to recognize it, even if he’s put on a very convincing mask.
“Thank you for meeting with me today, Mr. Parsons,” I tell him, keeping my voice smooth and even.
The fluorescent lights above us buzz. It’s an interview room tactic. Everything in here is designed specifically to be uncomfortable—cold room, buzzing lights, stiff chairs, even a sickly green tint to the beige paint. The goal is to leave thesuspect uncomfortable.
But Gabriel Parsons looks completely content, as if he finds peace in this discomfort. It’s unnerving just how calm he is. Predators are always the most calm right before they strike. I read that once in a book about snakes and it’s stuck with me ever since. I’ve found it to be just as true about humans.
“My pleasure, Detective Pierce.” He smiles as he speaks but it’s not a true smile.
I stare down at the file on the stainless steel table in front of me, pretending to read. I don’t need to read it. I know exactly what it says.
“You’ve recently been hired to teach at the high school?” I ask even though we both know I know the answer.
“Yes, as the business teacher. I own a large cybersecurity company that I built from the ground up. I wanted to give back, help the next generation of future business leaders.”
He crosses and uncrosses his legs. The same smile still plastered to his face. He’s wearing sleek navy blue pants and a jacket with a crisp white shirt. His dark hair is slicked back to reveal his piercing blue eyes. Outwardly, you could almost be led to believe his story. But there’s small signs of his dishonesty—the black ink peeking out from his shirt, the small twitch of his fingers, the slight bunching of his shoulders. A wolf parading as a sheep.
“And that was before Allison Clarke’s murder, correct?” I ask as I watch for any reaction.
I get none. He doesn’t so much as flinch.
I should be investigating the husband, the most likely suspect, the suspect that the Captain and all the other senior officers are looking at for this murder. But there’s something I can’t quite shake about Allison Clarke’s past. There’s a piece to this puzzle that we’re missing. And I have a feeling that the man sitting across from me is the key to that missing piece.
“Correct. We overlapped for a few months before what happened.”
I almost scoff but I stop myself.Lies.
“Before she was murdered, you mean?” I push back. “She was brutalized, murdered, and dumped.”
“Of course.” He quickly drops the fake ass smile and sensibly shifts to sadness.Too slow. “It was a tragedy.”
