Page 13 of The Black Lotus (Fatal Florals Duet #2)

EIGHT

ASTER

“ B reaking news at eleven! We come to you live on the scene with Deputy Wiley to tell us what was found at an abandoned warehouse.” The news reporter points the microphone at a cop that looks vaguely familiar.

Sitting up straighter I look at the young deputy who is being interviewed, taking in all of his facial features.

I feel I have seen him somewhere before, but the mustache covering his upper lip reminds me of a hairy caterpillar and it is throwing off my memory.

Serena and I sit on the couch, a blanket thrown over our legs and her head resting on my chest as we watch our work being investigated. It took only a day for the body to be discovered by a homeless person who was looking for a warm place to sleep. Poor old guy got more than he bargained for.

“ What can you tell us about what happened here? People are speculating it was the Morbid Monet, some claiming he now has a partner, or worried it is a copycat? Can you elaborate anything on this matter?” the reporter asks.

“Evidence points to the Monet's signature, but we have to evaluate everything before we can come to any conclusions,” says the deputy, looking right into the camera.

“Can you tell us who the victim is?”

“Without DNA evidence we won’t know for sure, but based on the items left behind, we believe the victim is the Concord Killer.

” The reporter's mouth falls open at the shocking news, but she quickly composes herself.

“That is all I can tell you for now.” Deputy Wiley walks away before she can ask anything else, the camera following his frame as he heads back into the warehouse.

The reporter appears back on the screen.

“You heard it here first, folks. Has the Morbid Monet changed his victim profile? Has Salem’s most notorious killer gained a partner in crime?

Or is it someone else entirely?” She places her gloved hand to her ear.

“What? Okay,” she gulps into her ear piece “Ladies and gentlemen, we have pictures from the crime scene that an anonymous party has sent in; we will show it to you now but as a warning, viewer digression is advised.”

Serena looks at me, her eyebrows dipped as she sits up and stares at the scene intently. “Do you think it was Zephira?” she asks, her body vibrating from anticipation.

“Who else would it be but my annoying little sister?”

“She’s not that bad.”

I quirk a questioning brow at my sweet, naive girlfriend. “She’s keeping tabs on you for my mother, the woman who wants you dead.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “For now.” Turning her head to look back at me, a devious smile that has me fearing the ideas churning in her head. “I think we can get her on our side.”

“Sure if my mother didn’t have her claws embedded into her.” Serena rolls her eyes and focuses her attention back to the tv, relaxing back into my arms.

The frame switches to the picture of Nate laying there with his gun beside him, flowers in his hand over his open chest, and his musket balls over his one eye and the socket of the hanging one. Serena starts laughing, and I chuckle at her cleverness.

“You have to admit that is fucking funny,” she cries, swiping a tear from her eye.

Kissing the top of her head, I agree. “Yes. Yes, it is, my little vixen.”

The screen switches back to the reporter with her gloved hands covering her mouth, the microphone now hanging upside down in her grasp. Someone whispers her name, breaking her shock. She shakes her head and composes herself.

“As you can see, it looks like Monet's signature, but we can’t be sure until the police release more information. Thank you for joining us, and we will report back when we have any updates.”

Serena clicks off the tv, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. “I could go for some coffee; want a cup?”

Pushing her back down onto the couch, I get up. “I’ll make it; lay down and rest your eyes. It will take a while to brew.”

She nods, eyes fluttering closed as she lays back down. I grab the blanket she discarded and place it back over her, walking to the kitchen to make us coffee.

The events of last night were weird, but welcoming. I’ve never prepared a body with anyone before . I’ve always been alone, doing things my way. Getting to do them with Serena, having her special touch added, paying homage to me in her own way, swelled my heart.

I make a whole pot because I know my sleeping caffeine addict has to have more than one cup a day.

She usually goes to her favorite coffee place in the morning, but I told her to switch up her routine.

If I already learned her routine, there is no telling who else is learning it, too .

So now she makes coffee at home, complains it isn’t the same, but she agrees with my thought process and only goes to the shop randomly.

“You seriously need to slow down on your coffee intake, it isn’t good for your heart.”

“You need to learn to mind your own business when it comes to my favorite thing,” Serena teases, sucking loudly through the straw.

Scooting closer to my brave woman, my eyes travel to her lips as I whisper my next words. “I know the vice you prefer over that poison.”

Her sipping ceases, her gaze traveling down my body as her teeth chew on the plastic. I sit back on the couch. “But if you’d rather have caffeine filling you over me…”

She grabs my bicep, the drink placed in her hands stopping me from leaving her side. “Can’t I have both?” she muses.

Shaking my head I lean in, my voice caressing her ear. “I’m the only poison that can wreck you.” Her face turns a light pink shade as I go to grab her cup. My hands wrap around it and she grabs my wrist, a warning growl slipping past her lips. Did she just growl at me?

“If you want to keep those fingers you better let go of my cup.”

My hands retract and I wiggle my digits in front of her face. “You need these fingers to please you.”

She scoffs, showing me her own hands. “I have my own to use.”

She gets off the couch after placing her cup down.

Before I can say anything, she saunters up the steps.

I stalk behind her like a leopard waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Her steps slow as she makes her way to our bedroom, her breath being the only sound I can hear.

Her hand stalls turning the knob of our door, my breath tickling the back of her neck as she waits for the punishment she knows is coming.

“Go ahead. Open the door,” I taunt.

She takes a deep breath as the knob turns and I take that moment to wrap my arms around her legs, tossing her over my shoulder and laying a hard smack on her ass. She squeals, but doesn’t fight me, just lets her body hang.

I toss her onto our bed, her body bouncing when she lands, her hair a beautiful halo around her. Her mouth drops slightly open as I undo my belt and take it off. “Turn around.”

She licks her lips and obeys, laying on her stomach.

Placing my hands under her, I pull her into the position I need her in. “On your knees.”

She turns her head to look at me over her shoulder, her hair falling down in waves covering her beautiful face. I tuck a strand behind her ear, pressing the middle of her back down. Her head dips as my hands travel down to her ass to take off her jeans.

I growl my approval as my hand brushes her plump ass. Folding my belt in half I swing it down over my head, her skin turning a bright red from where it struck.

She moans her approval. “More.”

A dark chuckle slips out, my lips turning up. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

Harder, the belt lashes against her flesh, her teeth sucking in from the pain. “How many times do I have to whip you for you to learn your lesson?” I ask.

“One,” she breathes.

The sound of her ass being smacked by the black leather mixes with her panting, the erection in my pants growing. “Try again. This time you better be honest with yourself.”

“Seven.”

I place my finger on my lip, contemplating her answer. “Double it.”

A small gasp escapes her as her eyes pinch shut. She nods her head in defeat as I begin my assault on her skin. Small grunts of pain accompany the sound like a melody of my own creation. Her cries of torment will end in pleasure as her moans create a symphony of bliss.

After the seventh smack, I drop the belt, tearing my jeans down as I slam into her and her screams become my desire while my hand lays the final seven blows.

Her pussy constricts around my cock at the final strike, my cock emptying inside her, filling her with my volition.

Our breaths soon match one another as I slide out of her and kiss the marks of my fervor.

The machine beeps, and I take the whole pot and put it in the fridge.

Serena likes iced coffee after a nap, hot right when she wakes up in the morning, and whatever sounds good in the evening.

Putting it in the fridge gives her the option for either and keeps the coffee good for twenty-four hours, although with her, it never lasts that long.

I join my sleeping girl on the couch, placing her legs on my lap. Tipping my head back, thoughts of who might be coming next briefly crossing my mind before exhaustion takes over and I drift to sleep.

I wake to the sound of liquid hitting ice. Sitting up, groaning at my aching muscles, I look over and see Serena drinking her iced coffee with a mischievous look in her eyes.

Walking over to her, I grab the pot from her and make myself a cup. “What’s that look for?” I ask, placing the mug in the microwave.

“I was just thinking,” she hums, a calculating smile lifting her cheeks.

“About?” I ask, putting my vanilla cream and sugar in the steaming cup. I may be a dude but that doesn't mean I don’t like my coffee sweet. I actually prefer it that way. There’s nothing worse than bitter bean water.

She hops up on the island, and I stand between her legs, waiting for her to answer me. “About the tattoo you’re going to give me today.”

I raise one eyebrow. “Oh? Am I now?”

She nods enthusiastically, her hair swaying behind her. She looks up at me, her eyes big as her lower lips pouts, her hand reaching toward my already growing erection. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she teases, squeezing my cock.

Closing my eyes, I bask in the way her fingers work me up and down, my body humming and begging for more.

Then her hand is gone, a soft growl filling the air.

When I open my eyes in protest, hers are pinned on mine.

I grip the sides of her hips, making her yelp and her coffee slosh. “Only if I get to make you scream.”

Her eyes light up at my answer, the wheels already turning, trying to figure out if her screams will come from pain, pleasure, or both. I take her cup out of her hand, and lift her off the counter.

“So, is that a yes?”

“What do you think?”

She squeals. “I already know what I want!” She wiggles out of my arms and runs towards the stairs. “Well, I have an idea.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” I say, threading my fingers with hers as I lead us up the stairs to the room that holds all of my tattoo supplies.

We stop in the middle of the hall, her eyes scanning the room. “Why did we stop here?”

A wicked smile stretches my lips as I lift a framed picture of a fox sitting next to a hidden Grim Reaper with ominous woods in the background and a full moon shining high in the sky.

“Has that always been there?” she asks, tilting her head.

“I thought you were more observant than that,” I tease, pressing the button behind it that drops the stairs to the attic down.

Serena nearly jumps out of her skin, her hand clutching her heart as she falls back into my arms, my laughter shaking us both. She removes herself from my arms and tries to shove me. “That wasn’t funny. And you have a secret attic?”

Intertwining my fingers with hers, I lead us up the wooden steps. “You didn’t think I killed where I marked my own skin, did you?” I ask, lifting a brow, stopping to look behind me.

“It was either in your kill shed or one of the four other rooms, I’m sorry five rooms you have in your house.”

“Our house.” I correct her.

She smiles sheepishly. “Our house.” I turn back around and continue our journey up. “Don’t think that sweet comment will make me forget you had a secret part of your house. Any other secret rooms like a basement you’re hiding more things in?”

“Nope. Just this.” I motion as we step into the room and she takes in all the art I’ve drawn over the years. They cover every wall, except the one that has a circle window where a tattoo bed and all my supplies sit under.

“Wow.” Her hand glides across a drawing of a faceless man with his chest blown open and a swirl of words coming out. “You drew these?”

“I did.”

She looks at the others and then jumps onto the tattoo bed. “Who knew your drawings were even more breathtaking than your body art. You could give me a run for my money.”

I sit on the stool and wheel towards her, stopping between her legs. “No one, not even me, comes close to your art. Your nightmares in particular.” Kissing the inside of her covered thigh I push back. “Now are you ready to be marked by me forever?”