The Virgin Sex Queen

by Angela Verdenius

  “I rest my case.” Marty drained the can of Coke.

  Alan pulled a book from the little pile beside him. “Want one?”

  Marty looked at the cover. “Hot Sin? Seriously?”

  “Dunno. I haven’t studied it yet.”

  “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Marty grabbed the book from Alan’s hand and settled back into the chair. Hooking one ankle over the opposite knee, he started browsing through the book.

  Disgruntled, Cleo got off his lap and disappeared into the house.

  Alan, meanwhile, was riveted. Strawberries up the whazoo? Who’d have thought of that? As for the dairy products, whipping cream licked off a nice set of boobs was one thing, he’d done that before, but a spray can with a handy nozzle put in a strategic place, well, that was just a whole different ball game. However, he could certainly see the benefits in licking that area clean, inside and out.

  Grinning, he continued onwards. Sophie Willow could write some bloody hot stuff. He found himself adjusting his position a couple of times, and when he glanced across at Marty, it was to see his friend with his mouth partly open, his eyes a little wider than normal, avidly caught up in some sex scene.

  There was definitely something to be said for girly porn.

  And there was something to be said about Sophie. For some reason her face kept imposing itself over the heroine’s in his minds eye. And the hero…before he knew it, he was so caught up in the eroticism of the story that he was imagining that Sophie was the heroine and he was the hero and they were setting that kitchen on fire. Holy spatula, talk about honey in crevices and sucking icy poles, licking and sucking and tasting and shagging on tables.

  Okay, he’d shagged on a table and across a kitchen counter, but he’d never done some of the stuff that was burning holes in his eyeballs as he read it.

  He’d never look at a kitchen or a can of whipped cream in quite the same way again. Or strawberries. Or quite a few other things.

  Another disquieting thought hit him, right at the same moment that Marty lifted his head to look at him.

  “Hey,” said Marty, “You reckon Sophie’s done all this?”

  “I guess so.” Alan shifted in his chair again, hoping his best friend couldn’t see that he had the beginnings of another impressive boner. Hell, they might be best mates, but boners weren’t shared. “She must have.”

  “Yeah.” Marty stared thoughtfully at him for several seconds before returning his attention to the book.

  Sophie doing those erotic, intimate things was enough to make his boner even harder, the thought was tantalizing. But doing it with another man? That thought was enough to have his boner deflating a little. Who had she done these things with? Who’d restrained her, like that scene in Punishing Laura? What man had spanked her, for that matter?

  Mind now shifting to more unwelcome places, Alan stared unseeingly at Marty.

  What bastard had seen her splayed out, what faceless man had filled her with cream and licked her out? Who’d pushed her over a kitchen counter and taken her from behind?

  Now his boner was battling with his temper. Jesus, he could practically feel the steam coming from his ears. His fingers tightened on the book. What male had trailed a feather over her whazoo and tickled that little clit, watched it harden, then sucked it until she came apart screaming?

  Who the hell had touched Sophie?

  Who’d watched her get undressed, and for that matter, who had undressed her? Who’d slowly taken her clothes off, who’d ripped her undies away, who’d made gentle love to her, who’d grabbed her and shoved her on the sofa and taken her in rough love?

  He didn’t even realise that he’d crushed the cover of the book in his hand until Marty’s voice finally penetrated his rage-induced haze.

  “Alan? Mate? What’s wrong? Alan?”

  Breathing heavily, and it had nothing to do with lust, Alan focussed on him. “What?!”

  “Whoa.” Marty held out both palms. “Settle down.”

  “I am settled.” Teeth clenched, Alan was a practically breathing fire. Who the hell was the bastard who’d touched Sophie?

  “Really? ‘Cause you look like you’re about to stroke out.” Leaning forward, Marty peered at him intently. “You need a cold drink.”

  No, what he needed was to bust some faceless man’s nose. Or faceless men. Jesus, how many men had seen his Sophie naked? Touched her, taken her, done naughty things to her?

  “Alan!” Marty shook his shoulder. “Man, are you all right?”

  “What? Yes, I’m fine.” Taking a deep breath, Alan eased his hold on the book and tried to get himself under control. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.” His friend studied him. “Unpleasant thoughts?”

  He had no idea. “Not at all.”

  “Yeah.” Marty’s eyes dropped to Alan’s hand, still gripping the book though not crushing it any longer. “Whatever you say.”

  Sophie had a book signing this morning. Alan straightened. Would her last lover be there? One of those men who’d seen her naked and done dastardly things to her, things she’d enjoyed? He could feel the steam starting to build inside him again.

  “Maybe you better lie down,” Marty suggested. “Give the girly porn a rest.”

  “It’s not the girly porn,” Alan growled.

  Yeah, if any man was having lingering feelings for Soph - and what man in their right mind who’d tasted of her ample delights wouldn’t? - he’d be hanging around that book signing, just waiting for an excuse to whip her away to a motel and strip her for his pleasure.

  Not bloody happening.

  Alan shoved his feet into his thongs. “I gotta go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Soph’s at a book signing. I’m going.”

  Arms folded across his chest, Marty looked him in the eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I don’t give a shit.” Alan strode through the back door and into the house.

  Marty was hot on his heels. “Alan, think this through. I mean, why the book signing? There’s going to be women there - oh.” His step faltered. “Oh, not cool. You’re going to pick up women? Man, have those hot books got your dick in a knot?”

  “I’m not picking up chicks.” The idea was ludicrous. “I want to check on Soph.”

  “Check on Soph?” Marty’s footsteps sped up. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  “Nothing.” I’ll see to that.

  “Alan-”

  Alan was through the door, letting it fall shut behind him, hearing Marty swear as it obviously thumped into his face. Then Marty was coming down the stairs beside him. “Alan, for the last time-”

  Beeping the panel van’s door unlocked, Alan grabbed the handle and wrenched it open. “See ya.”

  Marty shook his head worriedly. “Shit.” Stabbing a finger warningly at Alan, he ordered, “Stay right here. I’m coming with you. Stay!” He ran back into the house.

  Impatiently he waited while Marty locked up and came back down the stairs. Without bothering to go around the bonnet, Marty leaped up and slid impressively right across it, a manoeuvre that would normally get him the bird from Alan, but this time Alan didn’t even care. Muttering things about idiot friends, Marty slid into the passenger seat and buckled on the seat belt.

  Winding down the window, Marty rested his elbow on the doorframe and tapped his fingers along the edge of it.

  All Alan could think about was finding out who was shagging Sophie, and whoever it was better just back the hell off. Glowering, he changed lanes to pass a slower car before whipping back into the left lane.

  Finally, Marty broke the silence. “I can’t believe you’re going to spy on Sophie.”

  “I’m not spying on her.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Making sure she’s okay.” And finding out who is sampling her delights.

  Marty looked at him. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine!”

>   “Whoa. If you were a female, I’d be thinking it was that time of the month.”

  “If it was that time of the month, I’d be ripping your head off.” And if it was Sophie’s time of the month, she’d be ripping someone else’s head off, which was just fine in Alan’s opinion. As long as that was all she did.

  “So what’s going on?” Marty queried.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh yeah, this is all a big pile of nothing. You’re acting like a demented lunatic.”

  “No, I’m a concerned friend.”

  “No, you’re a freak.”

  Alan shot him a sideways glance.

  “You go running in there saying you’re there to make sure she’s okay while wearing a scowl like thunder and you’ll have all the sheilas screaming and running out. I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You got that bloody right.” Marty’s eyes narrowed. “Though…hmmm.”

  Not liking the sound of that hmmm, Alan concentrated on the traffic, leaving Marty to his unspoken thoughts.

  The bookshop soon came into sight but there were no nearby parking bays, so Alan drove around until an elderly gent appeared and got slowly into his old car. It took several minutes before the old codger indicated and pulled out. Alan swung in so fast he almost clipped the back end of the car.

  Marty grabbed onto the dashboard as he slammed the breaks on. “Nice driving.”

  “Up yours,” Alan returned automatically as he got out of the car and looked around. Marty barely had time to get out and shut the door before Alan beeped the locks closed and trotted off to the bookshop.

  In the window was a large sign Book Signing Now with Sophie Willow, Erotic Romance Author! On each side of the sign were posters of Sophie’s books with their lurid covers. Great. No doubt there were male perverts in there, all ogling Sophie and wanting to rip her clothes off. It was enough to make a decent man’s brains boil.

  Peering through the window, he saw that the bookshop was full of women. Of Sophie there was no sight. Not good enough, he had to get closer and see what was going on.

  Marty tapped him on the shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”

  “About what?”

  “What are you going to tell her when she sees you?”

  “She won’t see me.”

  “So why are we here?”

  “I want to check something out.”

  Opening the door, Alan glanced around before easing behind the women who crowded the room.

  Muttering, Marty followed him.

  Sliding along the window, Alan ducked behind a book shelf and peered over the top of it. Still couldn’t see the chick. Where was she? The crowd of women holding books and chattering excitedly were hiding her from sight, but seeing the direction in which they were all facing, he had a good idea where she was situated.

  He shuffled along, peeking over the books, only to come to the end of the aisle. Several steps and he was behind another long shelf of books.

  Two women looked askance at him, so he simply smiled to them and picked up the nearest book, opening it and pretending to check out the contents. After several seconds, he peeked back over the book to find the women staring at him.

  “Ah - Alan?” Marty tapped him on the shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Considering a sex change?”

  “What?”

  Marty pointed to the book.

  Closing it, Alan read the title. Man to Woman, Everything You Want To Know About Sex Changes But Are Too Afraid to Ask.

  “Shit!” Shoving it back onto the shelf, he smiled weakly at the women and shuffled onwards.

  Snickering, Marty followed. Bastard.

  Ignoring him, Alan pretended to peruse the books, all the time casting peeks over the aisle. Ah, now he was getting closer. He could hear her laughter, the warm sound sliding through him. Her voice was husky, her words ringing with confidence.

  The end of the shelf. Damn. But then he brightened when he saw that the next bookshelf was even taller and the bookracks enabled him to see through to the other side.

  Within minutes he had Sophie in his sights. Plucking a random book from the shelf, he peeked over the top of it at her.

  She was the epitome of a cool, calm, and very sultry erotic romance writer, or what he thought one would look like. The glossy, dark brown curls were piled on her head in an elegant but slightly messy bun of some kind, little strands slipping out to tickle her apple cheeks. Glossy lipstick, some kind of black shit artfully applied around her eyes to make the hazel stand out, and dressed in some kind of gauzy see-through jacket.

  Jesus, was she wearing anything underneath it? No sooner had the thought startled him than he put a hand to his chest and blew out a relieved breath. Underneath it she wore a flesh-coloured tank top. No bared titties there for anyone to see, thank God.

  He couldn’t see what else she wore below the waist due to the desk she sat behind, but it was enough. The chick was decently dressed. She’d sure as shit be answering to someone if she hadn’t been, that someone being him.

  Now to see if some pervert lothario was sniffing around her.

  Marty nudged him. “Seen enough?”

  “No.”

  “She’s not in mortal danger.”

  “Not that I can spot right now, no.” Alan’s gaze scanned what he could see of the room.

  “So why are we still here?”

  “You can go if you want. I’m staying put to keep an eye on her.”

  “I think this falls under the category of spying.”

  “I’m not spying.”

  “My mistake. Stalking.”

  There were only women in the bookshop. No drooling men with nefarious thoughts. Good.

  “And there’s a law against stalking somewhere, I’m sure of it,” Marty said. “Hey, you’re a cop. Isn’t there a law against this kind of thing?”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “Stalking.”

  Alan scowled at him. “I’m not stalking her.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Marty asked. “Protecting her from her fans?”

  “I’m…”

  “Yeah?”

  Alan looked back at Sophie. She was laughing at something a woman was saying, her eyes bright, her face animated. Happy.

  And here he was, sneaking around behind bookshelves watching her.

  Marty was right, there was a law against this kind of thing.

  “You’re obsessed with her,” Marty stated bluntly.

  “Obsessed?” That made him sound like a crazed stalker. “I am not obsessed!”

  Several women glanced towards the bookshelves, one whispering to another as an alarmed expression crossed her face.

  “If you want any hope of keeping your career, not to mention your stalker face out of the newspapers, I suggest we leave,” Marty said.

  Now he was feeling a little foolish. For the benefit of the watching women, Alan held up the book, pretended to read the back cover, then shook his head and replaced the book with an air of disappointment.

  “What are you doing?” Marty hissed.

  “Throwing them off the track.”

  “Seriously?” Marty rolled his eyes. “Alan, you’d make a piss-poor stalker. Come on.”

  More than aware that several pairs of eyes followed them, Alan retraced his steps quickly to where they’d first come in, sliding behind the women to make his escape out the door, Marty leading the way.

  Once outside on the footpath, his friend punched him on his arm. “What the hell was that all about?”

  Rubbing his arm, Alan glared. “Nothing.”

  “Man, there is something seriously wrong with you, and I mean more than normal. You’re reading erotic romances, you’re stalking the author, I mean, what’s going on in that head of yours? Anyone would think - “ Marty stopped, his eyes widening. “Oh. Oh! Ohhhh…”

  Irritated, Alan planted his hands on his hips. “What?”<
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  “You’re - I don’t believe it.” Marty whipped out his mobile phone and started to dial a number.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Satan.”

  “Satan?” Had his friend lost his mind?

  “Yeah. It’s snowing in Hell. He needs a heads up to buy a winter coat.”

  “Smart arse.” Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Alan started walking back towards the panel van. “I don’t know why you’re making such a thing out of this.”

  “Me?” Falling into step beside him, Marty looked incredulously at Alan. “I’m not the one stalking a woman!”

  “I’m not stalking her.” When Marty opened his mouth, Alan held up a hand. “I don’t know where you get this stupid idea but I’m not interested. Now come on, quit farting around. I have to get home and get ready for work, and I still have your big arse to drop off on the way.”

  Shaking his head, Marty waited until Alan had unlocked the doors before sliding into the passenger seat.

  Getting in the other side, Alan glanced at him while doing up his seat belt. “I don’t know where you get these weird ideas, Marty. Marriage has messed with your head.”

  “But I…” Marty stopped and simply shook his head again.

  “Yeah, speechless. I rest my case.” Starting the car, Alan checked the traffic before pulling out onto the road.

  Yep, he felt a lot better. A little foolish maybe, but better. There’d been no man there sniffing around Sophie’s legs - or anywhere else on her - and she’d been sitting there surrounded by women, doing her thing. All safe and secure.

  Safe and secure from any bloke who might be interested in her.

  Four hours later he was sitting in the patrol car, Mike a silent presence beside him. Nothing odd about that, it was what was wrong with himself that was the problem. He’d had time to think.

  The silence stretched between them as they drove along, Alan gazing out the window and wondering what the hell was wrong with him. As they passed the bookshop, the poster proclaiming Sophie’s presence no longer there, he heaved a sigh.

  Marty would have asked him what the matter was, but not Mike. Oh no, the big lug just sat there driving in silence, waiting for Alan to spill his guts or not, whichever he chose.