Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [123]
“And you love it.” Smiling seductively, she winked at him.
“I love you,” Mike said. “I love you so damn much.”
“Not any more than I love you.” Lorie reached up and twined her hands behind his neck. “Sometimes I love you so much it hurts.”
He slipped his hand between her thighs and touched her intimately. “Tell me where it hurts, baby, and I’ll make it stop hurting.”
“Now who’s being wicked?” She laughed as he lifted himself up and over her, bracing himself with a hand on either side of her head. “You know where and you know just what to do.” She spread her legs in a blatant invitation.
Mike lifted her hips as he delved deeply and completely, taking her with a fierce hunger that equaled their mating in the shower less than an hour earlier. He could never get enough of Lorie. The more he made love to her, the more he wanted her.
She came first, crying out his name as her nails bit into his buttocks. That action sent him over the edge, headlong into an explosive orgasm.
He melted down on top of her and lay there until his heartbeat slowed and the aftershocks stopped rippling through his body. When he slid off her and onto his back, she eased away from him and got out of bed.
“Where are you going?” He held out his hand to grasp her and prevent her from leaving.
“I have to go,” she said. “He’s waiting for me.”
“Who’s waiting for you?” Mike sat up in bed.
“The Midnight Killer.”
“No! You can’t go. I won’t let him have you.”
She paused halfway to the door, and then turned and offered him a farewell smile. “I have to go. I have to pay for my sins. Once I’m gone, you can forget me. I can never hurt you or disappoint you ever again.”
Mike jumped out of bed and tried to catch Lorie before she left the bedroom, but his feet were so heavy that he couldn’t move.
“Lorie! I’ll never forget you. Never. Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me again.”
She disappeared down the hallway.
Mike’s chest ached. His breathing became labored. He tried to move, to run after her, but it was as if his feet were glued to the floor.
If he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t save her, then she would die.
If she died, he would die.
Then he heard the gunshots. One. Two. Three. Four. And in between each shot, Lorie screamed, each an agonized plea for help.
He cried out her name repeatedly, his voice intermingling with her screams and the gunshots.
Suddenly silence.
He managed to lift his heavy feet and move toward the door. It seemed to take forever to reach the hallway. Halfway down the hall, he felt something wet beneath his feet. He looked down and saw a narrow red stream trickling along the hardwood.
And at the end of the hall—God, please, no!
Lorie’s bloody nude body lay there, her beautiful brown eyes staring sightlessly through the slits in the decorative mask covering her face.
Mike woke instantly, but his head felt groggy and he ached deep inside, feeling the loss as if the dream had been real.
He sat up in bed and wiped the sweat from his face with his open palm. God in heaven, he had never had such a realistic nightmare. Yeah, sure, he’d had his share of wet dreams, a lot of them starring Lorie. But despite the orgasm that would require him to change into another pair of clean briefs, what he had experienced was far more than a sexual fantasy. It had been a horror show, a hellish vision that he couldn’t seem to shake.
After pulling himself together, he got out of bed, searched his bag in the semidark and found another pair of briefs. He made his way to the bathroom, disrobed, washed off, and put on the clean briefs.
Before returning to his bed, he once again paused outside Lorie’s room. Her bed was empty. Where is she?
Just as he barged into her room, halfway convinced that somehow the Midnight Killer had gotten to her, Lorie came walking out of the bathroom connected to her bedroom. When she saw him standing there wearing nothing but his briefs, she stopped cold and surveyed him from head to toe.
“Want something?” she asked.
“Just checking on you. When I saw that your bed was empty,