Right?
I picture the cans lined up, little silver soldiers of death. He was so fucking patient. A curator of endings.
He’d been here. Here.Mydomain, just as he’d been in my own car. How many times had he come in? How many times had I rung him up and then immediately forgot about it afterward because his face, his existence, appeared so ordinary?
I should feel lighter. That fucker is dead, but my lungs still can’t seem to pull in a full breath. Vincent is still out there. And he knows all about me with an intimacy that makes Allen Webb’s clinical obsession feel like a passing glance.
A warm hand slides around my thigh, under the hem of my Gas N’ Go polo. I bite back a moan.
James is solid heat crouched behind the counter where no one can see him, having slipped in ten minutes after my shift started. He’s pressed his mouth to my bare stomach, his teeth grazing my skin.
“Missed ye, Prayer. Your kingdom’s looking tidy.”
His fingers hook into the waistband of my khakis and my plain cotton underwear. I shiver under his touch.
The bell jingles. An older man in a trucker cap ambles toward the beer fridge. James pulls the fabric down, just enough. The cool, stale air of the gas station kisses my flushed skin, followed by the devastating, wet heat of his mouth.
He starts with intent. A long, flat stroke of his tongue that makes my knees lock. I brace my hands on the counter, my fingertips pressing into the cheap laminate.
The customer studies the price labels on the Bud Light, a man faced with the great philosophical dilemma of his evening. I am being devoured alive a few feet away, dissolving into pure sensation.
James’s tongue delves deeper, a wicked, knowing invasion. His stubble rasps against the soft skin of my inner thighs, a delicious friction that borders on pain. He groans softly, and the vibration travels straight to my core, a live wire of pleasure. I bite my lower lip hard enough to taste copper.
The man approaches the register and plunks his six-pack down.
I ring it up, my voice miraculously steady. “Will that be all?”
James chooses that moment to suck, hard, on the exact point where my nerves are screaming. My vision fogs at the edges. I am the definition of composure from the waist up, a disaster from the waist down. I fumble the cash, my knuckles white where they grip the counter.
“You all right, sweetheart?” the man asks, squinting at me.
“Peachy,” I breathe, handing him his change.
My hips give a tiny, involuntary rock against James’s face. His hands clamp on my thighs, holding me still, yet still encouraging me.
The door jingles shut.
The sound hasn’t even faded before James redoubles his efforts. His tongue is relentless, circling, flicking, pressing inside me, then retreating to lavish attention on the swollen, aching bud of my clit.
One of his hands leaves my hip, his thumb sliding down to press against the tight, forbidden knot of muscle behind. Thedual sensation—the wet, sucking heat at my front, the insistent pressure at my back—unravels me.
“James,” I rasp, a warning and a plea.
He answers by sliding his thumb inside, just a fraction, at the same moment he seals his mouth over my clit and sucks.
The coil in my belly snaps.
I come with a ragged, loud cry that bounces off the bags of chips and the fluorescent lights. My hips buck wildly against his face, seeking, grinding, and he lets me, his grip iron strong, drinking every shudder and pulse until I’m limp, trembling, and leaning over the counter.
Slowly, he pulls back. Then he’s rising, a shadow taking form beside me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are the color of a banked fire—blue bleeding to black bleeding to ember-gold. He’s grinning, boyish and feral.
“Welcome back to work, Your Highness,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
I can only manage a shaky exhale. The cold from the back room pulses, a wave of dark approval that slides over my skin and settles in my bones.
Daddy has been lurking there since his mere presence near the beef jerky caused a college kid to drop his Mountain Dew and run.
And Eddie is right next door at the police station.
