Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2) (6 page)

Not that he was in love, or was someone’s boyfriend. Not at all, scratch that thought completely! In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a dry spell similar to this one, and now he did it freely and willingly. He’d come home after a long work shift and use his own hand to please himself while in the shower, and every single time it had been a part of Christine’s body that fluttered across his mind before the release came. Hard. Violently. Until he’d breathlessly lean his back against the cool tile of shower wall and drain the fire under the cascading water, watching part of him run down the drain, dreaming it would be so much better to shoot that load inside Christine.

Fourteen days without placing himself inside someone else took its toll, not only on his body but on his mind. She was nothing like the other women he’d been with, or met out. She was the only one not in hot pursuit of his body, and it drove him nuts. It would be so much easier if she’d just cave like everyone else, practically beg him to sleep with her, but she’d done exactly the opposite. And it drove him crazy.

Two weeks of daydreaming of her shoes, how her rounded bottom looked in her jeans when she walked, or the way her long hair grazed the location of her nipples in her tight t-shirts when it flew freely. He knew he should probably to do something about these new fantasies, or else, from this day on, every time someone offered him a sweet smelling cinnamon roll or said the word ‘bakery,’ his cock would salute the world inside his pants.

“Yes,” she mumbled, her hands cunningly squeezing the soft frosting for a large batch of vanilla cupcakes out of the plastic tube. “We have had coffees and kissed fleetingly a few times, not committing. Nothing big. Feels like high school all over again, but sure, Wayne, we’ve been seeing each other for two weeks.” The sound of the industrial mixer standing on the floor quieted down just to be emptied out on the baking counter, ready to be become another round of infamous cinnamon rolls.

“Anyhow,” he continued, his body leaning against the end of the counter, strong arms crossing his wide chest. “I have a conference I need to attend for work in New York.”

“M hm.” Her hands were working hard now spreading the warm dough out flat, brushing it with melted butter, then sprinkling a crunchy mix of sugar and cinnamon across the dough stretched out on the sparkling granite counter top. She didn’t even look at him while he was talking.

“Are you free this weekend?” he asked. “Want to join me in New York?”

She snorted a laugh and turned around slowly, sticky hands hanging down her sides.

“You haven’t paid that much attention to me, to be honest. I wouldn’t even consider us ‘dating.’ If what we are doing is called ‘dating,’ then you seem to be dating every goddamn woman in this town at the moment. I’m not sure I’m interested,” she answered, and put her hands back over the dough, rolling the corners towards the middle like a large burrito. “It’s a big step going from having morning conversations over coffee, to sharing a weekend away.”

“Did you just cuss at me?” he smiled, and turned his body against her.

“Maybe.” Her hands were busy again, folding and rolling the sweetness waiting under her fingers. He watched mesmerized how her dainty fingertips worked sideways over the dough, quickly as the legs of a spider, rolling, rolling, until the entire dough was rolled up like a fat snake having just swallowed its prey, yet smelling fantastic.

“So?”

“Two hotel rooms and I’ll agree to go with you. I haven’t seen New York, after all. And while we’re there I would appreciate if you could keep your pants shut, and not flirt with other women while I’m right next to you,” she answered.

“Are we dating?” he asked, his hands in his pockets.

“Are we?”

“It almost sounds like you think we are.”

Her right hand held a tight grip around the dough cutter and, with firm pushes, the sugar snake lying contently on the counter after feasting on melted butter and sweet spices, became a domino game of cinnamon rolls, pieces tipping others over, preparing themselves to become divine rolls baking in a warm waiting oven.

“I might be new in the game here,” she said, “after being married for some time, but I usually don’t go out and drink coffee or sit on the phone with men I don’t have feelings for. And I sure don’t kiss them. Do you?”

“Not men, no,” he smiled.

“Oh, bite me.” She shoved the first of many baking sheets filled with cinnamon rolls into the gaping mouth of the bakery’s dragon, ‘The Beast,’ as she called it, and slammed it shut. Hard.

“So, you like me? Nice. Thanks.”

“Aha, yeah. Not sure that was the answer I was waiting for. You’re so full of yourself, Wayne.” Another sheet followed the first into the heat of the dragon’s mouth.

“Oh, come on. I’m just kidding.”

“You know what,” she turned suddenly but instead of looking him in the eyes she stared down at his shoes across the floor, “maybe I don’t want to have anymore coffees or drinks with you, and it’s getting pretty late. You should go. Thanks for coming by.” She turned away and filled the last two sheets of raw dough, making The Beast open its gape for the final last rounds of buns to be made.

“Christine, come on.”

“I’m busy, Wayne. I will be busy tomorrow, the next day, and this weekend too. Find someone else. Anybody. It can’t be that hard: Chelsea the waitress, or Melissa who gave you a shoulder rub when we drank that beer at the bar a few evenings ago, or why not fancy-pants Jewels whose picture pops up on your phone when we have a coffee or go for a walk. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to finish my baking for tomorrow’s customers.”

Without as much as a look, she moved passed him to take out two perfectly baked sheets of golden brown cinnamon rolls and with the help of an oven mitt placed them on the cooling rack by the back wall. The oven mitt was still on her hand when she felt him right there, strong arms encircling her body, demanding her mouth onto his.

Like the first time she’d kissed him in here, a short, amazingly soft kiss, the same tingle crept up her spine until a church bell rang loud and clear at the top of her head. His hands found their way down to the back pockets of her jeans, passed them, and with a solid grasp of her butt pushed her body even tighter into his.

“I’m not going to be one of many, Wayne. I’m not your booty call.”

“You’re not,” he smirked, “but I do like your booty.”

“Very funny.”

“Please come this weekend? It’s just one single night. If you hate me after that weekend I won’t bother you anymore. I promise.” His large hands caressed her bottom, she noticed, but decided not to do anything about it. After all, it fed the desire blooming inside.

“Is anyone else coming?” she asked, her hands running up his arms, circling his neck.

“Nobody.”

“Not even Bryce?”

“Not even Bryce.”

“Two hotel rooms?”

“Two hotel rooms.”

“You’re paying?”

“I’m paying.” His mouth found perfect timing and softly pressed onto her right cheek, placing a faint kiss, then he whispered, “Please, Christine. I’m only asking you, no one else.” His hands grabbed her butt once more and pushed her up into his body once more.

“What time are you picking me up?”

“5:30 Saturday morning. You’ll be home here the following night. I’ll drive you home too.”

“Ok, it’s a deal. But no other women.” She stared at him, making her point.

“Oh, Christine, we have an awesome weekend ahead of us.”

Chapter Seven

The Westin did a fabulous job bringing its guests into the heart of the city. New York was thumping with energy every second, never slowing down, and when night time fell and the moon shone high in the New York sky, the beat didn’t die, it changed rhythm.

“It’s an amazing city! Look at all the buildings, and the cars, and the lights. Wow, just look Wayne. Look!” Her hands lay flat against the glass window stretching from floor to ceiling of the hotel room’s north wall, and her nose made smudges as her erratic movements seemed an attempt to take in every ounce of the city around her. From far below her feet, to high above her head, the Big Apple swept her away, stole a piece of her excitement, awed and impressed her. So different from the landscape at home of rural fields, a lone police officer, two bars, and a silence in which you could not only hear the sound of the night, but your own heartbeat. She wondered if a single soul would pay any attention if she decided to open the window and scream into the night. Around her people seemed too busy, too preoccupied, but with all right. With this many attractions, opportunities for communication, services that don’t sleep, she too would live life at high-speed not to miss out on any chances. Whatever they might be.

She sighed against the coldness of the glass and listened to soft footsteps moving behind her on the carpet. Wayne was fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, and walked slowly up to Christine’s sleek figure pressed against the window. As if she was part of it. She looked amazing, he thought. The curve of her body looked incredible in the tight shimmering material that was her dress. The open back didn’t make it any less attractive. The way her excitement moved her body made every muscle on her back twitch and stretch, and he found it profoundly erotic, yet he wasn’t touching her.

She, on the other hand, seemed too engaged in the new world of the large city to turn to him. And here he was, buck naked under the towel, willing to drop it and wait for her command, but it seemed that New York City had more to offer at this minute than he did, and for that he couldn’t blame her. For someone who’d never been to a city with more than a few thousand occupants, this, he knew, looked similar to the whole universe cramped onto one single island. Right now Manhattan had stolen the eyes of his lady, but he was determined to have them back by late evening, or at least by the end of tomorrow. Honestly, any time before touch down at home would be great. A tangible goal.

He turned slightly and went back to his suitcase wide open on the bed, pulled out underwear and decided to get dressed. Watching Christine was like watching a kid in a candy store on Christmas Eve, and he quite enjoyed it.

“You look very nice. I haven’t seen you in a suit since… well, never actually.” The lights of Manhattan had taken a backseat to her view of a very well dressed man in a dark ensemble. And for that he was happy.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbled, stretched a smile and corrected the tie while looking in the mirror.

“And that ass. Meeeow.” With a few steps she was right behind him, grabbing the muscles on the backside of his pants.

“Hey, stop it. I’m trying to get ready here.”

“Man, these feel good,” she said, continuing the stroking of his rounded cheeks. “I can’t stop squeezing them. You, my friend, have a magnificent ass. Oh gosh, I just want to pull these pants down and bite it.”

“Well, yours isn’t too bad either. From the little I’ve seen so far.” He finished off the bothersome knot around his neck and straightened his shirt with his hands.

“Thank you. Well, even I think my ass looks pretty good in this dress.” With a smile she stepped away from him and grabbed her own ass for his viewing, gave it a firm slap, then headed for the door of the hotel room.

“Have you been drinking? And… are you wearing any underwear under there?”

She fingered the small purse sitting in her hand and turned back to him slowly, pursing her lips into a smile.

“No, to both.”

“Oh, dear God. So, theoretically I could just fuck you anywhere by simply lifting up your dress?”

“Just because I’m not wearing anything under this dress,” her hand swiped across her hardening nipple down to her crotch, “doesn’t mean you can touch me. Yet. Patience is a virtue. But with my permission, yes, you could fuck me – theoretically.” She licked her lips and watched him struggle with the front of his pants, hands fumbling around his zipper.

“Are you okay, Wayne?”

“Just have to rearrange things a bit after you said that.”

“Things?” she mumbled low, purring, and teasingly swayed her hips over to him. “What things? This?” Her hand grabbed a firm hold of the standing erection inside his pants.

“Well, yeah.” Her touch made him stop every movement and let his hands fall to the sides of his clenching thighs. His eyes watching her hand move across the black fabric, failing to conceal a very noticeable bulge. Her pink fingernails scratched the thin fabric and it took everything in his power not to jerk forward into her grip, but he failed miserably. In a dream-like state, he closed his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath until he felt her soft lips on the side of his face. Her lips brushed his skin and the oh so wet tip of her tongue ran over his recently shaved skin.

At the same time her lips trailed up and grazed the bottom of his earlobe, her hand grabbed him even firmer. Making him grow even harder. Bigger. Her warm breath created words that from this moment on would make him think of nothing but sex. No, not sex. Fucking. Naked bodies. Women’s breasts. Voluptuous women’s bodies. Sex. Wanting. Yearning. Cum.

“What do you want me to do to you, Wayne?”

Everything,
right now
, he thought, his mind burning with erotic images, but nothing but a shallow sigh escaped his lips. He was panting, he noticed. Fuck.