His lips trailed down past my jaw to my neck, and I locked my legs around the side of his thigh and ground against it, feeling my first jolt of full-on arousal, building inside me like a wave.
Right then I was ready to go at it. I wanted him in me. Wanted to wrap my legs around his hips and ride him until I made him moan.
Phin had other ideas.
He kissed his way along my neck, sliding his body down next to mine, breaking my leg-lock on him. His arms encircled my hips, hands grasping my ass, and his mouth found my nipples. He caught one in his teeth, held it between them while bathing it with his tongue. I tried to open my legs but he held them together, which drove me a little crazy as he switched from one breast to the other. He was too low for me to touch anything other than his head and back, so I locked my fingers in his blond hair and held on.
His head moved lower, licking my rib cage, my navel, and then slowly, maddeningly, to the top of my red pan ties. He rested his mouth there, letting me feel his hot breath through the fabric, and then began to kiss.
I moved my arms down, trying to help him tug my pan ties off, but he held my wrists and wouldn’t let me, continuing to move his mouth and jaw over my pubic mound, up and down and in small circles until it felt ready to catch fire.
I tried to fight him, wanted to end the foreplay and flip him over and straddle his face and let him devour me. I pressed up against his mouth, but he moved his face away each time I did.
Even though the pan ties stayed on, even though he deliberately avoided hitting the right spots, I felt the orgasm welling up. And then I understood what he was doing, other than teasing me.
It was okay to not be in control.
I moaned, turned my head to the side, took a corner of the pillow in my mouth, and let him have his way.
His way was torture. He licked my thighs, all around my panty line, his tongue slow and lazy, his hands cupping my bottom and raising me up to meet his mouth. Then, like it was tissue paper, he tore my underwear off, his warm wet lips directly on me.
Again I tried to open my legs. Again he held them together.
“Please,” I said.
But there was only more teasing, to the point where I couldn’t endure it anymore, and I was going to come even without any direct stimulation. My hips began to pump, moving without my control, and my hands clutched the mattress and a scream welled up in my throat and then…oh my God…then he finally opened my legs and his tongue found me and the tiny orgasm became a monster, plea sure so intense it almost hurt, building up and multiplying until I was nothing but pure sensation. I grabbed his head and ground against him as my whole body shook, captured and helpless in his beautiful mouth.
But it didn’t end with one. After the first, his fingers came into play, and he coaxed another orgasm out of me, and by that time I was pleading with him to enter me, promising him nonsensical things, begging to the point where I was near hysterical, and then he did.
Holy Mary mother of God.
Half an hour later, arms and legs tangled up, sweaty and glowing and wonderfully sore, I realized I could get really used to living in the now. For a guy dying of cancer, Phin’s refractory period was impressive. We’d done it twice, and might have gone for thirds when my cell phone rang.
Harry.
“I should get this,” I told Phin, pulling away.
His hand stayed on my ass, his finger making lazy circles. I slapped it away. I didn’t want to talk to Harry McGlade while in any stage of arousal.
“Morning, Jackie. I found the first phone. Guess where it was? Go on. Guess.”
“I have no idea, Harry. A supermarket.” Postcoital glow left me a little scattershot.
“A supermarket? Why would she hide the phone in a supermarket?”
“You said guess, I guessed.”
“You sound funny. Did you just get laid?”
“Where was the goddamn phone, McGlade?”
“It was a supermarket. She plugged it into one of the outlets behind the fresh produce. According to the SIM, the second phone is in Gurnee. I’m on my way now.”
“We should meet you,” I said. “We still need the rifles.”
While fleeing from the Feebies, we’d left our long guns in the RV.
“I should be there in about an hour. And I’ve got someone for you to meet.”
There was a screech in the background.
“What was that?”
“That’s who I’m talking about. I’ve recruited some extra help on the case.”
Another screech. It sounded like a parrot.
“Did you buy a parrot? You had that Baretta fetish when we were partners.”
“That was Columbo, not Baretta. I liked him for his trenchcoat. And Slappy is not a parrot.”
“Slappy?”
“You’ll meet him soon. I’ll call when I’m close. And make sure Phin wears a rubber.”
He hung up. I turned to Phin, wondering if I could make him beg like he had made me, but he was unfortunately putting on his jeans.
“Starving. I’ll pick up some food. You want coffee and donuts?”
“I’m a cop. Of course I want coffee and donuts. There’s money in my purse.”
I trusted him, I reminded myself. As he fished out a wad of bills, I reminded myself of it again.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll be waiting.” I grinned.
He left, and my grin became a crushing feeling of despair. What was up with that?
I didn’t regret the sex. The sex was great. I needed it. Phin was a fun partner, and lived up to the fantasies about him I’d never admitted to myself I had.
Latham? Of course I still missed Latham. Of course I still blamed myself for his death. But I wasn’t being disloyal, wasn’t cheating.
Alex wasn’t on my mind at that exact moment-we couldn’t do anything until she contacted us again anyway-so she wasn’t the cause of my emotional pain.
It was the pregnancy test. That’s why I wanted to weep.
I touched my belly, letting the tears come, feeling so interminably alone.
CHAPTER 32
ALAN ISN’T A BAD-LOOKING GUY. Not as muscular as Lance, but wiry and well proportioned, and easier to lift onto the bed. He’s dirty blond, and has a few days’ growth of beard that is salted with gray. Alex let him keep his underwear on for the time being; she has some questions to ask before they get to the fun stuff.
“Stay still and keep quiet, or I’ll juice you again,” she warns. “Just one more leg to secure.”
Alan stays still. He seems more dazed than scared. A combination of stun gun zaps and slaps to the side of the head make for a pretty disorienting cocktail. She tapes his ankle to the last foot of the bed, then gives the bottom of his foot a little tickle.
In the bathroom, she pours half a glass of water. On the marble sink top she crushes one of the egg-shaped tadalafil tablets she took from the coffee shop Lothario under her thumb, then scoops the powder into the water and stirs with her finger until it mostly dissolves. She brings the water back to Alan and holds up his head while he drinks.
“Do you know who I am?”
Alan swallows. He has a large Adam’s apple, which Alex finds sexy.
“You’re Alexandra Kork. You’re a serial killer. You escaped from a maximum security prison.”
“So Jack has mentioned me.”
Alan shakes his head. “Heard about you on CNN. Jack and I don’t talk.”
Alex runs her hand across his chest, squeezing his pecs.
“You must talk sometimes. Because here you are, hiding out in a hotel. Hiding from me.”
Alan’s face creases, what Alex takes to be his serious look.
“Jack and I are over. We’re divorced. We’re not even friends. Hurting me won’t hurt her.”