Page 63 of Beautiful Killer

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sunny

I woke with Zeke’s hand on my breast, his mouth on my neck and his hard length digging against my butt.

“Morning,” he said, all sleep husky, against my ear.

“Morning,” I said back then gasped when his hand trailed down my stomach, then lower.

He growled and goose bumps lifted across my skin.

“Mmm, already nice and wet, Sunshine.”

His mmm had a sleep roughness and vibrated through me, making me shiver. “Yes,” I said, or more breathed on another sigh.

“Feel what you do to me?” he said, grinding his hips against me.

I felt it all right. I moaned, desperate for him.

A second later my thigh was lifted over his and he was sliding inside me. I fisted the sheets and groaned at the feel of him filling me. So good. So freaking good. His mouth stayed attached to my throat, kissing and nipping while he thrust slow and deep into me from behind. I arched, tilting back, taking more of him.

Zeke cursed. “Love how much you love me inside you,” he said.

Then there was no more talking, because he dropped his hand between my legs and started playing with my clit. I reached back, digging my nails into his ass, and cried out a minute later, coming hard, revealing in the feel of Zeke doing the same.

We lay like that for a while, no one saying anything while we caught our breath.

“I gotta take off early this morning,” he finally said. “Make sure you set the alarm after you, and go straight to work. Text me today, let me know where you are. We have a lead, and I’m hoping like fuck it’ll lead us to our guy. But until I know more, I need you to be vigilant, understand?”

A curl of fear tried to take hold, but I refused to let it. “Yes, of course.”

He kissed the side of my neck and climbed out of bed. The intimacy of that kiss hit me, hard. It wasn’t the first time—he did it a lot while we were in this bed. Kisses, touches, that had nothing to do with sex. I’d tried not to let them get to me, but add in the snuggling on the couch, the chicken soup, the sweet words, the way he always held me through the night, and I wasn’t fully convinced that he didn’t maybe have some feelings for me as well.

I watched him get dressed after he came back from the bathroom.

My gaze moved over the ink on his smooth, muscled back. “That tattoo on your back, does it have special significance?” I asked. I’d been wanting to ask ever since I’d seen it, but hadn’t had the courage until now.

He’d stilled, back still to me, and finally he shook his head, not saying anything.

A lie. Obviously.

I wanted to push, but he wasn’t going to share. He didn’t want to. In other words, I was delusional. He may like spending time with me, but nothing had changed. There were no growing feelings, not on his part. He said he cared about me, but the man was a closed book. He didn’t like to share. He didn’t like messy emotions or connections, and that included with me.

He finished dressing, shoved on his boots, and walked to the door. “Remember, let me know where you are today.”

“Okay,” I whispered around the stupid lump of emotion in my throat.

Then he was gone.

I lay there for a while longer, trying to work out how I was going to get out of this mess I’d gotten myself into, unscathed. I knew better, but here I was, on the cusp of heartbreak, and I had no one to blame but myself. I squeezed my eyes closed and took several steadying breaths to fight back the emotion rising. Because I knew what I needed to do.

I needed to end this thing between us, for my own sanity.

Shoving back the covers, I climbed out of bed. As soon as my feet hit the carpet, my hand flew to my mouth and I half ran, half stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it inside. Clutching my hair with one hand and gripping the toilet seat with the other, I emptied the meager contents of my stomach.

I took an hour before I could make it back to bed. I crawled in, trying to slow breathe, to calm my queasy stomach.

My conversation with Dr. Evans played thought my head.