by Temple Hogan
“So you don’t like the innocent virgin approach,” she teased. “How about something more exciting?” She pushed him back on the bed and climbed up beside him. She cast her mind back to Kama Sutra. She had to take charge here, and she didn’t have a clue what to do first. She remembered a few basics, and with a great show of lascivious knowledge, shoved him on his back.
Climbing on top, she straddled him and eased herself onto his hard cock, tensing herself for the pain, but there was none. Ha! The non-Incubus was at it again. He’d taken away the pain. For that, she was grateful. Not that she couldn’t have done it herself, but it was nicer that he had.
When he was seated deep within her, she leaned back until her weight was resting on her hands and began a circular motion with her hips. He moaned with pleasure, chuckled and raised his head to take in the unobstructed view of her slit.
One hand brushed against her clitoris, causing her to gasp with pleasure then increase her wriggling motion. His thumb circled her clitoris again, then took up a rhythm that raised sensations throughout her body. She rotated her hips, bringing additional sensations to his hard penis. He helped by raising his knees to support her back and to give him leverage to move against her. His wicked fingers were still at work on her slit, caressing her nub with slight touches that awakened a raving need in her body.
She wanted more and more. She wanted to come, but feared she would seem gauche and untried. She bit her lip, suppressed a groan and wriggled some more. His breathing had grown raspier. They moved together, and just when she feared she would lose control and tighten against him, he let go of her hips.
“This way is better,” he said and made her turn so she sat backwards on him. He sat up behind her, his hands encircling her, reaching for her slit, while his hot cock pushed deeply into her. She was filled in a different way than before, and once again, she gasped with pleasure and surprise. She rocked against him and heard his moan of mounting desire. She became so caught up in her pleasure, she almost forgot she had to be inventive and varied, least he become bored. It was hard to think of new ways to allure him when all she wanted was to succumb to her own sensations.
He moved against her again, and she racked her brain for something new. An Incubi had probably experienced every position ever invented and a few of his own, but she had to show this one that she was as experienced as she’d claimed. Finally, she thought of one position that would showcase her athletic abilities and give him something new. But just as she was about to make her move, he pushed her hips off his groin. Quick as a wink, he was on top, her legs spread wide and resting on his shoulders so he could once again enter her.
This direction was even better than the last, she thought dimly, then gave herself over to the pleasure of being mounted by a young, experienced stud who knew how to make a woman happy. And she was happy. She felt her lips part in a wide, passion-hazed grin, while her nether lips were sundered by a large, throbbing cock that plowed through her quivering muscles and touched her in places and ways she’d never imagined. Sex books just didn’t tell you everything.
She gulped in air and hung on to his broad shoulders while he rode her hard and mercilessly, each thrust eliciting a grunt from him and an answering whimper from her until she couldn’t stand it any longer, and her whimper turned to a full-borne scream in a key she wasn’t sure she’d ever been able to achieve before.
She remembered a funny movie she’d seen once and began singing about the mysteries of life. He didn’t skip a beat, but pumped against her with the stamina of a young bull or, what had Henry Miller once written, a stallion. Then she lost all train of thought. It was impossible to be cerebral when what was happening to you demanded all of your physical being. She gave up thought and reason and concentrated on feeling.
A sense of well-being settled over her, a place of such absolute rightness that she never wanted to leave it, never wanted to feel any other sensation. She just wanted to rest here in the arms of this demon Incubi while he took her higher and higher to a final destination no one had ever achieved before, and after that she would simply die, because she couldn’t come back to earth and ordinary feelings after this.
Dimly, she heard her screams mingling with his hoarse shouts. He arched against her, and she strained to meet him at that special place lovers go, tumbling over and over through conscious thought and tangled feelings. She swam in a sea of light and color edged by a darkness that threatened to claim her. But she clung to her Incubus and the storm passed, and she began the spiral back to earth, back to reality. They cradled together on the bed, their bodies glued by sweat and other body fluids—which smelled of smoking sex and passionate culmination. So this was what she’d been missing, she thought vaguely and slid into a deep rejuvenating sleep.
When she woke, Jack was gone, but the kitchen sink was fixed.
* * * *
Trent connected the equipment that gave him access to Sera Spencer’s phone line and settled down to listen. He refused to think about what had happened—thinking was something he hadn’t been doing lately, otherwise he wouldn’t have made love to the lady. Mannie’s lady. Over the months, he’d come to hate Mannie Somner with such completeness he could never have imagined he would sleep with the man’s girlfriend. Well, he had, and it wasn’t the first mistake he’d made in his life. Maybe the biggest, but not the first.
An image of Sera, all blonde and pink, sprawled asleep on the mussed bed came to him, and with resolution, he pushed it aside. The worst thing about making that kind of mistake was to repeat it, and he wouldn’t be doing that. He’d never set foot in that house again, never enter that bedroom, never make love to her. The thought didn’t make him happy. He’d get over it. He’d walked away from women who appealed to him before. She was just one more. He was a man with a mission, and it wasn’t to play footsie with a con artist’s sidekick.
She had to know about the money. She probably had millions of it stashed away in overseas accounts under different names. Yeah, sure, he’d done his research on her. She was the youngest of three sisters who had lived in town her whole life, and she worked at the library and owned her own little bungalow, etc. etc. A perfect innocent. The cover story was too good to be true.
Just as he’d hoped, she’d tipped her hand with her sexual prowess. He hadn’t meant to go as far as he had, but she’d been so insistent and appealing. Yeah, sure, it was all her fault. He was just the innocent this time. Right!
Okay, how about he hadn’t had a woman in months, and she’d gotten his adrenaline going the night before, and when she’d continued her sensual seduction this morning, he’d lost control. That didn’t work either. Still made her the seducer, and he wasn’t about to accept the fact that she’d made him lose control. He was a man—always in control.
Then what had happened? He cursed and got off the couch, heading for the refrigerator and a cold beer. The back door opened, and his relief agent entered.
“Did you get anything yet?” Eugene Hurley asked. He was a young guy, new to the team, and gung-ho to make his mark by capturing Somner.
“We’re hooked up to the girl’s phone. It’s bound to tell us something,” Trent said and applied the opener to two bottles of beer.
Eugene looked at him and shook his head. “Man, this is small-town America big-time. What would a guy like Mannie Somner be doing down here?”
“Hiding out,” Trent said curtly.
“So, what about this Spencer dame? She’s a looker. What’s she doing with an old man like that?”
“He’s got money. Dames always go for money.” Trent swigged down his beer and wished Eugene would find something else to talk about.
“Well, I was thinking,” Eugene said, totally oblivious to the fact he was annoying his partner. He just wanted to make points. “What if she’s his daughter?”
Trent snapped his head around to stare at the younger agent, while a feeling slid through him that he didn’t want to acknowledge as a glimmer of hope. It didn’t make any di
fference. She was connected to Somner, and that made her off limits. He emptied his bottle and placed it back in the container, everything neat and precise while inside his heart pounded a mile a minute.
“Man, you need to go lay down,” Eugene observed. “You look like you just got kicked by a mule.”
“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night,” Trent said, because it was true. He’d spent too much of the night thinking about Sera Spencer and the soft lush body she’d offered. Well, now he’d tasted her wares, so he could move on and forget her except as a means of bringing down Mannie Somner. The trouble was, one taste wasn’t always enough.
Chapter Five
Waking up the second time in one morning was infinitely more pleasant than it had been the first time, Sera thought, stretching. Since it was almost twelve, it hardly qualified as morning. Save for herself, her bed was empty, and she was rather glad. It would have been awkward to have faced her Incubus after all the things they’d done to each other. Thinking back over her morning’s activities, she pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back a giggle. What was happening to her? She wasn’t the giggly sort. Back to reality.
She threw aside the covers and headed for the bathroom, pausing to peer around the door, just in case her visitor hadn’t left but was showering or something. She felt a moment of disappointment, then relief as she stepped under a warm rain shower and soaped herself up. The soreness between her legs reminded her she was no longer a virgin, and she smiled at the luscious memories.
Okay, so again, her sisters were right! She wondered if her own private Incubus would be returning anytime soon, and the thought made her pause. What if he didn’t come back? What if this was it? What would happen to her and her newfound sensuality? She couldn’t go back to being a curious virgin. She knew now what it was all about, and she wanted more, lots more. Concern that Jack Trent wouldn’t be returning took away the pleasure of her shower. She turned off the water and reached for a towel. Damn, there were always complications.
How long had her sisters arranged for him to be with her? What could she do to make him stay longer? She didn’t even know how to get in touch with him. Of course, she could use her witchy resources, but she wanted to try the conventional way first. An idea came to her, and she smiled. Wrapped in a towel, she hurried back to her bedroom and picked up the mobile on her night table. She looked up the number she’d called before for a plumber and waited. The phone rang so many times she was about to hang up when someone answered.
“Hello?” a masculine voice said tentatively.
At first, her heart surged at the thought she’d reached Jack so easily. Then she realized his voice was deeper than this one, with a resonance that echoed inside her. Still, she’d never heard him on the phone, so maybe this was him.
“Jack?” she asked hesitantly. There was a long pause. Finally, the voice spoke again.
“Wait a minute,” it said, and she was left with dead air.
Not a sound came across the line, no voices in the background, no snatches of music from someone’s radio, nothing. She must have been placed on hold, but then there was no elevator music. The line crackled, and Jack was there. She could tell his voice even over the phone! And her body reacted, curling in on itself. She suppressed a shiver and put a smile in her own voice.
“Hi,” she said softly and knew it sounded sexy because she felt sexy. She wished he was there and they’d spend the afternoon the way they’d done the morning. She remembered the pain between her legs and conceded she might need a little time.
There was a long pause before Jack answered.
“What’s wrong?” he asked brusquely.
She sensed a reserve in his words and tried not to be hurt. “Nothing,” she said, trying not to feel defensive. This had not been a good idea. Maybe his brother was right there and he couldn’t talk.
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” she said lamely, wishing she hadn’t given in to her impulse to find him.
“Did you want something?”
Yes, definitely impersonal. She’d caught him at a bad time.
“Just wanted to thank you for this morning,” she said, taking the plunge. “Will I be seeing you again soon?”
“Uh, I don’t think that’s going to work out,” he answered.
Her heart squeezed with disappointment. “So this was it, huh? Slam, bam and thank you, ma’am?”
“Something like that,” he said. A long silence. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
She hung up before her voice began to waver, then anger took over and she straightened her backbone. She wouldn’t cry. He was an Incubus for god’s sake, not as if he was going to always be around like Phil’s husband, Beck, and Charlie’s husband, Nick. Jack Trent—what a farce! Fortunately, he hadn’t stuck around long enough for her to really get attached to him. He was just a trickster anyway. All Incubi were. To salve her disappointment, she went to her computer and brought up her search engine before typing in Incubus.
What she read made her think she’d lucked out when it came to Incubus Jack Trent. He could have impregnated her or caused her health to degenerate, bringing about her death. She should take a deep breath and give thanks he’d stopped short of that. Still, a bit of disappointment lingered.
She thought about calling her sisters and telling them what had happened and how their intervention could have threatened her life, but she wasn’t in the mood for any more today. She’d go out and work off her bad mojo by weeding the flowerbed.
Donning a pair of shorts and pulling on a T-shirt without a bra, she stepped into her clogs and headed for the garage and her gardening tools. She’d no sooner settled on her knees before a patch of lilies that needed weeding than someone called to her gaily.
“Good morning.” Janet Prescott’s shrill voice broke the afternoon quiet. Once again, she had her water hose going and was attacking the butterfly bushes and hostas that lined her backyard.
“Did you get your sink fixed?” she asked without waiting for Sera’s response.
That was how it was with Janet. She could have a conversation with herself all day and never miss a beat when people stopped listening and simply walked away. Now, with her typical ebullience, Janet rushed ahead.
“He’s cute,” she gushed. Sera assumed she was talking about Jack. “My gosh, when I let him in, I thought wouldn’t it be something if he and Sera could hook up as a couple.” She laughed. “I know, don’t get angry with me. I’m always so fanciful when I see a man perfect for a woman friend of mine. You do have to admit, he’s sexy as all get out. Mmm! If I weren’t married to Francis”—it was always Francis. She never called her husband Frank—“I’d make a play for him myself.”
“I didn’t notice,” Sera muttered when Janet paused for a breath.
“Didn’t notice? Are you blind? I heard you arguing with him and that nosy Gwen Shepherd was standing there, straining to hear what was going on between you two.”
“I didn’t notice,” Sera repeated and tackled a patch of weeds that threatened her favorite yellow daylily.
“Hmm, I try not to notice Gwen, but you can’t help it. That woman is always sticking her nose into everyone’s business. By the way, what were you and the plumber arguing about? Was he trying to overcharge you?” Janet seemed not to recognize her own nosiness.
“Something like that,” Sera said, giving up on the stubborn buckhorn that seemed to have taken up permanent residence. “By the way,” she sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead. “I’d prefer you not let anyone into my house when I’m gone. I gave you my house key just as a precaution in case there was a problem like fire or something.”
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry,” Janet said. “Francis told me you wouldn’t like it, but the deed was done, and he seemed like such a nice young man.” She cocked her head and cast a puzzled glance at Sera. “Why didn’t you use Malone’s like you usually do?”
For the first time, Sera realized Jack had appeared from a different pl
umbing company. She sat trying to puzzle things out. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? Because she was drunk out of her mind last night and too preoccupied with her visitor to think about such mundane things as the plumber’s name. Still, when she’d called the number for Malone’s, she’d reached Jack. Strange! Now she glanced at Janet, who was waiting for an answer to her question, her bright, gray eyes unrelenting in their quest to know all of Sera’s business.
Sera sighed. Janet and Frank or Francis Prescott had moved in two years before and had set up an assault on the whole neighborhood to win friends and become an influential and necessary power on the block. Janet was a force to be reckoned with. Already she knew more about Sera than Sera knew herself, or so she liked to joke to herself about her neighbor. Now Janet stood watching her, the ever-present watering hose emitting its weak stream of water. Some of the water had breached the property line and was now wetting down the patch of ground where Sera worked.
“Didn’t Malone’s do a good enough job for you?” Janet propped.
“I-I thought they were a bit pricey and decided to at least try someone new,” Sera said weakly and went back to dividing an overly large lily.
“I always say you get what you pay for,” Janet said airily. “If you’re tight on money, Francis and I could hel—”
“That’s most kind of you,” Sera said, getting to her feet. “Money wasn’t the issue.”
“Oh, well, if you ever need any help, Francis and I could help you out.”
Much to Sera’s relief, Janet coiled her hose, turned off the water and headed for her back door. Sera was sure Janet was headed right for her phone to pass along any innuendo of gossip she had gleaned from their conversation.
