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“You thirsty little Crow." He thrust into me again. "Not today. You’re not ready for my cock.”
“I’ll get ready. What do I need?”
“It's not what you need, it's what I need. Patience." He moaned. "That I don't have right now.” He trailed kisses down my spine. “Fuck, baby. I knew you would be perfect.” I felt more oil being poured onto my ass. “Perfect ass. Long neck made to fucking choke. Pliant body that wants to please.” He rubbed the oil between my cheeks, making everything feel slicker, making his giant cock slide in easier and drag back out. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for this man. To this man. For now, I just wanted him to use me like a dirty little slut. Take all his shame and guilt out on my body, fucking me limp.
“I didn’t think I’d like it. But it feels so good.”
“You’ll like it even better this way. With my cock in your pussy.”
I nodded again. And I felt him circle my asshole—God, it felt so fucking good—then the breach of his finger inside. My already boneless legs slipped down, unable to hold myself up from the sensation. I could hardly take any more, but I was ready to come again.
It was agonizingly slow, the way he fucked me. I knew he was watching everything, savoring the way we looked where we were joined. “Come, baby. I can feel your pussy tightening on my cock, let me make you come again. Please, Crow. I need to feel you come on my cock.”
His cock rocked against my g-spot—oh, fuck, he always found exactly the right spot—I came again. Softer this time, as if he’d already wrung out every ounce of pleasure and this was just the last drops in the bottle. Tears poured out. My body racked with silent sobs.
“Oh, Fuck, yes. My good girl,” he said through his orgasm. I was starting to realize Gus never lost control when he came. He just rocked himself solely until he released deep inside me. “Fuck, Decca. You’re so good. So good.”
I’d never thought anything could feel this perfect. It was heaven being pinned under my priest husband on the surface where he’d just been preparing loaves for church.
Gus, The Presentation of the Virgin Mary in the Temple
My heart lifted whenDecca walked through the front door. The two days she’d been gone had felt like weeks.
She’d been called out for another emergency. Good for the world. They needed her brand of dogged expertise. But I was bereft without her husky laugh and the flip of her tarot cards echoing through the house.
She’d been running herself ragged since the summer. And now that winter was approaching (the slower season for the dead) she still couldn’t seem to catch a break. It seemed like she was on a new site nearly every day.
Her keys slipped into the dish. When she turned around, her eyes searched for mine. Her body crumpled onto the bench beside the door.
The back of her head hit the wall as she stared up at the ceiling, quiet for a long stretch of time.
“Cobwebs,” she said. “I keep forgetting to take the broom to that corner.”
I tracked her eyes up to the ceiling. “Not now.”
“No.” Her eyes closed, and she shook her head. “Not now.”
“That bad, huh?”
She nodded. Her eyes still closed. The scenes were replaying in her head. Part of her was still out there. I could only imagine the horrifyingtableaux mortsseared into her retinas after the week she’d had.
Her mouth was set in a grim line. Her hands gripped the edge of the wooden bench.
Her body shook. So slightly, I did a double take. Her shoulders convulsed and rounded as she pulled her arms across her chest and hugged her body.
I’d never seen her cry before. Not like this. I’d never seen her show any emotion toward the dead, other than a long-suffering acceptance and a compulsion to serve. To solve the case. To bury any grief with humor.
“Dec?” I said her name quietly. I didn’t know if I should go to her or give her time to discharge whatever horrors she’d seen.
“I’m so cold.” Her voice broke. Tears spilled from her eyes.
I crossed the room in three strides to get to her. Pulling her up and into my arms, I held her firmly, pressing her face into my chest. Stroking her hair.
Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me. Protect your child. Heal her pain. Use me for your will.
And hers.
Her arms were folded between us, still protecting herself, even from me. Still crying into her hands instead of my dampening my shirt.
