Page 29 of Killer Bones

A compliment, and it strikes me dumb for a few seconds. A compliment from someone I hurt and fucked in public and have a few times promised to kill. “You are abnormal, but I like that.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her eyes widen.

Those eyes. “Stop making me think you’re a lost pet sitting on my doorstep, all needy and cute.”

“Me?”

I’m tempted to slap her.

Are we exchanging drivel like a date off Tinder? Next, I’ll be gushing over her looks. It’s not that her body isn’t attractive, but I can get naked girls almost anywhere. I’m more in love with what’s inside her head.

“Stay.” When she shifts, I press her to the wall using the flat of my palm.

She stays, wordless, though her bare feet move, adjusting in place.

Perfect obedience. I’m liking this, her, far too much.

I’m being obsessive, yet that has always been me. Obsessive. Meticulous.

Like—you didn’t mean to stand beside a cliff admiring the view with someone who will push you off? Bad luck? No, it was planning. I tend to think of all the things that can go wrong. I plan. Sometimes too much.

And so here I am wondering if I can save one girl from being exterminated by a man I detest—Montez. Just so I can toy with her afterward. She can be my midnight snack. The question then would be, how much of her will I consume before I tire of her?

I turn on the shower, and she gasps. I consider dodging the warm spray. Instead, I remain, getting misted and splashed. The water merrily drenches her, dripping off her nose, her chin, her erect nipples, wiggling in baroque curls of water down her body.

Lucky this is the tropics, and the boat is warm. Even so, her nipples become tempting buttons. The needle marks beneath them are obvious red spots. I thumb them and study her as Izzy eyes my hand. She swallows, her throat moving, and even that is sexy. Water droplets decorate her wavering eyelashes. She tracks my fingers as if they’re some Holy Grail of Sex.

Is this woman turned on again, already?

“Should I scrub all the filth off you?”

“I was thinking of pulling you under here with me.”

“Really?” I drawl. “Are you threatening me?” She has such plump areolas. All the better for fucking with, clamping, sucking.

“No?” Her voice quivers with tension.

I lean in closer and groan as my cock brushes her thigh.

“I doubt you can get me clean, sir. Every second I’m with you, I seem to get dirtier.”

“Corny line.” That sir, though, has caught me like a hook.

“You think?” Is she taunting me? Her gaze drops lower, to my cock.

I finger her jaw, her mouth, and her tongue curls out to find my thumb. Water pours off my arm and my chest before swirling down to my cock and running off my legs. I’m as wet as she is.

“We just killed two people back at that house, and you’re happy, trapped in here and awaiting execution tomorrow?”

I’m being casual while imagining my cock plowing into her—lifting her up the wall and entering her, sinking into that recently fisted cunt. I breathe deeply. No. Did I not decide it was a no? And she bled from my fist.

“Ah.” Her grimace and tiny frown-line says she’s more normal than I figured. “No. Not happy. Unless.” She whispers, “You’re saving me for later?”

It makes her sound like that midnight snack.

We’re both drenched, and for me it’s worse since I’m clothed. I step away to drag off my shirt, sodden pants, and underwear. Now we’re both naked.

I do the unthinkable. I kiss her.