Page 40 of Welcome Home
My hand closes around the shovel before she sends it into the face of the detective. Her pretty pale eyes are wild with excitement as she turns to me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I growl. “Are you?”
“Let me do it Vosz, please.” She whispers, trying to free the shovel from my grip.
“My hand shakes as I cup her bruising cheek, rage quickly urging me to shed the man. “You know I would deny you nothing, but we have to be smart, my love.”
Her head snaps towards the road, finally able to hear the sirens, too. “Shit.”
“Where did you hit her the first time?”
“Her throat.” She answers, quickly growing frantic.
In seconds the weight of my foot settles on the gasping woman’s throat, adding just enough pressure to crush her windpipe all the while jerking off Oliver’s shirt and wiping my blood from myself. The grave is covered again, my shirt with it. Strength returning to me by the time tires squeal on our street. My head snaps to my Cora, her eyes blank, staring at the detective.
“You woke up to the sound of struggling, my love. Found me down here fighting her off. That is all you know. She attacked us.”
She nods. Her eyes slowly filling with tears, I watch in awe as she urges herself into a panic. The shovel in her hand as the back gate is flung open, flashlights and shouts filling the yard. She falls to her knees, sobbing.
And again, I’m the caring husband. Pretending not to smell the arousal dripping between her thighs.
18
Normality
The Wires - The Neighborhood
CoraThreeWeeksLater
I keep my eyes on the news coverage of the outbreak in New York, pretending to be interested in anything except the monster's hand slowly working up my leg. Soft, sweet, brushes of his fingertips that are inching closer and close to where we both want them. It’s been weeks since they cleared us of all fault in the death of Detective Rappert. Three weeks since we traded one damn investigation for another. Where Rachel’s husband Dennis couldn’t be less worried about where his pill headed wife had wondered off to after she’d partied a little too hard on Halloween. The others in her life were concerned.
She’d been officially listed as a missing person a week after we killed her. Of course, her ex-lover, who she apparently wrote about daily in her journals, would be a prime suspect.Great.
It hasn’t been all bad. I’m kept happy and spread wide most of the time. Entertained by tales of the endless lives my husband has lived. A little more than shocked when he admitted to being an infamous serial killer in the eighties. Not that I can judge, I am technically one death shy of being a serial killer, too. It’s crazy to think a year ago my biggest concern was being a good enough housewife that my husband would pay attention to me and now?
I can’t hide my smile.
I’m a killer, probably under investigation by the police again. About to be fingered by a monster of biblical proportions.
I’ve never been happier.
This house, this life… it’s all bearable because within these walls I’m safe, I’m me and cherished deeply for it. I giggle as he parts my legs, slipping his finger through my wet folds. “You’ll be late getting to the hospital.”
He grumbles, ignoring me.
“Oli-“
His growl cuts me off and I laugh. Loving when he gets jealous. “Hewas never late.”
“He was a fucking idiot.” He grumbles done feigning innocence; his suit pulled tight over muscles as he splits his face. His skin is getting more and more used to being exposed. I had no idea until recently how badly it hurt him to be out of skin. How overwhelming. The suit rips as he shifts more parts of his body, his large cock straining against the fabric. A moan slips from my lips as I arch my back off the ripped designer sofa. His fingers slip inside me, testing and working me up, my body all too willing to accommodate him now.
I release a held breath as his tongue sneaks out, lavishing my clit as he finger fucks me, twisting and scissoring inside my clenching core. As always, my first orgasm comes quickly, sending me over the edge as I buck and fuck myself down on his hand, anticipating so much more.
He tears the suit bottoms the rest of the way, letting his heavy monstrous cock slip free. My eyes hood, my skin flush as I wait, needing it so badly I’m writhing on the couch. He’s taking his time, kneading my breasts hidden behind a small white dress.
“I want it.” I moan.
“Want what, my sweet Cora?”
