Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I cup his chin, forcing him to look at me while I grin. “I asked you to take my virginity. You passed on that opportunity. Why did I owe you my mouth around your dick?”
It’s too perfect. I’m not sure anything can make up for what he did to me, but I deserve every little morsel I can steal.
“I didn’t suck Andy’s cock,” I whisper before sucking on his lower lip and teasing it with my teeth while my other hand tugs on the button to his jeans. “But I’m going to suck yours.” I release him from his briefs.
“Josie …” My name falls from his lips with a little anguish. He’s conflicted.
A little mad.
A lot turned-on.
Which one will win?
His hands gather my hair while he lets out a groan as my answer.
We’ve managed to channel our inner horny teenaged selves where every look and every conversation leads to something sexual. My dad isn’t here to ground me. My mom isn’t here to tell me how playing hard to get is the smart choice.
I’m not ready to share an address with Colten or marry him. But this orgasm high we’ve been on … always chasing the next one … well, it’s pretty spectacular.
“Jo-s-sie … fuck … you.”
I release him from my mouth and turn my head, glancing up at him with raised eyebrows.
He grips my hair tighter and bites back his grin. “If you stop, I will fucking die.”
I lick it. “Oh, Andy …”
“Josie …” he growls my name and grips the side of his seat, his hips making a tiny thrust toward my mouth.
I giggle, collecting more of those morsels of torture. Then I finish the job because that’s what detailed oriented people do.
“F-fuuuck …”
I sit up and grin, licking the corner of my mouth just as the old lady from the store walks past the front of his car. He blows out a long breath while his body slumps like his spine evaporated with his orgasm. His hands work to tuck, zip, and button.
I fasten my seat belt and reach down by my feet, retrieving the small box from the floor. After pulling out a donut, I take a bite and grin. “Palate cleanser,” I mumble.
If a look for the love child of adoration and mystification exists, it’s residing on Colten Mosley’s face. “I knew you loved me.” He smirks, starting the car and shifting it into drive.
I snort, slowly shaking my head. Blow job equals love through the eyes of a man. Figures.
Before we get his groceries put away, his phone rings. He listens, frowns, nods, and says three words. “On my way.”
“Call me later?”
Colten shrugs. “You could come with me. I know a guy with a badge. Ever seen a real crime scene?” He slips his phone into his pocket and pushes me up against the counter.
I rest my hands on the edge of the counter and chuckle. “I have my own badge.”
Pressing his lips to my neck, he grins before kissing me. “Might as well come get a preview of your work for tomorrow.”
“Who died?”
He lifts his head and takes my hand. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
The second we get out of the car, Colten flashes his badge, and I dig through my purse for mine. By the time I get it, he’s twenty yards ahead of me, huddled with the crime scene unit near the end of the pier.
He’s no longer Colten, my reunited childhood crush; he’s a detective and I am a forensic pathologist. Richard Claiborne, the medicolegal investigator, gives me an extended glance when he looks up from the body on the pier.
I answer his unspoken question. “I was in the area.”
He nods.
I meet with the coroner who pronounced the time of death.
Scene briefing.
Walk through.
Preliminary examination.
The decedent’s abdomen has been mutilated.
“Look what we have here.” In the sand a few feet from the body, there’s a tied latex glove finger. “He’s a mule,” the officer says.
I walk farther down the pier toward the other body. A shock wave of whip-like snaps drowns out all other noise.
Gunfire.
I start to turn, then …
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It’s an unnerving sonic boom of deadly projectiles moving through the air. Guns are drawn. Chaos ensues.
I immediately search for Josie, but I can’t move. There’s too much gunfire. Too many bodies falling to the ground. The crime scene turns into a war zone.
Josie. Josie. Josie …
I fire at the armed insurgents clad in black vests, a circle of them firing at us while several others grab the bodies. They’re robbing our fucking crime scene, but I don’t care. Take the bodies. Where is Josie?
For some reason, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata plays in my head. It’s what I played when life felt out of control as a teenager. It’s what soothed me during my time in the war zone. Today, it’s a preamble to death.