I was expecting some resistance, but she surprised me by enjoying it.
What I was not expecting was for her to ride me like she was possessed and for said plug to somehow dislodge and hit me in the bollocks right when I was on the brink of blowing my load.
It’s safe to say that I was soon curled up in the foetal position, clutching my injured ball sack, while Katie picked up the plug and was so impressed with how clean it was thatshe ignored my grunts of pain and insisted on showing it to me in all its glory.
I’ll admit, I laughed. It hurt. I never thought that I’d be shot in the balls with a silicone bullet, but somehow Katie made it happen.
Katie:You may be getting a few curious looks from the girls later.
Aiden:You told them?
Katie:It was too funny not to!
Raven approaches, nudging me away from Darren to a quiet corner of the restaurant. “So?” He asks, still munching on his crisps. “The wedding is on Thursday; then what happens? We’re on a tight deadline here, AJ.”
Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be on my honeymoon come Monday. Don’t worry,” I clasp his shoulder. “Everything is going to plan.”
“And if it all goes sideways? If something goes belly up?”
“I’ve heard Russia is lovely this time of year,” I say with a wink. They have no extradition laws where Ireland is concerned. I can turn my bug into a contemporary Anastasia and start over if needed.
Raven chews on the inside of his cheek, looking slightly worried. “Does Katie know?”
“She’ll know when she has to, until then,” I say, patting his shoulder before turning to leave. “Not a fucking word. I like you, Raven. Do not force me to take your tongue as payment for your loose lips.”
His Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow. I pluck an invisible piece of lint from his shoulder. “I’m glad we have an understanding.” I turn to Darren, clapping my hands together with a smile. “Let’s talk hors d’oeuvres.”
38
DETECTIVE MOORE
Slamming the phone down on my desk, I let out a frustrated sigh before running my hands through my hair. I’m getting nowhere fast on this case, and the fact that it just did a 360 and led me back to square one is beyond frustrating.
Missing persons.
AJ Quinn.
David Walsh.
Gangland murders.
Missing persons.
AJ Quinn.
The wheel just keeps spinning; I can’t seem to catch a break. It’s like every lead I follow just circles back to the same dead end.
Pat Fitzgerald taps on my office door, peeking his head in with a concerned look. “If things are that good, I doubt handing you this report is going to make your day any better.”
I groan, willing the pressure building behind my eyes to dissipate. “Who died now?”
“No deaths,” Pat replies, handing me the report with aslight grimace. “None that we know about anyway.” He takes a seat in the chair across from me, his shirt rumpled and stained with careless coffee stains.
I lift my eyes from the desk long enough to ask, “Do you want to just rip that band aid off, or do you want to dance around it for a bit?”
Leaning forward in his chair, Pat sighs and says, “I’ve gone through countless hours of surveillance footage; there isn’t a trace of David Walsh anywhere in the airport. It looks like he never went in, never mind boarded a plane.”
I imagine my expression darkening as I process this information, my fingers tapping nervously on the desk.
