Page 150 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” she whispers, staring down at the body like it’s more of an inconvenience than anything else. I shake my head, following her gaze back to the black tarp cocoon lying beside a very shallow hole.
“Get out of here,” I tell her, taking the shovel from her fingers. I uncurl them one by one, studying her expression, the way her tongue slides subconsciously across her lower lip, the way her thighs squeeze tight against a rush of heat and need.
Oh, she feels it, too. I know she does.
“This is a terrible place to bury a body,” I add, and she turns away from me abruptly.
“And how was I supposed to know that?” she snaps, and I grin, tossing the shovel aside. She’s panting heavily as I step up close behind her, putting my lips to the salty-sweetness of her skin, tasting her with a long, hot drag of my tongue along the throbbing pulse of her carotid. Yum. I want to bite down so hard that she cries out, that she rubs her ass against my hard cock, that she begs me to fuck her good. “Shit, would you stop doing that?”
Laughter escapes me; I can’t help it. It’s low and dark and thick with perversion.
“Why don’t you take my car?” I offer, trying to be practical here. There’s blood leaking from the edge of the tarp; I imagine it’s on the inside of her trunk, too. I’ll need to clean that up. “Yours has too much blood in it; it needs a full detail. Go meet with that rich developer’s son in a clean, crime-free ride.”
I snort and, when my breath fans against her nape, she visibly shudders and lets out a small sound of need that I don’t think she’s even aware of. She doesn’t ask me how I know about that, about Alexei Grove, son of a man with mob connections. She understands that I keep tabs on everything that happens in and around Prescott, just like she does.
One thing I also notice? She doesn’t ask price this time.
That’s a good start for our future relationship, the one where she’s bouncing on my cock day in and day out. Every day, every night, me and Scarlett Force … together.
“Keys.” She holds out her palm, and I slide my keys from my pocket, knowing what a huge honor it is for Prescott kids to allow each other to drive their cars. As far as I know, she’s only ever extended the honor to Nisha, Bastian, and Lemon. Well, until recently when she let Jennifer handle a delicate situation that ended in disaster.
I’d considered thanking Widow for interrupting that race, for saving Scarlett from Ash Kelly’s cock—because that day, it was indeed Ash on the track—but she ended up fucking him anyway. I just hope he follows through with his threats and stays the hell away from my woman.
When I go to drop the keys in her palm, she snatches my wrist with her other hand, and I feel my cock stirring to life. What a temptation you are, Scarlett Force.
“If you fuck up my car, I’ll kill you next.”
I stare at her, taking in the high, strong lines of her cheekbones, the sharp bowtie shape of her upper lip, the swollen plumpness of her lower lip. And those eyes, dark and deep, endless, alluring.
I smile.
“I’ll return it, safe and sound. Pinky promise.” I offer up a nice, slow wink, and then lean in, hoping that she won’t pull away, that she’ll meet me halfway as she always does. Our mouths slide together and Scarlett sighs, this husky, needy purr that nearly shatters my self-control to pieces.
She kisses me back, just as I wanted, just as I hoped for. And then she pulls away, and my heart aches as I watch her step back.
“Bye,” I breathe. It’s the only thing I can think to say. I want her so badly right now that my body and heart are rebelling against my brain. No, Bohnes. She needs to know that she can trust you, that this is about more than sex and business. This is love, dark and sweet and tender. Eventually, she’ll see it. Eventually, she’ll see that she needn’t fear romance and intimacy.
I lick my lips as she walks away, grabbing a few items from the Pantera before she heads for my Chevelle. I bend down and pick the body up, carrying it to Scarlett’s trunk and dumping it back inside as I listen to the sound of my car’s tires on the dirt.
It isn’t easy for me either, to let her take my car like that. But it feels so supremely intimate somehow. That car, I fixed it up myself. Scarlett, she did the same with hers (with a bit of Bastian’s help). This is Prescott car culture in its most pure and perfect form.
