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even dripped some on the soles of her feet and took a moment to rub them.
    “I’ll fly o’er that bayou to you.”
    She let his voice take her away, out to the bayou where she’d grown up on the edges of New Orleans. Close enough for Dad to find work, but far enough away that she could remember paddling around to the neighbors in a pirogue . She could hear the cicadas singing and the gators bellowing in the night. They were the pleasant years of her life, wrapped in song and covered in warmth, before the storm hit and ripped it all away.
    Odalia didn’t know how long she’d lain there, but every time she moved, the wax cracked.
    “Come back to me, bébé ,” Jacques muttered, stroking her hair.
    “Hmm?”
    He chuckled, and something silver flashed in her peripheral vision.
    The problem with wax play—how did you get layers of it off?
    She turned her head and held her breath as Jacques ran a large pocketknife across her shoulder, shearing off several layers of wax in white, yellow and purple.
    Three empty glass cylinders with different saints printed on the surface lay on the floor nearby. While many kinksters bought expensive waxes to play with, the cost-conscious could purchase the cheap dollar-store candles. With a high paraffin content, they burned faster and cooler than many other brands. And at a dollar a pop, it was hard to argue a better three dollars spent.
    She watched as Jacques peeled back long strips of multi-colored wax. With each stroke of the blade, she breathed easier.
    He glanced at her but his gaze never rested long on her face. She didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if he were wiping her down. She appreciated the intense care he took, considering the knife was sharp. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to have a blade for show on his person. If he needed a knife, chances were it was to cut something.
    By the time Jacques had removed every piece of wax, she was boneless, relaxed and aroused.
    He helped her up off the bed and bundled the plastic and wax shavings into a ball. At some point he’d removed his shirt and shoes.
    “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” Odalia reached out and traced the darker dots inked in his flesh. They made a swirling geometric pattern over his left shoulder blade and down his arm.
    He held still as she traced the dots, but she got lost among them, unsure which connected to the other. It reminded her of her father’s tattoo, what he’d called a voodoo love amulet.
    Odalia laid her cheek against Jacques’ back and circled his waist with her arm. The scent of pears and vanilla filled the room. It even clung to his skin.
    “Stay tonight?” she asked.
    “Course.” He turned in her embrace, flattening his palms against her shoulders, bringing their bodies flush together. “I don’t want to leave you alone tonight.”
    He didn’t trust her on her own yet. Or maybe it was more about the person after her. Another cop. Whatever the reason, she’d take it. She needed him more than she needed her pride right now.
    Jacques ducked his head and took her mouth, suckling her lower lip between his. She sighed and leaned into his chest.
    She’d take him. Every delicious inch.
    Jacques swept her up in his arms and laid her out on the bed, dark intent in his gaze, but his caress was soft. His mouth whispered down her neck, over her collarbone and to her breasts.
    Finally!
    Odalia arched her back as he took one peak into her mouth and sucked. She moaned and gripped his shoulder, digging her nails in. He switched breasts, suckling the other while his fingers continued to play her body, lower and lower.
    She spread her legs, cradling his lower body between her thighs.
    Jacques slid lower, nipping at the taut flesh across her stomach.
    Oh, he wouldn’t…
    He was.
    Odalia gasped as Jacques blew a hot breath of air across her pussy. She fisted the sheets and moaned, free to be as loud as she fucking pleased here. She hadn’t had neighbors in almost a year. It was as private as she