Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jigsaw

For the second time this week, I find myself in the hallway of the funeral home. Tonight, Margot doesn't lead me into the kitchen. She turns toward the stairs, resting her hand on the thick, dark, hardwood banister.

"Do you want to come up and see my place?" she asks over her shoulder.

That's why I'm here. "Sure."

A thrill of anticipation builds as I follow her up three long flights of stairs. I'm always excited to sleep with a woman but something about this feels different. That Margot trusts me to teach her everything she wants to know elevates this into something more than a simple hookup. The pressure to get things right, to give her the best experience, has me tied in knots that I'm looking forward to unraveling with her.

We finally reach the top. It's a small landing. Barely big enough for the two of us to stand on comfortably. The door reminds me of something you'd find on the outside of a house and it's purple. Margot presses her finger to a pad over the latch and the door clicks open.

The "apartment" isn't what I expected at all. No faded yellow wallpaper or gold carpet up here. No black walls, coffin, or goth decorations, either. It's an open space. Dark hardwood floors gleam under bright, white light fixtures. A living area with built-in bookcases. The walls and bookcases are painted a deep spring green. A large, over-stuffed royal blue lounge chair, the size of a twin bed, is tucked into a corner by the bookcases. It has a low table in front of it and a small round table next to it. Books are scattered over the tops of both. No sign of a television. Nothing to indicate she has guests on a regular basis, or ever.

The green ends in the kitchen, where everything is stark white and stainless steel. Two high-backed chairs are tucked under a counter that extends from the kitchen. A basket of red apples, bananas, and oranges sits in the center.

"This is nice." When she said she lived on the third floor of the funeral home, part of me worried she was trapped up here like Cinderella in the attic with the mice.

"Not what you expected?" she asks.

"No."

"After I graduated, passed my exams, and received my license, my father gave me the money to remodel the top floor," she explains. "It was a bunch of old, dark, twisty rooms before that."

"Nice graduation present." Kinda feels like she built her own—really nice—prison. She lives at her job, with dead people downstairs! —but I keep those thoughts to myself.

Two doors are on my left and Margot slides them open, revealing a long, narrow coat closet. She shrugs off her sweater and hangs it on a hook inside.

Past the closet, and farther left, there's a closed door that I assume is her bedroom. But the hallway continues, leading to two other closed doors.

She holds out her hand.

I stare at her.

She drops her hand. "You can hang that up in there if you want?" Her voice falters and she glances away.

I like Margot but I don't know her well enough to allow her to handle my cut. "Thanks." I slide it off, and hang it in the closet.

"Do you want something to drink?" She kicks off her shoes off and nudges them into a straight line next to several other pairs of sneakers and boots.

"Sure."

She glides soundlessly into the kitchen. Almost like a little kid skating across the polished floors. Cute.

I lean down and unlace my boots, toe them off and line them on the other side of the closet doors.

Something in the refrigerator clinks as she opens the double doors and stares inside. "I don't have beer or alcohol."

Without my boots, I slide silently into the kitchen until I'm right behind her. "That's okay."

She jumps and turns. "You're quick." Her interested gaze runs over me. "And quiet."

"For now."

She blushes and turns toward the fridge again.

"The Saratoga water's fine." I nod at one of the blue glass bottles lined up in the door.

She turns and stares at me with wide, shocked eyes, like my request doesn't compute. "Bikers drink mineral water?"

I snort. "I can't speak for all bikers. But this biker does whatever the fuck he wants." I reach past her and pluck one of the bottles free.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…" She grabs a bottle of lime juice and another mineral water.

"Yeah, you did. It's fine. You think we're all beer-swilling cavemen, I get it."

Her cheeks turn even redder. I should dial it back. Margot doesn't seem to recognize when I'm teasing her.

She'll learn.

I set the bottle on the counter and walk over to the sink. Pink hand soap that smells like flowers flows out of the dispenser. Better than nothing. I wash my hands quickly and grab a paper towel to dry them.

Margot watches intently, and pulls out a large, sliding drawer to reveal a garbage can.

"Grimy from touching all the cars." I tap my fingers together in front of her face.

She laughs softly.

I ease into one of the chairs at the kitchen counter and uncap my water. Margot stands across from me, keeping the counter between us.

"Does your father come up here often?" I ask.

"Almost never." She leans sideways and gestures toward the door where there's a small box in the wall. "He buzzes if he needs me." A slight smile curves her lips. "I'm finally getting him to text instead, though. It's been a slow process."

Yeah, I'll bet Cedarwood doesn't like change.

I won't ask how often she has guests overnight. Or if he gives her a hard time about it. Does she ever spend a night out ?

The seating options are limited. I'd like her closer, but I want to go at her pace. I turn, in case there's a couch I missed somewhere. But no, it's just the jumbo-sized blue lounge chair. It's roomy enough for two people if you don't mind snuggling. Looks like a better spot to get comfortable with each other instead of heading straight for her bedroom.

"You don't have people over often?"

"A select few." Her already anxious smile wobbles slightly. "Not a lot of people want to hang out at a funeral home." She rolls her eyes. "And the ones who are too eager to come over are usually walking red flags."

I snort and nod. That doesn't surprise me.

"You were the appropriate amount of interested and cautious," she adds.

"My interest is purely in you . Not the environment." In Margot's serene and modern apartment it's easy to forget there might be corpses downstairs.

"Do you mind if I change?" She tugs at the sides of her skirt.

But I've been aching to push that skirt up around your waist, bend you over something, and fuck you all night. "No, go ahead."

No coy invitation to follow her into the bedroom passes her lips. She doesn't even give me a second glance.

Maybe I need to recalibrate my expectations for tonight.

I take another sip of water and set it on the counter, then move over to the lounge chair to test it out. It's low to the ground and the arms are so wide, I basically have to crawl into it.

I'm situated with my back to the fluffy cushions when Margot returns. Part of me hoped she'd return in some sexy underwear but she's wearing loose gray pajama pants and a gray long-sleeved V-neck T-shirt with black flowers printed all over it. Simple, but still sexy as fuck on her.

"Oh, you moved." She stops and stares.

I pat the space next to my hip. "Come join me."

A shy smile curves her lips. She hesitates for a second, then hurries over and quickly climbs in.

"This is some chair." I turn on my side to face her. "It's big enough to be a bed."

"I do fall asleep reading here sometimes." She nods to the stack of books on the table next to me. "I work such odd hours that I want to unwind for a few minutes before bed but end up nodding off. It's comfy enough that I don't mind."

"Come closer," I urge.

She rolls onto her hip, so she's facing me.

"Closer." I grab her thigh and guide it over mine. "That's better." I slide my arm under her body, pulling her against me. "Much better."

"Oh." She rests her hand over my heart and stares at it for the longest time before finally lifting her gaze. "Can we kiss a little?" She raises two hopeful eyebrows.

That's more like it.

"We can kiss a lot," I answer.

A faint smile ghosts her lips. "I liked when you kissed me the other night."

"I'm surprised you remember me kissing you the other night."

Pink floods her cheeks and she shakes with nervous laughter. "I wasn't that bad."

"Nah, you were cute."

"Will you teach me how to be a good kisser?"

There's a subject I'm not sure I'm equipped to teach. An unfamiliar oily sensation slides through my chest. Shame? I don't spend a lot of time kissing, usually too eager to get straight to the fucking. And I don't want to admit that to Margot.

I trace my finger along her bottom lip. "I bet you're already a good kisser. Your lips were made for kissing."

She ducks her head, nuzzling against my chin like a shy kitten. I twist and kiss her cheek. Her lips press against my neck, not kissing or even sucking, more like she's checking my pulse.

Finally, she brushes her lips along my jaw. I cup the back of her head, turning her so our lips meet. A simple mouth to mouth touch. She hums a soft sound that seems encouraging. Jolts of satisfaction prickle my chest. I slide the tip of my tongue along the seam of her lips but no more.

I bet she thinks she's bad at kissing because some asshole slobbered all over her face. Who the fuck wants to deal with that? She's so hesitant, almost innocent, with the soft, long brushes of her lips against mine.

After a few teasing licks, she pushes closer, her body almost fully resting on mine. An encouraging groan works out of my throat. I slide my hand down and grip her ass, holding her against me. She buries her fingers in my hair, teasing her nails against my scalp. A deeper groan of satisfaction eases out of me. Nothing tickles my pleasure center like a woman's nails against my scalp.

Her lips part and I lightly stroke my tongue against hers. A quick taste and then I retreat.

"Mmm." She hums and presses her hands to my cheeks, trying to hold me still. "Tell me what to do."

I circle her wrist with my fingers and drag it back to my chest. "Put your hands on me."

She hums another happy sound and gently squeezes my pec, then my shoulder and down my arm. She pulls away, breaking our kiss and squeezes my biceps again. "God, your arms are amazing. Like granite."

Shaking with laughter I lean in and kiss her again. "Thank you."

She fiddles with the sleeve of my shirt. As bad as I want her hands on my skin, I'm not ready to take it off. I need her writhing and too desperate for my cock to ask any questions about all the scars on my back. And right now she's still in an exploratory, inquisitive mood.

She hitches her leg higher, her thigh accidentally grazing my hard dick desperately trying to make his presence known behind the fly of my jeans.

"Oh." Her eyes widen and she drops her gaze to my crotch, which does nothing but make my dick even more eager to show off.

"We've barely touched." Her voice holds a note of wonder— as if a hard dick is a novelty. "We were just kissing."

"Your sweet body's pressed against mine." I trace my fingers against her T-shirt, along the length of her spine, until I'm cupping her ass cheek through very thin pants. Not much else seems to be blocking our skin from touching. Maybe a thin pair of underwear or a thong? "You told me where you want the night to go. So, yeah, my dick's so hard it hurts."

"For me?"

I stretch my neck and pretend to search the room. "You see anyone else here?"

She laughs softly. "I feel like I tricked you into this."

Few women have ever worried about my feelings. I'm more like a carnival ride to most women I've encountered. Something wild and scary they enjoy for a few minutes. Then they have a fun story to share for the rest of their lives—all about how the mean, scarred biker who likes to play with knives gave them a few orgasms and sent them on their way.

"You didn't trick me into anything." How can she think I don't want to be here when I'm desperately trying to balance my need to go slow with her and my desire to fuck her to pieces?

I touch my lips to hers again. "I want to be here with you. We should talk about?—"

"Meeerow." Something bumps against my shin.

"What the fuck?" I yank my legs up, jostling Margot off of me. My gaze lands on a sleek black cat with bright, curious green eyes sitting on the edge of the chair.

"Meeerow." The little fucker jumps on me , and casually strolls up my body like I'm his personal balance beam. " Mrrp ." It dips its head and butts my chin to rub its soft silky fur against my face.

"Um, hi there." I carefully lower my hand and pat the cat's head.

Margot stares at us with wide eyes. She knows this cat, right? He didn't just wander in off the streets or come in with its owner's body?

" Mwrrawr ." The cat purrs like a motorboat and keeps rubbing my chin.

"Gretel, what are you doing?" Margot scoops the cat into her arms. "Sorry, I hope you don't mind cats. I didn't say anything because she never comes out of hiding when there's someone here."

Gretel's freakishly bright eyes are still focused on me. Her motorboat purr in full throttle, her little toes flexing and retracting like she's reaching for me.

"I like cats," I answer slowly. "Their give no fucks attitude speaks to my soul."

"That's Gretel," Margot laughs.

"I had farm cats when I was a kid. They weren't this friendly, though."

Margot sets Gretel down and the cat returns to rub herself all over my chest. I sit up and scratch behind her ears.

"She's never this friendly with people." The open-mouthed stare Margot's watching us with highlights this is a rare occasion. "Ever."

If my brothers were around, I'd make a crack like, "See, females of every species love me," but that seems like a weird thing to say to the woman I want to fuck about the cat who's currently drooling on my hand.

Gretel flops on the end of the chair and rolls to her back, kicking her paws in the air. I reach over to rub her belly and she playfully grabs my hand and swipes her scratchy tongue over my knuckles.

"Even her little toes are black," I say, playing with her paws.

Margot nods. "She was a shelter kitty, there on borrowed time. I saw her sweet face in a post someone shared and couldn't stop thinking about her." Her eyes water. "I always wanted a pet and Dad wouldn't let us because, you know, too much chance for it to get out and run downstairs during a service or something."

"But he let you have one now?"

"Well." Her lips stretch into a secret smile. "I didn't ask. Black cats have a hard time getting adopted and the shelter couldn't keep her much longer. So, I just brought her home."

"He doesn't even know she's here ?"

"No, he knows." She scratches behind Gretel's ears and that cat "mrrrps" at her again. "She's leash trained, so I take her for walks around the property sometimes. He just…" Margot shrugs. "Made peace with it, I guess."

Margot's a little badass in her own way.

Like her welcoming switch has been flipped off, Gretel rolls to her feet, hops off the chair and strolls away. She turns a corner and disappears.

"She's not going to come back and watch us, is she?" I ask.

Margot lifts one shoulder. "She's never shown interest in anyone else before, so anything is possible." She turns toward me. "Where were we?"

I curl a finger, inviting her closer. "You were earning an A-plus in kissing."

"Ooo, an A, huh? I never got those before."

"A- plus and really? You strike me as very studious."

She settles into the chair again, lining herself flush to me, so we're touching almost everywhere, relaxed and easy. "No, I was more the ‘Cs get degrees' kind of girl, until senior year. I need to really enjoy the subject matter to excel at it."

A deep rumble of laughter pours out of me. She blinks, then blushes. "Oh, I just realized what that sounded like." She presses her finger to my cheekbone, tracing to my chin. "It's true, though. I enjoy being in your presence."

Something in my chest thunks . What's this woman doing to me? My entire soul wants to leap into her hands for safekeeping.

"I've never felt like this before." She frowns, so adorably confused at…enjoying some light kissing?

This has been bugging me since the wedding and I have to ask before we go further.

I push her hair off her cheek and rest my finger under her chin, applying enough pressure so she'll look at me. "Who said you weren't good at sex?"

An edge creeps into my tone I didn't intend. I can't help it. Someone made her feel so bad about herself, she asked a biker she's got nothing in common with to teach her how to fuck, and now she seems shocked that I'm praising her kissing skills. Worse, she's surprised she likes kissing.

"It doesn't matter."

Who was it? Why did it bother her so damn much and where can I find him? Instead of a finger, I'll cut out his tongue. Then he'll never be able to hurt someone as sweet and vulnerable as Margot again.

"Yes, it matters. Tell me." I use my sternest tone.

She stares at me with pained eyes. "My ex."

"Well, I figured it was an ex. But he's an ex for a reason, right? Why do you care? People say all sorts of shitty things when they break up." Not that I'd ever broken up with anyone, but I've witnessed the horrible shit people are capable of when love twists into hate.

"I really don't want to talk about it," she says.

Fury shoots through my veins. Not at Margot. At whoever bruised her self-esteem. "Please?"

She shakes her head. "Not before we…Maybe after."

Whatever it is, she must think it's so awful, she doesn't want it in my head while I'm fucking her. She doesn't want me judging if her ex was right or not. Normally, the pushy asshole in me would keep badgering her until she told me everything I want to know.

But I just can't do that to Margot.

"Okay." I lean in and kiss her forehead. "I hope you trust me enough to tell me one day."

She bites her bottom lip. "I trust you or you wouldn't be here."

"Show me then." Usually, I'm not a fan of lots of physical contact. Unless it's for a specific—and damn good—reason. But I'm dying for Margot's touch. Eager to have her curious hands all over me again. "Touch me like you were before."

"People don't usually like me touching them," she whispers, sliding her hand over my shoulder and down my arm. "They think of what I do…"

I curl my hand around hers and bring it to my lips, kissing each of her fingertips. "I'm not afraid of anything, Margot."

Liar. I'm terrified of falling in love with this woman.