Voyeur (33 page)

him, the sensitive fissure of her anus hungry for him.

The opening stretched, and a soft burst of pain came with it. She cried out but then realized just as quickly that he'd found entry and his cock was

sliding, sliding, slowly into her ass.

"Oh my God," she heard herself whisper as the most bizarre sense of ful ness she'd ever experienced assaulted her. It was as if he'd found a new part of her body that she'd never known existed.

"So tight," he said, but his voice sounded weak now, too, as weak as she felt. "And you're so amazing, baby. So fucking amazing."

"I can't believe . . . you're in me there."

His hands massaged her hips and the cheeks of her ass. "I am, honey. Oh God, I am."

And then he began to move—slow, smal , light thrusts clearly designed not to hurt her. She met them, arching higher, eyes shut, lost in an entirely

new world of strange, heady pleasure that stretched through every inch of her body from head to toe, al -consuming.

And she thought she'd absorbed just about as much sensation as she could when something cool pressed between her thighs in front, and as it

began to buzz she realized it was the vibrator. She hadn't even seen it on the quilt with them in the dim lighting, but apparently Braden had thought

they might want it and was now reaching around to glide the toy cock back and forth in her slit while he fucked her ass.

The arc of pleasure was immediate—the orgasm coming mere seconds later, bursting through her with al the power of an exploding star. "Oh God!

Oh God! Oh God!" She heard herself practical y howling with the intensity of it, felt almost disconnected from her body. At some point, she realized she was no longer supporting herself on her hands but had col apsed, slumping down in front, resting her head on the quilt.

Behind her, Braden stil fucked her ass, but every tight stroke came with a hot, masculine moan—until he said, "I'm gonna come in your ass, honey,"

and then let out an enormous groan as he plunged deeper, harder, again, again, then crumpled atop her, spent.

After fal ing asleep on the quilt for a while, Laura felt Braden nudge her awake, take her hand, and lead her to the shower. They cleaned up, then fel naked into bed together, where they wordlessly made love again, Laura on top for a while, then Braden, lifting her ankles to his shoulders as he

drove relentlessly into her welcoming cunt.

Three more times through the night they fucked, until morning came and they realized they'd barely slept. "You'l sleep on the plane," he said gently, kissing her forehead.

After a quick breakfast of bagels and coffee, they returned upstairs so Laura could dress and finish packing. Braden came up behind her to tuck

the penis-shaped vibrator into her suitcase. She looked up at him, surprised. "I'm supposed to send this through the X-ray machine at the airport?"

It was a carry-on.

He grinned, winked. "I'm sure it's not the first one they've ever seen. Be bold, snowflake." And that easily, she decided she would be. It was a vibrator, not a machete—she could travel with it through the airport if she damn wel pleased. "And I want you to use it," he said, leaning close, "and think of me."

"I wil ," she said on a whisper, without hesitation.

"Good. That'l give me some nice fantasies."

They stood in the bedroom, staring into each other's eyes, and Laura felt like there was so much more to say—but she had no idea what.

Final y, she spoke softly. "Last night was . . . wel , there are no words. I'm glad you took that last little piece of me."

"I'm glad you gave it to me."

She sighed, said, "Wel ... I should go," and reached to zip her bag.

But he grabbed on to her wrist so that she looked up at him. "Not just last night—this whole time, Laura, has been … unforgettable."

She nodded, and knew she needed to leave quickly before she burst into tears and asked him to love her forever and then had her heart smashed

to bits when he looked horrified. "I should go," she said again.

Braden wheeled her suitcase to the stairs, then carried it down to the foyer. He wore flannel pants, thick socks, and a gray thermal pul over but said,

“I’l take this out for you."

She was putting on her coat and looked up to reply. "No, I can get it. You don t even have shoes on." When he started to protest, she lightened the mood. "I have to get used to toting around my vibrator without you, don’t I?"

The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly, his eyes smiling. "Yeah," he said softly, "I guess you do"

They stepped out onto the porch and he lifted his hands to her face. She looked up at him as the cold air chil ed her—and fel in love al over again

with his deep, expressive eyes and the dark stubble on his cheeks. He kissed her, slow, soft, letting his mouth linger on hers. It sent skitters of

pleasure al through her—as much as the first kiss from him had nearly a week ago.

"Bye, snowflake."

"Bye," she said and hoped to hel he couldn’t tel she was close to tears. She quickly wheeled her bag down the walk over a covering of fresh-fal en snow and to the back of her rented SUV.

"Drive safe," he cal ed as she opened the door to climb inside.

She only waved. Shut the door. Started the engine. And backed up the long driveway, aware that he stil stood on the porch watching her go.

And as she backed out onto the road and put the car in drive, a tear descended her cheek as the stark truth hit her.

It was over. Just like that. No more kisses. No more sex. No more cuddling or moaning, or breakfast with him, or dinner. No more snowflake.

Laura sat at her desk in her apartment in Seattle, putting the finishing touches on the book. Edna had been charged with murder, attempted arson,

and numerous counts of theft. And Sloane was preparing to depart back to his P.I. business in L.A.—but not before he was lauded for single-

handedly solving a murder while simultaneously putting out a fire. Of course, Riley got
no
credit for
her
work on the case—the local police chief giving her nothing more than a bit of halfhearted recognition for "detaining the culprit on the instructions of Sloane Bennett."

But for once, Riley wasn’t al that upset over the lack of respect for her detective skil s. Not only was she used to it, but her heart was already occupied with another sorrow—having to say good-bye to her lover, Sloane.

Riley looked up when the doorbel rang. Maybe it was a reporter coming to interview her about her part in Edna's apprehension! But no, the

Gazette
had spent al its coverage on Sloane, touting him as "the mysterious private investigator from California who solved a local murder completely on his own!" Or maybe, she thought, stil holding out hope for something good, it was her boss, Mr. Kelsey, coming to tel her he

was final y ready to promote her from secretary to private eye.

Yet, again, no—nothing had happened to change Kelsey's poor opinion other investigative abilities.

Ah wel , she'd been thwarted once more, but there would be other mysteries to solve, and one of these days, Riley was going to get the

recognition—and the job—she deserved.

Sighing, she pushed to her feet and opened the door— shocked to find Sloane standing on the other side, looking as dark and handsome

as ever. He held out a pink rose.

She bit her lip, touched that he'd remembered the day in the garden when she'd mentioned it was her favorite flower. Reaching out to accept

the rose, she raised it to her nose to breathe in the sweet fragrance, then smiled up into his eyes.

"It's cut from the secret garden," he said.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

Sloane took her free hand in his, lifting it to his mouth for a gentle, lingering kiss. "I know the garden turned out not to be ours alone, Riley, but when we were there, it felt like it belonged only to us."

She nodded, a bit numb and trying not to cry. She knew this was it, that he was leaving, even before he leaned in to kiss her forehead, then

her lips, and said, "Good-bye, Riley Wainscott. I won't forget you."

Riley stood at the door, peering blankly out at the stone path and lush green lawn long after Sloane had walked away. She girded herself with

what Aunt Mimsey had taught her: We
all have desires we can't push down—but life goes on.

Sloane had opened Riley to parts of herself she'd never known. And he'd made her a better detective, too. Her heart was a little broken right

now, but life
would
go on. And she'd be a happier, more complete person for having known him.

Laura sighed, having written the last words of the book she'd decided to cal
Dirty Little Secrets.
The title had struck her on the plane, and it seemed perfect. The book was
filled
with secrets – Aunt Mimsey’s, Edna’s, her own with Sloane, and even the Dorchesters had their secret

garden.

It also seemed the perfect title to sum up her memories of what had happened on the mountain. She'd told Monica she'd slept with her cousin, but

she'd given her friend none of the naughty details—not about the webcam or about Tommy, not about every other new experience Braden had

opened to her, and she never would. Those secrets would belong to Laura alone. Wel , and Braden, too, of course.

She'd handled their good-bye like a pro—a few tender kisses at the door, and out she'd gone, a brave new woman, ready to face the world now

changed and emboldened because of him. And she'd remained strong since then—but also a little torn inside, if she was honest with herself.

A sensual exhilaration stil echoed through her when she remembered the things she'd shared with him—Braden had given her ultimate thril s, and

he hadn't judged her for her decisions; he'd truly wanted only to give her pleasure. She knew she would cherish the memories they'd created in the

mountainside house together for the rest of her life, even if they
were
so outside her normal world that they almost seemed dreamy and unreal now.

But at the same time, she couldn't deny the sadness stil lurking inside her from missing him. Missing the intimacy they'd shared, and even just his

company. She feared she'd never experience that much intimacy with a man again. No other guy could ever open her up like that, get to those parts

of her, make her so comfortable with things that had started out seeming so forbidden. How on earth did a girl just say good-bye to that kind of trust, that kind of sharing?

Hard to believe, she thought, stil staring at her computer screen, that it had al started with a secret camera, and the man behind it. One more dirty little secret, she thought with a melancholy sigh.

Two weeks after turning in the book, Laura sat down at her computer in her snowflake-print flannel pajamas and lowered her coffee mug to the

coaster on her desk. After a brief glance out the window at the morning quiet of her Capitol Hil neighborhood, she hit the button to retrieve her mail.

She clicked to open one from her editor, Karen, sporting the subject line:
DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS INDEED!

Love it! Love Sloane! About time Riley had a real love life! I feel as if you've tapped into a whole new part of Riley's personality. Wil we see

Sloane again in the next book? Karen

Laura sat before her computer, stunned. She couldn’t have been more thril ed with her editors response to a book she'd truly fal en in love with as

she'd written it—but her editor wanted Sloane back in Riley's life? She hadn't even considered such a move. And though she immediately

understood the appeal of such an idea, she was more than a little reluctant to give Sloane a recurring role in Riley's stories. She'd envisioned the

dark stranger as someone Riley would simply remember fondly and think of wistful y. And the truth was, given that Braden had been the character's

inspiration, Laura feared it would just be plain painful to keep writing about him.

Taking a deep breath, she hit reply.

Karen—so glad you like the book! I'm real y proud of it and, like you, feel I know Riley even better than I did before writing it. About Sloane,

I'm not sure. I had envisioned Riley being changed by their affair—perhaps more outgoing, more sexual y confident, and more determined

than ever to prove herself—but I hadn't considered bringing him back in the future. Let me mul it over. Laura

She sighed at having been forced to think about Braden this early in the morning. Not even 8
a.m.,
and there he was, on the brain, where he would likely stay al day now. She sometimes thought he fil ed her thoughts as much as he had when she'd been at the house in Vail. The only difference

was, instead of being able to fuck him at night, she only lay down in her bed and
remembered.
Every touch. Every penetration. Every spine-tingling, soul-stirring kiss.

The next e-mail she opened was from Monica.

Wel ? Are you going out with the Starbucks dude?

Laura actual y shivered. A cute guy who hung at the Starbucks a few blocks away had asked her out last week, and she hadn't exactly given him an

answer, even as Monica had stood elbowing her and tel ing the guy how much Laura loved Mexican food.

A couple of months ago, she would have definitely accepted the invitation. He was good-looking, had a great smile, and whatever he did for a

living, it required wearing a wel -cut suit and tie. But for some reason she hadn't been able to put her finger on, she'd hesitated, tel ing him she'd have to get back to him. Now, having thought about it, she
could
put her finger on what the problem was—she didn't feel especial y comfortable with the idea of anyone touching her but Braden. And since dating customarily led to touching, it just seemed like a bad idea.

She e-mailed Monica back.

I don't think so.

The next thing she knew, an IM box popped up from her friend.
SEXYPSYCHIATRIST: Are you out of your freaking mind? He's a total hottie.