Page 37

Finn pushed in, I gasped at the familiar shock, and he began to thrust, thrust, thrust—before withdrawing. And then all over again. The prod, the push, the piercing me with careful, calculated deliberateness, changing angle, thrusting more deeply, thrust, thrust, thrust.

I moaned in time to his deep grunts, the guttural sounds he made with each thrust.

“Uhn…”

“Uhn…”

“Uhn…”

It was such a bewildering sensation to be taken. I felt helpless. I was helpless. But I wanted it, too. Part of the helplessness was desire. I wanted this. I wanted him. Always.

“Your smell, your taste, the sounds you make,” Finn gasped with each thrust. “You’re perfect, Keiran.”

He was always so loving, so sweet, trying so hard to reassure, but truthfully, I didn’t need reassurance about this.

I knew he loved fucking me, that my complete and total submission turned him on like nothing else.

I loved having that power. But it wasn’t about power.

It was about the ability to make him happy.

It all felt so good. That was the truth.

The dangerously teetering world suddenly locked back into place.

Finn reached beneath my belly, found my penis and tugged it back into life—and that was unexpected.

The scrape of his thick cock inside me, his hand rubbing me with unusual roughness, not hurting me, but less restrained than usual.

It startled me, excited me a little. Those intense but different feelings created a sudden shock of fluttering, flustered sensation that spread, expanded, and suddenly rolled through me in a giant rush.

I yelled in inarticulate reaction, coming a second time, dimly aware of Finn’s orgasm flooding me, hot, sticky.

My thighs shuddered, muscles clenching tight around Finn who was coming in gasps of wet heat, groaning deep in his throat as though he’d been mortally wounded, his hands biting into me reflexively, and then trying to smooth away any hurt.

We collapsed in a hot, damp tumble. I was wet and wobbly, inside and out, and Finn’s breath was coming in hot gasps against my ear.

Another of those funny shuddery half-laughs, half-sobs escaped me, and Finn wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. “All right?” His voice was gruff.

I nodded.

“It was good?”

“Always.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“Never.”

He leaned his forehead against my forehead, gently rubbed his nose against mine. Kunik . As kids we called it Eskimo kisses .

I smiled, made a sound of amusement in my throat.

He whispered, “I love you so much.”

My throat closed. Inarticulate in the aftermath.

We drifted in a silence somehow more restful than sleep.

I listened to the waves.

The soothing beat and boom of the incoming tide.

I’d been awake for a while, thinking, trying not to worry. The sound of the ocean woke me before the alarm. Had we set an alarm? The night before seemed a long time ago.

It took me a moment to sort out the days. Right. It was Saturday.

We were going to see Judge Baldwin.

And after that, everything would be changed forever.

Granted, everything was already changed forever.

I sighed. I was really getting to hate change.

I glanced at Finn’s sleeping face— was he sleeping? Not all change was bad.

Closing my eyes, I tried to pretend I could fall back asleep, tried to convince myself I didn’t notice the slice of sunlight through the parted drapes.

I wanted to spend every possible minute with Finn.

I wanted to savor the moment without thinking beyond cool cotton sheets and sunlight on my face, the sound of the ocean, and the entirely pleasant weight of Finn’s arm slung possessively around my waist.

Finn mumbled, “Morning.”

I glanced over. One bleary green eye studied me.

“Good morning.”

“Sleep okay?”

“Yes.” I was too exhausted not to have slept okay.

His closed his eye, didn’t say anything else. I smiled a little, studying him. He must have heard that faint sound of amusement. He opened his eyes again.

“What?”

I shook my head, then said, “I’ve been thinking, and I’m glad—well, relieved—that I’ll have the chance to tell Judge Baldwin I’m sorry.”

Finn said nothing.

“It’s not that I expect it to make a difference to him. But I want him to know I regret my actions. Everything.”

Still no comment from Finn.

“I used to think it was easier that he didn’t know that Dom was dead. I believed it was better to have hope. For years I told myself that.”

“No.” Finn was definite. “Not knowing is harder.”

Yes. I understood that now. After years of wondering why Milo had left. If he had left.

Finn said, “You were a kid. You didn’t have a lot of life experiences. Sometimes cruelty comes from a lack of empathy. Sometimes it’s a lack of imagination. But sometimes it’s simply the lack of experience.”

“It’s still strange to me that someone like Judge Baldwin could have a son like Dominic.

Because he really was a bully. Not to me.

He didn’t know I was alive. But to a lot of other people.

He was horrible to the girls he dated. Milo gave as good as he got.

But Dom used to roll over other kids like a Mack truck.

Roll over them, back up, and roll over them again. ”

Finn said, “Too much freedom, not enough supervision. An only child with a tragically dead mother and a father who spent the majority of his time pursuing a busy and demanding career? My guess is that Baldwin tried to make up for a lot of things by spoiling the kid. It wouldn’t be the first time that backfired. ”

True. That particular dynamic showed up a lot in fiction because it showed up a lot in real life.

“Judge Baldwin gave me my first mystery novel , ” I said. “ The Tower Treasure.”

Finn’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He said softly, “And the rest is history.”

I nodded. “He liked mysteries. Classic mystery.”

After a moment, Finn pushed up on his elbow, propping his head on his hand as he considered me. “You think U.N. Owen is Judge Baldwin?”

“It makes sense. If you’re right and he’s the one pulling the strings. Colby doesn’t strike me as an Agatha Christie fan.”

“Probably not.”

“It’s a pretty elaborate scheme.”

“There’s a lot of rage behind the calculation,” Finn agreed. “The cruelty is the point, as we so often hear these days.”

I sat up, pushed the covers back. “Do I have time for a swim? Or did you want to have breakfast and get going?”

“What time is it?” Finn peered at his watch. “My eyes won’t focus. How much did I drink last night?”

I reached for my glasses, checked the clock. “Six thirty.”

Finn groaned. “Go swim. We can have breakfast when you get back. Then we’ll drive up to Steeple Hill.”

I threw back the covers, glancing back as Finn’s outstretched fingertips brushed my ass.

“Or—?” he suggested.

I chuckled, shook my head. “If I’m going to spend another three hours in a car, I’ve got to work some of these kinks out of my back.”

“I’d be more than happy to help you work out your kinks.”

“Hold that thought.”

“I’d be more than happy to hold your d—”

I tossed the blankets over him.

Too early for tourists. Too cold for conference-goers nursing their second-degree hangovers. The Horizon Deck was quiet and deserted.

Just the way I liked it.

There were a couple of empty glasses on the deck by the hot tub. I raised my brows at a pair of plaid swim trunks discarded next to one of the mesh lounge chairs.

It was still damp and cool and gray this early in the morning. Mist curled over the glass safety barriers; the sky was a dull purple, as if bruised by the previous night. The only sound was the soft lapping of water against blue tile and the more distant thunder of the surf.

I dropped my towel over the back of the lounge chair nearest to the pool, left my glasses on the little table, and walked to the pool’s edge.

The surface was smooth, faintly steaming in the morning chill, light from the submerged lamps casting a soft green glow through the murkiness. The pool was empty, as expected.

I stepped out of my deck shoes, adjusted my goggles, and dove.

The lightly heated water embraced me in profound silence. I let myself sink, easily slipping into an almost meditative state. I kicked off the wall and swam two laps with long, clean strokes, my thoughts blessedly blank for the first time in days.

My awareness narrowed; I was solely focused on my breathing, my strokes, my kicks.

Reach, pull, breathe. Long and clean. Don’t rush the turn.

On the third lap, I rolled into a breath, opening my eyes mid-stroke—and something shifted in my periphery.

A strange shape seemed to drift below me, hovering over the bottom of the pool.

I instinctively kicked closer, expecting pool equipment, a towel, light bouncing off the tiles, a hallucination—

Time stopped.

The blurred outline sharpened just enough: pale limbs drifting without purpose, silver hair fanning out like seaweed, a gray T-shirt ballooning spinnaker-like over a waxen torso.

My underwater yell was distorted, muffled.

His eyes. His eyes were wide open, unfocused, milky from hours in the water. The slow sway of hair and fabric and those terrible blank eyes. Like a ghost.

I froze mid-descent, lungs burning, still rejecting what I was seeing even as realization crashed in with all the force of hydrostatic pressure

I instantly understood two things: it was already far too late for Colby, and my touching the body would make everything worse.

I kicked hard for the daylight, broke the surface with a gasp, lungs burning, water sluicing from my face in sheets.

I tore off my goggles. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe—not from exertion, but from sheer horror.

I swan to the side of the pool, my arms trembling as I clung to the edge of the deck, heart hammering.

This can’t be happening…

I blinked hard, once, twice, but I couldn’t get that image out of my brain. Colby, pale and suspended, floating just beyond reach.

Clumsily, I climbed out of the pool, grabbed my glasses, and padded across the deck to the pool phone.

I hit the emergency button.

Don’t get more involved than you already are.

Yeah, good luck with that.

“Front desk,” said a sleepy voice.

“You need to call security,” I got out. “There’s a body in the pool.”