Page 44 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

“Gage,” she murmurs. She doesn’t ask me to stop. Instead, she asks, “Can I touch you?”

A lightning bolt cracks inside me. I’ve been hard since I picked her up for dinner, and my cock twitches at the thought of those clever hands. We’ve been together almost two months. She deserves more.

I scrub a hand down my face, my other remaining selfishly up her skirt.

“It’s okay,” she says softly, not a trace of hurt. “You don’t have to.”

“Fuck, Jules.”

I reach for my belt, fumble it, and end up laughing when she takes over, freeing my cock and wrecking me with one look. She stares for a long moment, those copper streaks framing her face before she flicks her gaze up. “You’re a shower, aren’t you?”

God, this girl. How does she turn me on this much and make me feel utterly safe at the same time? When she reaches to grip me, I catch her wrist, lower my brows, and deadpan, “Princess, if you touch me, I’m going to need a condom.”

Her grin turns wicked. “My throat is your condom tonight, Gage.”

Fuck. Me.

When her tongue licks slow spirals around my head, there’s nothing else. No fucked-up past. Just Jubilee York and a tongue I’m convinced is as dangerous as the rest of her.

“Princess—ahh, hell, Jules. Yeah, God, like that.” My voice rumbles lower than I’ve ever heard it. “Christ, you’re so beautiful.”

She takes her time. Licks from base to tip, tracing the vein throbbing along my shaft, teasing, tormenting, never quite closing her mouth around me. My blood surges straight to my groin. She’s good at this.

My chest heaves. “Princess—fuck, if you don’t want me coming all over you⁠—”

Right at the edge, I grip her hair and drive myself down. Her throat smothers me like hot silk. All I feel is pressure building at the base of my spine. All I see is Jubilee. All I know is that I’m dangerously fucked for this girl.

I last three seconds before I’m spilling down her throat, pumping and jerking deeper while her eyes water and she takes everything.

“Shit—fuuuck.” The fuck comes out in one long drone.

I pull out, expecting it to spill down her chin. Instead, she grins like the cat that ate the canary, parts her lips, and wags her tongue to show me she swallowed every last drop. Then she kisses my crown and licks me clean.

Finding some semblance of control, I rescue my dick, tuck it away, and take her chin. “Princess, that tongue is a weapon. I’m fairly sure it violates the Geneva Convention.”

Pride glitters all over her features.

I adopt a stern expression. “Look at you. So pretty. So dirty. Sitting there like you didn’t just swallow my soul. Proud of yourself?”

She bites her lower lip. “If you’re proud, I’m proud.”

An airy laugh of disbelief leaves me. “Damn, you’re sweet.”

She rises to eye level and brushes her lips over mine. “You’re sweet, Gage. Seriously, you should bottle and patent that. Is it because you’re a pastry chef? Or because you’re secretly a cinnamon roll?”

A cinnamon-roll serial killer. If the dictionary ever needed a picture, mine would be first.

“Keep calling me sweet, Princess. You haven’t seen the sinful side yet.”

“Looking forward to it.” She kisses me again, rights her clothes, and hops out.

She’s goddamn skipping to the door—like a smug little fairy.

I watch until she disappears through the side entrance. Only then do I let my head fall back against the seat and exhale. Christ.

I give myself another thirty seconds before reaching for the gearshift. Until movement in my side mirror stops me. A man crosses the sidewalk toward the same entrance Jubilee used. Her landlord. I made it my business to know his face weeks ago. All my bones turn to steel.

He pulls out a key and lets himself inside.