Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
A tremor rocks my body as I stroke harder, faster. I can't stop thinking about having her all to myself.
Owning her. Mind, body and soul.
“You’ll never get enough, will you? Always wanting more. More of me.” I growl. “You’ll never want another. I’ll brand myself into your soul, make you mine forever.”
The image of Francesca’s lush body splayed out beneath me is too much to bear. “Fuck, Francesca. My perfect, dirty little fuck toy. Can’t wait to wreck that filthy cunt.”
Pleasure coils hot and tight at the base of my spine. My whole body trembles, practically vibrating out of my skin with the need to taste her, fuck her, make her mine. A groan builds in my throat, and I grit my teeth to keep quiet. Can’t have the whole fucking neighborhood hear me claiming what’s mine.
“Fuck, Francesca, yes! Gonna fucking ruin you. Ahh, Christ.” Even as I shoot my load, I know it’s only a taste of what’s coming. She’ll be screaming my name soon enough. In pleasure. In pain. It’s all the same to me.
My back arches and my legs tremble as I paint my fist with thick ropes of come. It feels like it goes on forever. It’s the most intense orgasm I’ve had outside of actually fucking. And it’s all because of her. My Francesca. My goddess. My ultimate obsession.
As she turns to head for the bathroom, I’m treated to one last perfect view of that delectable ass, my favorite part of her body.
Suddenly, the distance between us feels unbearable. I need to be in her house, in her bed, inside her, anyway I can take her.
“Sweet dreams, Detective,” I rasp to the empty room, my voice raw and ragged. “You and I will be seeing quite a bit of each other. Very, very soon.”
CHAPTER SIX
Frankie
“Thought you could use a little pick-me-up, Ames,” I say, walking into the office of Amelia Novak, the department’s top criminal psychologist. I paste a goofy grin on my face as I hold up the green and white paper bag holding her favorite breakfast.
“I know how engrossed you get in your work, trying to unravel the twisted minds of those psychos we send to you.”
She chuckles, her eyes meeting mine. “You know me too well, Frankie. But seriously, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’m always here for you, whether you come bearing gifts or not.”
I shrug, handing over the bag and then setting down two steaming cups of coffee, one for each of us. “What can I say? I like to keep my favorite criminal psychologist well-fed and happy. Never know when I might need that brilliant, slightly unhinged brain of yours. And I figured we could use the caffeine hit.”
I flop into the chair across from her desk, ignoring the plush sofa against the wall. “I think we got a serial this time,” I sigh. “At least I’m pretty sure it’s the same creep flaying all three vics, but Jay says we don’t have enough evidence. He’s right, of course.”
She nods, digging into the bag and dropping back into her desk chair. She spreads a thick layer of cream cheese on each side of the bagel and takes a large bite, savoring it with a satisfied groan. “Okay, what do you know so far?”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Two nights ago, I was called to a crime scene for this guy, Beaumont. I’m fairly certain it’s DB number three from this psycho, which technically makes it a serial.”
“But?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as she takes another bite of bagel.
I smile and grab the other half of the bagel, taking a bite. “But the kill methods differ. Similar tools, eerily similar M.O.”
“And that’s where you’re stuck? The method of killing?”
I nod, swallowing another sip of coffee. “Yeah. I’m sure it’s the same guy, but I can’t prove it. Yet.”
I feel like I’m spinning my wheels, and it’s infuriating to have Jay slow me down with his follow-the-rules approach. That’s why I’ve come to talk to Amelia.
She narrows her eyes. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but have you considered the possibility of two killers, like the Hillside Stranglers? That could explain the similar but not identical kills.”
“That’s possible,” I say, though I don’t believe it. “But it feels like it’s the same guy and I’m just missing something.”
She wipes crumbs from her mouth and says, “No offense, but there’s a lot you’re missing, right? No solid link between the victims, and no link between the crimes except it’s eerily similar, right? That makes it damn near impossible to ID a killer, especially without enough evidence.”
“Gee, thanks.” I scowl at her. She sounds like Jay. I take another bite of my bagel. “You’re no help.”
“Seriously. This is your first serial, right?”
“Yeah. Spree killers, mass shootings, but first serial. Your point?”