“That’s the sign of a skilled writer. She left us wanting more but still tied up all the threads.”
“Almost all,” Honor says. “She cleverly left us with seeds of interest for the next couple in the series.”
Are they also serial killers? I bite my lip, wanting to ask, but that would give away my interest in what they are talking about. Pulling up a search engine, I hunt for serial killer romance books. I blink at my screen. Fuck me. I was expecting a handful of books, not for it to have its own dedicated area on multiple sites and a special shelf on a popular review platform.
“And what about the spice?” Helen asks with a low whistle. “There were some rather hot moments.”
Spice? Like chilli? Are they serial killers who enjoy food that burns the skin off their mouths?
“Dear lord, the restaurant scene,” Honor replies.
Clearly, two serial killers run a restaurant that serves spicy food. It’s an interesting premise, I guess. Not sure why it’s getting so much attention.
I try refining my search to serial killers who own restaurants and bingo, I think I have my book. I scan the reviews and frown at the mention of ice cream. Are they weirdly focused on food in this romance? I guess even serial killers need to eat and have a job to cover their more criminal activities.
“I almost died when he went down on her,” one of the women says with a chorus of affirmations. Is going down on a woman such a miraculous thing? Making it enjoyable might be tricky, but the act itself is basically him relocating his mouth between her legs. Hardly noteworthy.
“He had no issue tasting himself,” Helen says. “Now that’s a man.”
How would he taste himself? Are they talking about his cock? Unless he’s got joint issues, I don’t think that’s possible.
“Hunter, would a man be happy to go down on a woman and taste himself?” Honor asks.
How is she asking this with her mother-in-law in the same room? The code clicks. He’s tasting his own release. My body flushes, and my thighs clench as a throb pulses between my legs.
“Well,” Hunter begins as I strain past the whooshing in my ears to hear his answer. “We often read about a guy kissing the woman after tasting her, and if we get turned on by that, why shouldn’t it work in reverse?”
“Well said.” Helen giggles and gives a little clap.
Did he just pass some kind of book club test? All I can think about now is Hunter swiping his tongue through his release as it leaks out of me. Which is weird, as I’ve never had unprotectedsex with anyone. My thighs clench at the rush of heat gathering in my core.
“At the end of the day, if he’s not man enough to reciprocate, then he has no business doing it.” I snort, then slap my hand over my mouth. Hunter glances over his shoulder at me. “Something funny?” he asks.
I debate making up an excuse about something I read online, but I don’t make a habit out of lying. Life is difficult enough without deceit. I spin on my stool and lean over his shoulder to stare into the camera. Sure enough, there are five women surrounding a table covered in snacks on the other end of his call. “In my limited experience, men rarely are willing to give as much as they take. They get off, thenbam!they’re done.”
“Sounds like you need to pick your partners more carefully,” Helen says as she leans forward and grabs a little cake.
Perhaps she has a point, but these mythical men are so rare, only the beautiful and emotionally stable are likely to attract them, which rules me out.
“Maybe you should look a little closer to home,” Honor adds.
“I would if I was actually home and not forced to squat in a biker’s love pad.”
Honor shakes her head and laughs. “You are so smart, yet so clueless, when it comes to matters of the heart.”
Wrong. I don’t have a heart. You can’t be an expert in an organ that died years ago in a dark forest.
My lips thin as I make my way back to my laptop. I scan the reviews, and my eyes catch on one with a GIF of a retching woman. Seems like you shouldn’t read serial killer romance if you have a weak stomach. Blood and gore are going to present. Below it is a different GIF of a guy eating ice cream. What is with the damn ice cream?
“Oh no, you did not just—” Honor gags before the women collectively gasp.
My head snaps up as Hunter spoons vanilla ice cream into his mouth.
“I’m out,” one of the women mutters. “I can’t do it.”
Hunter snorts as I slowly turn back around. What. Is. With. The. Ice Cream?
I find the wording under the GIFs and finally put it together. Fuck. Me.
