Under Covers

by Leigh Ellwood

Every bit as human as me.

  I tossed ‘Mark’ the vibrator into my bag. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

  Chapter Six

  Idling at the red light at First and Euclid, I watched a metallic-colored ooze rise and expand from my purse. When the light turned, Mark was sitting calmly in shotgun, my purse in his lap, as if he had always been there.

  I nearly popped the clutch, but recovered without having to restart the engine. “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “Mark Grimes, ace reporter for the Spectator,” he said with a smile. “Really, Lib, there’s no reason to be jumpy. I’m not the enemy.”

  “Sure.” Tell that to my body. My nerves danced the twist, my stomach knotted, and my heart beat a rapid tattoo against my rib cage. As long as I’d known and lusted after Mark, I never expected to hear or see anything like what had just happened. What else did I not know about that man? That he feasted on human blood to survive, perhaps?

  “Do you?” I wanted to know, and Mark frowned at me. “Do you drink blood to survive?”

  “Those are vampires, Lib. Get your phenomenal creatures straight. Anyway, they’re more prevalent up north. It’s colder, and people keep better up there.”

  “People keep...” I nearly missed my turn and had to hit the brakes hard as I swerved to the right. “So vampires exist, too?”

  Mark was nonchalant. “Vampires, werewolves, shifters, faeries...you name it, you’ve probably seen them at Starbucks and just didn’t realize it. You’d be surprised how much of what is printed in the Spectator really is true.”

  “You’re a shifter?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “I shudder to think what Alissa is.”

  Mark chuckled. “Alissa is normal, believe it or not.”

  “All those stories you wrote, how you were able to sneak into restricted areas and get exclusives... It’s because you shifted and spied, right?”

  “Yep.” Mark leaned back, smug. “Perfect job for a shifter, being an investigative reporter. I can be the literal fly on the wall.”

  “Why couldn’t you be honest with me then?” I wanted to know. “Why don’t any of these--these...things make themselves known?” My mind quickly calculated the possibilities. How many people did I come into contact with on a daily basis? My apartment building’s super, the teenager who delivers my Chinese food, the homeless man I see in the park when I take my power walks...

  Could they scale walls without rope, or render themselves invisible?

  “Look in the rearview mirror and you’ll have your answer, Lib.”

  I checked. Nobody was behind us. “Are we being followed?”

  “No,” Mark cried. “The panic on your face. You’re freaking out right now. Imagine how the rest of the world would react when we start coming out. We’re talking major chaos, Lib. Major.”

  True. In a way, too, we were also talking major exclusive. Once I got stills of that clip made...

  Mark broke into my thoughts again. I really need to improve upon my poker face.

  “No, Lib.”

  I slowed into my building’s parking lot. “What? I didn’t say anything. You can read minds, too?”

  “No, but I can read you. Lib, that clip can never be made public. You can’t write the story.”

  Right.

  This story was a winning lottery ticket, my ticket to a better job with a real newspaper or even the AP. I could kiss the Spectator and Yale Barnes’ shifting ass goodbye—assuming he’d be able to keep his job. Yale wrote the occasional article as needed, and nobody would want to trust the man with deep, dark secrets once his ability to blend became news.

  I parked in my spot in front of my apartment and snatched my purse when I saw Mark dip his fingers inside, presumably for my cell. “Nice try,” I said, and palmed the thin device. “How do I know you’re not going to try to erase the clip?”

  “How do you know I didn’t already do it?” Mark challenged. “I was in your purse. Doesn’t take much for a vibrator to bump against a phone and hit a button.”

  “Dumbass. A vibrator can’t unfold a cell phone.”

  Mark grinned and waggled his fingers in front of me. I felt sick.

  A vibrator with fingers could. Tiny, shape shifting, scary fingers. Of course, he could have done it earlier when I let him take my phone. Duh.

  My own fingers trembling now, I pried open the cell and surveyed the contents. Clean slate, and I hadn’t e-mailed a copy to myself.

  “Fuck.”

  “Okay.”

  With one last glare in Mark’s direction, I pushed out of the car and slammed the door. To think I had him pressed against my clit and loved it, dreamed of it happening in other more intimate ways. “You can go fuck off! Turn yourself into the snake that you are and slither away.”

  “Lib, wait.”

  I took the steps to my second-floor abode two at a time. I felt like an idiot, so overwhelmed by the chain of events that I had forgotten one of journalism’s cardinal rules—never—never give another reporter a hot tip. Mark had my future in his hands, and e-mailed it right to his account!

  Inside, I threw every lock and stalked into my room, stripping as I went. I needed to wash away Club Virgo and the image of Ellyn Grizzard’s horny doppelganger humping some blonde. I needed to wash away sticky Maisie Maple and her bodyguard, mute the chainsaw disco music still pounding in my ears, and cease wondering if I might have had a shot at the elusive Lana.

  I cranked the shower to hot and stepped under the spray, tilting my pinched face into the water as it matted my hair to my skull. Most of all, I needed to wash away Mark and the feelings of pleasure that had remained on my skin. Yet, for as hard as I ground my bar of lavender soap against my arms and breasts, the memory only resurfaced. White suds bubbled over my nipples as I recalled how Mark, in vibrator form, brushed against me and made me come alive.

  Made me come.

  I cringed and pressed my thighs together, but the throbbing in my pussy couldn’t be quelled. When a series of soft knocks rained outside the bathroom door, I thought I might spill.

  “Lib,” Mark called. “I’m coming in.”

  “How did you get this far?” Yet, I knew the answer as I asked. Idiot, I was. What locks could hold a shape-shifter capable of slithering underneath a door?

  Sure enough, I peered around the shower curtain to see a pool of metallic ooze slide across the tile and over the shag throw rug by the sink. Rising up into a reflecting obelisk, the thing shaded into flesh and hair, and there stood Mark with his arms folded across his chest. A raised brow crowned the eye silently appraising my vulnerability.

  I clutched the curtain for support and fought to regain my bravado. “You know, the door was unlocked,” I said, impressed with the nonchalant tone of my voice.

  Mark shrugged. “More dramatic this way, don’t you agree?”

  “Get out of my apartment.” I leaned back into the shower. “Go write your exclusive and get rich and famous. I know that’s why you transferred the clip to your e-mail, you thief.”

  “I didn’t take that clip,” The sharp, shining noise of metals hooks scraping against the curtain rod broke Mark’s speech as he tore back the plastic drape, “because I wanted to steal the story from you, Lib. I took it for protection.”

  “What, to protect Yale Barnes? He’s a creep. He’ll deserve what’s coming to him once it’s revealed that he’s a—”

  “A what, Lib? A freak, a monster?” Mark held out his hand and I flinched. He looked as though he might grab me, and when the hand quickly morphed into a large, snapping lobster claw, I squealed. Just as quickly, however, the hand return to normal and Mark raked the fingers through his shock of hair with a hint of exasperation.

  “People find out Yale is a shifter he won’t just be outcast, dear, he’ll be strapped to an operating table and dissected. Poked, prodded, pricked with wires and jumper cables and shot up with a million different drugs to test their effectiveness on him. He’ll be treated no bet
ter than that pack of bunnies we rescued from the cosmetics lab. Remember?”

  I did recall the story Mark had written about the corrupt testing practices of a local laboratory, he won an award for it. I had to wonder now if his abilities aided in obtaining the evidence needed to put the bunny torturers away. Had he posed as a beaker full of amber cologne that was force fed to the poor dears?

  The picture conjured in my head morphed itself into that of Yale Barnes’ hindquarters being shaved and tattooed with mascara. I smiled. “I do remember,” I said finally. “Why is that so bad to comprehend?”

  “Because if I know Yale, he’ll talk. If the government can’t learn what they want from him, Yale will morph into a canary and sing. Add the inevitable panic that’s bound to ensue when normal folks learn of our existence, and...” His pleading eyes hinted at the rest of the scenario.

  “Of course,” I whispered. I had a major story in Yale, but also the potential for major disaster of the torch and pitchfork variety. Never mind what could happen to Mark.

  “So,” I posed, “why keep the clip then? Why not erase it in good faith?”

  “Because Yale has no faith. Think about it, Lib. If you don’t deliver shots of Ellyn Grizzard in another woman’s embrace he’ll find a way to make it happen, then move on to another unsuspecting celebrity and do the same thing to him.” Mark pointed toward the door. “Yale gets an anonymous e-mail with that clip, and the harassment will stop, I guarantee it. We need that clip to protect people like Ellyn Grizzard, and people like me.”

  That did make sense. Certainly if Yale knew somebody had dirt on the guy dishing the dirt, he’d do what he could to save face. To say nothing of his enormous gut.

  “So, does Yale know about you being a shifter? Won’t he think you had something to do with this?”

  “Actually, no, and he doesn’t know that I know about him. I only found out because I happened to be in his office one day, posing as a stapler, while he was with Alissa,” he cleared his throat, “and I saw something morph back to its normal, small size.”

  I snickered. Another mystery solved. Would Alissa have willingly joined Yale in his office for afternoon delight otherwise?

  “But he does know of other shifters, some of whom are friends. Nice law-abiding people who certainly don’t deserve being outed. For all he knows, the staff at the Spectator who report stories of the vampires and such, no more believe in them than you did. Just bullshit to sell papers.”

  Mark leaned against the tile of the shower, arms folded and grinning. Finally, I realized I had been naked and wet all this time. His smile was too dazzling, his demeanor so overpowering that I forgot where I was. Quickly, I folded my left arm over my breasts and palmed the soap over my crotch with my right.

  “Oh, stop it,” Mark admonished. “I’ve seen plenty already. Unless something new is going to happen, and you’re obviously not a shifter so it won’t, there’s no point in this.”

  “Right.” My arms dropped to my sides.

  “Are we still friends?”

  “Yes, Mark.”

  His smile turned wicked. “Can we be more than friends? I mean, beyond the owner/vibrator relationship we previously shared, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Hands simultaneously tugged at his T-shirt and worked the fly of his jeans. “Hey now,” I warned, “When I said ‘Of course’, I was just agreeing with the vibrator assessment thing, not inviting you to get wet.”

  Mark continued to undress. His gaze flickered across my thighs, and I quivered. “You’re wet now,” he said.

  “Duh.”

  His look smoldering, as if to add, ‘you know what I mean’.

  Did I ever. Damn his keen journalistic observation. Damn my weakness for cock.

  Wet skin untouched by the spray cooled significantly, and I shifted for warmth. “Why don’t you morph out two more hands to help you there?”

  The t-shirt flew away, revealing gorgeous pecs and washboard abs. Why was I mad at this man again? “The anticipation is killing you, yes?”

  The ache in my pussy was killing me. I righted myself and tried to look dignified, nothing like the horny chick I was. At least Mark was not making fun, which was promising.

  “I have to admit,” he said, stepping over the tub’s rim to join me, “that this was not how I pictured our first official coupling.”

  “So you have pictured it?” Very promising.

  “I pictured a warm, dry bed.” Mark’s nipples were dark and taut, rock hard to match his cock. I dared a touch to one and relished the flinched response. The cock would feel even better, I knew.

  “Well, one hallmark of a good journalist is the ability to adjust to any situation,” I said.

  Mark considered this with a mock frown. “Well, that’s fine and good for journalism, but lovemaking is a different animal.”

  As are you. I remained quiet, though, letting only a small chuckle escape.

  I moved to let the spray hit Mark’s bare chest. “If I stand here and shrivel like a prune, wouldn’t do you much good, would it?”

  “Why not?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

  Mark cuffed his shaft, brushing his thumb over the bulging tip. “Would you want any of this shriveled?”

  Hell, no. He was beautiful. Water streamed down his broad, hairless chest and teased his erect, brown nipples, trickling around them and sliding down his legs, which were matted with dark hair. That cock was huge and stood at attention above a triangular patch of dark pubic hair.

  “If I didn’t say it earlier, oh, my.” I licked my lips. “Tell me, is that...real?”

  “Oh, yes.” Mark leaned his head away from the direct stream of water. Droplets beaded in his hair and on his lashes, making his smoldering gaze shine. “And if I didn’t say it earlier, I rather like tight situations,” he said, his eyes lowering to my crotch. Nothing more needed to be said.

  Before I knew it, I moved forward and was in Mark’s arms, stabbed with a hundred sharp water needles to the back as my breasts crushed against him.

  We kissed hungrily, stroking each other’s backs. He cupped my ass and I felt his erection pressing into my stomach. I tried to maneuver myself so he could get inside me, but he suddenly drew away and looked at me apologetically.

  “No,” he said. “We can’t do that. I don’t have any protection.”

  I might as well have been filled with concrete. “What?” My voice bounced around the tile. “So what? We’re in the shower, and we’re standing up. Won’t it all wash out? And you’re a shifter, shift a condom on you.”

  Mark laughed and guided my hand to his cock. He was so hard, and the water made it easier to stroke. I brushed my thumb over the circumcised tip. I wanted him inside me so much it hurt. To think I was so close; my pussy throbbed.

  He dipped forward and took my nipple between his teeth, nibbling and suckling as his hand scooped down to cup my pussy. Fingers waggled, pinching my pussy lips between them until one of them found my clit and started stroking in a circular motion. The shockwave tore through me, and I had to release his cock to grip his shoulders with both hands. My legs were too quickly turning into rubber to be able to support myself.

  I buried my face into his neck. “Oh, God, don’t stop doing that.”

  He started grinding his cock against me, and arched his neck. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  The first wave of orgasm was about to hit. My knees were set to buckle, which suited me fine. I supposed while I was down there I could find something constructive to do.

  I kissed one nipple then the other, and then mouthed a trail down to his navel. At least I tried; it was difficult to bend over with him still teasing my clit. Mark seemed to sense what was coming next and quickly pulled me back to a full standing position.

  “Not here, you’ll drown.” He reached past me and cranked off the shower. The water flow ceased, and he took me by the hand, both of us sopping wet, to my bedroom. He pushed away the comforters and lay back, t
hen motioned for me to do the same on top of him, facing away.

  With no thought to dampening the sheets I scrambled on the mattress and hovered over Mark, water from the shower dripping into his pinched face as I settled over his waiting mouth. Bracing my knees to his sides, I let Mark guide me the rest of the way down as his tongue sought and found my clit, licking furiously. Opposite me, his cock bobbed and winked, taunting me. I bent forward to grasp the base of the shaft and swallowed him whole.

  His muffled moan vibrated his entire body, but I didn’t notice for the pressure on my clit and the cock in my mouth, which tasted so damn good. Salty and smooth, reminding me just how long it had been since I had eaten…anything or anybody. I stroked the soft skin of his inner thighs, teasing him before going straight for his sac, which I cupped in one hand and gently squeezed. I felt his body jerk slightly underneath me, but he didn’t come. Not until after his tongue sped up its pace and sent me writhing into orgasm. I felt his hands push against my hips slightly, to raise me. I could only think perhaps that I might have been suffocating him with my eagerness to be pleasured. As I said, it’s been a while.

  Not much longer, though, I was contemplating nothing else beyond the spray of hot, salty come shooting into my throat as Mark’s muffled orgasm vibrated against my thighs. I kept my lips clamped around him, my cheeks collapsing as I sucked him dry. He tasted so damn good. Screw the low-carb fad.

  I drew the suction upward as his cock and entire body softened, pulling with pursed lips until the tip popped away and slumped between his legs. At the other end, Mark released his own oral grasp and inhaled sharply.

  “You know,” he gasped, “if you wrote half as good as you give head—”

  “I’d have a Pulitzer. Yeah, yeah.” I would accept that as a compliment, I decided as I snuggled close to his chest. We tasted each other in a few brief kisses, and I traced my real initials in the droplets shining on his skin. “So,” I added after a breathless pause, “do I take this to mean I get exclusives with the Spectator’s star reporter?”

  Mark cast a lazy smile. “I’ll laminate the press pass myself.”