“How do you feel, gorgeous?” Morrie’s breath caressed my earlobe.
“I feel fucking amazing now that I’m out of the dress,” I whispered back, my words fading into a moan as Quoth’s lips took my other nipple.
“You’re not the only one desperate to get out of these ridiculous clothes,” Heathcliff muttered. After some considerable fumbling and cursing, both Heathcliff and Morrie tossed their topcoats and breeches on the floor, and Quoth rid himself of his silk boxers. I lay back on the pillow. Heathcliff leaned over me, his mouth claiming mine in one of his breathless, passionate kisses. Morrie’s hands snaked up my bare legs, kissing a trail of fire along the inside of my thighs.
“Let’s give those Jane Austen erotica writers downstairs some inspiration,” he murmured as he plunged his face between my legs.
Stoked by what Morrie had done to me at the dinner table, my clit hummed and throbbed beneath Morrie’s lips. Each slight touch from him sent a new shudder of delight through me. I moaned against Heathcliff’s relentless lips as Morrie drove me close to the edge.
Quoth sat back, his legs crossed, his eyes locked with mine. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat.
I reached out to Quoth and took his hand in mine, placing it on my breast, above my heart. Morrie plunged his tongue inside me, teasing the ache that begged for more, before he battered against my desperate, throbbing clit. I squeezed Quoth’s fingers as an orgasm shuddered through me.
My back arched. My core exploded with warm shivers that spread down my limbs to touch my fingers and toes. The world blurred and blackened, and a streak of bright blue neon color arced across my vision. My own personal fireworks display, courtesy of my men.
As quickly as the blue light appeared, it flicked off, and I could see again. Morrie sat back, flashing me with his wicked grin. Heathcliff continued to kiss me, as though no one else was in the room. Quoth just watched, his eyes ablaze with things he desperately wanted to say and do.
I wish… I wish he could feel as free around Morrie and Heathcliff as he does when it’s just the two of us… maybe there’s some way I can draw the real Quoth to the surface…
When I’d recovered enough to move again, I flopped forward and wrapped my arms around Quoth’s shoulders, pulling him down with me. I leaned him against the pillows, meeting his lips with mine, tangling my hands in his luxurious hair as we fed on each other.
When Quoth kissed me, a well of emotion bubbled up in my stomach, rising through my chest to flow through my mouth, along my tongue. I fed him all the dark thoughts that hid inside me, and he gave me his. I tasted him – not his physical self but his soul. All the emotion he usually poured into his artwork flowed into me – dark and broken and terrifying. But I wasn’t afraid of him. How could I be, when he cared so much and so deeply?
This was Quoth, my caged bird, slowly, slowly learning to be free.
I knelt back on my knees and wrapped my hands around his shaft. Quoth’s lips parted. His black lashes tangled together as he watched me through heavy-lidded eyes. I leaned forward and took Quoth into my mouth, tasting the sweetness of him, running my tongue around the tip of his cock. He sighed, the sound so full of bliss it cracked my heart.
I kept my eyes locked on his, demanding he watch me, knowing that he knew I watched him take his pleasure in me. I wanted Quoth to know that I would find a way to make him as happy as he made me. That he was worth caring about.
Rocking back and forth on my feet, I took more of Quoth inside me, relishing the stretch of my lips around him, the way his cock strained and jerked against my tongue. He tasted amazing, like wind and butter, like the softness of falling into a pile of autumn leaves.
“Mina,” Quoth’s voice shuddered. His hands clawed at the sheets. I moved with the same sedate pace Morrie adopted, drawing Quoth deep into my throat before releasing him in a long, slow stroke. Each time his cock slid inside my mouth, I imagined myself drawing all his darkness inside me, leaving him only with the bright, shining light of his heart.
Warm hands stroked my bare legs. Heathcliff. I recognized his unrestrained touch, the way he clung to me as though I was the only thing holding him upright. A condom wrapper tore, and then Heathcliff wrapped an arm around my chest, and his cock rubbed between my legs, seeking the entrance.
“Yes,” Morrie said, from somewhere to the right. “This is hot.”
“Wait your turn,” Heathcliff growled, his deep voice reverberating through my whole body. As I took Quoth in, I shifted my legs further apart to give Heathcliff better access. My whole body ached with need of him, of them.
Heathcliff held my torso rigid and entered me in a single deep stroke. I gasped against Quoth’s cock as my body accepted him.
I had two of them inside me.
Wow.
This is glorious.
With an animalistic growl, Heathcliff moved, drawing himself out and plunging deep again, tearing my body and heart open in all the best ways. His darkness twisted through mine, finding a melancholy partner in Quoth and in me. I was cracking them open, exposing the hidden things they didn’t want anyone else to see. But I saw them, because they reflected my own fears and my own strength back on me.
Quoth’s hand on my shoulder steadied me, and the orange fire in his eyes burned through every regret I’d ever had, turning them all to ashes. Heathcliff’s body on mine was hot, slick, drenched with sweat and pain and instinct. Unlike Morrie, he relished his lack of control, giving himself over completely to the animal side of him, to the dark aspects that made some call him a brute, a cruel and twisted thing.
But not me. I called him only Heathcliff.
I called him myself.
“I don’t mean to break up the party,” Morrie pouted. “But I’d like to point out that one of us is feeling a little left out.”
“She’s got one mouth and one cunt, and we’re currently occupying both of them,” Heathcliff growled. “Unless you have another suggestion, wait your turn.”
“Oh Heathcliff, Heathcliff. How sheltered you are.” Morrie held up a tube of lube. It took me a moment to realize what he wanted to use it for.
My lips slid off Quoth’s cock as a ripple of unease slid through me. “Do you carry that around everywhere with you, just in case an opportunity presents itself?” I asked.
“Of course.” Morrie twirled the bottle around, his eyes dancing. “What do you say, gorgeous?”
You’re not getting anywhere near my arse, James Moriarty, until you give me the piece of yourself that you’ve been holding back.
But I wasn’t going to give him that answer now. Morrie deserved to sweat a little longer. I bent my head back to Quoth, taking him in deep and slow. Quoth’s eyes widened, and his fingers clamped on my shoulder. “Mina, I think…”
I gripped him tighter, pumping with my hand while I swirled my tongue around the tip of his cock. His body stiffened, muscles clenching as he came, hard, in my mouth. I swallowed down the taste of him, taking everything he would give me as if it were a gift I’d been hoping and praying for. In many ways, it was. Quoth was a gift, one I hoped to unwrap every single day.
“Now that you’re done with the bird, focus on me.” Morrie shoved a slumped Quoth aside and waved the bottle in my face. His easy smile tightened with desire. “What do you say? Yes?”
I shook my head. “Not this time.”
Morrie lifted an eyebrow. “But perhaps next time?”
I laughed as I kissed him. Your cock isn’t the only thing I want. I demand nothing less than your whole heart, James Moriarty. And I’ll get it, one day.
Morrie wrapped his arms around me. He sighed. “Fine. But if I’m not inside you by the end of the night, I’m going to be very upset.”
In response, I rocked my hips against Heathcliff. “We can’t have that.”
“So… what are we going to do about it?”
“Do you ever shut up?” I rose up on my knees and grabbed his shoulder, yanking him against me
and stoppering his protests between my lips. Morrie clung to me, his body pressed against mine even as Heathcliff drove deeper.
Pressed between their bodies, their hands and flesh all over me, a fire blazed inside me. Stoked by their raw, primal need, I became Sekhmet, protector of the sun, warrior goddess of fire, healer of wounds, because this fire… it was healing fire. Over my shoulder, Heathcliff and Morrie locked eyes, and the look that passed between them was something otherworldly. It said that the fire touched them, too.
Heathcliff’s nails dug into me as his body tensed. He buried his face in my shoulder, teeth dragging against my skin. A shudder rolled through his body. Inside me, his cock quivered, driving deep as he released, the power of his final thrusts jerking me against Morrie, as though he drove his cock through both of us.
Heathcliff held me for a moment, leaning down to claim me with another breathtaking kiss. That moment and that kiss tell me everything I ever needed to know about him. He slid off me and flopped against the bed.
“My turn.” Morrie grabbed my hip and spun me around so that he too came at me from behind. I yelped as he plunged inside me with a deep thrust. Gone was his control, his casual indifference. Morrie unleashed the chaos inside him that he’d held back for so long. Nails dragged down my back. Teeth snagged my neck. He bucked against me like a man possessed, like he was fucking a demon from his own body.
I arched my back and rocked against every thrust, relinquishing myself to his abandon. If this was Morrie’s chaos, if this was what he was trying to protect me from, then he could forget it. I wanted this. I needed it, needed him. Whatever was going on in Morrie’s head right now, something had broken him. The floodgates had opened. About bloody time.
A hand snaked around my neck, the finger pressing against my lips. “Bite me, gorgeous,” Morrie murmured, quiet and far away, lost in his own inner turmoil. I sank my teeth into his skin as he plunged his hand between my legs, flicking my clit with the end of his finger. As he drove me to the edge with finger and cock and the orgasm swept over me, I bit down hard on his finger, tasting the tang of his blood on my tongue. Morrie’s body stiffened, and he finally released.
Does he need the pain that much?
As he slumped against the bed, I turned my face toward Morrie, meeting his eyes. “Mina,” he whispered. His face glazed over with a strange, faraway look, tinged with the kind of sadness Quoth usually carried with him.
I kissed him, long and slow, trying to draw out an answer. Something in Morrie felt different. Quieter, more vulnerable.
Wow.
Morrie drew away, his eyes widening.
“Morrie, what—”
He yanked his head back, turning away from me and sliding off the bed. I reached for him, but he jerked his arm away.
No, Morrie, don’t do this. Don’t pull back when you were so close.
“Where’s the fire?” Heathcliff grunted. Morrie didn’t reply. He thrust his long legs into his breeches and hobbled toward the door.
I sat up, concern bubbling in my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“I just… I have to go.” Morrie threw a shirt over his shoulders and stumbled into the hall. The door slammed behind him.
Chapter Fourteen
“Morrie, wait!” I threw myself off the bed, scrambling around on the floor for my clothes. I grabbed my dress, then realized it would take far too long to fasten with any degree of propriety. My rucksack was in the other room, and we’d locked the door between the two in case Lydia decided she had to join us. I couldn’t risk opening it if she was on the other side, having her discover what was going on.
I swiped Heathcliff’s flouncy shirt off the floor and flung it over my head. He was so broad and tall that it came down nearly to my knees. It wasn’t exactly Regency appropriate, but it was at least somewhat decent.
“Mina, what are you doing?”
“I’m going after him.” I pulled on Heathcliff’s enormous topcoat and shoved my feet into my Docs.
“Why?” Heathcliff demanded. “He’s just being Morrie. He can’t handle it if he doesn’t get to be in charge.”
“I don’t think that’s it this time.” I yanked the door open and jogged into the hall. It was empty. At the top of the staircase, I paused, looking down over the edge. Couples milled around in the entranceway below, holding wine glasses and making chit chat. Piano music floated in from Uppercross. If Morrie was upset, he wouldn’t have gone downstairs. Where, then?
I remembered the covered balcony where we’d watched the fencing. At this time of night, it would be completely deserted. I raced across the upper landing, ducking down one hallway and then another until I found my way back to the small study that led to the balcony.
I didn’t want to turn any lights on and risk scaring Morrie off. I shuffled my way through the dark study, wincing as I smashed my hip against a large oak desk. Moonlight shone in from the windows outside, and a headache bloomed in my temples as my eyes focused on the squares of pale light, obliterating everything else within my narrowed field of vision.
“Ow!” My knee slammed into a stone plinth. I thrust out my hands and managed to catch a terracotta vase before it toppled onto the floor. As I righted the plinth and set the vase back onto its stand, a shadow passed through the moonlight.
“Mina?”
I glanced up. A tall figure stood in the doorway leading out onto the balcony. In the dark, I couldn’t make out any features beyond a vague shadow, but I knew that voice anywhere.
“I came to find you.” I straightened up. “I thought we could talk.”
“Go back to the room. I’ll be along in a minute.” The figure disappeared.
Oh no, you don’t. I made my way to the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching Morrie. He leaned against the railing, staring out into the snow-cloaked night. In the gloom, I couldn’t discern his features, but the shape of him was unmistakable.
“Morrie?” I stepped up beside him.
“I’d prefer to be alone,” he said, without turning.
“Is that true, though?” I took another step closer. “You’re always alone, even when you’re with me. You hold something back and you fight against yourself. I think maybe you don’t know any better, but whatever the reason, you’ve built this space between us. I hate it. Tonight, you closed that space and let me see you, really see you. And I think you’re scared of that.”
Morrie didn’t speak for a long time. I took my chances and shuffled across the balcony to stand beside him. He wouldn’t look at me, so I leaned over the railing, trying to glimpse his face. His mouth set in a firm line and his eyes formed ice-crystals – cold and hard, but fragile. Morrie bit his lower lip, and I dared to hope that something I said got through to him.
“What’s going on with you? Why’ve you been acting so strange these past few weeks? Ever since we solved Mrs. Scarlett’s murder you’ve been surly and mean.”
Morrie drew a paper from his pocket, folding it and unfolding it in his hands. He sighed.
“I put you in danger.” He didn’t whisper or choke. His words came out clear, confident. Whatever he was about to tell me, he had a fundamental conviction that it was true.
“What do you mean?”
“When you went to Mrs. Winstone’s house and found her husband’s body. It took me too long to figure out there were two different killers, and I should have seen her as the killer immediately. All the clues were there – the missing husband, the conflict with Ginny Button, the walking stick attack that didn’t fit with the killer’s pattern. But I missed it.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“It doesn’t matter. We figured it out together and caught Mrs. Winstone and Greta. We solved the case thanks to your cleverness, and no one else got murdered.”
“Don’t you see? It matters very much. I should have figured it out, but I didn’t, and I’ve been racking my considerable intellect trying to figure out why. The terrifying thought occurred to me – that perhaps I was losing my mind. For the la
st couple of months, I’ve been addled, mixed up, stupefied. Perhaps it was an undiagnosed medical condition. I needed to find out, and the first part of the equation was to understand just how badly my brain was depleting.” Morrie handed the letter to me. “So I re-took the MENSA IQ test. I sat this test a year ago, for the sole purpose of winning a bet with Heathcliff, which I did in fact win. I tested with an IQ of 172.”
The envelope from MENSA. It was his test results. But he wouldn’t be this upset unless…
Yikes. I knew Morrie was clever, but an IQ of 172 was off-the-charts. Morrie’s lip quivered, and my heart ached from him as all his erratic behavior and snide comments came into sharp focus.
Morrie prized his intelligence above everything else, and if for some reason he was losing it, that would feel like losing a core part of who he was. I knew enough of what that felt like to know that it felt like utter shite.
“Morrie,” I touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I wish you’d said something. You don’t have to deal with this alone. I can help. I—”
He laughed, but the sound had no mirth in it. He held out the letter. “Read it.”
I took the paper, flipped it open, and scanned the results. The number leaped out at me.
Standardized IQ score: 173
Huh?
“Morrie, did you even read this? It’s one point higher than your last exam. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Of course I’m worrying. That paper proves that my brain is in perfect working order. The problem is that my heart is getting in the way.”
My own heart hammered against my chest. I had so many questions, but I kept silent. If I spooked Morrie now, he’d never open up again.
“I care about you.” Morrie rested his cheek on his hand, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe any of it. “I promised myself I’d never make that mistake again. I only cared about one other person my entire life, and, according to the record, he pushed me over a waterfall.”
Pride and Premeditation Page 12
