Page 9 of Blood & Kisses

“Serial, not cereal,” I laugh, grabbing his butt cheek and not caring if students are walking, noticing us in our little world of killer naughtiness.

“You can’t be a serial until you’ve killed more than once,” he educates me as if I didn’t already know.

“Give it time,” I whisper.

“You’re not going to stop until all four of your animation characters are gone,” he states.

“That’s right. I can’t stop now. I’m only getting started, and Porky Pig is next,” I warn, in case he convinces himself that I’m not taking this seriously. “So, don’t try to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” his breath tickles my skin, yet it does surprise me that these men are not trying harder to stop me. Or maybe they think I’m not brave enough to keep going. Anyway, this is my private journey with a list that is personal to me; they’re welcome to bow out at any time.

His mouth claims mine; warm tongue dances with my tongue as those incredible hands run down to the base of my spine, then pinch my butt cheek. I wrap my arms around his neck as my feet lift from the ground, and he presses his solid muscular body against mine. There is a twinge of panic in my chest, but he seems to sense it and softens his touch. When we hear the words, “Oh my God, I can’t believe he’s dead,” from students walking past, Cormac pulls away, and the kiss ends.

He whispers, lacing his hand in mine, “I’m supposed to be acting depressed about Coach. This is hardly helping my cause. Let’s go home.”

“Which home?” I ask as the curious eyes of students watch us openly affectionate and declaring that we’re dating. “Your father’s house?”

“Yeah, why?” The bright light of the sun strikes our faces as we turn around the bend, and he shields the sun from his eyes with his free hand while I squint, blinded by the light and allowing him to lead me.

“It’s your dad, and…we’re about to do stuff under his roof. Maybe we should go to your frat house instead,” I suggest.

“Nah, I don’t want to be around all that fakery talking about Coach and pretending that he wasn’t a fuckwit,” he answers, surprising me.

“You have no reason to hate him, Cormac,” I say, slightly confused by his fury.

“Yeah, I do. He hurt you badly, and according to my father, you almost ended it all when those men hurt you. That’s why he stayed by your side day and night to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself,” he says quietly, squeezing my hand as memories of that time in my life storm in my mind, turning my stomach.

“I don’t regret shooting your coach,” I whisper with conviction.

“I know,” he says, pressing his lips against my temple, making me shiver. “You’ve done us a favor, Mantis Girl. Because he also hurt my best friend’s girlfriend, who is also my friend. Their lives are not the same because of that man. I’ve had a seething hatred toward him for some time.”

My analytical mind stews on his words for several moments as we climb inside his car. He’s claimed to have a seething hatred toward Coach Lyons for some time, yet he has only known me briefly and recently discovered what Coach did to Lucy in the past few days. His seething hatred seems to run deeper and longer than I realize, but at this moment, I keep my thoughts to myself.

5

“Let me take your mind off your problems,” Cormac says smoothly, his big fingers finding my thigh while his other hand is clamped tightly on the steering wheel.

“Driving one-handed through busy streets will only add to my problems,” I argue as his hand slips between my thigh, and I sigh just at the warmth of his hand and being in an intimate space. “So, you don’t care I’m a killer?”

“Nope,” he answers decisively. “That, of course, depends on who you kill. If it was me, then I might have a problem with it. But…if I’m going to be honest, it kinda turns me on.”

“What?” I laugh, surprised by his comment. “I murdered someone in cold blood.”

“Don’t say it, Rae,” he pokes fun, obviously not concerned about being in an intimate space with a killer. “Don’t say it. I’m so fucking hard right now. Every time you talk about killing someone, it just totally turns me on.”

“Rubbish,” I hit back, calling his bluff, then I glance down at his crotch to find that he’s full and pressing against his sweatpants crotch. “Jeezus, Cormac, you’re a freak.”

“A freak for you, Rae. And you could always help me out since you’re the one who started it,” he suggests, wiggling in his seat as the pressure is building.

“I’m kinda worried we might crash while distracted by our bodily urges,” I contend, even though I’m getting wet and horny as well and wondering how I can be so insensitive after murdering a man only hours ago, taking away a husband and father, but also a rapist. Let’s never forget that he is a horrible, disgusting rapist.

For some reason, my comments made him laugh, and I was startled by his reaction because he’s not a laughing type of guy.

“I’m sorry. Did I say something funny?” I ask, bemused but amused by his outburst and how lovely that deep laughter is.

“You, a so-called potential serial killer, are worried that we’ll crash? You were living in the fast lane the moment you pulled that trigger,” he outlines.

“O-kay, fair enough,” I agree, because he does have a valid point as I reach for the front of his pants and a grunt exudes from his mouth. His hand is still jammed between my legs, making me so wet that I’m going to have to change my panties when we get back to his father’s house. Strangely, the thought of changing my panties at Gabe’s house gets me hot as a sigh escapes my lips. Cormac shoots me a sly look as his hand moves closer to my clit while I paw at his crotch, releasing his hard cock from its cage.

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