by Morgan Brice
“Sore,” Simon admitted. “I took some ibuprofen, and that helped. It’s manageable.”
Just then, the server returned with their entrees, steaming hot and piled high. Vic’s chicken Marsala smelled divine, while Simon’s eggplant Parmesan came on a bed of spaghetti with Lucca’s signature house-made sauce.
“No more shop talk,” Vic said, meeting Simon’s eyes. “Let’s enjoy the evening.”
Simon returned a smile that looked almost bashful. “I like the sound of that.”
For the rest of the meal, they chatted about TV shows, recent movies, video games, and sharks. Simon didn’t share Vic’s passion for the Pittsburgh Steelers, Penguins, or Pirates, or any sports team, so Vic segued to favorite road trips or places each of them someday wanted to visit. Despite their different career paths, they found plenty to talk about, and Vic found himself relaxing for the first time in forever.
They finished the bottle of wine with the last of the meal and ordered a tiramisu to share. Since Vic was driving, he let Simon have the extra glass, and could have sworn it added a flush to the other man’s complexion and brightened his hazel eyes.
“I already arranged for the check,” Vic said when they pushed the empty dessert plate aside. “So we can wander on whenever you’re ready.” He chuckled as Simon started to protest. “I didn’t want to argue about it. You can get it next time if you want.” He found himself hoping very much there would be a next time.
“All right,” Simon conceded. “Do you want to come back to my place? Doesn’t have to be late…I know we’ve both got work tomorrow.”
There it was; the invitation and the graceful out to avoid another awkward leave-taking. Vic slid his hand over and tangled his fingers with Simon’s. “I’d like that.”
When Simon slid up behind Vic on the bike, he pressed them together so tightly Vic could feel the other man’s hard-on against his ass. The promise of the night yet to come gave a whole new meaning to the term “crotch rocket,” and Vic struggled to keep his motorcycle’s speed down since the last thing he needed was a ticket.
They arrived at Simon’s house, and it struck Vic again how settled Simon seemed. How rooted. He felt the transience of his own apartment, despite its newness. This blue bungalow had a calm vibe as if it were as content with itself as its owner.
Simon checked the lock before entering, but to Vic’s relief, the mechanism hadn’t been tampered with. With a few taps on his phone, Simon started up quiet background music and brought the lights up to a warm glow. He grinned when he caught Vic staring at the app.
“What? Just because I study old stuff doesn’t mean I don’t live in the modern era,” Simon teased.
Vic took a step toward him, backing Simon up against the door. Simon reached behind and turned the deadbolt. Vic set the chain lock and left his hand on one side of Simon’s shoulder. They fit together just right, and Simon brushed up to kiss Vic’s lips.
“Tell me what you want,” Vic said, his voice husky with need. Simon’s eyes were already dark with the answer.
“I want to taste you,” Simon replied, pressing his hips forward to rub against Vic’s crotch and his already stiff dick. “And I want you to suck me.”
“That can be arranged,” Vic growled, dipping in for another kiss, and this time, his tongue slipped between Simon’s lips, exploring and claiming, picking up traces of marinara and coffee and something totally Simon. He pulled back, just enough to see Simon’s flushed face. “Do you want to take turns or—”
“Together,” Simon replied, and while his cheeks colored, he did not drop his gaze.
I like a man who knows what he wants, Vic thought.
“Show me,” Vic dared.
Simon took his hand and led him to the oversized couch. It was long enough for both of them—they had proven this the last time—and by tossing the pillows off the back, was as wide as a twin bed, more than enough for what they intended. Vic didn’t miss the nuance that keeping their liaison in the living room avoided the issue of staying over. He wondered if, in time, they would make it into the bedroom, and what his imagination pictured made his cock achingly hard.
“Come here,” Simon said, pulling Vic close. They were both still standing, and Simon kept eye contact as he let his hand slide down Vic’s shirt, pausing to flick his tight nibs. Vic brought his hands up Simon’s sides, slipping one beneath his shirt and working the buttons impatiently with the other, careful to avoid his sore shoulder. Simon tugged at Vic’s tie, loosening it and casting it to the side, then opened enough buttons to where he could slide the shirt over Vic’s head.
They fumbled with each other’s pants until the last of their clothing pooled around their ankles, and they toed off socks and shoes. Vic pressed up against Simon, buzzed on the high of being completely skin to skin. He wrapped his fingers around Simon’s rigid cock, jacking him a few times to feel the warm, slippery pre-come bead from his slit. Simon met his gaze like a challenge and did the same, pausing first to roll Vic’s balls in his palm.
“Not going to last long if you do that,” Vic said, his voice far breathier than he intended. Damn, Simon made him hungry and reckless, and the feeling was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
Simon walked them backward until Vic’s knees bumped the couch. They let go of each other long enough for Simon to settle onto the couch, one leg bent, looking wanton and debauched before they had even gotten started. Vic took a moment to admire the long, lean muscle, defined but not bulky, and the smooth skin that was lighter than Vic’s olive complexion. Simon didn’t have a lot of body hair—Vic was fine with that—and what he did have had been groomed, neat and trimmed. He had a whipcord strength that intrigued Vic, and once again, he couldn’t wait to feel those powerful legs wrapped around his waist.
He’d wondered whether Simon would prefer top or bottom, and maybe this answered his question. Then again, if they ever got to that point, Vic would be fine discovering that Simon liked to switch. Vic himself preferred to top, but for the right guy, a permanent guy, he’d always figured he could learn some new tricks.
Vic leaned down to kiss him, a brush of lips and a swipe of tongue, teasing and promising. Then he climbed on top, offering up his swollen cock to Simon’s hungry mouth, and licking Simon’s dick like it was the best course at dinner.
Simon grabbed his ass, fingers digging into his cheeks, and pulled him close, licking and exploring, laving Vic’s balls and his sensitive taint. When Simon’s grip pulled him open, and his tongue slipped back to rim Vic’s tight pucker, Vic groaned, and swallowed Simon down to the root.
Vic savored the tang of Simon’s pre-come, burying his nose in his wiry, light brown pubes. He smiled to himself when he caught a whiff of soap along with sweat and musk, telling him that for all Simon’s reservations, he had been ready for them to go further. Maybe not tonight, but soon. God, I won’t be able to hold out forever.
Simon sucked and licked, moving from Vic’s hole to his balls, then up his sensitive, throbbing member, loosening his hold to pull Vic into his mouth and then he closed his plush lips around Vic’s skin.
Vic fought the urge to fuck Simon’s mouth, and Simon’s grip held him just so, letting his lover set the speed and how deep he took his cock. Simon ran the pointed tip of his tongue up Vic’s shaft, swiped the broad, flat surface across his knob, and then closed his lips and took him deep, sucking and humming until Vic thought he would explode.
Hard to tell if this was a race to win or lose, he thought as he doubled his attention to Simon’s dusky, hard cock. They were both clean, so Vic wasn’t worried about swallowing Simon’s shoot, but maybe some other time, he’d get to spill his seed all over Simon’s gorgeous chest. His mind conjured the image, and then another with him balls-deep in Simon’s ass, and Vic lost what little control he had. He came hard, and Simon took it all, as Vic tightened his mouth around Simon’s dick and the other man came a few seconds later.
When Vic could breathe again, and his vision cleared,
he cleaned up the last drops of Simon’s spend and had the presence of mind to fall to one side so as not to crush his lover. Lover. I like the sound of that.
Simon released him with a kiss on Vic’s spent cock that seemed almost more intimate than everything else they had done. Determined to do better this time on his “boyfriend etiquette,” Vic maneuvered to lie beside Simon face to face, fitting Simon against his shoulder.
“You look amazing,” Vic murmured, pushing a lock of chestnut hair out of Simon’s eyes. “That was…really good.”
Simon smiled, sated and vulnerable. “You’re pretty awesome yourself,” he replied, tracing Vic’s jawline with a finger. Vic turned to slowly pull the digit into his mouth, sucking and tonguing it to leave no doubt he wanted more.
“I want to see you again,” Vic said, propping himself up on one elbow. “I don’t know where…this…will go, but I want to find out.”
Simon’s gaze grew melancholy. “Can you afford to? I mean, you’re a cop…”
“I’m out at work,” Vic replied. “I mean, I don’t wear rainbow t-shirts, but the people who need to know, know. Just, don’t become a suspect. That would get sticky.”
Simon put his fingers to his mouth with a sinful grin. “We’re already sticky.”
Shit, the mouth on that man. Vic hoped he didn’t look hopelessly sappy. “You know what I mean.”
“And the psychic stuff?” Simon asked.
“We’ll figure it out,” Vic promised. “Wouldn’t be the first cop to work with a psychic. Happens all the time on TV.”
Simon’s smile wavered, and Vic planted a kiss he hoped was claiming and reassuring. “We’ll find a way.” He saw the doubt and reservation in Simon’s gaze and wanted to punch the son of a bitch who had taught him to be so afraid.
They stayed like that, naked and entwined until the old mantle clock chimed midnight. “It’s late,” Simon said. “And we’ve both got work tomorrow.”
Vic kissed him again. “All right. But for the record, I liked sleeping here. So…maybe another time?”
Simon smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. “That would be very nice. I liked it, too.”
After that, it didn’t feel awkward as they got up and dressed. They remained standing close, little touches that made all the difference between a fledgling relationship and a hurried one-night stand.
“Be careful in traffic,” Simon warned. “I have to admit I’m partial to having tons of steel wrapped around me, especially the way tourists drive.”
Vic chuckled. “It’s bad luck to hit a cop. And I’ve been riding since I was sixteen, so I’m experienced.”
Simon stretched up to kiss him. “You certainly are,” he breathed, holding on to Vic’s hips with both hands. “Don’t stay away too long.”
“And you, watch your back,” Vic cautioned. “We still don’t know what we’re dealing with, but someone’s out for you.” He raised a hand to cup Simon’s face. “Don’t get dead.”
11
Simon
“So…tell me what happened?” Tracey whispered as Simon treated himself to a latte at Mizzenmast.
“Not here,” Simon murmured, feeling his cheeks color.
“You go, boy!” Tracey replied, as if he were a chick leaving the nest.
“I really like him,” Simon said as she swiped his card.
“I can tell. It’s about time! You’re overdue.” She handed back his card. “I’ll be by for the neighborhood watch meeting tonight. See you then.”
Shit, that was tonight. When Simon posted the sign in the shop window, he had hoped to attract not just nearby store owners, but perhaps some others with untrained talent whom he hadn’t met. His goal had been to band together and share information, keep eyes out for anyone who seemed suspicious. Now he hoped that no one with abilities would show up. I might as well just put a big target on their backs, he thought, angry at himself for not foreseeing the danger.
He walked to the shop with his coffee, considering possibilities. It was already too late to cancel the meeting. People would still show up and possibly out themselves to a killer. Better to have the gathering and provide a warning, both to those who had no psychic gifts and to the others whose help might provide the information necessary to stop a killer.
Simon turned on the music and readied the shop for another day. He plugged in the scented oil warmers that gave the store a vibe that he hoped was more New Age than head shop and swept the sand off the stoop, being careful not to disturb the red powder. Simon had used the brick dust, as Miss Eppie had advised, and figured every layer of protection helped. Even with the wide boardwalk and a stretch of seagrass between the shops and the beach, sand was everywhere.
He caught himself humming a Springsteen song that reminded him of Vic, and smiled. Last night, after Vic left, Simon had gone to sleep feeling happier and more content than he had in a long time. Longer than he could remember. Maybe since the first days with Jacen? He thought. The last months with his ex- certainly hadn’t been warm or sweet. As Simon’s problems with the university escalated, Jacen withdrew, protecting his career instead of defending Simon. When Simon finally decided to resign rather than to have his reputation further tarnished, Jacen hadn’t even tried to dissuade him. Hell, he practically packed my bags for me.
Looking back, Simon couldn’t remember why he’d fallen for the uptight academic. Jacen was nothing like Vic, not in looks, or in bed. Jacen had been fussy, fastidious to the point of prissiness as if he barely tolerated the mess of sex or the complications of trying to fuse two lives into a relationship. Simon found he much preferred Vic’s unconcealed hunger and unbridled pleasure.
So much for going slowly, Simon thought. I’m in way too deep, too soon. He liked the new side of Vic he had seen at their dinner together, and whether it had started off as a date, it had certainly become one by the time dessert was served. Vic had taken him seriously, tried hard to be accepting of the psychic gifts Simon knew the cop still thought of as “woo-woo,” and had done his best to make up for the abrupt ending to their first night together. The sex last night had been intimate and urgent, but with an underlying tenderness that gave Simon a warm feeling in his chest.
Maybe when the Slitter case is over, we can move from lovers to partners, Simon thought and found himself hoping very much that would be the case.
A bright day without too much humidity made for good strolling weather, and the shop stayed busy all day. Advance sales for the next ghost tours were going strong, and Simon felt a surge of pride when several customers bought copies of his ghost books. It didn’t escape his notice that he did a better than usual business in protective medallions, candles, crystals, and jewelry. He didn’t know whether any of the buyers harbored psychic gifts themselves, or if word that a killer was on the loose had spooked enough people that they were covering all bases.
Simon watched the customers as they wandered through the store, wishing his gift included the ability to sense talent in others. Today his clientele ranged from plump grandmothers, goth teens, and patrons who wanted to get into serious conversations about the books and supplies for their own practice, to joking twenty-somethings teasing about love potions and potency charms. At one point, when the shop was so full Simon couldn’t see past all the people in the aisles, he felt a chill go down his back. He looked up sharply, abruptly turning from the customer he was waiting on, but only caught the back of a man’s head as he left the shop, a baseball hat covering his hair.
“Can I have my card back?” the woman at the register said with enough impatience that Simon suspected she had asked more than once.
“Oh, um. I’m sorry,” Simon faltered and handed back the woman’s credit card and her purchase. “Thank you for stopping in.” He looked past her, out the store’s large glass window, but saw only the top of the baseball cap disappearing into the crowd.
What the hell was that? Simon wondered. He knew his abilities didn’t include empathy or telepathy. But intuition was psychic-ind
ependent, at least the common garden-variety “gut feeling.” Simon had learned a long time ago to trust his hunches, and if he’d run into the baseball-capped stranger on the street, he would have crossed to the other side, driven by a vague sense of uneasiness and danger.
Could that have been the Slitter?
The next time the store had a brief lull, Simon backed up the single security camera and surveyed the crowd. He spotted the cap first, as the man entered with a group of other customers. The man—Simon thought it was a man—kept his head down, and between the aviator sunglasses and the beach towel slung around his neck, his face was obscured. With the stranger’s slouched posture, he couldn’t even be sure of height, and the man always remained in the middle of a group, so clothing and body build were impossible to see clearly.
“Dammit,” Simon muttered, then looked up and plastered on a smile as the door chimes jangled and more customers entered. He glanced at the display case, noting that he would need to reorder amulets and protective crystals soon. He’d gone through more in the past week than he had in all the previous month, and while no one who bought the charms had volunteered the cause of their worry, Simon guessed from their ages and accents they feared the serial killer.
He wondered again about the blond woman from his vision; the one Marcus had also glimpsed. Unlike with Cindy, Simon had nothing to go on to guess her identity. He could only hope that she decided to leave town before she became the Slitter’s next victim.
By the time Simon rang up the last purchases and shepherded the customers out the door, he was more than ready to go home and collapse. But he had the Neighborhood Watch meeting to deal with first. He hadn’t been able to escape a feeling that something was going to happen, although there had been no repeat visit by the man in the cap, and his patrons had all been generally pleasant. The receipts for the day were better than average, which should have lifted his mood, but somehow did not change the worry in the pit of his stomach.
