Page 8 of Beautiful Killer

“Fuck,” he said, watching me, a tight grittiness to his voice that did nothing to cool my overheated state.

He dropped down on me and I wrapped my legs around his waist. “It’s been a while,” I whispered.

He paused. “How long?”

“Three years.” I felt my face heat.

“Fuck,” he said again.

“Is that going to be a prob—” The head of his cock was at my opening.

“Good?” he said, voice gruff.

“Yes . . . I . . . I want you so bad. God, Zeke.” I ached for him and I wanted him to know. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I wanted to be honest with him. I’d never wanted anyone like I did him in this moment.

He stilled for a split second, then said, or more groaned, into the darkness, “Sunshine.”

Tingles drifted over my scalp, over my whole body at the way he said that, then I was groaning as well because he was pushing inside me, filling me. He felt perfect, exquisite.

He muttered something under his breath then started moving. I clung to him, unable to do anything else. My hands moved over his body, the parts of him I could reach, feeling every ridge of muscle, the way it moved under my hands as he fucked me, the rough texture of scar tissue in different spots, then down to his firm ass, the way he moved against me, as he drove inside me.

His mouth slid up the side of my throat and he sucked and kissed my jaw, up to the sensitive spot behind my ear. I could hear every grunt and growl and deep groan. Perfection.

I turned into him, my mouth going to his ear. “Zeke . . .” I moaned. “I’m going to come again.”

He lifted to his elbows instantly and stared down at me, and I forced myself to stare back, to keep my eyes open as I cried out his name, at the pleasure he seemed to take from my nails dragging down his back. I came even harder than before with those eyes taking in everything, every second. Finally, he dropped back down, buried his face into the side of my neck, and grinding his hips into mine, pushing deep, he came with a fierce growl, so hard his body shook.

I stared at the ceiling, blinking. I was pretty sure I was in shock. I’d just had the best sexual experience in my life with a complete stranger, a scary, rough, growly, scarred stranger.

He rolled to the side, and I followed, not ready to be separated from him, and pressed my cheek to his hard chest, rested my hand on his abs. They twitched under my fingers, but he stayed where he was. Neither one of us said anything. We just lay there in silence. His breathing was heavy, fast, and I listened as it evened out, until it was slow and steady.

He’d leave soon. Sadness washed over me. How could that be? We’d barely even talked—well, he hadn’t. How could you miss someone you didn’t even know, that you’d only known for a matter of hours? But I did. He’d get up and he’d go and I’d . . . miss him. I didn’t believe in love at first sight. It was a ridiculous notion. But I felt something. It was deep and it was profound.

I woke some time later when the bed jostled. My cheek wasn’t pressed to a hard, warm, muscular chest anymore, it was on my pillow—and I was alone. I rolled over. Zeke was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. He hadn’t put his shirt back on yet, and when he scooped it up and straightened, my breath got stuck in my throat. My room was still dark, but moonlight shone in through the windows since I hadn’t closed the curtains. His entire back was covered with a tattoo. A hooded figure, a sickle in his bony hand. The Grim Reaper. He shoved his shirt over his head, covering it, and turned to me.

Our eyes collided.

I stared at him and he stared back for what felt like forever.

“I need to go,” he said.

“I know.”

His eyes did a sweep of me, from head to toe, then he drew in a deep breath, let it out. Then turned and walked out the door.

I stared after him, gripping my sheet, and fought the urge to run after him and ask him to stay until morning.

Zeke leaving was for the best. Nothing good came from personal attachments, from relationships, friendships. The man I once thought was the one left when I couldn’t give him what he wanted. The only family I had ignored me until they wanted something from me. They’d left. They’d all left. It was the story of my life. And even though I didn’t actually know Zeke, I knew if I ever did get that close to him, and he did that to me as well, if he treated me that way, I might never get over it.

So I stayed where I was until I heard my front door click shut, then I sank deeper into the covers and pretended I was in a different home, someone else’s, filled with laughter and love, because right then, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to be alone anymore.