Page 27 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

He links his hands behind his neck and squeezes.

“I’m not a cheater. I mean, there’s a woman, but we’re not—” He lets his arms fall as he paces toward the door. “I can’t talk to her the way I talk to you. Not about this”—he gestures around the room—“and this is a pretty fucking big part of my life.” He makes a frustrated noise. “Not that it matters.”

“She’s not interested in getting with tall, dark, and homicidal?” I don’t have to remind myself to keep my voice low and growly while we’re discussing this unpleasant new development.

“Fuck no,” he says, sounding horrified at the very suggestion. “And I’d never ask her to.”

My anger’s starting to shift from Gomez to the mystery woman who doesn’t appreciate having access to hot-and-cold-running killer in the daylight hours. Actually, fuck them both—him for knowing I’m a heartless bitch you can anonymously fingerbang in a closet, and her for being an innocent he’d never dream of tainting.

A little retaliation. It’s the only answer.

I look over his head to the empty doorway.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper urgently.

He spins around, and I leap to the floor and land in a crouch, spinning my leg in a low-to-the-ground sweep kick that catches him in the ankle when he starts to turn back around. He’s already off balance, and my momentum makes it easy to topple him face down onto the soft carpet. Then I’m on him, hooking my right foot under his hip so he can’t roll to the side and twisting his left arm up between his shoulder blades so I can pin his chest to the ground with my body weight.

“I bet your precious girlie grew up with two parents, weekly clarinet lessons, and a pony,” I mutter in his ear.

He laughs darkly. “I grew up with two parents, weekly clarinet lessons, and a pony.” He attempts to push up with his lower body, but I cling tighter and press harder. He’ll be able to shake me off before long, but right now, I’m relishing the control I have over the big man underneath me.

“Sounds like you two are perfect for each other.”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he growls.

“No?” I tighten my grip on his wrist. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

He explodes into action, using his size and strength to push off the ground and spin us both, leaving me on my back with the muscled length of his body covering mine and the hard press of his cock digging into my thigh.

“The first person I killed on my own was a predator who went after little kids,” he says in a low, steady voice. “I strangled him and left him in the park where he thought he was meeting a twelve-year-old girl. My methods have changed since then, but I don’t take chances, and I don’t take trophies.”

“On your own?” There’s another little detail to examine later.

His only response is to drag his cock torturously slowly just below where I need it the most.

“I’ll take that as ‘no comment,’” I murmur.

He laughs and makes another slow sweep of my body with his dick.

“If I Google any of that,” I ask with a gasp, “will I find any news stories?”

“Maybe. Probably not.” He rolls his hips, making me see stars. “His reason for being in that park wasn’t in the media, and a story like that gets buried. Plus, I didn’t tell you the year or the city.”

“Your first solo kill, lost to the sands of time.” He notches the head of his cock against my core and rocks into me hard. “H-how does that make you feel?”

Oops. I’m getting dry-humped into Hugo levels of conversation.

Gomez pulls back to stare at me, his eyes burning into mine. Fuck. All I can think about is turning on every light in this house so I can see what color they are. Bonus: I’d be able to see those muscles moving under his shirt. Then he uses his knee to nudge my thighs open, and I stop thinking entirely.

“I didn’t feel bad then, and I don’t feel bad now. And that’s the last kill I didn’t make look like an accident.” He shoves my legs even wider and settles his hips between them. “There. Happy, killer?”

“Getting there.” I moan as he moves his hips in a languid circle that sends his cock gliding over my clit. “But I won’t be completely satisfied until you say, ‘This kill is yours, Morticia.’”

“You haven’t won yet,” he reminds me as he pins my wrists over my head and grinds into me harder.

“Are you asking me to get you off?” Because I’m already three-fourths of the way there myself, so if this is another race, I need to know now. “We’ve got a couple of hours left before Navarro’s back home.”

“No, I—” he pants. “I mean, if you wanted to… ah fuck.” His precise little circles have turned into full-on thrusts that drag up my pussy before colliding with my clit, and we both jolt at the contact. “You’re bad for my focus, Morticia,” he grinds out. “It’s starting to affect my work.”