My Killer Vacation(29)

“Yes.”

My hand is already moving, but not to spank her. Not yet.

No, I reach between her legs and massage her pussy roughly, leaning down to mutter praise against her spine. Drawing her so close to me I can’t tell where she ends and I begin. I’m losing control here. I’m no longer thinking objectively. Sensation is leading me completely, along with a driving hunger for her satisfaction. The best she’ll ever have. As soon as she begins to grind her sex into my palm, I let go, remove my hand from between her thighs and rain a smack down on the supple curve of her right buttock.

I don’t know what I’m expecting. Gratification, yeah. A feeling of authority, sure.

I get those things.

But just like that morning, a savage sense of responsibility takes over, demanding I soothe her immediately afterward. Like it’s my job. My right. I cup the place where my palm connected and rub it, my mouth kissing up her spine and burying in her hair. “Good. That’s a good girl.”

Even while I’m kissing her neck, licking over sensitive spots and whispering words in her ear, I raise my palm again and bring it down even harder—and she whimpers, “Yes, yes, yes,” so I do it again. I repeat the pattern three more times. Spank, soothe, spank, soothe until her knees are so weak, I’m holding her up. “Rougher,” she whispers.

And I’m done. I’m fucking done.

I might be dominating her, but she’s owning me.

I let Taylor go down on her knees and I straighten, grappling with the zipper of my jeans. My composure is in the incinerator. All I hear is her asking me for rough. Rougher. All I can think about is getting my cock in her gorgeous mouth and she wants that, too, or she wouldn’t be helping me lower the zipper over my painful swell of flesh. She wouldn’t be exhaling on my belly, kissing me there with tongue, totally unrestrained, tilting her face up to meet my groaning advance, allowing me to sink my cock into her mouth without waiting or teasing or playing games. Yes. God yes.

Just urgent. Just rough.

“Blame the size of it on every goddamn thing you do. Never been bigger or harder in my life. A little twitch of that ass and I’m stiff. Fuck. Just like that. I’m hard even when you’re pissed at me, baby.”

In the spirit of giving her what she needs—Christ, when did I ever want anything else?—I take two fistfuls of her hair, wrapping the silky strands around my wrists and I sink deep, deep, deep, grinding in and out of her sweet, giving mouth, hips rutting up and back like an animal and she loves it. God help me, she takes me deeper than I’d ever expect her to offer and then some, dipping her tongue into my slits and ridges and using her hands to fist fuck me. I’ve died and gone to heaven. No, higher. I’m in an undiscovered promised land.

“That’s good, Taylor. That’s so fucking good. Lick what you did. Suck what you did.” On some indescribable level, I know I’m not going to feel complete unless this ends inside of her. I want her mouth on mine. Want my body anchoring her. I need her skin, her scent, her heat. “You and that dick-tease mouth get on the bed,” I rasp, drawing myself out from between her lips with a pop, urging her to her feet, turning, backing us toward the bed. “On your back, Taylor. Panties off. I swear to God, I’m going to fuck you sideways.”

“I would like that very much,” she says breathily, falling onto her back and struggling to get the underwear down. There’s a mouthwatering flash of wet flesh— Glass shatters behind me.

I don’t think. I throw myself on top of Taylor, covering her completely with my body, arms wrapped around her head. Sharp stings of glass land on my back one by one, burning pricks that definitely draw blood. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a large red and white buoy tumble to a stop on the ground near the side of the bed—and rage blooms inside me to an unholy degree.

Taylor could have been hit by that buoy.

“What…what was that?” she whispers, the fear in her voice making my stomach drop.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Stay objective. Easier said than done. I’m almost dizzy with rage. I wait several beats to make sure nothing else is coming. Then I slide Taylor off the bed and rush her to the bedroom door, blocking her from the window with my body the entire way. “Go to the bathroom and lock the door.”

She hesitates, going up on tiptoes to stare at the broken window over my shoulder. “Oh my gosh. Even the vandalism is nautical-themed.”

She’s making jokes at a time like this? All I can see is her unconscious and bleeding on the bedroom floor. I let my guard down. I let it down. “Go. Now.”

As soon as she disappears into the bathroom and I hear the lock click, I fasten my jeans as quickly as possible and jog to the front of the house, gun in hand. There is a set of taillights at the very bottom of the hill turning on to the main road, but it’s too dark to get a description of the vehicle, let alone a license plate number.

“Goddammit!” I roar through my teeth, ripping out my cell phone to call the police.

A voice answers in my ear a moment later, but I have to hang up, because I’m not ready to respond. I’m thinking of the woman inside. How utterly lost I’ve been in her for the last half an hour. Lost enough that I stopped paying attention, my effectiveness compromised. And because of that, she could have been hurt. One day around Taylor and I’m not just breaking my rule about letting my emotions get involved while I work a case, I’m shattering it.