By the time he'd settled on her breasts, she'd been ready for his entrance. He'd been ready, too; she could see his erection pulse with his heartbeat.Instead of going on with the sex, though, Bob had kissed a spiral up her left breast. By the time he'd reached her nipple, she'd been panting. Still, he'd delayed. He must have taken twice as long kissing another spiral up her right breast. When he'd kissed each thigh all the way to their junction, she'd pulled his face against her.If it had taken him forever to reach her center, he had wanted to stay there even longer. She had arched against his mouth again and again. She'd been sure that she'd been done by the time he'd finally glided into her, maybe done for years. Still, he'd evoked one more response on her part.Then, with his arms about her and his seed leaking out of her, she'd collapsed in sleep. Luckily, she hadn't needed to get up the next morning. She hadn't been out of the shower for an hour when Katherine had called at two. Because of course the police ‘knew’ it was the husband that always did these sorts of things. Miss Ethel like Naomi though had known that her father could not do that, not to her mother, not to the woman he loved. But Miss Ethel had never been able to fill in the most important blank…who killed her mother. Who would do such a horrible thing to the young mother? To her family? Why did they leave Naomi alive? And simply…why? Why? Like Bruce Wayne, it was the question that had haunted the young woman’s every waking moment and turned her dreams into nightmares. Nightmares of babies crawling through warm, sticky blood. Caressing cooling mommy’s cheeks. Curling up next to stiff bodies. And like Bruce Wayne, it had guided her career choice. Naomi had excelled at school, making the honor roll every semester, scoring in the top ten percent on her SATs. Even her final year in high school when Miss Ethel had died of a heart attack and her own father sickened with cancer, she had not let up..
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