Thriller

“Bruny,” I said. “I’m still getting used to the name. It’s an unusual one.”

“It’s named for the French explorer Bruni D’entrecastaux.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me.”

Jean-Luc shook his head. “You are so bad. Bruny has an amazing history. They have albino wallabies and fur seals…Kaia would love them.”

“I would love to hear all about it, but there’s a car coming for me any minute and I don’t know about you but I would love a quickie.”

Jean-Luc stopped mid-sentence. He looked down as I unbuttoned his Levis and reached in for his cock among the tight band of his white boxer briefs. I told him all the time to go commando, but the man just wouldn’t listen.

I kissed him, the heat rising between us instantly. I loved his cock and knelt to take it in my mouth. I sucked on him and he grew hard against my tongue. The silken feel of his skin gave way to smooth rigidity and as usual, it turned me on. I released him, dragging down his pants. My mouth went straight to his ankh tattoo, and he sighed.

“That was never an erogenous zone until I met you.”

I stood, turning him around. All I could think about was being in his beautiful, tight ass.

“Oh, no you don’t bitch.”

I loved when he got nasty.

“Your ass is mine and I plan to fill it up. I need to remind you what’s what.”

He undid my pants, turned me around so that I was facing the bathroom vanity. He rarely fucked me, because I wasn’t into being fucked so much…until I met Jean-Luc. Lately I’d enjoyed it. And he knew it, too.

I saw him disappear from the mirror, heard him close and lock the bathroom door and he yanked my pants down some more. He knelt behind me. his tongue dipping into my ass. Man, I loved what he did to me. He got me good and ready, but still, he fumbled in the drawer and retrieved a square of lube, opening it with his teeth.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, still amazed that I wanted it so much.

He straightened, smeared me with the cold gel and then he goddam let me have it. In the position I was in it felt like hell for a few seconds. He titled my hips and seemed to know exactly how to angle me so I’d be begging for his cock, begging for him to come inside me. He reached around, jerking on me and we came together.

A car started honking but he didn’t stop. I felt the twitch of his cock inside me.

Rongo parked and we ran to the elevator. I'm not a small man, around six feet tall, but he was six foot four and in such need, it woke up a five-bell alarm in me.

When you come close to death, you crave sweet. You sometimes confuse it with craving sugar. Some cops choose donuts. Some choose sex. This is why so many cops cheat. You need the honey…you need to grab great handfuls of life…you need a reminder that there is no shortage of love in the world.

He pressed into me as soon as we got into the elevator. Somebody got in behind us. "Take the next one," he yelled and I glimpsed an elderly couple looking shocked as two men grappled with each other in that glossy silver box. We rose high and fast as Rongo pinned me against the wall. His hand went straight to my cock as he rubbed against me.

"I need this," he whispered against my mouth. His mouth roamed my face and throat. "This is a building ASIO has apartments in, somebody could be watching," he suddenly said. "Maybe we should wait until we get into the apartment."

He dragged me by the waistband as soon as the elevator pinged toward his apartment. We went one way, then the next.

"I'm so hot for you, I forget which room I'm in." he fumbled the keycard and I took over. It clicked unlocked, flashing a green light. On the other side of the door, we wrestled one another's clothes off.

He propped me on the sofa, licking me from my feet, up my thighs and to my ass. He opened my legs wider, pressing soft, wet kisses and licks on my ass as my feet hovered in the air. He pushed me to the side, mounting me as he knelt between my legs.

"I gotta take you," he said as my hands gripped his hard, muscular ass. I loved the color of his skin against mine. I loved the need of him against mine. He pushed his cock into me, the head hard and unyielding. My knees were pushed tightly to my chest. I wanted him bad and he knew it.

"Sweet Lord, Honeybone. Your ass is God-lovin' tight."

He fucked me deeply, hard and fast. Neither of us lasted long and I clung to him, my hands on his ass cheeks as we pulsed, coming together in a sensuous rhythm.

In spite of the time apart and all the hurt, we hadn't lost a step. 

The loud wail of the banshee called him to the house. The wind howled, accompanying the otherworldly screech that made his blood run cold. The demon was close to making another kill. Gunther Andarton made his way swiftly through the underbrush, ignoring the briars that dug into his flesh as he ran toward the little cottage. His only thought was to save whatever poor, pathetic creature the demon had singled out this night.

Peering through the window, into the darkened interior, he watched a woman throw her head back and scream in the throes of an orgasm, a man’s dark head buried between her legs. The firelight played over her olive colored skin, her black hair gleamed blue-black in the orange light and her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath.

Soon, the man lifted his head. His eyes glittered with menace, their color a dull orange, and he bared his lengthened canines. The woman still lay gasping beneath him, apparently unaware of her lover’s ghastly change. He laved the crease of her thigh with his tongue. She couldn’t have realized his intent as she spread her legs wider to accommodate him. He smiled evilly. “I am darkness,” he said, just before he buried his elongated teeth into her femoral artery.
Gunther tensed for a second before he flew into action. Using his preternatural strength, he jumped and burst through the window, landing beside the life-sucking spawn from Hell. He growled into the creature’s ear as he easily snapped its neck. “And I am Death.”

At around midnight, the light in the room came on. He was there again, this time with a different man. They wasted no time getting down and dirty. Clothes were on the floor and so were they, cutting off his view. When they finally did come into view, they rolled together on the bed at the far end of the room. With both his arms over his head and his legs spread, the other man tied his wrists to the rungs in the headboard. A few seconds later, he was coating his body with something shiny and then licking it off his skin. He rubbed it into his nipples, his belly, his cock. His Mark’s hips bucked upward. The man straddled his hips and took his cock up inside of his ass.

Giovanni wiped the sweat off his forehead. He watched a gay porno once, but damn, this made that movie look like Disneyland. Giovanni undid his pants, moved his hand down to his cock and gave it a gentle squeeze. This brought a moan as he watched the man move up and down on the cock he’d captured with his ass.

Giovanni pressed his back against the wall, lowering the binoculars. He stroked his cock frantically, coming in seconds, his head banging against the wall. “Um…yeah…oh God,” he murmured. The gun lay discarded on the bed.

He slept again. When he opened his eyes, he walked back over to the window. The Mark was lying in the same position, sleeping, his wrists still attached. The blond lay sleeping beside him, a hand possessively coveting his Mark’s muscular thigh. Damn. He had a beautiful body, his skin the colour of honey gold and shining with whatever it was that other guy had rubbed into it. He picked up his gun. Do it now. They’re both sleeping. Hit them both and get out. He aimed the Glock, first at his Mark, then at the other guy. So much power and they were completely unaware. His gun stayed on the blond. Get rid of him and go over there to that room and…and what, run your hands all over his beautiful body, kiss those sensuous lips, use that cock of his? No, he couldn’t do that. He could never give into these wicked urges he got every once in awhile and he certainly couldn’t… He groaned slightly, his cock hard again. Damn. He needed a shower. After a shower, he’d be more clearheaded and he’d figure out what to do. He’d already been here four days. This should have been over by now. His father was probably wondering what in hell was taking him so long.

He spent over twenty minutes in the shower, soaping himself, masturbating, trying not to think about what he had to do once he came out. The water soothed him somehow, made him forget.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood looking in the mirror. He brushed his damp hair, brushed his teeth and ran a hand over the slight stubble on his jaw. He didn’t feel like shaving. Maybe he’d grow a beard. He walked out of the bathroom and then froze as a deep, male voice said, “I was wondering when you were going to come out of there.”

Slightly on edge, Zoe hurried from the office to the company parking lot to fetch her car. Once again, it was later than she had planned. Just as she had wanted to shut down her PC, her staff manager had called her. That talk had been unpleasant--somebody trod on his toes during the day and she was the outlet for his steam. If she hadn't been the agency's token Eastie from Philadelphia and alibi woman, he surely would have fired her already.

Privately she wished painful hemorrhoids on him while she refreshed her caffeine-enhanced lip-gloss. She felt guilty because she had promised Rick she wouldn't be late again.

Several times other drivers honked at her while she wove swiftly and recklessly through the already fading evening traffic. She didn't care. This time the evening should turn out better than the last when she was two hours late because she had to procure new photo paper after this brainiac from the artwork department idled that task away during his midday tour. And that evening those three thousand Tabaluga flyers had to go into print.

In front of Rick's door, a parking space had just become available. Hastily she maneuvered her Mini into the gap. A last look into the mirror--fine. She opened another two buttons of her blouse as the stern office look was not to Rick's taste and because she wasn't just flat as a pancake, she could depend on that to titillate him.

Shit. She'd almost landed in the pit, which was gaping in the sidewalk--the municipal services had been in a hurry to knock off work. Well, she could understand that.

In the corridor of the old five-story building, she stopped once again. Today she would go the whole hog so she quickly removed her slip from under the new, trendy black Kate-Moss-look miniskirt, which she had bought last Saturday for this opportunity. For a moment, she pondered where she could leave it, then dropped it into Rick's mailbox with a whimsical smile.

On the stairs to the upper floor, she had to restrain herself. She didn't want to be out of breath--at least not yet. Impatiently she covered the last steps, key in hand. Silently she opened the apartment door. She smiled as she heard the light music from the kitchen. To the left, in the dining room, everything was prepared--candles, bowls, chopsticks--so he would be cooking Asian style. One look to the right--oh, rose petals on the pillow! Yes, Rick knew how to create a romantic atmosphere. The corners of her lips slightly lifted.

There was a loud bang and then Rick's horrified, painful cry sounded from the kitchen. She ran across and jerked the kitchen door open. A cloud of steam gushed toward her. Rick lay on the floor with a blood-covered chest and a dark-red face, rice grains stuck everywhere--to cupboards, ceiling and floor. She leaned down to Rick and lifted his head--perhaps the wonderful curves in her neckline would help to clear his fogged senses--and cried out, "What happened? Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Should I…"

His index finger covered her mouth. "The pot exploded. I meant to change the pressure cooker's valve seal ring long ago--must have been jammed." He looked down his body and plucked a small metal piece from a bleeding wound in his chest. "Mmm. This must have been the bolt to the handle."

He flipped the bolt away as she hugged him, glad that nothing too serious had happened to him. She didn't care that her blouse was soaking up his blood--but she noticed very well how his trousers became too tight for him. With swift fingers, she opened his fly and seated herself on him. A pity about the dinner, but this would become a wonderful evening!

Still totally inebriated by the adrenaline rush of the exploding pot spectacular, their first intercourse was short and intense. Rick just let it happen, but Zoe took control, her sensual perception sharpened by the preceding shock--and resulting fear for his life. When he responded with passionate strength, the sex was better than she had ever experienced.

She'd had lovers before, had been with tender and patient partners as well as indifferent mechanics. She'd had short and intense relationships up to the three-minute balcony fuck--which hadn't been too bad, had wasted painfully long, affectionate evenings with a half impotent Italian-American, but nothing could have prepared her for this moment.

And Rick was insatiable. While she still waited for her heartbeat to slow, his hands slid up her side, found the beginning of her breasts, wandered toward her buttons. Methodically, he opened her blouse, pushed the blood-spattered fabric away, let his fingers tenderly circle her round, firm breasts. Then suddenly he grabbed her waist, pushed her above himself. She tensed, spread out her arms, enjoyed the feeling of hovering above him.

They made love to each other a second time, short but intense, on the groaning, protesting kitchen table. Afterward, she wrapped her legs around his hips, let herself be carried around the kitchen table in waltz time while his tongue played with her nipples. Finally he settled her to the floor, ran his hand across her short black hair.

She admired his toned body as he faced her from the kitchen door and she sprawled herself, purring, on the rice-covered kitchen floor. Her gaze wandered up his trouser legs to his still open fly, followed his chest's muscular curves, where suddenly two red flowers blossomed.

As if in slow motion Zoe watched how Rick's knees gave in, how his breaking gaze ran across her body for the very last time, how his voiceless cry fought to protest, how the stream of his life pulsated from his chest, how his light went out forever.

Patiently Zoe leaned to the corner of some shop and watched the waves of tourists--some searching for an interesting view, and others going for a group photo with a background--and not for the first time mused how lucky they were not to know which cruel fate they had been spared.

Then, right on time with the first whistle of the old steam clock Johnny appeared, with noticeably darker stubble than he had at lunchtime, but with the same beaming face as when he first saw her.

She caught him by surprise again with a hug and a quick kiss. The poor guy blushed. Then she led him to the next pub.

They exchanged small talk until the latte macchiato was placed in front of them and the waitress disappeared. Then she took his right hand and looked into his eyes. "You are a nice guy," she offered. "So I better tell you now. I'm not going for a long-term relationship."

His reaction in turn surprised her. He nodded, kissed her hand, and replied, "I know. I can see you haven't reached the end of your journey. I don't care."

She tried to answer--he put one finger to her lips. "No. Don't say it now. You are shining into my life like a ray of the sun, and I'm bathing in your light as long as it holds me. I'll enjoy every second and enshrine it in my heart like a precious treasure, to remember it during the dark hours. And when you have to go I won't grieve but rejoice in the present you gave me."

 

Now she stood in front of the mirrored wall of her hotel room and studied the picture of their nude bodies through half-closed eyelids and noticed briefly that even the microfiber bra that Johnny just had stripped from her left pressure marks. She enjoyed the feel of his warm breath that bathed her right ear and the nape of her neck, while his promisingly erected member targeted upward along her right hip, lightly pulsating in the rhythm of his heartbeat.

His hands caressed her short, black hair, casually stroked her earlobes, and followed the curve of her neck to her shoulders, then moved forward. From there they wandered across the outer side of her breasts, their lower sides, slid down her breastbone to her navel, and parted again before they reached the little black bush in her lap. They tenderly dawdled from her waist to her hips. Their movement hesitated as his left hand reached the clearly noticeable indentation of her bullet wound, then continued on under her buttocks, rejoined in the center and slid up her spine.

Her right hand gently closed around his firm shaft, tenderly moved along it to the tip, caressed his shining head. A wonderful feeling, she mused. Time for the unromantic necessity, gently she applied the condom, unrolled it, fondling his hairy balls.

He pulled back his hip slightly, pulled from her grip, pushed her arms outside and over her head. With hands aloft, her already firm breast was outlined even more. She trembled as his fingertips almost unnoticeably circled the sensitive skin of her bust, sneakily passed her areola, avoiding her expectantly tense nipples, teasing her again and again--damn! It felt so crazily good that she didn't want to let him stop, although at the same time she longed for the feel of his dick inside her, sensed how her clit cried for attention, imagined how the wetness trickled out between her labia, determined to soak her loins. No no!

Not to be delayed, she slowly turned to the balcony door, pulling him after her at his caressing hands as she swam toward the door with infinite deliberation, tore it open wide, letting in the refreshing evening air which caused a fine goose flesh and again made her more receptive for his caressing moves. Oh, she felt as if something should explode very soon--abruptly she tore her upper body from his grip, reached forward with her arms, grasped the balcony handrail, extended her back to him with gently spread legs in an unmistakable invitation, yes, please, do it! wordlessly crying, demanding, while his hands began to fondle her buttocks--no, more!--a short touch of his lance in her crotch, but much too elusive, already passed, there, again! she pushed her pelvis further to him, hoping, begging, pleading--"Aaaaooh!" with a loud, animal, lustful scream that echoed far through the city streets she--finally!--received his long, hard pulsating cock deep inside her, voraciously enclosed by her damp cavern, massaged by her tensed muscles, caressed by the rhythmical shake of her pelvis, oh yes!

"Oh!" Uninhibited she let those unseen in the night take part of her lust. Mindlessly, she cried out her rapture, answered every push of his pelvis with a little, peaky shriek, completely devoted, voluntarily captured with him in a tiny universe of ecstasy, pushing, rushing, circling, moaning, screaming--moremoremoreharderdeeperfirmeryees!

She sensed the climax approaching, felt herself reaching her inner barrier appreciated, hugged, opened, fluid and fire in her veins, foxfire eruptions dancing through and around her, flashes, EXPLOSION! A scream like from a thousand throats, thrown back by walls with their highlighted windows, dark silhouettes of stunned witnesses, released her tension, took the desired relief with it, and yet…

Boiling blood, adrenaline and endorphin in a whirling choreography, muscles spasmically twitching with the signals of electrified nerves, self control in free fall, for fractions of a second Zoe was committed to her body's reactions until her mind took in the reins, little prickling discharges tingled here and there in her body, tender echoes of the previous orgasm that was so infinitely, salaciously amplified by the flow of her special power which she now quickly contained, while she let her spine relax and loosened the grip of her vaginal muscles, allowed him to retract out of her. Slowly she straightened up, presented her sweaty wet breasts to the city night, turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him toward her, just held on, sensed how his slowly shrinking, wet member stroke along her pelvis, enjoyed how he hugged and held her, breathing heavily, exhausted, weary.

"Incredible!" was his first word.

"Yes!" she replied beaming and pushed him back into the room, toward the waiting bed. The night was still young!

More! More! More! She fantasized, as Billy Idol's Rebel yell invaded her thoughts.

More!

"No champagne?"

I grinned. "Only if you want to put me to sleep before the interesting parts can start."

"There are interesting parts?"

"I've watched you checking me out just before. Don't tell me you are celibate."

He blushed visibly, but then regained his composure. "I had the impression you had somehow invited me to approach. It seems likelier every minute."

"It is," I agreed. "I feel lonely tonight, and after a long parade of dumbasses passing by, I deemed it appropriate to take the initiative when I saw you."

"You want me? Er--"

"Yes, I do. All you can give."

"You are not a virgin," he said. His hand moved slowly toward her and cupped her left breast. "There are many other ways in which you are a virgin, however."

"I never liked it when Sam wanted to take me up the behind."

"I do not mean ass fucking, my dear one," he said. His hand tightened on her breast. Deirdre tried to step back but could not. She closed her eyes and let the delicious sensation seep into her bones and body and brain. Somewhere in a far distant recess of her being, Deirdre knew this was wrong. Why was she letting this stranger--a burglar--feel her up?

Pleasure overwhelmed any concern she might have. She sighed and thrust her chest out so her breast crushed into the man's palm. He squeezed tighter and gave her even more pleasure.

"I like that," she said in a choked voice.

"I know," he answered. His other hand worked around her back, slid to her waist and pulled her closer. The bony hand was cool against her bare skin, but it excited her unlike any other lover's caress. Her lips parted slightly. He accepted. His lips pressed into her, lightly brushing across them at first and then sampling with more passion. Deirdre felt her pulse racing as he held her close to his body. She felt every movement of his body--and the slow rise between his legs as his limp penis became a hard cock.

"I want this," she said urgently. She reached down and pressed her hand against the bulge of his erection.

"I know you do, but not yet. Prove you are worthy of receiving it."

"I . . . I'm wet. My pussy is wet."

"Yes, it is," he said in a husky whisper, "but that is not enough."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get naked for me."

“What is a nice girl like you doing in a racket like this?” He sat beside me as I straightened up and tucked the wad into my back jeans pocket.

“Making a living like everyone else, I guess.” I crossed my legs to remove a spike-heeled sandal. “Everybody got to eat. Everybody got to breathe. Everybody got to fuck now and then, too.”

A dark cloud traversed his features, but the storm quickly passed. He leaned back on the bed and folded his arms beneath his head, watching me unzip my pants with unadulterated lust.

“You shouldn’t use such crude terms. You’re much too young and pretty to be talking like a sailor. You remind me of somebody… somebody I met once. Now, who could it be?” I shimmied out of my jeans, carefully folded them, and placed them by my jacket. Could he have remembered me from a company picnic? Or maybe those few times I actually came by the factory in the middle of the day to talk to Daniel about the kids? Did I have enough guts to bluff my way out of this situation if he did place my face and name together?

I turned around, facing him, and took a deep breath, filling out my black, lacy B-cup as much as possible as I peeled off my top. “Your Sunday school teacher perhaps?”

His gaze dropped below my chin. It worked. I wouldn’t have to worry about him studying my face too much. The man was going to explode if he didn’t get off soon.

He chuckled. “More like the little red-headed girl I snuck out of Sunday School with to make-out behind her father’s barn. Come on over here.”

At eleven I heard him, calling to me. He wanted me to return to my apartment, he waited there for me. My knees went weak with fear and excitement, I couldn't control the compulsion to obey, I had to go to him. Without a single goodbye, I walked out, mind numb to anything other than the task at hand, getting to my demon.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was doing something stupid, I shouldn't make it this easy for him. If he wanted to kill me, then I should make him come to me, but those thoughts were fleeting and I could not make myself obey them.

Daray's thoughts and desires filled my mind, and that is what my body obeyed, as if he were its true master. I was helpless to fight it, and I wasn't afraid. His compelling me was not malicious. It was somehow comforting, as if a long awaited return. This is what I have lived the last twenty-two years waiting for.

When I stood outside my apartment door wondering how I got there, I almost faltered. I had a sudden moment of returned clarity, I wanted to fight, I wanted to live. I was not going down easy.

He stared up at the beauty as she raised herself on top of him, all of that glorious hair tumbling over her shoulders, down her body, covering her small breasts, resting on his chest and she wore a mischievous grin on her face. "What are you thinking Willow?" he asked.

Instead of answering his query, she looked at his mouth, bent forward, took his lips with hers, and began to rub herself against him.

"Stop, Willow, or you'll get more than you bargained for. I have little to no resistance where you are concerned," Grady ground out as a certain part of his anatomy was quickly coming to attention.

"How do you know this would be more than I bargained for," she whispered as she lowered her mouth to his nipple.

"Oh God, stop. I don't want to hurt you."

"Hurt me, Grady. I need more of you. I have waited so long."

With that permission, Grady flipped her over and plunged his searing cock into her warm, wet, softness, ruthlessly taking her again and filling her with himself.

"Would you like me to make love to you?" His voice was soft. Murmuring not directly into her ear, but not away from it either.

A shiver shimmered through her. More like a current of runaway electricity or of the wildfire that had lit up the storm-racked skies ever since they'd crossed the border into South Dakota in their last--she hoped--stolen vehicle, that shiver crackled through her. Illuminating all the fear-darkened places inside her. Letting her see clearly for the first time since their helter-skelter launch six days before what she should have seen all along. That Chas was a man. Not a demon. That he might be frightening, might be armed, might be set on revenge…that he was all of those things. But he had no supernatural powers. No demon-spawned radar that had kept him on their tail thus far.

Chas Murdock was entirely a man, and an extremely lucky one. But luck had to run out…would run out. And together she and Toby would prevail. Because together they were strong. Together they could defeat anything. Even a man as headstrong, duplicitous, evil as…

Love. Make love.

Yes.

Toby needed no more than the smallest of cuddles, no more than her face pressed tight, tight, tight, against the hollow of his shoulder, to know the answer to his question.

"Everything will be all right," he murmured, turning her over with hands as gentle as his voice. Hands incredibly gentle as he parted her knees and made her ready.

"This bed is heaven," she murmured in a thready, choked voice full of need, full of anguish and eager willingness to have both sated and eased in the very next instant.

"This bed is lumpy." Laughing softly, laughing the way Verbena's staggering, wearied heart was never able to resist, Toby pressed his mouth to her breast. He pressed his lips, first closed and then opened, against the swollen-hard tip of her breast.

It wasn't. Lumpy. The bed. After five or six nights spent cramped in the back of one vehicle or another, five or six nights with no blankets and no comforts, five or six spent amongst all sorts of boxes and tools and bits and pieces of someone else's possessions, five or six spent worrying that the next noise outside, the next slight rocking of their stolen bedroom on wheels might find them under attack…

"This bed is heaven," she insisted. But her whisper faded as she spoke. Her voice subsided into no more than a hint of a shaken gasp as Toby came to her. As Toby pressed all of himself against her much as he'd previously pressed only mouth to bosom. And then as he pressed tighter against her…so tight that before long he pressed into her. Sliding without preamble the long and delectable, hardened length of himself as deep into her as nature and practicality decreed he could ever slide into her.

He was smooth. Slick. A sculpted column of ivory, and flesh, and throbbing promise. And he struck bottom very quickly. On a mutual, barely-controlled gasp in recognition of everything they did share. Everything they still possessed simply because they were together. Because they had each other to cling to no matter what might happen in the next hours or days or weeks.

Toby found the very farthest core of her, and he soothed it. Filled it and brightened it. Brought it instantly to fervent and fulminating life by chasing away the last dreg of cold fear from it and from her. And made the world exactly as he'd said it would be. Exactly as he'd promised it would be.

Jerr covered her lips with his. “That was our intent, my sweet.” His hand found her breast and tweaked her nipple. “Let us take you to bed and show you how much we love you.”

Without waiting for Petra to answer, Jerr swept her body into his arms and strode from the room. He climbed the tower steps with Fen following closely behind. Once inside the small chamber, Jerr laid Petra on the bed and began removing her clothing.

“My darling,” Petra interrupted, catching Jerr’s hand. “The people of Zell are in danger and all you can think about is sinking your hard cock between my legs? Have you no afterthought of the consequences Agatha might bring upon all of us?”

“No, not at the moment,” Jerr replied pulling his hand from her grasp. “Perhaps after I have rid my body of this desire for you, I will be able to think more clearly.”

“Well said,” Fen remarked. He stripped his tunic over his head and pushed his trousers down his powerful thighs. His engorged cock sprang free of the restraint, bobbing at his crotch in eagerness. He joined Jerr at the bed and took hold of Petra’s dress. Jerr stood and started removing his clothing.

Petra giggled slightly, then gave in to her two eager warlocks. “It would be a lie if I said I did not want to have sex with either of you, for surely you know my heart already.” She reached a hand to Fen’s bare chest and splayed her fingers amid the thick matt of hair bridging his male nipples.

Having stripped, Jerr joined the pair, taking his place on the bed. He stretched out beside Petra and closed one large hand over her bare breast. “You are exquisite, my darling.” He leaned his head down and kissed her mouth.

Petra moaned and tangled one hand in Jerr’s long hair. The sensation of his lips pressing atop hers and his hand manipulating her nipple sent shivers of delight racing through her insides. Fen’s hands were busy exploring her thighs and buttocks, his touch as light as a whisper and tender as sweet words of love. 

Jerr pressed his hard cock against Petra’s thigh as he moved his hand from her breast to her crotch. His fingers tangled with Fen’s amid the curly red bush at her junction. Their fingers melded, traveled through the dense curls and pushed apart Petra’s lush pussy lips. Fen began to stroke her clitoris, drawing a deep moan from her throat.

The transfer in Livorno, in an old truck garage with disintegrating finery, partially broken windows and torn-out installations, iridescent oil pools and a ten-year-old calendar with a scantily clad girl on the wall between spare parts where they had met at dawn, had run smoothly and professionally. Jerome had been delighted by Zoe's special offer that she had presented in the end, especially when he had moved his Geiger meter across the empty payload bay and had heard the increasing humming--the fading remnants of a recently removed nuclear warhead. Then he had waved Zoe to the side of the garage to hand her the money suitcase, while his staff had begun to load their own truck.

She already knew how much money he had withdrawn and could estimate from the suitcase's weight that he brought about that amount. Nevertheless she had to play the game by the rules, so she opened the suitcase locks while she watched Jerome and his new bodyguard--a stringy, black-clad Asian with a poker face and a Japanese sword on his back, looking like a Ninja, in the heart of Italy, not exactly inconspicuous. Where had Jerome picked that one up?

Zoe didn't care, even if she wore no obvious weapons. In exchange for the slinky tank top today she wore a black body and a white blazer with her black jeans and trainers, and therefore she had left the crate-hauling completely to Jerome's team.

Something was wrong. Jerome appeared tense and insecure, impatient? He was sweating, Zoe smelled fear. His Ninja was energized all the time anyway. Then Jerome said straight to her face, "You are a stoolie!"

She threw a quick glance at the suitcase in her hand, and her features froze. It only contained newspaper.

* * * *

When her hidden cameras recorded the slender features of Zoe's present and transmitted them, April drew a hard breath. A cruise missile? How could have Zoe got her hands on that? April had known that Zoe had brought a surprise, but hadn't insisted on premature revelation. "Don't spoil the fun," Zoe had said. Oh yes. And we're carrying a nuclear weapon platform worth a half million dollars, black market price accordingly higher, around in the country of an ally to play cats and mice with a few terrorists.

The Geiger meter event only made things worse. April was just glad that the warhead wasn't included, but after all Zoe had promised by no means ever to deliver real nukes to their customers.

Hopefully the rest of their mission would run as well as their procurement in Genoa. That April took the back seat this time for one followed from their roles in Frankfurt, moreover they both agreed that Jerome was dangerous. "Like a hand grenade with a broken pin," Zoe had illustrated, "you don't know if and when it will go off." Unlike Don Pasquale, who lead a regional business, Jerome had no obligations to keep, could change his area of business any time. And he had no need to cater for traditional honor among thieves. His only reason not to cheat was the hope to continue business, eventually the missing information about Zoe's means would emerge. With a larger entourage they could have built a credible threat of force, but they both still hoped to foster uncertainty by the obvious lack of bodyguards bristling with arms.

April felt concerned by the Ninja's presence. What's this long knife here for?

Outside of Zoe's field of vision, shielded by the trucks, April detected a new pattern of movements. No more pushing crates, what was going on? She intensely studied her screen, enlarged the respective window.

Zoe had said that Jerome had no reason to try a trick before the main delivery, but of course that wasn't guaranteed.

Then her camera screens went dark.

* * * *


Zoe looked up shocked, her thoughts racing. Stoolie? How did he find out, did they make a mistake? Had their cover been blown, had someone recognized them? She had carefully scanned Jerome's data, he didn't have any information regarding Zoe or April, but perhaps one of his staff did? Beads of perspiration on his forehead, accelerated heartbeat, faster breath, narrowed pupils--he didn't appear entirely convinced himself. Could she turn the situation? They needed more from him, access to his masterminds, before all a hint what was really going on. Who would start a religious war and tear the world into a nuclear winter? Until now their mission had run silently, and it should stay that way. Her new boss wouldn't like it if they served him a clearly visible botch right away. Only, if Jerome asked for a fiasco, he'd get it. Would it have to happen?

His staff was still loading the truck? Yes, the sounds of heavy crates set down hadn't muted yet, only become less frequent? Hasty steps in the back, silent but not silent enough for Zoe, the rub of fabric on fabric, the clacking sound of safety switches, snapping of supposedly sneakily operated locks. That really didn't sound good!

Only Zoe's improved hearing could detect the hushed chafing of the clean Japanese sword in the stiff black sheath. As she was about to turn around to the Ninja guy who had almost noiselessly moved behind her back, the sharp edge of the Katana already approached her neck.

Eric managed to get a few hours sleep in the cage before he was needed back in the bullpen. He was finding it more and more difficult to push her out of his mind. He went to get some coffee.

"Stiles," Lug said, breaking through his churning thoughts.

"Hey, what's up?" he replied as he grabbed his full cup of coffee.

"Trace on the box of blood came back," Lug said.

Eric walked to his desk. "And?"

"They found a piece of hair in the box sealant."

"Were they able to get a name?"

"Yeah," Lugow started as he looked down at his desk in hesitation. "It came as a match to a Veronica Naltin."

Eric froze as the name hit him in the chest. "What?"

"Yeah," Lug replied as Eric took a deep breath. "We double checked. There's no mistake."

"Jesus," Eric said as he leaned on the desk, his mind spinning uncontrolled.

Adam appeared and looked at him. "You told him?"

"Yeah."

"So now what?" Eric asked as he tried to reign in the fear that began to bubble in his stomach. They were not only dealing with a stalker, but now a ruthless killer.

"We start from the beginning," Adam said as Lug nodded. "We look at everything from both cases."

"We should look at anything that's happened since this guy made first contact with Rebecca," Lug suggested.

"Do we have a date?"

"The only specific date I have is two weeks before the teddy bear," Lug replied as he looked at his notes. "I will try and get something more specific."

"Where is she now?"

"Donna's," he said with a deep breath.

"Is she going to be safe there?"

"She'll be fine for now," Lugow added.

"Okay, let's get to work," Adam said.

Eric's phone rang. "Detective Stiles."

"Eric, we have a problem," Charlie said, sounding panicked and out of breath.

"What's going on?" he said, looking to Lug and Adam.

"Rebecca got a message from the stalker."

"When?"

"I little while ago," he replied.

Eric's heart began to race.

"We think he's going after Donna."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Something about the message."

"Did you hear it?"

"No."

"Let me talk to Rebecca," he said and then heard Charlie pass the phone to Rebecca.

"Eric," she said, sounding terrified and shaken.

Eric got to his feet as Adam followed him. "What did he say?"

"Uh, it was a joke."

"A what?"

"A knock, knock, joke."

"Tell me exactly what he said, Beccs."

"Knock, knock, who's there, Donna, Donna who, Donna turn around ka-boom," she said into the phone.

He could hear the agony in her voice. "Where are you?"

"On our way to Donna's office."

"Okay, let me talk to Charlie," he replied in an even tone. He heard her pass the phone back to Charlie.

"Hey," Charlie said.

Eric and Adam reached Adam's car. "Have either of you tried to call her yet?"

"Yeah, she's not answering, but Beccs said she had an early meeting."

"We're on our way to Donna's office as well, but you need to stall and keep Rebecca away until I tell you it's okay."

"That's going to be pretty hard to do."

"Listen to me, this could all be a way to lure Rebecca out into the open," Eric explained as Adam pulled onto the street. "Just stall long enough for us to make sure it's safe."

"Okay," Charlie agreed before Eric hung up.

"What's going on?" Adam asked.

"Rebecca got a message from the stalker."

"What kind of message?"

"One with a ka-boom."

Eric, Adam, Lug and the bomb squad arrived in front of Donna's office twenty minutes later. Adam coordinated the sweep and evacuation of the building while Eric went looking for Donna. He stepped off the elevator and flashed his badge to the receptionist. "Detective Stiles, I need to speak with Donna Smith, it's an emergency," Eric said as the woman looked at him in confusion.

"I thought you were meeting her in the parking garage," the woman replied.

Eric spun, dashing to the elevator as he called Adam. "She was called down to the parking garage, I'm on my way now," Eric said into the phone hitting the P on the elevator. The doors opened moments later, and as he stepped off, he saw Donna leaning against her car with a look of irritation. "Donna!" he called out to her.

She shifted, looking.

He ran toward her.

"Eric, what's going on?" she asked as she moved to meet him.

Eric heard a door slam just to the left.

"Is Beccs alright?"

"She got a call from the stalker. He…"

"Donna!" Rebecca called as she ran toward them, Charlie in tow.

He realized that Rebecca was going to pass right in front of Donna's car. "Beccs, no!" he screamed, pushing Donna behind him just before the car exploded. The blast pushed both he and Donna off their feet as it shattered and sprayed glass across the parking lot.

Her mind heavy, her body began to awaken. Piece by piece, the pain started to pulse through her muscles. It started with the burning ache of her leg, and moved up to a spiraling throb in the small of her back, a hardness in her chest, and then blinding pain behind her eyes.

She tried to move, hearing the scraping of metal, her body trembled in resistance. Her eyes opened to faint whispering light and a pipe covered ceiling.

Another basement.

Her mind spun but she allowed herself to just breathe and not move. She waited for her thoughts to settle.

She got away.

Rebecca opened her eyes again, taking a deep breath of relief. Lucy managed to get away and she prayed her sister was somewhere safe. Now she just needed to keep her head straight until Eric found her, or another opportunity for escape presented itself.

She lifted herself off the hard ground and her body screamed in protest. Cold metal against her hand, she grabbed one of the surrounding pipes, using it to sit upright. The area was much smaller than the previous room, with no break of light except a single door.

Rebecca pulled her throbbing right leg beneath her and noticed an unfamiliar weight around her ankle. The scraping of metal broke through the darkness, and she reached down feeling thick rusted metal. Her eyes began to adjust to the lack of light. She focused on the area to see an ancient lead manacle beneath her hand. It was attached to a bulky chain hanging heavy on the floor. She followed it along the wall before ending at a set of large solid pipes.

Beautiful.

She stretched out her opposite leg to examine her injury. She pulled at the fabric covering her leg, until she saw blood. It didn't look bad, a simple flesh wound. She debated whether to expend the energy to stand. Before she could decide, the door opened.

Two of Marco's thugs enter the room. They wordlessly unlocked the binding around her leg and hauled her to her feet. Once her leg was free, they yanked her forward and dragged her out of the room. They exited the basement prison and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust before she could discern where she was. An open luxury house, they led her down a hallway, shoved her into a room, and locked the door. The room was beautiful. Hardwood floors, cream painted walls, and an antique bed covered in copper hued pillows and blankets.

She moved to the windows, and discerned the seal fusing the frames and thick plexiglas. A second door led to a lush but windowless bathroom. Her hand pushed through her hair in frustration, and she moved back into the main room. She faced the bed. Its softness called to her weary body. She struggled not to lie down and let herself sink into mindless bliss.

It was then she noticed the black dress lain out on top. A pair of black stilettos on the floor.

"Get cleaned up, and put on the dress. You have an hour," she heard echo through the small room.

"Why should I?" she called back, receiving no response until the door opened. A thug entered, his gun poised against his chest.

"You have an hour," the faceless voice repeated, and she begrudgingly grabbed the dress off the bed. The thug's eyes boring into her back, she moved to the bathroom and closed the door.

Shit.

Reluctantly stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower. Unable to take any enjoyment out of the heated streams of water sliding against her body, she effectively washed away the physical dirt. Her skin, however, continued to crawl the residual filth of discomfort covering her body. Without warning, the world around her went fuzzy. She planted her hands against the tile of the wall waiting for the spell to pass.

Come on Beccs, you need to pull it together. You can't lose it yet. You have to keep going.

You have to keep going.

You can do this… just breathe…

The shower allowed her to breathe, and her sight cleared. She stepped and shivered despite the warmth of the room. The dress slid over her body, but its flawlessness made her feel disjointed and foreign. She tugged at the zipper and took in her reflection. Her bruised face staring at her. She gulped back the tears threatening to fall., She acknowledged all the damage he had done and her hands shook as she fought for control.

She ached for Eric. Closing her eyes she could almost feel his arms around her, the warmth of his chest against her cheek.

He will come.

He will find me.

She heard the door of the bedroom opening and spun toward it. Marco entered, motioning her to join him. She lingered, looked at the armed guard behind him and then moved.

"Rebecca, you have to admit. I have extremely good taste." He moved around her, licking his lips, while scrutinizing her body. He moved closer and she restrained her disgust with a short breath. "Your body really does fill that dress in all the right places."

She felt him just behind her shoulder. His hand rested on the small of her back. It proceeded to shift down her hip, and then across her lower abdomen like a tentacle. He moved to face her, his eyes cold and darting. He decided to brush the inside of her leg, and she suppressed a tremble of loathing.

"It's not often a dress pales in comparison to the body it encompasses. It's too bad Detective Stiles isn't here to enjoy it with me." His breath on her neck, a chill ran up her spine, the blood draining from her cheeks. "You look so pale, sweetheart, did I hit a nerve?"

Mid-breath, she straightened her back and lowered her shoulders. His face stopped within inches of hers.

"What you did with Lucy was…brave," he taunted, staring down at her lips. "It makes me wonder about Detective Stiles' bravery in his time of trial."

"What are you boasting about now?" she asked, lining her voice with thick sarcasm, lifting her chin in defiance of him.

"Tit for Tat, Beccs." His hand rested on her hip, and he smiled. "You take something from me, and I take something from you. You didn't really think I was going to let it go…did you?"

Her heart panicked uncontrolled but she refused to take what he was saying at face value. He was taunting her, trying to get her to fight him, so he had an excuse. He was pissed at what she'd done, so he was trying to torture her.

His eyes remained focused on her lips. She turned her face away from him in disgust. Within a breath, he yanked at her hair and she felt his tongue against her now exposed neck.

"You don't believe me?" he said into her neck and she fought the rising fury sweeping through her.

Marco held a cell phone up for her to see. A picture of Eric on the ground covered in blood. His face dark, his eyes closed.

She turned away from the photograph, in an attempt to deny the panic rising in her chest. He grabbed her hair and forced her to look at the image. Despite her efforts to push it out of her mind, her body trembled when the reality hit.

"He's not coming for you Rebecca. You're all alone. No one is coming for you, and soon, you won't want them to.

Finally he rose and led me from the country house to a modern, H-shaped building. The center wing was paned with large windows on two sides and only hosted a large, low table made of pale wood. Chairs were not available. Across the garden entrance which we had used one could see a little patch of forest.

“I am highly pleased to meet a so attractive connoisseur of our culture,” he introduced the business part in fluent, almost accent-free English. Connoisseur? My knowledge was patchy at best. But I knew a few significant rituals, and not only those concerning martial arts.

“The pleasure is on my side. I was relieved to find such an admirable opportunity to contemplate after the inconveniences of the last days. For this I have gladly changed my plans for the afternoon.”

Smack. He winced like he was hit and faced me directly.

“You’ve got something that is mine.”

“Then I will gladly give it to you. What is it?” There weren’t many options, but I wouldn’t make it too easy for him.

He reached his hand toward the camera which I still carried over my shoulder, and I willingly handed him the device.

“I am highly pleased to have found the right owner so quickly,” I lied. “When I found this object, four persons of dubious origin and manners tried to get it into their possession by questionable methods. It appeared advisable to me to take it into my custody until clarification of the ownership, more so as the mentioned subjects seemed not to be able to apply proper protection to this preciosity.”

Swallow that. Outside I remained cool.

“How praiseworthy.” He continued to examine me. “As it appears, one of these subjects wasn’t even able to watch his pants. Yet I deem it remarkable that you could find it interesting.”

“My wardrobe required urgent amendment. Unluckily it remained impossible so far to replace these tasteless, at best practical pieces. An important business appointment had cropped up.”

He paused. “Well. Otherwise you would surely have tried earlier to make your find available to the lawful owner?”

“According to my own standards I am not appropriately dressed for such an occasion. Indeed I would have preferred to approach it under more classy circumstances.”

“Be it as it is. How should I treat you now in your opinion?”

“It would be kind if your driver could take me back into town.”

He shook his head. “Out of the question. Unluckily I have to admit that your friendliness and your understanding puts me in distress. On no account can I risk that you might tell what you now know to certain other persons. So I fear—”

While he told me this, I intensely listened for conspicuous signals, for example of operated safeties, concentrated breathing noises, the singing of drawn strings, looked around for secret loopholes, dancing shadows and other evidence of an imminent attack.

Thus I saw and heard the approaching missile hissing and riding on a fire-tail over the forest shortly before its impact in our meeting room.

I slipped my hand under the water. Finding my underactive groin, I cupped and then squeezed myself. A jolt of pleasure radiated through me. I instantly shot a look at the door, making sure I had locked it. Relieved I wouldn't have any uninvited guests, I sank further into the tub, letting the bubbly water caress my neckline. I squeezed again, feeling another shock of blissful joy shiver through me. I glanced around the bathroom again to make sure no one had snuck in and gently started massaging my protruding bundle. Thinking about Ash quickly rushed a mini orgasm from me.

Heated bodies were pushed together like fish caught in a very expensive net. Jack maneuvered his way to the bar and requested a whiskey sour. He stood waiting patiently, his eyes staring unfocused at the design etched into the marble top of the bar. He felt a heat on his back. He turned in curiosity when his shoulder smacked into something.

“Whoa.”

He saw Kate, her drink dripping from her hand. “Sorry.” He found himself staring at her, a lump in his throat, his neck heated. “I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay.” She moved to the spot next to him at the bar. She placed her drink on the bar and began to clean the alcohol from her hands and dress.

“You should know better than to try and navigate through a crowd with a full drink.”

“I’ll make a note for next time, thanks.” She tossed the used napkins on the bar and then looked back to him. “This is quite a place.”

“It stands out.” His focus went back to the crowd.

“Are you having a good time?”

“Can’t complain.”

“I haven’t seen Chris. Is he having a good time?”

“Wouldn’t know, he disappeared about an hour ago.” The bartender arrived with his drink. Jack laid some money on the bar before grabbing the glass.

“I’d better get back to Mike.” She excused herself, stepping away from the bar.

“I’ll go with you.”

What are you doing?

They made it halfway across the floor, before becoming engulfed in a deadlock of people. Jack instinctively grabbed Kate’s hand, pushing a path through to the other side. Not realizing the warmth of her hand was within his until they reached Mike, he quickly released it, and shoved his own in his pocket.

“Hey, Jack, I see you found her,” Mike said with a grin, scotch in his hand. “I thought you got lost.”

“Not exactly, just delayed.”

Mike’s blackberry lit up. He grabbed it and began to read. “Crap, there’s a problem at the station. I have to go. Jack, will you do me a favor and take Kate home?”

“I can grab a cab, Mike. Jack doesn’t need to—”

“You’re not taking a cab, Kate.” Mike looked to Jack for support.

“It’s fine.”

Kate’s expression crinkled in discomfort.

“We have plenty of room.”

Kate finally nodded in agreement.

Mike smiled. “Great, you guys have fun, and I’ll see you later.” He stepped forward, squeezing Kate’s hand. Mike moved away from them.

Jack looked to Kate, his heart pounding uncontrolled.

“We should probably get back to the VIP room.” She said, the area around them filling with an overflow of people.

“Okay.” Jack led the way to where their party was congregating. Once again, they ran into traffic between point A and point B. Jack consciously kept his hand to himself, letting her push her way through behind him. The crowd swayed, taking them with it, and he found himself trapped against the far wall. He looked to his left and saw Kate in the same situation. She made her way along the wall toward him.

A tornado of thrashing dancers erupted around them, and Jack instinctively used his body to protect her. The crowd once again crashed like a wave against the wall. He felt the pressure lessen and he looked down, meeting her emerald eyes. His body tingled, reacting to the softness against him.

“They really need to do something about crowd control.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it in my review,” he said, her scent filling him.

Peaches

“Should we try and move?” She pushed her hair off her shoulder, revealing a gently curved neck, begging to be nibbled.

“I don’t know.” He caught her eyes, his body steadily becoming a raging inferno. “Usually this where I get thanked for my selfless act of chivalry.”

“You’ve already gotten one blow-job this evening, Tucker.” She hit back with a glare. “I would have thought the Viagra would’ve worn off by now.” Her eyes breathed fire. She shoved him away and dove into the crowd.

Jack followed, annoyed by her spur of his advances, and eventually arrived on the steps of the VIP area. He saw Melissa meet her with a wide smile.

“Kate!” Melissa cooed, embracing the woman. “I was looking for you, when did you get here? Where’s Mike?”

“He had to take off. Kate is going to hang out with us for the remainder of the evening. I offered to give her a lift home,” Jack said with a little too much enthusiasm. Like a dog that caught a rabbit and was proudly displaying it to his master.

“Awesome, this gives me a chance to introduce you to some of our friends!”

Melissa whisked Kate away to fashion and celebrity heaven.

Once outside, Myka stood against the exterior wall of the club and waited. The whisper of cool air on the nape of her neck felt like a lover’s caress. She crossed her arms over her chest, then changed her mind and let them hang loose at her sides.

He wasn’t coming.

What was she thinking? She shouldn’t have approached him, but she’d wanted to prove her life was still her own. Pretend what she’d overheard wasn’t true, and her father hadn’t sold her to the highest bidder for a senate seat. But he had and here she was, grasping at anything to dull the pain.

The doors opened and Mr. Dark stepped outside. Breath left her body, her spine tingled. His gaze clashed with hers as he approached like a lion stalking its prey. Dark clothes cloaked his bulky frame—leather jacket, shirt, jeans and boots. His features looked like they’d been chiseled from the finest, darkest chocolate. Sharp, dark and smooth. He had high cheekbones, slanted eyes, and just a hint of stubble on his square jaw, framing full lips made to kiss and taste. A voice in the back of her head yelled run, but she ignored it. She sensed he’d like the chase.

He stood in front of her, chest to chest, and placed a hand on the wall behind her. Then he leaned in, licked her earlobe and caught it between his teeth.

Her breath hitched, knees wobbled. A whimper left her throat as her pussy flooded.

“You beckoned?” A Caribbean accent gave his deep voice an exotic flavor.

Nipples hardening, Myka stayed with the bold approach. “I want you. Under me, on top of me, but definitely inside me.”