Victim of Love (26 page)

For once, Beck seemed devoid of words. He held my gaze, his mouth open, breathing heavily. I took the opportunity to fill the silence, and spoke softly to him, accentuating each word with a pump of my hips. “You. Are. So. Fucking. Perfect.” I slammed down hard, and Beck grunted, then moaned. Drawing myself up, I repeated the action, thrusting with each word that huffed out of me. “So. Fucking. Hot. Beck.”

Deep, desperate sounds were coming out of Beck now, his face pulled back in a tight grimace, eyes closed. His arms stretched behind him, gripping the edge of the couch, and he lifted his hips as much as space would allow, meeting my thrusts. Just the sight of him like that, turned on and over the edge, knowing I was the one doing it to him, brought my orgasm to the door, knocking hard, demanding release.

But I didn’t touch my own cock, struggled to hold off, to maintain this as long as possible until Beck lost it completely. “That’s it,” I said as I slid up and down on him. “Give me everything, Beck.”

His hands slapped down onto my hips and his eyes opened. Moving with me, he clenched his teeth, then his mouth dropped open. “Olsen...now...hard.”

Taking the cue, I doubled my efforts, rewarded with Beck’s cries of pleasure. He grabbed my cock, and though it was an indelicate squeeze of his fist around me while he came, it was enough, and I shot off with him, losing myself in dizziness as bliss slammed through me, gripping the couch tighter so I wouldn’t fall over as I struggled to keep riding Beck until he was fully drained.

“Stop, stop,” Beck huffed as the last of his orgasm twisted his body. He stilled my hips with his hands. “Fuck, holy shit, stop.”

His hand slipped off my cock, and I replaced it with mine, working the last spasms of climax out. Then I reached down, pinching the condom, and gently slid off of him, being mindful of his obvious sensitivity now that he’d come.

The couch was too narrow to sidle up next to him, so I moved to the floor on wobbly legs, my entire body spent. Easing myself down, I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, trying to slow my breathing. My leg muscles burned from the effort of riding Beck, but the rest of me felt wonderful, euphoric, an entire night’s worth of longing sated completely.

Beck’s hand drifted down and touched my forehead, fingers gently stroking my temple. I took his hand and squeezed it. “How you doing?” I asked.

Beck slid onto his side and grinned down at me. “I’ve had worse nights.”

I smiled. “Me too.”

Beck’s smile slipped a little. “I guess you can’t stay over.”

I hadn’t even gotten to that stage in my brain, but felt a pinch of disappointment. “Okay.”

Sitting up, Beck said, “No, I wasn’t ordering you to leave. I meant that you have work early in the morning. I’d like you to stay if you don’t think it will be a pain in the ass in the morning.”

I chuckled. “I’ve already got a pain in my ass. But whether I stay or not is entirely up to you.” I certainly didn’t want to force anything, not with Beck’s odd sleeping issues.

Beck got on the floor and slid down beside me. “After the fuck you just gave me, the last thing I want to do is boot you out the door, Olsen. Please stay over?”

I studied his eyes, then swiped a lock of hair off his sweaty forehead. “Anything you want, Beck. If you’re sure.”

He hesitated a moment, and I thought I saw the smallest whisper of fear cross his expression. Then he grinned. “Anything I want, huh? So you’ll wear the Valkyrie helmet?”

“Anything but that. You freak.”

He sat up and took my hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

Chapter Sixteen

Bombshell

I woke in Beck’s cozy king-sized bed when the alarm on my phone bleeped. I reached over to the end table and shut it off. Beck’s bedroom was large and sparse, thick curtains covering the two windows so the morning light was muted and not offensive. I rubbed my eyes, noting the bed was empty save for me. At least I doubted Beck had fled on me, since we were in his house this time.

I sat up and yelped when I spotted Beck. He sat in a chair near the wall directly opposite the end of the bed, chin rested on his fist, watching me. “Morning,” he said.

“Holy shit. Morning, creepy. You watching me sleep?”

Beck smiled. “Yes.”

I got up and tugged on my jeans, then sat on the end of the bed, facing him. “Everything all right?”

Beck leaned back in the chair, stretching. “That’s just what I was trying to figure out.”

I watched him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he just smiled at me. “You going to tell me what that means?”

“I slept through the night,” he said. “You were in bed with me. And I slept through the night. Didn’t wake up once.”

Nerves danced in my stomach, warning me to proceed with caution. “And this is a big deal,” I said, my tone serious, no sarcasm.

Beck nodded once.

I wrung my hands. “If you weren’t the one alluding to this right now, please know I’d never ask. But will you ever tell me about the nightmares?”

Beck frowned, lips tightening. “How would it sit with you if I said no?”

“I have no problem with that,” I said.

Beck got off his chair and knelt in front of me, stroking my thighs as he looked up at me. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “It’s your business. You talk to me about what you want. Or don’t talk to me if you don’t want. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“I know you’re honest, Olsen. But I have to ask. When you say these things. That you don’t mind me not being out. That you don’t care if I keep things to myself. Are you just telling me what you think I want to hear? Or do you really mean it?”

I took his face in my hands. “I really mean it.” I kissed him. “Honestly.”

Beck smiled. “Despite what you said while you were fucking the life out of me last night, I think
you’re
the one who’s perfect.”

His words warmed me to my core, and I couldn’t speak.

Beck stood. “Hey, do you have time to scoot down to the corner to grab a coffee with me before you go? I’ve got nothing in the house. I’m kind of a stereotypical bachelor when it comes to sustenance.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” I wasn’t sure how much time I had, and still had to go home and shower and dress, but I didn’t mind being a few minutes late for work. I’d never been late a day in my life, was usually ten minutes early, so they could stuff it if they didn’t like it.

I finished dressing, and Beck also remained scruffy and un-showered in running pants and a tee shirt, a baseball cap masking his bedhead. We decided to ride down in my car, so I could head straight home from the coffee shop. Beck would walk back to his house, claiming he could use the exercise. “Thought I gave you a pretty good workout last night,” I said as I pulled the car into a spot in front of the café.

Beck’s head turned and he grinned at me. “Don’t get cocky. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve I haven’t tried on you yet.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

The café was crowded, so we waited in line. Once at the counter, I ordered coffee and a corn muffin. Beck got an iced coffee and an egg sandwich to go. Once we had our breakfast supplies, it was time for me to head home and get ready for work.

We were still in the crowded café, just a step away from the counter, when Beck gave me a kiss goodbye. It was brief, but it was a
real
kiss. Right there. In public. If I were a dog my tail would have been wagging.

I watched him leave the café, glancing over his shoulder and giving me a final smile before he pushed through the door and disappeared. I couldn’t stop the smile that crept up my face, regardless that I probably looked like a drunk standing there grinning by myself.

Pulling myself together, I started for the door, then paused when I saw a man frowning at me from a nearby booth. He sat with another guy, coffee and half eaten donuts in front of them on the table. It took me a moment to recognize him—graying hair, weathered face, stocky build. Then it hit me. John Pritchett. Evan’s brother. The man with the lovely wife and the big boat who’d taken me out on Boston Harbor.

He was staring at me, so I figured he must recognize me, despite making no move to say hello. I gave him a wave. He nodded once, but didn’t get up, so I moved on, leaving the café, the bell on the door jingling as I stepped outside.

Opening my car door, I leaned in and set my coffee in the cup holder, tossing the bag with my muffin onto the passenger seat. As I was about to climb in, I spotted John Pritchett stepping out of the café and walking toward me. “Olsen. You got a minute?”

“Hey John.” I shook his outstretched hand. “How are you?”

“Oh, I can’t complain, but sometimes I still do.” He smiled. “You off to work?”

“Yep. Heading in now.”

He nodded. “I saw you in the café. What are you doing with that guy?”

Damn. I don’t need this right now. And I don’t have time
. “Have you talked to Evan?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Why?”

“Evan and I kind of...well, it didn’t work out. We’re not going to see each other again. It was a mutual decision,” I was quick to add.

John Pritchett was a nice man, but he was a little bit scary right now, and I didn’t want him to see me as the guy who hurt his brother. Even if it was true.

John held his hands up. “I don’t care what’s going on with you and Evan. That’s your business. My question is why are you hanging around Beckett Turner?”

I scowled at him, my mouth falling open. “You know Beck?”

“Not personally. Know something about him, though. And trust me. You don’t want
any
of that.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was simply stunned.

“Look, I don’t want to get in your business, but you seem like a nice guy. Do you believe in God, Olsen?”

My confusion deepened. “I don’t know. Maybe. What’s this got to do with Beck?”

“Well, I do believe in God. And if he put you in front of me with Beckett Turner after meeting you the other night, then I have to think he wants me to say this to you. You don’t want anything to do with that guy, Olsen.”

Okay, enough of this
. I gave him a foul look, my stance stiff and defensive. “And why not exactly?”

“Why not? Because he’s a murderer. That’s
why not
.”

Sometimes someone says something so outrageous, that no matter how serious they seem, no matter how much you suspect they might punch you if you laugh, you have no choice. But the laughter that bubbled up out of me sounded slightly maniacal, a little too high-pitched, a little too edged with panic. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Take it easy.”

“Take it easy? What the fuck are you talking about, John?”

“Look, I’ve said what I have to say. I don’t want to say anymore.”

“Excuse me? You can’t just tell me someone I know and care about is a killer then walk away. What the fuck, John?”

“Take it
easy
, Olsen.” John glanced back at the café, then looked around before facing me again. He lowered his voice. “Look. He was never formally charged. And it wasn’t my case. But he sure was questioned, repeatedly, and there were a lot of reasons why. It was two years ago this September. I remember because it was right before I retired.”

“What happened?”

“A young man died tragically, and there were a whole lot of police officers who believed it was at Beckett Turner’s hands. And they were damn pissed off when he got away with it.”

“How did he die?” I demanded. “John,
what
happened? You started this, you came to me, now tell me what happened!”

“That’s all I can say.”

“That’s not all you can say! John!”

“That’s all I can say!” he shouted. “I’m out of line even saying this much. Jesus Christ, I’m trying to do you a favor here. Just watch your back, Olsen. The last guy who got close to Beckett Turner ended up dead.”

John turned and headed back toward the café.

“John!” I started after him.

Whirling around, he pointed at me. “
Goodbye
, Olsen,” he said, sounding eerily like his brother, Evan.

I stopped in my tracks, pausing my pursuit because of what I saw in John’s eyes.
Cop eyes
, warning violence if I pushed him further.

Assured I wasn’t going to follow him, he turned and headed back into the café.

Because he’s a murderer.

“No, he’s not,” I said aloud. “He’s absolutely fucking not.”

I stormed back to my car and got in.

In a daze, I drove home. In a daze, I showered, then dressed. In a daze, I got on my bike and headed to the hospital, not quite trusting myself behind the wheel of an automobile today.

And in a daze, I worked through the morning, avoiding Laurie at all costs, unable to look her in the eye for fear she’d see what was in mine. Confusion. Dread. Sadness. More confusion. Doubt.

After lunch, a text came in from Beck, asking how my day was, with a little smiley face emoticon.

How was my day? Oh, just perfect. A few hours after I’d promised Beck he could have all the secrets he wanted and I’d never ask questions, I found myself in a situation where I’d be forced to do just that. Being in the closet, selling black market death trophies, having a few demons that kept him up at night, these were things I could overlook. It wasn’t that I shared John’s opinion, in fact I refused to believe Beck was capable of murder. But he’d been a suspect in one. It would be one thing if I’d never run into John and heard the things he said. But I did, I had, and there was no way I could not talk with Beck about it.

I stared at the text for a long time. Finally I replied.

‘
Are you free tonight?
’

Beck responded within the minute.

‘
Miss me already?
’

I wrote back, my fingers shaking slightly. ‘
Maybe you could come by my place. We need to talk about something that happened today.
’

Beck didn’t respond for a long time. Nearly twenty minutes passed before I finally received a reply. ‘
That sounds ominous.
’

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Tell me about it.” I wrote back. ‘
Can you come?
’