by Anthology
Taking a tentative step inside, Zee asked, “What kind of fireman has a limited edition Ducati?”
“What kind of criminal doesn’t have a getaway car?” Cage countered, placing the only helmet on Zee’s head. When it was secure, he straddled the metal and motioned for Zee to get on back. Zee remained in place, feeling frozen. She stared at Cage bent over the Ducati, biceps taut, until he growled in frustration and hopped off. He grabbed Zee, threw her on the back, and pulled her arms around his chest.
“Fucking crazy train…” Cage muttered.
“I’m not a criminal,” Zee whispered against his back as he pulled out. It was a pointless thing to say. Cage couldn’t hear over the engine and she didn’t particularly want him to hear, but she had to say it. She had to say it for the girl she used to be.
In the other room, shadows molded with Zee. A brief glimpse of skin could be seen as she tugged at the bottom of her shirt and lifted it over her head. He could see the flat of her golden stomach as darkness danced against her. She threw her shirt and it landed at his feet.
Cage stepped over it and walked into the room. Zee shimmied out of her leather pants, blonde hair falling over one shoulder when she stepped out of the second leg. Her round, lace bikini clad ass was right in his face. Coughing, Cage walked around to face her.
“What’s the plan?”
Zee kicked her pants with the tip of her toes and they landed in a pile. She turned to face him, hand on hip. “It’s a work in progress.”
Cage shook his head and looked to the ceiling. “You don’t have a plan.”
“We can crash here for a bit.” Zee walked around the cabin, turning on lights. “It was my fiancé’s but he kept it under a different name.”
“You were serious about that?” It was hard to contain his surprise. He’d thought it was just something crazy she said to go along with all the other crazy things she said.
“About what?” Zee stopped, finger on the light switch. The chiaroscuro made her appear all at once haunted and sexy. Shadows dripped down her back, sculpting her with an eerie light.
“Your fiancé,” Cage clarified. For an instant her face fell, the walls she’d constructed broke, and Cage could see the person beneath the bravado and insanity. Then everything returned. She flicked the light on and walked into another room.
“I’m going to be out here, but you can sleep in the bedroom.” Cage stayed despite her offer. She walked out of the room and returned, first aid kit in hand, then continued into the adjacent kitchen, tearing open the kit. Gauze, ointment, needles and thread, spilled across the counter and clattered to the floor.
“You’re hurt?”
“Look,” Zee said, waving off his question. She applied antiseptic, patting the place where her body curved just before her hip. “If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve been a fall guy. Be glad for me and my skeleton plan.” Wincing, Zee finished applying the cream.
Cage glowered and folded his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
Zee sighed and closed up the kit. “It must have slipped my mind while we were trying to escape.”
“What happened after you left the bar?”
Zee stood on her tiptoes, reaching into the cupboard. Her back muscles stretched, revealing the dip in her ass. Cage rubbed his eyes and looked away, instead gazing at the dark night. The cabin had floor to ceiling glass windows that stretched wall to wall. It was probably a great view, but it was dark and the lights were on inside, so all he saw was the reflection, specifically Zee reaching and bending over.
“How do you want it?” Zee asked.
“What?” Cage snapped, looking away from the window.
Zee held two mugs in her hand. “Drinks.”
“What do you have?”
Disappearing beneath the kitchen bar, she said, “I have cheap vodka and…cheap vodka.”
“What about that Highland Park 30?” Atop the bar was an impressive display of whiskeys, bourbons, and scotches ranging from Lagavulin to Laphroaig.
There wasn’t a second that passed before Zee said coldly, “That isn’t for you.” Cage didn’t ask for clarification. If he hadn’t been sure before, now he certainly knew whose house he was in.
“Cheap vodka sounds great.”
Zee reappeared, vodka in hand, and walked over to Cage. She handed him a drink, pouring the clear liquid into a mug that read “World’s Best Dad.” Frowning, Cage shot the drink and poured himself another, this time turning the mug around. Zee gulped her own from a plain porcelain mug.
She crossed her golden legs, the action drawing a thin line of muscle down her thigh. She leaned against the couch and closed her eyes, mug against her chest. She looked peaceful. Tiny scallops of purple lace hugged her breasts and down south he could see…
“Do you want a blanket or something?” Cage asked. Zee's eyes snapped open. She reached across for the vodka, her bra strap falling down her shoulder. She gave him a look as she poured herself another.
“We don’t keep blankets in this house. Do you want a shirt?” she asked pointedly. “There’s blood on yours.”
“I think it’s your blood,” he said, looking at the spot in question. “Do you want to spill what happened between when you left Untitled and when you broke into my house?”
“Still blood.” She sighed, deflecting, and ran fingers through her tangled snowy hair. Cage frowned, but didn’t press.
“Does it hurt?” Cage reached over and lightly touched his fingers to the skin. She didn’t flinch, but rather watched his fingers curiously. He stroked the smooth skin, careful to avoid where it was marred and bloody.
“It’s fine.” Her voice warbled. “And this helps.” She held up the bottle of vodka then shook it, only a little bit sloshing around the bottom. When she stood up to go get more, Cage grabbed her wrist.
“I’ll get it.”
When he returned, Zee’s eyes were closed and her chest was slowly rising and falling. He reached down to take the mug from her but she gripped his hand. Eyes still closed, she wouldn’t let go.
Cage slowly sat back down while Zee held his hand. He sipped the cheap vodka, letting her grip his palm until his eyelids grew heavy. He cushioned his head with one arm, the other still holding her hand.
“If it wasn’t you, then who?” She whispered just as his eyes started to close. There was no need for her to explain, Cage knew exactly what she meant. Because,
“I think about that question every day.” Finding who murdered his wife was on the forefront of his brain every second of every minute.
“You lied to me,” she whispered. “You are a good guy.”
Cage and his wife, Serena, were asleep on the couch. It was Sunday afternoon and they were taking a nap. They both worked hectic schedules, but occasionally they got this: a Sunday afternoon.
Wake up!
Serena turned to him but her face was blurred. All he could see was her smile, pearly white and floating like the Cheshire Cat’s. Something was off about it though. It was…fuchsia.
Wake up!
In his sleep, Cage rubbed her back and stroked her hair. He pulled her close. She smelled different, not like autumn, but almost like…springtime. Still, it didn’t matter, because it was Serena. For some reason he couldn’t see very well. He couldn’t make out her face or her chestnut hair and the couch they slept on kept shifting. Their walls shimmered like a mirage.
Cage felt like if he let go, he’d never get her back.
He held on tighter.
Wake up!
The walls ignited. Their curtains blazed. Serena melted in his arms, her bone-colored skin blackening and turning to ash. Cage tried to scream but it came out silent.
“Wake up!” Cage's eyes popped open at the sound of Zee's screams. He looked around for any sign of scorch and conflagration; there was nothing save glass. In his arms was Zee; he held her as he’d held Serena in his dream, and she looked pissed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He slowly loo
sened his grip.
“What?” Zee exclaimed.
“You—my hand—your body—us…” Cage gestured to Zee’s half naked body that he’d been clutching only seconds ago.
“What are you talking about?” Zee shook her head and threw her arms out, gesturing to the cabin. “Bullets, liebling! Lots and lots of bullets!” A shot rang out. The glass window he’d stared out the night before shattered, shards flying everywhere. Instinct overcame him and Cage grabbed Zee by the arm, dragging her off the couch and behind him toward safety. She shucked him off.
“Grab your keys,” she said.
“But your clothes!”
“There’s no time for that!” she yelled as she hopped into a pair of sneakers. “Maybe if you hadn’t been sleeping so hard… I thought you could handle your liquor!” Another shot rang out, this one narrowly missing Zee. Cage growled and pulled Zee into the garage.
They sped out of the driveway and were on the road within minutes. When Cage was sure no one was following them, he pulled over.
“You’ve been lying to me!” Cage yelled. He tugged the helmet off Zee’s head, throwing it to the dusty road. In the same motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and thrust it at Zee. “Put some goddamn clothes on.”
Zee leaned against the handles of the hog and gave him a crooked smile. “We just escaped death. Why are you so afraid of the female body?” Cage revved the engine and she jumped off. “Oh! There’s that temper again.”
“Fuck this, I’m outta here. You feel like dying naked on the side of a road? Go ahead. I’m done hiding from the cops and getting shot at for some crazy bitch.” Cage kicked up the stand.
Zees eyes narrowed, but only for a second, then she was smiling once again. “Go ahead Cage, leave. But that won’t answer your questions.”
“I don’t have any questions.” At least none a crazy blonde could answer.
“Okay.” Zee shrugged and turned away. She stuck her thumb out, as if about to hitchhike in nothing but sneakers and lace underwear. Casually she turned back to Cage and added, “I just thought you might like to know who killed your wife.”
Chapter 11
The Scratch by Glenna Maynard
Dottie
It’s been exactly six months and nine days since my husband last touched me. Yes, I’ve been counting. I love Jimmy, he’s my moon and my stars, but I need him to desire me as he once did. I’ve tried everything you can imagine to get him to come back to me—to us. Sexy lingerie, role playing, cooking his favorite meal, videos, even tried slipping him the pill. Nothing works. We’ve lost that something, our spark.
Jimmy swears there’s no one else. I’ve even had him tested for low testosterone. Nada. Zilch. Just last night, when he came to bed, I curled my fingers around the waistband of his shorts and exposed him. I ran my tongue down his shaft, I stroked him, teased him, and rubbed my breasts against him, not even a half-salute.
Sure, I’m getting older. But for fuck sake, I am only forty, and I look damn good. I go to the gym three days a week. My tits don’t look a day over twenty. We never had kids. Jimmy and me like to travel too much. But that has been lacking too. Why should I go to all these conventions with him when he won’t even kiss me? I’m at my wit’s end, on the verge of questioning his sexuality. Maybe he no longer desires a woman’s touch. I almost hired him a hooker just to see if it was me or all women. Maybe I should hire him a man. Scratch that. Maybe I should hire one for myself.
I’ve got an itch that my toys just can’t scratch. I need to feel a real man between my legs. My pussy is pulsing with need. I stand by the window, looking at the city surrounding me, wishing and hoping for a man to touch me. I’m so keyed up and horny, just about any man would do at this point.
I spy my neighbor from 5E, OZ, the firefighter. Now there is a man who sets my panties ablaze with need. I feel like a pervert ogling the twenty-four-year-old but that man is gorgeous. Tall with bulging muscles. He could be on the cover of a magazine with them sexy dimples and those intense baby blues. Sometimes I bump into him at the gym. I see him every other day. I usually hear him coming in when I finish cooking dinner. My husband prefers for dinner to be ready and plated when he comes in every night. But this morning he flew out to Tennessee for a convention. My husband is an insurance broker.
I usually travel with him, but I need some time to myself after last night’s rejection. I continue to stare at my neighbor’s hard body as he crosses the street to our building. I imagine what it would be like to scratch my nails down his back as he pounds into me. His well-toned muscles flexing beneath my heated touch.
My thighs squeeze together with anticipation. With OZ on my mind, I pad across the apartment to my bedroom. Getting back in bed to quench my thirst for that tall drink of water my inner sex kitten craves. My sex life is the Sahara and OZ can be my oasis. He’s such a sweetheart. He carried my groceries in last week. I picture his lickable dimpled smile and my nipples harden. I think about that flirtatious tongue of his caressing my points, sucking, and nibbling my pebbled flesh, as I yank on his dirty blond hair.
He always makes a point to flirt with women. That man has a wicked mouth on him. And the revolving door to his bedroom hasn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of us that live on this floor. He entertains lady friends more often than not. I thought he might be in a relationship with the girl he lives with, since Candi moved in first. However, they seem more like roommates on the surface anyway.
Pushing my pajama shorts down I ease my soaked panties off, and reach into the top drawer of my nightstand for my current lover, my rabbit. Poised on my bed with my knees spread, I’m ready for a little action.
Damn it!
My batteries are dead.
I shove my toy back into hiding and sigh.
I need a man.
OZ is a man.
I am struck with a deliciously wicked idea.
OZ
It’s quitting time after a long day and no action. Not that no incidents are a bad thing. I’m glad there hasn’t been any disasters or major accidents today. I didn’t even fuck anything up, which is saying something. But it’s important that I get shit right the first time, now that I’m off probation. I’m like a damn black cloud, the worst calls seem to come in during my shift. After being on for twenty-four hours I’m ready to get home for some alone time. Candi, my roomie is working tonight, so that means I get the place to myself. Living with a chick is cool. After, I broke things off with Suzy, I needed a place to crash, and Candi offered me the extra room in her place.
Most people would think I’ve fucked Candi, but that chick is cool and she sees through my shit. She probably knows me better than most. We’re best buds, which is something I never thought I’d hear myself say about a hot girl, with sexy ass tattoos to boot. She even took me to get my first ink.
I love my firehouse family, but spending so much time together can test your tolerance of one another. I tend to burn more bridges than I cross. I just like to give them all shit. Normally, I’d be heading out with one of the boys for a drink and a night of chasing skirts. I stepped on a few toes with my crude taunting of Kate earlier. I can’t help it. I love seeing her cheeks flaming like an inferno, it’s sexy. I know I don’t stand a chance with her, and I guess that’s half of the appeal. All the guys think of her like a sister, except me. I’d fuck her. Won’t happen though. I do have some boundaries. I don’t shit where I eat, but I’d never tell her that I respect her. I love the chase too damn much. I love fucking with her.
When McKitty told me I had gone too far, I knew it was time to pack it in and give everyone some space.
I don’t live that far from the station so I walk to work. Being a rookie on the block, I don’t net a lot of hours, and I’m going to have to search for something to fill the gap in my wallet. Ash said he could put in a word for me with the service he works for part time—an escort service. I just don’t know if that’s for me.
I’ve barely stepped off the elevator when I receive an u
rgent call from my neighbor down the hall, in 1E. When I moved in Candi threw me a small party and all of the neighbors brought a dish. I ended up getting drunk and giving them all my number in case of an emergency. I made a total ass of myself, like I am some sort of Superman.
“Lo,” I answer digging my keys from my pockets.
“OZ, it’s Dottie, in 1E. I’ve had a bit of an accident and set my kitchen on fire!”
Fuck! I end the call without a word and dash down the hall. I bum rush the red door nearly splintering it from the hinges. Running past the tan leather couch to the small kitchen to find there’s no smoke, not even a hint of a fire. Scratching my head, I’m sure I’ve busted down the wrong door.
Confused, I turn to leave when my neighbor appears in the bedroom doorway. Dressed in skimpy black panties and a matching bra, she says in a sultry purr, “I never thanked you for last week.”
I have to put my eyes back in my head. She’s Mr. Shafer’s wife. I swallow hard. Mrs. S is fine, like MILF hot. I know she’s a few years older than me but my cock is twitching at the site of her lean body. I’ve seen her at the gym a few times. Married or not I can appreciate how smoking hot she is.
“Um, you’re welcome,” I say awkwardly, unsure of what it was I did to warrant a thanks. Most women who know me past twenty-four hours call me for one of two reasons, a repeat performance or to tell me to fuck off. Other than Candi, she’s usually calling for a favor.
I stumble forward, ready to make my exit when she says, “I’m sorry I lied to you about the fire…It’s just, I’m so lonely.”
Shit! I gotta get out of here. If her husband comes home and sees this, it won’t be anything good. It’d be just my fucking luck too. I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall and realize Jimmy is usually home by now. We usually share the elevator on the way up.
“I’ll pay,” she pleads desperately, her bottom lip quivering in time with her shaky voice.
