Page 30 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer (Summers in Seaside)

twenty-nine

. . .

Elle

The doorbell yanks me out of sleep I don’t remember falling into.

One minute, I’m curled on the couch in Noah’s old T-shirt, watching birds in the sunlight through the slice in the blinds.

The next, I’m jolting awake with a line of drool on my cheek.

For a split second I don’t remember where I am, or why my neck feels like I fell asleep on a brick.

Then I register the couch, the stale air freshener, the faint ticking of the clock, and—oh, right—the corpse in my garage.

I swipe at my face, trying to erase the nap wrinkles, and shuffle to the door. When I swing it open, Noah is standing there like the universe’s cruelest wake-up call.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, leaning one broad shoulder against the doorframe, casual as if he doesn’t look like trouble incarnate.

I blink. “Don’t mock me.”

He blinks. “You’ve always looked the most beautiful to me when you’re trying the least.”

Well, shit.

I step aside to let him in. “Aren’t you supposed to text or something before showing up.”

“I did,” he says. “Maybe you were busy?” His eyes flick over me, taking in the damp mess of my hair, the fact that I’m wearing his old T-shirt like some pathetic badge of unresolved feelings.

“What do you want?” I ask, sharper than I mean to.

“Nice to see you too, dear.” He deadpans.

He points to the upstairs. “I thought I’d look at the kids’ bathroom. See if I could at least get the sink running again for now and I’ll finish the rest as I can. Just need some tools.”

My stomach drops. The garage is very much occupied. The last thing I need is him rummaging through it looking for tools.

“That’s not necessary,” I say too quickly. “I’ve got it handled.”

He arches a brow. “Really? Cause the kids said it’s been down and out since some guy stiffed you on a remodel.”

I glare. “I can handle things.”

“Uh-huh.” His smirk says he doesn’t believe me for a second. “Humor me, Elle.”

Shit.

He’s already moving toward the garage when I panic. My body does the only thing it can think of—stupid, reckless, primal. I grab his wrist. “Wait.”

He pauses, brows lifting in surprise.

And before I can talk myself out of it, I kiss him.

It’s supposed to be quick, just enough to distract, but the second my lips touch his, it’s like plugging into a live wire. His free hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer, and I forget the entire English language.

The kiss is rough, desperate—like neither of us planned it but both of us needed it. His mouth tastes like mint and coffee, and I want to drown in it. My heart pounds so hard it drowns out every rational thought, every reminder that there’s a very inconvenient corpse lying not twenty feet away.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. He studies me, eyes dark, lips curved in that way that always gets me in trouble.

“Interesting tactic,” he murmurs. “Could have just said you’ve got something else in mind.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, trying to catch my breath, “I’ve always been more of a hands-on communicator.”

He chuckles low in his throat, and for a terrifying second I think he’s going to press the issue—garage, bathroom, all of it. But then his hand lingers on my hip, and I see it: the shift. He’s distracted.

“Bathroom can wait,” he says softly, like it’s a concession just for me.

My pulse stutters. “I like the way you think.”

He kisses me again. Long, deep, slow and I lose myself. I wrap one leg, then the other around his waist and tilt my hips so I can feel him better. His body is hard and unrelenting. His cock already fighting against his zipper.

“Fuck, Elle,” Noah groans, his tone warning yet desperate.

We move as one to the kitchen island. I work myself against his cock, the pressure building.

My leggings are no defense against the coarse material of his jeans or the straining bulge beneath them.

I’ve never come this fast. If I don’t count toys.

But even my best vibrator doesn’t beat the feel of him against me.

When he bites down on my nipple through my t-shirt, I explode.

Crying out, loud and totally uninhibited.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to come in my house with no kids inside.

My head spins as the rough of his stubble scrapes through the thin fabric of my tee against the sensitive flesh, making me moan his name again and again.

“Fucking destroy me with those little moans, woman.”

He feels exciting and new, familiar and safe. I grab his hair to pull his head back so I can see his eyes.

“This changes nothing,” I pant.

“This changes everything,” he grunts.

I’m fighting for control I didn’t know I wanted and melting from his touch at the same time.

Noah moves a hand down my pants, and I realize he hasn’t even really touched me yet.

Either I’m pathetic or I’ve forgotten how great we are together.

But when his fingers breach my panties and push inside me, I forget everything altogether.

His hand is everywhere at once. Heel rubbing against my clit, one finger pulsing against my g-spot, another pumping smoothly in and out, and another breaching my ass. I’m not even sure how he has enough fingers for all those places at once, but I’m not questioning it.

The man has always had magic hands, and this is just a reminder. Because I’m going to come again.

I bury my face in his neck and bite down hard.

His entire body shudders with mine as I ride out my orgasm, the sounds of his enjoyment of me, his heavy breathing, his desperation to have more of me, it all just makes me hotter and feeling more out of control.

We haven’t been together in over two years.

I haven’t been with anyone else. I know the same is not true for him.

And I don’t care. At the very least, I don’t care right now.

I paw at his jeans to undo them and release his cock. We both groan as I grab it around the base. Thick, hot, long, hard… and sticky.

I look at him, one brow raised.

He leans back slightly and throws his hands up. “Yeah, okay. You did it. You made me come in my pants like a kid who can’t control himself. Happy?”

His expression is a cross between embarrassed and exasperated, making me laugh.

And laugh.

It occurs to me I haven’t laughed like this in a really long time.

Where everything is fucked up and perfect.

Where I feel oppressed and free. And I remember just how good this man makes me feel, not only sexually, but all the time.

It only takes a second before he’s laughing with me.

I grab his chin and force his mouth to mine.

We kiss until I’m ready to pass out from lack of oxygen and pull away gasping.

I have no idea how much time has passed.

I don’t think I care. I want to lose myself in this man and never be found.

Until his phone rings.

I groan, “Ignore it.”

He chuckles against my lips. “Not mine, baby. I think it’s yours.”

“Still ignore it,” I mumble.

“Could be the kids,” he says, taking a step back.

Fuck. First, I drive my kids around with a corpse in the back of the car. Now I’m willing to ignore them so I can fuck their dad.

Horrible mother.

I grab my phone off the counter. But it’s not the kids. It’s Amy.

AMY: WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME? ARE YOU DEAD TOO?

AMY: Your kids are fine, btw.

“Who else is dead?” Noah asks from over my shoulder.

“No one!” I slam my phone face down on the counter.

“Aren’t you going to answer her?”

“Yes.” I roll my eyes, and grab my phone back, then walk away from him to catch up on the dozens of text messages Amy sent while I was, er, napping.

The gist being she’s got an idea she thinks will work and we can go after it gets dark.

At this time of year, it won’t be dark until closer to eight or eight-thirty, so we’ll have time to kill. I’m getting good at killing things.

ME: Sorry - sleeping. Awake now.

I look up, Noah is on the porch on a call of his own. He’s pacing and rubbing the back of his neck. A sure sign that something bad has happened. I throw a K-cup in the coffee maker to brew a single mug. It’s ready by the time he hangs up and comes back inside.

“Want one to go?” I ask and hold up the mug.

He smiles and pulls on his jacket, the detective one with the shoulder holster that makes women weak and ex-wives nervous.

Then crosses the room to me. Right when I think he’s going to kiss me again, he takes my hand in his and brings the mug to his mouth and take a large sip, then moves us in unison to set it on the counter.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Then he kisses me. Like, kisses the fuck out of me. As in leaves me dizzy and breathless when he’s finished and takes a step back to look at me, “I’ve got something I need to deal with. I’ll call when I can. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

That’s an odd thing for him to say.

I grab my mug back for something to hold on to. “I’m hosting a Tupperware party later.”

He pauses at the door. “Please tell me that’s code for something naughty.”

I wink. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He laughs and leaves.

And I just stand there, mug in hand, watching the door close behind him, wondering if I’m going to have to get a whole lot more careful... or a whole lot more creative.

Kiki V-T lifts her head from the dog bed with a judgmental snort. Same, girl. Same.

When Amy lets herself in fifteen minutes later, she’s carrying a takeout bag, a gas station bag, and enough manic energy to power a small village.

Her hair’s damp from the shower, she’s wearing a shirt that says, “ Dead Inside but Caffeinated ,” and her eyes are bright with excitement when she says, “I know exactly what we need to do!”