When the view outside the bedroom window lifts from black to gray, I’m treated to my new favorite thing in the world:
Natalie waking up in my arms.
She stirs, sighing. Her head rests on my shoulder. I stroke her hair and kiss her softly on the lips. Her lashes flutter, then lift, then I’m gazing into those amazing blue-gray eyes and my heart is falling all over itself in happiness.
She whispers, “You were staring at me while I was sleeping.”
“I was.”
Suppressing a smile, she pretends to groan instead. “So creepy.”
I kiss her again, loving the feel of her soft mouth against mine. “I can’t help it.”
“You like me, huh?”
I say with utter conviction, “I’d impale whole armies on my sword if you asked me to.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That won’t be necessary.” After a pause: “Do you even have a sword?”
“Many, but they all fire bullets.”
“Ah. Gotcha.”
We smile at each other.
Heaven itself couldn’t be more fucking perfect than this.
She stretches against me like a cat, arching her back, all her muscles tensing, then settles back with a happy sigh, burrowing closer to my chest.
I bury my face in her hair and sniff like some kind of derelict addict.
Her laugh is soft and sweet. “I need to send a thank-you note to the company that makes my shampoo.”
“It’s not your shampoo that smells so good,” I say, my voice husky. “It’s you. You’re delicious.” I inhale against her neck. “The smell of your skin makes me high.”
She slides a hand up my neck and sinks her fingers into my hair, still softly laughing. “You’ve been listening to too many love songs.”
Then we’re kissing. Slow, soft kisses that linger, growing hot.
She presses her breasts against my chest. I sink my fingers into the curve of her hip and pull her closer.
“Are you sore?” I move my hand so now I’m fondling her ass cheeks.
“Yes. Everywhere. I love it.”
I exhale, blood rushing to my dick. I whisper, “You’re so fucking sweet, baby. You came so hard for me.”
She teases, “As I recall, you had a pretty intense orgasm yourself.”
“I saw stars.”
“You roared like a lion.”
“I did. That’s what you make me feel like. A lion. I’m your besotted lion, following you around on all fours.”
“Besotted. You’ve been googling love words. I like.”
Kissing her neck, I run my open hand all over her ass, thigh, hip, and back, memorizing every curve. Her skin is soft and smooth, warm and pliant.
I want to sink my teeth into every inch of it.
She whispers, “You’re growling, Simba.”
I playfully bite her neck. My dick is throbbing.
But I’m already late.
When I sigh against her throat, she knows.
“Oh no. So soon?”
The disappointment in her voice drives a stake through my heart. I roll to my back and pull her on top of me, arranging her as I love to do, so we’re chest to chest, belly to belly, thighs on top of thighs.
My chest aching, I say, “I won’t be able to come back for a while.”
“How long?”
I hesitate, but have to tell her the truth. “Probably a month.”
She’s silent.
Then she whispers, “My birthday’s February twentieth.”
“I know.”
“That’s about a month from now. So maybe…?”
“Yes. I promise.”
Some of the tension goes out of her body. In a small voice, she says, “Okay.”
It’s another stake through my heart, only this time, it’s stabbing me there over and over.
We lie quietly together. Our breathing falls in sync. Outside, a bird starts to sing a sweet, sad song of parting.
Christ. I’m losing my mind.
The ache inside my chest expands, sending a lump up into my throat.
After a long time, she murmurs, “I’ve been meaning to ask you—what happened with Chris? I haven’t seen him drive by in weeks.”
“I beheaded a horse and left it in his bed while he was sleeping.”
She jerks her head up and stares down at me with wide, horrified eyes.
“That was a joke, Natalie.”
She exhales. “Oh god. Jesus. Don’t do that to me!”
I feel a little insulted. “I’m a lot of bad things, but a man who cuts off the heads of innocent farm animals isn’t one of them.”
She quirks her lips and says, “Don’t get all snippy, gangster. That’s a very famous scene from a very famous Mafia movie, and you have a tendency toward dramatic gestures. It’s not like it’s out of the realm of possibility.”
“I don’t have a tendency toward dramatic gestures.”
“Oh, really? What would you call a ten-million-dollar trust fund? Ordinary?”
Lifting an eyebrow, I threaten softly, “Someone’s asking for a spanking.”
My expression makes her bite her lip.
I want to bite it, too.
I roll us over, press her down into the mattress, and take her mouth.
It’s a harder kiss than before. She’s as urgent as I am, kissing me back with the same desperation, digging her fingernails into my back.
I want so badly to shove my cock into her wet heat and fuck her one last time before I go, but it won’t help.
There’s no helping this awful, gnawing need.
No helping it, and no escaping it, either.
“So what was it?”
“What?”
“What you said to make Chris go away.”
“You broke our kiss to ask me about another man…while we’re naked in bed?”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
“Fine. Deputy Dipshit got a very civilized phone call from me, explaining why it wouldn’t be in his best interests to come anywhere near you again. Ever.”
Natalie looks at me very closely. Probably for clues about where I dumped the body.
I smile. “I said I was civilized.”
“Yes, you did. But I don’t think you actually know what the word means.”
“He’s alive and well, sweetheart. I promise.”
Traumatized, mentally scarred, but alive.
I painted a very explicit picture of what I’d do to him if he didn’t listen to me.
I give Nat one final, heartfelt kiss, then rise from the bed and get dressed.
She watches me in silence.
If her words hadn’t already shredded my heart, now her eyes would.
My voice thick, I say, “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you on your birthday, baby.”
Then I walk out the door, closing it behind me.
I stand there for a moment with my hand on the knob, my eyes closed, sucking in deep breaths to try to manage the ache in my chest. When I feel a nudge on my kneecap, I look down.
Mojo the terrible watchdog sits on the floor next to me, his tongue happily lolling from his mouth.
“Fucking dog,” I mutter, leaning down to scratch him behind the ears. “You’re too big to be such a softie.”
Mojo woofs softly. I think it means, Look who’s talking.
I retrieve my coat from the kitchen chair I threw it on when I came in through the back door and dig into the inside pocket for the 12-gauge buckshot shells I brought with me.
Then, before I leave, I load Natalie’s shotgun.
