Going Under

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Uh-huh. Two vodka martinis, Bud! Dirty, like my friend here.”

  “Oh, stop it!” But Glory had her laughing and imagining her face a glowing red. What did it matter though? She and Fox were both free agents, and if everyone knew they were screwing each other’s brains out, what difference did it make? “Or I won’t tell you anything.”

  “I’ll be good,” Glory promised and made her Girl Code hand sign. “Now, make me cross-eyed with jealousy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  He tried to make himself wait, but Fox ended up taking the first ferry anyway. The Lyra school bus rolled off the incoming boat, the kids waving at him with enthusiasm and he waved back, feeling like a local now.

  The new Gore-Tex jacket didn’t hurt either—he blended right in.

  A night in the city had been okay, but he’d found himself thinking of Emily every damn minute. She’d find that person funny or that movie interesting. Could he talk her into an outing, a weekend in the city, perhaps? Especially if he proved to her that her stalker had moved on or imploded. Being recognized should no longer be an issue for her.

  Though he hadn’t nailed Phoenix via the ISPs, he knew more about service options than ever before. Consensus was that only a satellite dish would give the best speed and bandwidth in the islands. Of course, everyone had one of those for the TV sets. But it had to be a certain kind, and knowing that would shorten his list. Hell, he’d drive around and look for them.

  Something he should do right away instead of visiting Emily. Anticipation makes it sweeter, Sparky. Usually he had no trouble reminding himself of that, but his jones to see her argued strongly against it. She would already have gone for her morning run, most likely. Unless she’d stayed up late and slept in again.

  The thought of her, all rumpled and sleepy, her hair in wild tangles, made him want to go see her with a nearly physical longing. So much so that he made himself turn the other direction and drive to the other side of the island, to start marking his map with the distinctive satellite dishes.

  His thoughts, however, kept returning to her.

  What did she do all night—read? Watch TV? Maybe she had insomnia, which would make sense given her history. Maybe, with their new level of trust, she’d confide in him. Probably she didn’t want him to see her as weak and that was why she hid it from him. Maybe her anxiety had led her to hoarding and her house really was a mess, with shame-inducing piles of magazines everywhere.

  No—he’d seen in from the back door and there’d been no clutter. If anything, the room had been sparely furnished and decorated. It would be, wouldn’t it? If she’d fled her stalker and moved suddenly. But why not let him in the house? Old habits die hard, perhaps. She’d developed a pattern of distrust, keeping strangers out in case they proved to be her stalker.

  Though she’d relaxed with him quickly enough, that first meeting. Once she established who he was. Which meant she knew enough about her stalker to know from a few minor details that he wasn’t the one. But how?

  It niggled at him. That would absolutely be in-pattern for a stalker, to rent a nearby house and pose as a writer, to make friends with her and establish a relationship. Something about him, his face, what he’d said, showed that he wasn’t the one. Or that he didn’t know her.

  That had to be it. But wouldn’t a stalker factor that in, pretend to be fooled by her new identity? Of course he would. No, Miss Emily had some other way of being sure of him.

  She had to know who her stalker was.

  Which meant she’d lied.

  It shouldn’t make him so damn furious. She lied reflexively about everything to do with that time in her life. Objectively, he knew she didn’t owe him anything more than what she’d agreed to—just fucking. On one level, he understood that. On the other—oh, he wanted to do what he’d promised not to. To tie her down so tightly she couldn’t move and then torment her, push her past all caring and extract every bit of truth from between those luscious pink lips.

  She didn’t understand this about him—in all fairness, he hadn’t told her—but he hated these sorts of lies. His father’s voice echoed in his head. You see, Sparky—this isn’t exactly lying to your mother. We’re just massaging the truth, so she won’t worry. Really, it’s how we show love. It had been one thing when they were going the just-fucking route, but now that they...what? Had at least broached the topic of long term, even though she’d dismissed it out of hand.

  He took a hairpin curve too fast and had to brake hard, gripping the steering wheel to hold the rental car on the road. Slow down, Sparky.

  She made him crazy. Had from the very beginning. Whatever the reason, during the biggest story of his career, he’d gone out of control for this woman. If he’d realized early on how different she’d be, maybe he would have gone about the affair in a different order. He’d thought sexual intimacy would get him inside her, which it had. That hadn’t been wrong. But she still held him off, treated this thing between them as something temporary. A casual affair where she could lie and it meant nothing.

  It doesn’t mean anything. A little white lie doesn’t hurt anybody.

  People lied in marriages of nearly thirty years, too, but that transgressed into the realm of the unforgiveable.

  He needed to see her now. Fuck anticipation. Who cared if his behavior veered into a little obsessive? He’d own that. That trait made him a good reporter and an even better investigator. It made him an excellent lover, too, and she had to know that.

  In no time he pulled into her driveway, ready to pick a fight with her if she complained about the neighbors seeing. He knocked on the door and waited, contemplating how crazed he might get if she didn’t answer. He pounded louder, using the side of his fist.

  He drew in a breath to yell up at the solidly closed windows and the door opened. Emily, with her hair up in that damned ponytail, sleek and perfect in clinging black velour leggings and top, appeared. She smiled, half in welcome and more than a little in exasperation.

  “Geez! Give me a minute to get to—”

  Fox missed whatever she’d been about to say because he had to have his hands on her. Grabbing her by her slim waist, he yanked her against him, devouring her mouth. She yielded immediately—thankfully because he didn’t know what he’d have done if she hadn’t—and kissed him back, opening her hot mouth and taking him in. Her arms wound around the back of his neck, holding him tight, and she moved against him in a fiery response that sent his tenuous control to the wind.

  “Missed you,” he grunted, and yanked at the ponytail tie, wanting her free of it. He gripped her tight ass in the other hand, her muscle flexing as she moved her hips against him.

  “God—me too.”

  He got the tie out and dug his hand in her hair, winding his fingers into the silk of it and holding her head still so he could feast on her mouth. She moaned deep in her throat, and he knew she’d be as slick as he was hard. Releasing his grip on her ass, he tugged at the zipper of her top, splitting it open to reveal the little tank beneath, her nipples hard and defined. He filled his hand with her tit and she blazed under his touch.

  “The neighbors...” He was vaguely surprised that she hadn’t objected yet, that he was the one to say something, but it might kill him if she called a halt. Already he might be too far gone. Could he possibly wait long enough to get her into the car and back to his place? No way. “Let me in, Emily,” he grated. “I promise not to break anything.”

  * * *

  He tasted so good. And she felt as desperate for him as if he’d been gone for months, instead of thirty-six hours. Not that she’d been counting.

  I promise not to break anything. Of course he wouldn’t. She trusted Fox. He took care of her and, more, he trusted in her. Feeling as giddy as she had saying her wedding vows, she kissed him.

  “Yes. Come in, Fox.”


  She pulled him inside and they rotated around each other, barely parting, then slamming together again, desperate to feed the intense craving. Stretching, she managed to kick the front door closed and he picked her up, making her head spin, her legs reflexively wrapping around him so she straddled his waist, while he pushed her against the wall.

  Feeling wild, loving his strength, she dug her shortened nails into his neck, savoring his grunt of hunger. He was all hard muscles and rough hands, his erection blazing hard even through his jeans. She rubbed her crotch against him, throbbing, and their teeth clashed as they drank each other deeper.

  With one hand, he yanked down her tank top and sucked her nipple into his mouth, along with what felt like as much of her breast as he could pull with it. The pleasure/pain, both sharp and deep, intensified the ache in her groin. Those incoherent cries of need must be hers, but she didn’t care. “Fox,” she gasped. “I need you now. I can’t wait.”

  He nipped her nipple and she convulsed. Then he laved her breast with his tongue, making her wait for it now. Would he take her right there against the wall? No, he let her slide down his body and set her on her unsteady feet.

  “Turn around.” His face burned lean with hunger, and he turned her to face the wall instead of waiting for her to obey. She pressed her hands flat to it, bracing herself. Abruptly, he yanked her leggings down, startling a cry from her. Exposed to him, she waited, vibrating with the unbearable tension, her thighs pressed tight together by her leggings. The position didn’t deter him, however. His hands vised into her hips, pulling them back to get the right angle. The latex-clad head of his cock—of course he’d had a condom in his pocket—pushed against her, hard and huge with her vulva pressed closed.

  The sensation of being stretched this way shook her profoundly. Dimly she heard herself cry out as he plunged through her slick tissues, her spine arching with both satiation and increasing need. Unable to bear it, she bucked back against him, desperate. Firmly seated in her now, Fox clamped his hand over her clit and squeezed her turgid breast with the other.

  She braced herself against the wall, shuddering, breathing hard, utterly possessed by him in the most delicious way. “Yes. Just like that,” he growled at her, the tone stroking her as roughly as his hands. “You hold still while I fuck you.” He moved, pumping in and out of her, his cock dragging against her tightened tissues while she moaned. “You love this, don’t you?”

  “God, yes. Yes, Fox. Please.”

  Her heart pounded and, impossibly, he tightened his grip on her. She exulted in it, feeling that she belonged entirely to him, without walls or holding back.

  “You’ll let me in.” He increased the pace so his hips smacked into her, forcing her to lean hard into the wall.

  “Yes. Oh yes.” She hung her head, dizzy with it, with him. The urgency built, red-black and thunderous. She raised herself on her toes to accommodate him better, muscles straining, the orgasm looming like a thunderhead, lightning behind her eyes. Fox slapped the side of her ass, surprising her with shock, and she cried out, writhing. Harder. Rougher! She wanted to scream it, but she had no breath.

  “Tonight,” he muttered, “I’m going to fuck you up the ass. Won’t I?”

  Oh God, she wanted it. Wanted him in every way. She nodded, shuddering.

  “And you’ll love it. You’ll love it like this. You’ll let me in, give me everything. Tell me that.”

  “Yes.” She sobbed out the word. “Fuck, yes!”

  She screamed out the last, the unbearable tension shattering her, an orgasm so deeply wrenching she felt her brain might be exploding with it. Fox went with her, pounding against her body and shouting out his own intense pleasure, as they tumbled over the edge together.

  * * *

  Managing the presence of mind to keep Emily from falling, Fox wrapped an arm under her hips, though he clung to her with the movement as much as anything. The massive climax had drained him so, leaving him light-headed and slightly disoriented. Emily panted, her body slick with sweat and shuddering with aftershocks. Her knees wobbled and he lowered them both to the floor, where they could at least recover without breaking anything.

  A huge cat stared at him from a few feet away, managing to look both suspicious and disdainful at the same time. With a flick of her tail, she dismissed him and sauntered off.

  Though he’d pulled out of Emily, the condom hung on his softening dick and he lacked the energy to ditch it. She lay against him, utterly disheveled and not yet fully present. The hallway rug—some kind of jute?—prickled his ass. Probably a good thing they were both still mostly dressed. Above, an amazing chandelier glowed in shades of pink, orange and yellow. It should have been ugly, but it struck him as strangely beautiful and somehow essentially Emily.

  “Is that...a blown-glass octopus light?”

  “Cthulhu.” She turned her head to stare dreamily up at it. “You’re the first person to see it—besides me and the artist.”

  “You let me in your house.” With a sense of wonder, almost bashfulness, he kissed her damp temple and cuddled her closer.

  “At least the vestibule,” she said in a dry tone, sounding more her usual self. “What is with you and front hallways?”

  The groan escaped him. “It’s your fault. You’re so damn sexy and gorgeous I can’t wait longer than that.”

  “That was pretty intense all right.”

  “Did I hurt you?” Shit. He’d been more than a little out of his head. Levering himself up, he surveyed her, one bare breast still popped out of her pink tank top, the creamy skin marred with marks from his bruising grip. “I did. Dammit, Emily, I’m—”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry.” She twisted her fingers into his new jacket and tugged him down for a deep kiss. “I’m not,” she added against his mouth. “I liked it. All of it. And I like having you in my house, seeing my Cthulhu chandelier.”

  Feeling like a drowning man, he gathered her into his arms, sinking himself into the kiss. Had he ever known another woman like her? If he had, he’d been too stupid to know it. And he wouldn’t make that mistake this time. It was like she’d been made for him. He searched her eyes, the silvery gray ringed with a deeper color, full of some earnest emotion. “Emily...”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  For a heart-stopping moment, she thought Fox was about to say he loved her.

  Nonsense, of course, but the look on his face, the way he stared into her eyes, made her think it. She panicked a little. Premature, perhaps, but it must have showed in her face. Whether he’d been about to say that or something else, he changed his mind.

  “So, do I get to see the rest of your house—or do you prefer to reveal it gradually, day by day, room by room?”

  She thumped him on the shoulder for that, though she likely deserved the teasing, mostly relieved by the tension breaker. What would she have done if he’d said it? No, he wasn’t going to. Nobody fell in love that fast and certainly not a guy like Fox. He just felt what she did—a kind of overwhelming sense of connection, at seeing each other again. Though the separation had been brief, she’d missed him. Touching him again fed her the same way that eating a delicious meal after fasting for three days would.

  That was all. But she would let him see the house. There wasn’t all that much to see anyway. How much did she have, really, that would tip someone off to her secret identity?

  Not much. Even if they knew who Phoenix was—and, let’s face it, how many people do outside the community?—very little in her home alluded to it. Especially to a guy of Fox’s non-techie background, nothing screamed enigmatic, super-secret game designer. Most of her equipment didn’t look like much. She’d already put the new console in a drawer until they were ready to tackle adding in its capabilities in the new year.

  Overall, there wasn’t a hell of a lot to see, period. The house remained near
ly as inoffensively blank—with a few exceptions like Cthulhu—as the day she’d bought it. Kind of pitiful, really. But then, the woman who’d moved in had been pitiable, hadn’t she? She’d made a blank slate of herself out of necessity. The crime had been not coloring in more since.

  “If nothing else,” Fox added with an impish grin, gesturing at the sagging condom, “I need to ditch this before your cat gets ideas to attack. She looked like she was considering it.”

  “Dinah came out? Well, well—you rate very highly then.”

  She sat up, pulling up her leggings, her pussy still throbbing from being compressed around Fox’s generous cock. Yes, he’d been rough and it had been exactly right. “Come on. We’ll start with the guest bathroom.” What had he called it? A fast ball down the middle. Start out with the easy ones and work up. No need to be nervous.

  From the guest bathroom, she took him to the kitchen, where she’d pictured him that first day they met. Nerves met giddy joy as the realization hit that she could act out that very fantasy. After they’d recovered.

  Fox pointed at Tree’s cinnamon rolls, still in the box, that she hadn’t gotten around to putting out for the birds. “You can’t possibly like those bricks.”

  Caught, right out of the gate. “I can’t bear to hurt her feelings.”

  “Yeah. I bought a dozen and suspect I’m trapped for the rest of my life.”

  She laughed, feeling more relaxed. See? This was going fine. Leading him into the living area, she pointed to her movie-sized flat screen TV with triumph. He’d seen most of this room from the deck anyway.

  Dinah swirled around them, not afraid of Fox at all. A very good sign. The view from the windows took up most of the visual space and she liked it that way. Fox did, too, commenting on it. His quick, observant gaze took in everything and she had a moment when he examined her display of crystal animals, the stylized phoenix in the center seeming to glare with guilty red light. But he only commented that his mother collected glass fairies.