CHAPTER TWENTY
Blake’s lips twitched. “You can have it when I’m good and ready for you to have it. Now stand up.” I did so, and his hands framed my face; thumb breezing over my lips. “You have one very talented mouth. It’s a good thing that it’s mine.” He kissed me. Softly. Sweetly. “You can move your hands now.” He massaged my shoulders, fingers digging into muscle and working their way down my arms until the limbs felt loose and relaxed.
He took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. “Strip.”
So we were back where we started. I gritted my teeth.
“That’s one.”
“What?”
“That’s one orgasm I won’t give you. If you keep hesitating just to fuck around, it’ll make two. Then three. Maybe more.”
Son of a bitch. Glaring at him, I wordlessly began to strip—there was nothing sexy or teasing about it. No, I was pissed and I let him know it.
His eyes drank in each inch I revealed until, finally, I was naked before him. “You really do have a beautiful body, Kensey.” Stepping forward, he smiled. “And now I’m going to play with it. Lie back.”
“Play with it how?”
“That’s two,” he warned.
Bastard. I went back to glaring at him as I eased myself down onto the bed. I let my thighs slowly fall open because then, ha, he couldn’t order me to do it.
He used his thumbs to spread my folds. “Already wet. Just how I like you. Hands above your head, Kensey. Good girl. Don’t move.”
I did as I was told purely because he then began to strip, starting with his shirt. My heart beat a little faster at the sight of that gloriously masculine body—pure muscle, solid shoulders, sculpted abs, not an ounce of fat. My fingers tingled with the need to touch him just as my pussy ached to have him inside me. I didn’t think that the sheer physical impact of him would ever lessen.
Planting a fist either side of my head, he hovered his face over mine. “Mouth.”
I opened for him, and he thrust his tongue inside. He didn’t tease or torment me this time. He ravished my mouth like he hadn’t seen me in months. Feasted and plundered with a primitive intensity that—
“Hands above your head, Kensey.”
I realized then that I’d sifted my fingers through his hair. Since I knew he liked it, I gave the soft strands a sharp tug.
“That’s three.”
“Motherfucking motherfucker.”
“And now you’ve made it four. Shall we go for five?”
Silently spitting every profanity that I knew, I put my hands above my head.
He whispered his mouth over mine. “You make my cock even harder when you glare at me like that.” He held the vibrator near my face … almost like a threat. I tensed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to use it on me. It was that I had the distinct feeling he’d torment the hell out of me with it. Then again, I knew something he didn’t—there were no batteries in the damn thing. I always took them out after using it.
“I find myself torn,” he said. “See, a part of me would like to make you suck it. Make you get it all wet and warm so I can use it on the rest of you. Make you remember that I own this mouth so completely I can do whatever I want to it. But I’m not sure I’d like seeing another cock—real or not—in your mouth.”
If he thought that was supposed to make me nervous or something, he was wrong. Hell, I’d once put a live maggot from Dodger’s fishing bait between my lips on a dare; I could handle having a vibrator in my mouth.
“You know what, baby? I’ve decided I will make you suck it. Open up.”
I flicked out my tongue to lash the silicone head, smiling to myself when his eyes flared.
“Open wider.” He pushed the vibrator into my mouth, held it there a moment, and then withdrew it. “Hmm. I like it. Yet I don’t.”
His eyes remained absolutely riveted on my mouth as he thrust the toy in and out over and over. And I knew he wasn’t getting off on me doing it, he was getting off on the fact that he could make me do it. It was about ownership.
“Enough.” He bobbed it in front of my face once more. “Now I get to have some fun.” He pressed the switch. And it whirred to life.
What the fuck?
My face must have betrayed my surprise, because he smirked. “You thought I wouldn’t notice there were no batteries in it? Oh no, I made a point of checking. Found the batteries at the bottom of the box.” He lightly trailed the tip of the vibrator down my neck, and it hummed against my skin. “Remember to keep your hands where they are.”
An hour later—or maybe it was longer, I really couldn’t be sure—I was writhing on the bed, thighs tremoring, while he rubbed the purring head of the vibrator back and forth over my clit.
The bastard had delivered a devastating assault to my senses, softly dragging the toy along the skin of my neck, breasts, stomach, and thighs. All the while, his mouth had licked, nipped, and sucked; his free hand had stroked, shaped, and squeezed.
Four times he’d brought me to the edge, only to back off. And I knew he’d do it a fifth time before finally letting me come, since I’d once again made the mistake of moving my hands not so long ago.
I gasped as his mouth suddenly latched on my nipple and he began sweeping the head of the vibrator from my core to my clit over and over; feather-light motions that made me buck my hips and arch my back. And then I felt it happening. My pussy fluttered and my body shook with feverish tremors as the tension inside me built to an unbearable level and—
He stopped.
Close to tears, I wanted to curse him. Curse him, slap him, threaten to never suck his cock ever again in my life. But I wasn’t eager to experience a sixth hit-and-miss—I needed to come.
“There, all done,” he soothed. “You took it like a good girl. Now you get treated like one.”
I almost groaned in relief as he lodged the head of the vibrator into my pussy. I lifted my hips, hinting for more. He rocked it into me in short, shallow movements that felt heavenly yet torturous. Then he mercilessly shoved it deep. My back bowed and I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Come when you’re ready, baby.” He fucked me with the purring toy, dragging it against my G-spot each time he withdrew it. Every now and then, he’d twist it just right and then slam it deep. And I had no chance of lasting. None. The orgasm washed over me as I came long and hard, head thrown back.
He switched off the vibrator and pulled it out. “You look so fucking gorgeous when you come.” He flipped me onto my stomach. “On your knees, Kensey. Good girl. I’m going to take you right here like this, but first …” His hand came down sharply on my ass.
I hissed at the sting, even though it quickly became a warmth that flooded my pussy. I tried to rear up, but his hand gripped my nape and kept me pinned to the mattress. Then he slapped my ass again. And again. And again. Until the skin burned and throbbed. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the pain, gripped my ass, and spanked me again.
“My good little girl, kneeling here with a pretty red ass. Shall we find out how wet you are?” He shoved two fingers inside me. “Dripping wet. And so damn hot and tight. Hmm, I can feel you rippling around my fingers. You need to come badly, don’t you?”
Yes, I damn well did. The earlier orgasm had only taken the edge off. When I felt the head of his cock bump my folds, I seriously almost cried with happiness.
“I’m going to fuck this pussy like I own it. Why would I do that, Kensey?”
“Because it’s yours.”
“That’s right. Your body was made to be fucked by me.” He gave my nape a little squeeze. “Keep your head down.” He slammed into me. Hard. So deep it knocked the breath right out of me.
A long, ‘oh, thank God’ groan slipped out of me, and my pussy clutched him greedily.
He swore. “Fuck, baby.” Then he was hammering into me at a frantic pace, leaning into me just enough to keep me pinned to the mattress. I gripped the bedsheets, moaning for more—harder, faster, deeper. He gave me what I wanted, needed, craved. Powered into me so roughly I knew I’d be sore.
I tensed a little as he started working his wet finger into my ass, even though he’d done it what felt like a thousand times before. He slid his finger all the way to the knuckle and started pounding my pussy harder. The double assault was too much, and I felt my release barreling toward me.
“Come, Kensey.” He slapped my ass hard, and the sting threw me over. White-hot pleasure fired through me like molten lava, swelling inside me until I imploded; distantly aware that Blake had bit out a harsh expletive as he shot jet after jet of come inside me. Then I was limp. Weightless. Drifting like a balloon that had had its tie snipped.
Blake curled over me and kissed my neck. “You did it again.”
“What?” I slurred.
“Screamed for me.”
“Fuck off, asshole.”
He just laughed.
Our seven-day trial run went by without incident. If Blake had any trouble sharing his space, dealing with my weirdness, or if he at all missed his cleaner, he didn’t show it. For such an intense and domineering person, he was surprisingly easy to live with.
He was a damn good cook too. I was no slouch in the kitchen either, so we alternated with the cooking. It worked out well.
I never found myself bored or lonely in the huge apartment without him, because I’d often spend that time proofing the final draft of my book—a long-ass, tedious process that I didn’t enjoy. During my short breaks, I’d take time to search the websites that featured royalty-free images, since I designed and created my own covers with the wonder that was Adobe Photoshop. I planned to do a cover reveal on my social media sites soon, so I needed to have the cover done and dusted. As such, there were times when I worked longer and later than Blake did. I’d get so caught up in my work that I’d be shocked to look up from the amazingly comfortable sofa to see him standing there, waiting with an amused smile for me to notice him.
Like before I moved in, we spent some of our evenings at the basement and others at his apartment, relaxing in front of the T.V.—and the skyline view—on his sofa. It was one of the latter evenings when Emma showed up with her husband and son.
The little boy from the photographs Smith sent to me rushed inside. “Uncle Bla—” He came to an abrupt halt when he spotted me, and little red dots stained his cheeks.
“Hello, Kyle.” Blake frowned when the kid wrapped his arms around Blake’s leg. “You’re not shy.”
“He is around girls,” said Emma. “Hi, Kensey, how are you?”
I returned her smile. “Great. You?”
“Fantastic.” She tipped her head toward the bearded male at her side. “This is my husband, Adam, and this is our son, Kyle.”
I narrowed my eyes at Adam. “You came to the bar a few days ago.” I only remembered him because Henry had mistaken him for someone else and made such a deal of it that he drew everyone’s attention.
Adam inclined his head, sheepish. “I heard a lot about you. I was curious.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You’ve never known a more curious person than Adam.”
“I have,” said Blake, sliding a meaningful glance my way. “No one is more inquisitive than Kensey.” Bending slightly, he lifted the little boy. “Kyle, this is my girl, Kensey.” He whispered, “Isn’t she pretty?”
Kyle nodded. “Your eyes aren’t the same color,” he blurted out.
I smiled. “I know. Do you think they should both be blue or both be green?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Green. No, blue. No, green.”
“You know what?” Blake said to him. “I think she looks better with one of each. What do you think?”
After a moment, Kyle nodded his agreement. “Can I go sit down by the windows while I play on my iPad?”
“Sure,” Blake told him, lowering him to the floor. Kyle quickly scurried off.
“We have that information you asked for,” Emma announced.
“I see,” said Blake. “Come through to the kitchen. Kensey can make us coffee.”
I arched an imperious brow. “Can I?”
“Of course you can,” he said, like he was giving me permission. Ignoring my snort, he took my hand and then led me to the kitchen.
Using my coffee machine, I prepared everyone a drink and then we settled at the island.
“So … Ricky Tate,” Blake prompted.
“He was diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was twenty,” said Emma.
Schizophrenia? I pursed my lips. “That explains a lot.” And I couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for him. Having your own brain turn against you that way had to be hard.
“He had treatment and therapy,” began Adam, “and it seems that he managed to get the condition under some form of control. He went back to high school, graduated, and he held a steady job with a bug extermination firm. Then, three months ago, he lost his shit in a spectacular fashion at work and was fired. His ex-employer hasn’t seen him since.”
“He lives with his mother,” said Emma. “But I’ve had someone watching that house every day, and they’ve never seen him coming or going.”
“I spoke to her,” Adam cut in. “She swears she has no idea where Ricky is, and she threatened to call the cops if I didn’t leave her alone. Very defensive and nervous.”
I rubbed at my nape. “What about Noah Linton?”
Emma’s nose wrinkled. “This may sound mean, but he’s a fairly boring person. Single. No kids. Never been married. His life seems to be his job.”
“No silver Sedan,” said Adam. “The guy doesn’t seem to own a car. He gets cabs everywhere. He’s smart. Super smart. Has multiple PhDs and a very nice condo just outside of Redwater that I find myself coveting.”
“He’s an only child,” added Emma. “Lost his parents in a road accident—adoptive parents, I should say. I found his birth certificate.” She gave me an inscrutable look. “His mother was, ‘Courtney Royal.’ Does that name ring a bell?”
My eyes fell closed. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Blake splayed a supportive hand on my back. “You know her?”
“She was one of Michael’s victims.” I knew the name of each and every one of them.
Blake swore. “That explains his obsession with Bale.”
“And it means that Linton has motive to target you,” Emma said to me. “A good motivation for playing games with you would be to hurt Bale. And who’d have every reason to hurt him? A relative of a person he killed. But I can’t imagine that Linton would regret being adopted or care much about what happened to his birth mother. Sorry if that sounds cold, but I read about Courtney Royal. She was one fucked up bitch.”
“How fucked up?” asked Blake.
“She was a prostitute,” said Emma. “She’d include her daughter, Ava, in her ‘scenes’ if the Johns paid enough, though she didn’t actually allow them to penetrate Ava until the kid was four. Not out of any motherly concern, but because her regular Johns liked it real rough and Royal didn’t want Ava dying from internal injuries. Apparently, she’d learned from the mistake she’d made with a baby she had before Ava. The police found the baby boy buried in Royal’s backyard—he was ten months old when he died.”
“Jesus,” Blake breathed.
“Yeah.” I raked a hand through my hair, stomach rolling as all the details of the case hit me. Courtney Royal had only been out of prison two weeks when Michael took her. He’d raped her with a variety of instruments—some blunt, some sharp—until she died of severe internal injuries, much like Ava had done. Then he’d decapitated and buried her, just like she’d done to her ten-month-old son.
Could I deny that the punishment fitted the crime? No. That sick, heartless bitch had deserved to suffer in some way. But in truth, Michael had killed her because he needed to kill. Her crimes had merely been the excuse. It could be said that he’d gotten justice for Ava and her baby brother in a roundabout way, but Royal’s torture and death had ultimately been to satisfy Michael.
“It would be odd to hear that Linton would want revenge on Bale for killing Royal, considering she was a twisted bitch,” said Adam. “But I suppose Linton might have convinced himself that she was innocent of the charges.”
“Maybe,” mused Emma. “I had one of my guys tail Linton. He lingered around Kensey’s apartment building a few times, always staying out of sight. But he never stayed long, and he never went inside. Never went back to the Vault, either. He didn’t follow you or your mother around, Kensey. In fact, he spends most of his time in his condo, typing away on his computer.”
“We also found out that he had a hospital stay a few weeks ago,” Adam said.
Blake frowned. “Hospital stay?”
“He was mugged in the parking garage of Redwater City Mall. Got knifed in the shoulder.” Adam looked at me. “Emma said someone tried to mug you at knifepoint in a parking garage once.”
I turned to Blake. “Eerie coincidence?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Blake.
“You think the person who did that to Kensey also did it to Linton?” Emma asked him.
Blake shrugged. “It’s possible.”
I plastered my hands to the sides of my head and groaned. “My head is spinning. Every time I lean more toward one person, I find out something that makes me think I was wrong.”
Emma gave me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t find out anything that could prove or disprove that Smith is Ricky Tate or Noah Linton.”
We talked for a little while longer, bouncing theories off one another—an exercise that came to nothing—until Adam glanced at his watch and said, “We best get going. Master K’s bedtime is coming up.”
A few minutes later, we were gathered at the front door as everyone said their goodbyes. Emma, Adam, and Kyle were just walking out the door when Blake’s cell began to ring. Whatever he saw on the screen made him frown. “This won’t take long,” he told me. He gave his family one last wave and then disappeared into the apartment to take the call.
I would have closed the door if Emma hadn’t planted herself in the doorway instead of following her son and husband over to the elevator. “So,” she began, “you’re living with my stepbrother.”
I just looked at her, trying to get a sense of whether this pleased her or not. She was giving nothing away. “How did you know?”
“I’m a PI. I notice things. Like how well you know your way around the kitchen. Like the coffee machines that are clearly yours. Also, he told me.”
I shifted from foot to foot, awkward. “It’s temporary.”
“Ah.” She smiled, looking oddly amused. “How are things going with you two?”
I shrugged. “Fine.”
“He’s open with you?”
“Sort of.”
She sighed, disappointed. “I was hoping he’d tell you what haunts him—or what he lets haunt him, I should say. He will eventually. I take it, then, that he hasn’t taken you down to B3 yet?”
“Not yet.”
She tutted. “That must have you imagining all kinds of messed-up scenarios. Honestly, Kensey, what’s down there isn’t so bad. Really, it’s not. But you’ll learn that for yourself soon enough, just as you’ll learn other things. I’m hoping you’ll show the same spunk you showed at the garage when you stumbled upon that scene, because I think you may just have the power to hurt Blake. And I’d hate to see him hurt again.”
“So would I,” I said, and she beamed at me. Then she was gone, and I closed the door.
Following the sound of Blake’s voice, I soon found myself standing in the doorway of his sleek, modern, executive-style home office.
He was sat at his desk, eyes intent on his large computer monitor as he spoke, “You don’t need me for this. You’re perfectly capable of meeting with him alone … Not possible … I already told you, it will be a while before I can leave Redwater overnight.” He sighed, seeming exasperated. “For the same reason that I haven’t gone away on any business trips lately—I have a personal situation to take care of … That’s all you need to know, Tara.”
Tara again? I barely held back a snarl.
“Because it’s not your business … We are friends, but that doesn’t make you privy to everything that goes on in my life … No, I’m busy … Yes, as a matter of fact, she is.” His face scrunched up into a grimace of disbelief. “Dumping my friends for pussy? Jesus, Tara, you need to get your fucking head straight.”
She needed to get a fucking bitch-slap—that was what she needed. Almost as if he’d heard that thought, Blake’s eyes snapped to me. I probably should have at least looked embarrassed for eavesdropping, but I was quite sure he wouldn’t have bought it anyway.
“I’ve told you before, Tara, she’s not a faceless fuck to me,” he said, gaze locked with mine. “If she was, I wouldn’t have her living with me.” With that, he hung up. And I had to smile, because it was highly unlikely that she took that news well.
“She drunk again?” I asked.
“No, just being a bitch.” Standing, he rounded the desk and crossed to me. “You all right? Emma and Adam threw a lot of information at you.”
“They did. And ironically, I’m more confused than I was before.”
Blake’s hands cupped my hips. “Linton could have the perfect motive, but it just doesn’t add up. Same with Ricky.”
I nodded. “All the pieces just won’t fall together.”
He kissed me. “I’ll find out who it is, one way or another.”
“Blake, you shouldn’t put your life on hold because of this situation. If you have business you need to see to outside of Redwater, you should—”
“I won’t be leaving you until this shit is over, Kensey,” he stated firmly, jaw set.
“I wouldn’t be alone.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not willing to trust your safety to others. I fully believe what I already said to you—you’re never safer than when you’re with me.”
“But it’s interfering with your project, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. Everything is happening exactly as it should. Tara simply …”
“Resents the time you’re spending with me,” I finished.
He sighed. “The way she’s been talking, it’s like she’s always thought of me, her, and Bastien as the three fucking musketeers or something. Now I have you. Bastien has Sarah. Tara’s acting like we’ve abandoned her or something like that.”
“She’s trying to make you feel guilty.”
“Tara’s good at mind games and manipulating people, but I know every move in her playbook. Her efforts are wasted on me.”
“She’s right, though,” I began, shaking my head in mock disapproval, “it’s not nice to dump your friends for pussy.”
His mouth curved. “But the pussy in question is so pretty and tight.” He kissed my cheek, whispering, “And it responds to me so nicely.” He pressed a kiss to my other cheek and then spoke into my ear, “And when it comes around my cock, rippling and squeezing, it feels like sheer fucking heaven.” He slowly snapped open my fly, adding, “And there’s something I love about your clit, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
I laughed, but that laugh quickly turned into a moan when his finger slid between my folds. For about the millionth time, I caught myself thinking that, damn, he was good.