ROMANCE: Mr. Mystery: (New Adult Bad Boy Romance) (Contemporary Mystery Short Stories) (24 page)

On his knees in front of her, he pulled her to the edge and buried his face between her thighs, tongue stroking and sucking until her entire body quaked and he lapped at her slick heat until he was satisfied.

******

Will was rubbing his neck and staring at his shoes. He had bounded up to Ana in the aisle of the bookshop like a puppy until he realized though they were familiar enough, their interactions had been limited and he had no idea what he was going to say now that she was smiling politely at him.

"No school today, huh?" She helped him along.

"Nah. Spring break. I was just...just looking for a..."

She ducked her head slightly, finishing for him, "...a book?"

He coughed. "Yeah. Well, actually, no. The thing is, I was wondering...well, you know how Vincent's always kinda on me about 'work ethic' and how I need to 'grow the hell up', and I'm there every single weekend, even earlier than he asks sometimes—"

"Don't take it too personally. He just wants to see you do well. Vincent doesn't always realize his personal set of convictions don't have anything to do with the rest of us."

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine. I was just thinking, I really need the weekend off and I'm scared shitless of asking him. I was hoping maybe you could try to convince him it's ok to let me off the hook just this once? I really, really want to take Katie to the beach."

Ana smiled at him, shrugging. "Sure. I can't promise he'll listen, but—"

Will beamed, throwing his arms around Ana's neck in an exaggerated hug. "Thank you so much! Seriously! He'll totally listen to you, all he does is talk about you anyw—"

"Leave." Castor's steps were brisk, book in hand as he came barreling down the aisle.

"Yep!" Will practically hopped away.

Ana's shoulders shook with a silent laugh, lips pressed firmly in a poor display of disapproval. "Don't be so mean."

Castor tossed his book on top of the shelf. "Why?"

"He's just a kid."

"What does it matter if he's a kid or an adult? At what age do you deem it appropriate for treating someone like the annoying and useless little asshole they are?"

"He was hardly being an asshole."

He leaned back against the shelf she was sorting through, arms crossed and giving her a blatant once-over. "I don't like people who can't get to the point."

He leaned in toward her abruptly, eyes playful and brighter somehow. "Speaking of which, how's Vincent? Still dancing around his burning desire to fuck you?"

She pinned him with an open look of hurt, before narrowing her eyes and dismissing him. "Not half as often as you."

"Ouch. Clever girl."

Ana sighed and placed her book back on the shelf. "Go outside. People can hear us."

They walked under the threat of rain to the small park that divided the avenue between tourist-antiquing-haven and functional, every day shops.

Ana lit a cigarette, content to let him stare at her while the smoke filled the space between them.

She blew a cloud straight in his face, marveling at his preternatural stillness. She'd never seen him so much as flinch or blink. "Where do you disappear to?"

The hint of a smile played on his lips. "What are you worrying about, Ana?"

"Only curious. Indulge me."

He shrugged, looking down the avenue toward the fish market. "I have a family in Bar Harbor. Can't always stay away."

Ana tensed, her face apparently not quite as masked or impassive as she would've liked to believe it.

He rolled his eyes. "Gullibility doesn't suit you."

She smacked him on the arm, fingers burning slightly from the cold touch of his skin. "I don't know anything about you. Why shouldn't I believe you?"

"You know enough. Knowing everything would be boring anyway, wouldn't it? No one will ever know my mind, just as no one will ever know yours. Keeps things interesting."

"Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Deflect with these glib platitudes when you don't like my question."

That earned her a smile. "Found me out."

It was the first time she'd seen his teeth, a full-blown and genuine smile that transformed the severity of his features into someone so prepossessing she was left disarmed.

She cleared her throat and mumbled, "As good an answer as any, I suppose. Anyway, what did you want?"

"Let me stay over." His tone was low and serious enough to stir her pulse.

"No."

"I'll be good. I swear. I'll just sit on the couch, properly intriguing and sullen. You could write one of your stories about me."

"As tempting as that sounds, I think I'll pass."

He leaned in toward her and inhaled. "I don't have to be good, if that excites you more."

"Answer my question and I'll consider it."

"Which?"

"Where do you go during the day? Where do you disappear to when you leave?"

"Into the woods."

"Don't fuck with me. Be serious."

"I am. That's where I go."

His earlier comment rang true. "Whatever, I should be getting back. I'm tired."

He grabbed her arm, releasing slowly as though he'd just realized how much pressure he'd applied.

"Please."

"Why?"

"You're not any more tired than I am. I'll be gone again for a few days, and the only thing I want is to share the same space as you before I do. Please."

How could she refuse that? Even if she'd told herself otherwise, rehearsed it even, it's what she wanted.
 

******

Castor entered the house and went immediately to the hallway toward her room. "Which is yours?"

"Last on the right."

She stepped through the doorway to see him opening the drawers in her dresser, peering inside before he moved to the closet and began shoving pieces of her clothes to the side, occasionally stretching a shirt or dress out from its hanger to inspect it closer.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Rifling through your personal effects."

He moved to the desk next, picking up and observing the few pieces of jewelry and photographs strewn across the top. He picked up a thin sliver of a chain she'd purchased on a whim once in Argentina. She'd never worn it.

"Can I have this?" He asked, dangling it in the air as he continued to flip over photographs.

"Why?"

"How old are you? Stop asking that. Not everything needs a reason."

Something about Castor made her want to give him everything in her possession. "Sure. It's yours."

He pocketed it with satisfaction, turning to face her with a clap of his hands. "So. What are we going to write about me tonight?"

An hour or so later he lay stretched across her sofa, feet dangling over one end, arms behind his head. Rain began to pelt down on the roof, drowning out her nerves and settling her into a lull. She couldn't shake the image of Castor's head between her legs, the urgency she'd felt in his hands as he'd gripped her tight. The way he looked at her as if she'd struck a match and lit it at his feet.

She slapped her laptop closed from where she lay on the floor across from him.

"I don't think I'll get anything else done tonight. Sorry if I'm boring you."

He shifted on his side, fully facing her. "You can't imagine how infinite my patience is."

"Try me."

He slid down from the couch and crawled toward her, stopping to hover just inches above her, legs straddled over either side. "I'm perfectly willing to wait years, lifetimes even, to get what I want."

Ana's lips twitched in amusement. "You promised you'd be good."

His expression was grave, voice quiet as he leaned further in, lips a whisper against hers. "The only time I'm good is with you."

He kissed her deep and slow, languishing. She felt him press against her, hard and yearning. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as he ran a hand down her side and under her sundress, kneading the space between her hip and ribs. Then he sat back on his knees, something predatory in the narrowing of his eyes as he looked her over.

"Will you undress for me?"

She felt as if she were on autopilot, under a strange spell as she sat up, ready to give him anything he asked as long as it pleased him. He took her hand and helped her to her feet, moving himself to sit on the couch as he faced her, standing shy in the middle of the living room floor.

She pulled the dress slowly over her head, more gracefully than she thought herself capable. His unabashed appreciation of her had made her bold. She unhooked her bra, letting it fall at her feet, then slipped noiselessly out of the small piece of lace around her hips. His eyes were dark and weighted with lust as he motioned for her to come nearer. Once her knees pressed against the couch, he pressed his face against her stomach, biting soft and slow around her hips and sides as he slid the flat of his palm between her legs, moved measured and agonizingly against her, left her wet and burning from his touch.

He rose to his feet, and began unbuttoning his shirt. He was lean and solid, surprising and exquisite. If they'd started out slowly, he was building the pace into something feverish—he pulled her with him to the floor and ran his nails along her rib cage, closing his mouth around her nipple and biting down lightly. She moaned out his name and he pinned her arms over her head, enclosing her wrists in one hand while the other pinched her clit hard and painful and fucking astounding.

He was worked up and panting, voice so deep it made her shiver. "Did he do this to you?"

She knew he meant Vincent, and though she felt a small wave of confusion, it did little to diffuse the sensation of his mouth searing across her neck. "Is that what you want to hear?"

He gave her that full blown smile again, something evil and magnificent. He worked his palm against her again, lips grazing her ear. "It turns out I have a perverse liking for jealousy."

She turned her head to snap at his lip, but he jerked away, grinning and wicked. "He was gentle," she panted. "Reverent."

He pinned her knee to the floor, pushed her leg wider and spread, then pinched her clit painfully until she cried out. "Is that how you want me to fuck you? Slow and gentle?" He pinched her again.

She shook her head, wringing a hand free to reach down and stroke him through his pants. "No. Not in the fucking slightest," she breathed.

He made a noise of pleasure deep in his throat, thoroughly delicious and primal. And then his hands were off of her, unzipping and tossing his pants to the side, crouching back down over her. She lifted onto her elbows and he pulled her up by the waist to straddle him, his fingers digging into her flesh with a fever. Castor pulled her down onto him sharply, filling her so perfectly and fully that she moaned into his mouth as he moved her hips with him, hard and circular. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her chest tightly against his. He assaulted her neck, working his way up to bite down on her lower lip, whispering "You're fucking perfect."