Page 47 of The B!tch is Bad

I was so intent on swallowing the load as he screwed my mouth, I couldn’t be sure. But now that was my focus. Did he really just say that?

His fat dick spurted, his beautiful hips shuddered, and his ballsac slapped against my chin. I gulped and gulped as he clung to the headboard. The flood almost overwhelmed me for a second, and luckily his humping subdued, the flow eased, and he backed out, groaning.

Slipping one palm under my neck, he touched his lips to mine and whispered, “I mean that, Constance. I shouldn’t say it while my cock is in your mouth. But I love you to heaven and back. I love you like a guardian angel.”

“I love you as reeds love the waterside.”

Shocking me even further, he kissed me deeply then. Twining his tongue around mine, it didn’t seem to deter him that he licked his own spunk. I think that aroused me the most, to be honest. He stabbed his fingers through my hair, squashing his big, plump penis between his belly and mine.

I truly felt his love, like a sunbeam through a rain shower. His love was thirsty, sucking me up.

When he pulled back a couple inches, panting against my cheek, Arrow barked. Once. Like a little bell of alert. Scruffy joined in, drowsy as he awakened from his nap. Both Creed and I held our heads up. Yes. The doorbell.

Shit.

Creed jumped to his feet, first releasing my hands from their restraints, then buttoning his jeans. He unsnapped my ankle reins while commanding, “I’ll go see who it is. Come out when you can.”

I rose with trepidation to observe myself in the mirror. Tan ropes crisscrossed my pelvis with beautiful precision, different varieties of knots running from my belly button to clit. Boobs encircled by crimson twine, my pebbled areolas jutted out. Would this make a man lie that he loved me, caught up in the passionate moment? Mayhap.

Would I? No.

While Creed chatted with a man and woman in the living room, their voices muffled by yips from the dogs demanding to be petted, I reluctantly removed my bondage. I slithered the ropes into decorative piles on the bathroom vanity. Picking up my ratty T-shirt, I turned up my nose at it. Instead, I grabbed a summery dress I’d just handwashed and dried.

Creed entered just as I was zipping up the back.

“My kitten,” he said, placing his palm on the back of my neck. “That’s Elektra and Lytton. The shoe we found in Klozov’s house? A positive match to Scruffy.”

I swear, my heart thudded. Twirling around, I put my hands on Creed’s chest. “This means . . . “ We all knew what it meant. I didn’t need to say it.

He held me by the upper arms. “Yes. And Lytton? He told me Tobiah found one of Klozov’s aliases on Ebay. Apparently Britt Schickhaus purchased parts for a ghost gun.”

“A ghost gun?”

“Yeah. You buy unregistered parts and assemble the gun yourself. The bullet from the casing I found was a 9mm Glock. The parts Britt bought on Ebay were Glock. And the casing?”

I don’t think I uttered yes, even though I meant it.

“It has a partial print from Klozov loading it.”

I knew the next question. How are we gonna get him?