by Mary Hughes
Nobody worried about me. They worried about Gretchen or Nixie, but not me. As a child, I was the big girl who took care of herself. Later I was the cop who took care of herself—and everyone around her. Bo’s concern was nice.
“I’m fine.” More than fine. His skimming woke every body part he touched, incited tingling need. Burning, yes, but not the nerve-damaged kind.
“Thank goodness.” He pulled me into his arms, burying me momentarily against his massive chest.
It was like being slammed into a wall. Sweet chocolate Glocks, Mounds-o’-Muscle here was actually harder than he looked. I drew in a surprised breath, choked on it. A masculine scent, steamy and spicy, nearly dropped me unconscious. As it was I started trembling. “Uh, Strongwell?”
“Damn it, Elena, you’re shaking. You’re not okay.” He held me away from him. Zeroed in on my eyes, which must have said exactly why I was shaking.
I licked my lips. His gaze dropped precipitously to follow, his pupils dilating big as dimes. He yanked me in. Hot lips descended.
Bo kissed me.
His mouth, warm and firm, pressed against mine. Circled masterfully. A tongue licked the seam of my lips with bold expertise.
My trembling increased. My hands fell onto his cotton-covered chest. It was like palming velvet-covered boulders. My lips parted slightly in amazement.
His tongue flicked at the opening. Little sparklers lit where he licked, small crackles of sensation, tiny zaps that made my lips swell and throb. He kissed me, silky soft, licking little shivers at the corners and edges of my mouth until I wanted to scream.
I grabbed Bo’s head, pent-up lust twisting my fingers into his thick hair. I vaulted onto my knees. My knees and shins rapped hard wood but hunger overwhelmed any pain.
I kissed him back.
His kiss changed, his head angling, his jaw working. No deeper, but harder. Taking command, not giving me the option to stop, even if I wanted to.
Which I most certainly did not.
Suspect, yeah. Janitor, yeah. And maybe he was doing my sister, though I hoped not.
But Nixie was right, I was desperate. The last time I was intimate with a guy was at a police convention in a conference room that was supposed to be empty. Except we forgot daylight savings time. Just when the guy settled down to a workout at the Y, forty people walked in. Too bad, because his jump rope was extra long and thick. That frustrating little scene, with variations, had been going on for the last five-plus years.
So I was a bit, um, eager.
I tried to tell Bo that with my open mouth, my thrusting tongue. That he didn’t have to go slow. That he didn’t have to be a gentleman. That he didn’t have to arouse me because I was already pitched at frantic.
That my head had already catapulted to rumpled sheets and writhing damp bodies and please-oh-please filling my empty ache.
He heard. His powerful arms cinched me close. A low rumble of approval lapped at my ears. His tongue thrust into my mouth, deep, stabbing like a flaming sword. I was not small but his tongue filled me. I tasted timber ships and roaring fires. Sea spray and raids and rich plunder. He drove deep again. And again.
I grabbed his ears and tried to crawl into his mouth.
His fingers tightened in my hair. His other hand thrust into my waistband, tugged the shirt hem out. Strong fingers rasped directly onto my skin. His hand was big enough to span my entire back. I shivered.
His hot palm caressed me, burning friction. His fingers were fire, licking down my spine. Flames lapped the delicate hairs over my back cleft. The night was humid, but that made steam roar out of my ears.
I arched into him, my breasts rubbing the powerful swell of his chest. My nipples tightened, pleading mutely. Need fired deep inside. My panties dampened.
Abruptly he broke the kiss and raised his head. His eyes were closed, his nostrils flared. “Fuck, Elena…that scent…your scent.”
Thank you, Hulk It.
“And your taste.” Bo bent, nuzzled my ear, his breath tickling the lobe. “Mmm. I want to taste all of you, Elena. Every succulent inch.” He bore me to the hardwood floor, held me there with the weight of his Viking body. His hips pressed into mine.
A huge bulge prodded my belly. I gasped. Was that a cock or did he have a Viking warship in his pants?
A rush of desire hit me between the legs. My knees, still throbbing from the floor, parted. One thickly muscled thigh thrust between mine, pressed intimately. Rhythmically. Suddenly my knees weren’t the only thing throbbing.
His palms planted on either side of my head, he stared down at me, deeply, as if reading my thoughts. And maybe he could because slowly his mouth curved in a sexy, knowing smile. “We have time, Elena. Let’s do this right.” His eyelids lowered, heavy with desire. Exquisitely deliberate, he bent his head toward me.
Hot, slick lips met mine. I opened, eager for the fiery thrust of his tongue. But he slid his mouth over mine, superbly unhurried, tasting me thoroughly, drinking in my panting breath. Licking and nibbling and tonguing until I was going crazy.
Years of unfinished foreplay sharpened every smell, every sound, every sensation. My nostrils filled with the rich, dark scent of male. My ears rang with Bo’s deep sighs and my own frustrated groans. My body rocked with frissons of desire.
I circled his strong neck with my arms, wrapped my cop-long, cop-strong legs around his waist and rubbed against him in bold, needy strokes. He shifted to nibble my ear. I tightened my legs and rubbed harder, until I was practically grinding his monster erection with my pubic bone. “Enough of slow, dammit!”
At last, he growled. Deep, bone-buzzing, heart pounding. His mouth left my ear to trail wet fire down my neck. One hand slipped under my shirt, found my breast. Palm and fingers cupped and kneaded while a thumb rasped my nipple erect. “Do you like that?”
I trembled under him. “Wonderful. More.”
“More?” His tongue glided over the side of my neck. Sharp nips followed. “Yeah, I’ll give you more.”
His hands ran fire over my breasts, his mouth sucked pleasure along my neck. His hips ground slowly, inexorably into my vulva.
The heat of his body, the thrilling pressure, poured liquid excitement into my belly. I rocked harder against him, close to…something. Something big compared to even my vibrator. Way beyond frustrated foreplay. “More.”
Bo’s hips jerked. His cock swelled until it burned the entire length of my vulva. “Lord, Elena. Do you want to kill me?” He muttered it against my neck, breath hot, sharp teeth scraping skin.
So close. I wriggled under him. Perspiration dotted my skin. “More, now!”
He growled. Released his full weight against me. I only thought I was under pressure before. He smashed me into the hardwood floor. Crushed my breasts and hips with his overpowering male strength. And I loved it.
I grabbed his head and pressed him closer. “That feels so good.” My heart was pounding. My whole body was throbbing. His tongue swiped long strokes over my throat. Sharp. Hot. Shocking.
“Damn. The smell. The sound… Elena, are you ready?”
I was panting so hard my breath caught in my throat. “Ungh.” Please, do it. Whatever it was. I writhed under him, seeking…seeking…
“You want it?” His teeth, needle sharp, pressed into the skin.
Pricks of desire lit my neck. My throat was swollen with need. I forced the words through. “Yes. Finish this before I implode.”
He let out a soul-deep sigh and his teeth stabbed into my throat.
Pleasure knifed me hard. Lanced from neck to groin. My pussy clenched and released like a metal spring. Sproing. I came, so violently I could smell it. Could feel it drenching my panties.
Hot liquid trickled down my neck. Bo’s tongue rasped over me, licking ardently. “You taste like heaven, Elena. I’ve never…not in all my life…” He groaned, so deep it might have been coming from his toes.
I floated in a cloud of bliss. And here I thought my sexual frustration was from lack of p
enetration. Who needed intercourse when they could climax from… I came to and realized Bo had bitten me. I scrambled out from under him, swayed unsteadily to my feet.
He rose instantly, with a muscular ease that mocked me. “Elena—”
“You bit me!”
I wound up and punched him good.
Bo’s rock-hard abs barely dented, but he gave a quite satisfactory huff. He stepped back, eyes shuttering. He touched his belly but said nothing.
“What the hell was that for?” I clapped a hand over my neck where he had bitten me. “Look, I don’t do kinky stuff like…” I felt—nothing. No blood, no wound. Just smooth, whole skin. “You’d better not do that with my sister.” I felt a lot less sure of myself.
His eyes glowed eerily in the moonlight. “I don’t.” His mouth barely moved, and his voice was half growl. His fingers were clenched at his side.
“Well, good.” I cut an involuntary look at his pants. The zipper was raised in mountainous relief against his hips. Oh heavenly days, what would that have felt like inside me?
Would have being the operative terms. ’Cause I wasn’t going to find out. The best orgasm in years, and I’d gone and punched the man who’d given it to me.
Way to go, Elena. First guy in five to float his armada on your sea, and you sink his battleship. Well, looking at Bo’s zipper, maybe not sink. In fact, he looked impressively unsinkable. Like he’d sail long and hard… Fuck. I wasn’t going to get the chance.
My sister, maybe. Widows have needs too, a little voice whispered. Shut up, I whispered back. “Gretchen has had enough shit in her life, Strongwell. So if I ever hear of you trying that biting stuff with her—”
Quite suddenly Bo relaxed. His lips curved slightly. “Jealous?”
I gasped. “Over an apartment manager? Hardly!”
“Good.” He still looked smug. “I’d hate to think a little kiss and love-nip scrambled my dear detective’s brain.”
“Little…little…” I had climaxed from that “little” kiss. And he’d gotten the Washington Monument in his pants, so it wasn’t like it was one-sided.
I spun away. “Just stay away from my sister.”
Silence. I turned back, but he was already gone.
Chapter Six
I slammed out of the Fudgy Delight. The broken door popped immediately open. I tromped back, bashed at the thing ’til it latched. Then I tramped down the street, hands thrust in pockets, sweating bullets. For which I was glad. The wretched summer heat matched my wretched, wet mood.
Damn strong, lusty men, anyway. Getting you all hot and riled, then lamming. That frustrated coupling at the police convention had by no means been the only big one that got away.
First time was senior year with Pieter Schmidt.
Like a sore tooth, I poked myself with memory. I’d been making out with Pieter in the back seat of his VW in our driveway. Dad and Brita weren’t home. Gretchen was. She thought Pieter and I were burglars and got scared.
Other people’s scared sisters would have run and hid, or called the cops.
Gretch turned the garden hose on us, full blast. Which wouldn’t have been so bad except the VW’s wiring was shot. The water shorted out every single electrical system on the car.
Wipers flipped, headlights flashed. The horn blared loud enough to wake the deaf.
Pieter nearly ripped off the door trying to escape. As he ran away, the whole neighborhood was mooned by his naked ass. I remember thinking Pieter had a nice butt.
Strongwell’s butt would make Pieter’s slink away in shame.
No. Not thinking about butts, especially not suspects’ butts. I jammed my hands further into my pockets. Lights flashed red and bloody across my jeans. Surprised, I looked up. I had just passed Nieman’s Bar.
My jaw clenched. I’d let my emotions drive me off-course. Resolutely, I headed back up Fifth.
Nieman’s neon sign cast eerie red shadows on the walk. Shee-it. Freaky lighting. Murder scene nearby. I could be starring in a horror flick. Next there would be chittering violins.
I paused. Listened. Nothing. I kicked at a street post, welcomed the pain juddering through my toes. Obviously I had to put away my Bedside Vampire Collection. The clang reverberated on the sweltering night air, sounding almost like…a moan.
A low male moan. Followed immediately by a high feminine scream. I kicked into a run. Another scream sounded, right on top of me. I ground to a halt. Slapping hand to holster I scanned the streets. Candy store west. Alley and parking lot east. All dark, lifeless.
The movie heroine breathlessly surveys the area. The camera slowly pans front. The audience shrieks, “Look behind, look behind!”
But the idiot heroine never looks. The monster leaps out of nowhere to kill her.
I whirled. Nothing. Should have consulted my internal radar instead of my nerves. I released a sheepish breath.
The scream came again. Something scuttled in the shadowed alley. I sprinted toward it.
Only to be met by a swirl of darkness and stopped cold by a hard hand planted between my breasts.
“Detective. We can’t keep meeting like this.”
I looked up, and up. Thick blond hair, raw masculine planes. A body to stun a truck. One that had, only minutes before, stunned me. Bo Strongwell.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I couldn’t believe it. If this really were a movie, it’d be The Maintenance Man from the Black Lagoon. Or with Bo’s muscles, maybe Blue Lagoon. “Let me pass, Strongwell.” I struggled to get by him.
“I thought you were returning to the station.” He caught me by the waist. “It’s dangerous to be out alone at night.”
“I’m a cop. And I heard a scream.”
I was no lightweight, but Bo simply lifted me off my feet.
I know fifty ways of subduing a suspect. Not one of them floated into my beleaguered brain at that moment. “Let go!” I destroyed any dignity I had by starting to flail.
“Get away from her,” said a smoky baritone from the alley. I didn’t recognize the voice. “The lady said no.”
“Bleh! I just wanted a quickie. Don’t hurt me, please,” a second voice whimpered. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Why should she not even give me a quickie? Please, bleh!”
That voice I knew. The loony vampire wannabe. “Count Crackula!”
“Crackula?” the baritone laughed. “Nailed him in one, didn’t she?”
I stopped flailing long enough to home in on the voice. A well-built blond man emerged from the alley. Good grief, another Viking. He dragged Count Creepula by the fake vamp’s cape strings. Fakeula dangled like a puppet from his hand.
Viking Two was almost as tall and almost as Krispy-Kreme handsome as Bo. He wore a leather vest over a sleeveless black tee. Dark blue jeans clung to muscled legs, fell over well-worn boots. His hair tumbled in ash-blond waves to the tops of his leather-clad shoulders. A diamond studded one ear, and rings decorated his fingers like brass knuckles. I expected tattoos but didn’t see any.
Bo set me on my feet. Pointed at Viking Two. “Elena, this is Thorvald. He’s my, um, assistant.”
“A building manager needs an assistant?” What did this Thorvald guy do, stamp the rent checks before Bo deposited them?
“Strongwell?” Fakeula squeaked. “Oh, shit, no.” He started struggling twice as hard.
“Stop that.” Thor shook the smaller man until he looked like a Bobble-head.
“Don’t hurt him, Thor.” A very shapely shadow emerged from behind Viking Two. “He didn’t get anywhere.”
Out sauntered the most gorgeous female I’d ever seen. Glossy black hair rippled from a widows peak to the small of her back. Her red sequined gown swept the pavement seductively as she walked. The gown molded slim hips and exposed a depressingly huge, absurdly high bosom.
She walked with a grace that could knock out a bachelor at forty paces. Porn on a pair of stiletto heels. I’m not gay, but looking at her I could see why some women were.
“He
llo, Bo,” the woman said. Purred, actually. She had a voice like a vibrator set on “orgasm”.
I dragged my eyes from Melinda Melons to slash Bo with a suspicious glare. If I’d been ogling Titzilla, Mr. Crotch-Rocket was probably eyeing her up like his favorite cold beer.
Surprisingly, Bo’s baby blues were on me. They even crinkled a little at the corners, like he knew what I’d been thinking. Like he thought I was jealous.
I was emphatically not jealous. I cleared my throat, made a sound suspiciously like a harrumph. “I heard a scream.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that was me,” Elvira-on-steroids said. “I get a little enthusiastic with my clients.” She waved one languid hand at…well, he might have been Studula a few minutes ago but he was Slackula now.
Except she was lying. Fakeula hadn’t gotten anywhere with her. She’d said no and Thorvald had backed her up. I’d overheard them. But to my disgust, my internal lie meter stayed flat.
A flirty little tune tinkled on the night air. Calypso of some sort, coming from Fakeula’s pocket. The small man flushed, shot a glance at Bo. Looking for permission to answer his phone? What was it with these people? Did they think Strongwell was King For a Day?
Bo nodded. Flakeula pulled out the phone, opened it. “Bleh?”
Which I guessed was fake vampire for “Hello”.
Freakula’s flush darkened to a dull red. “Yes, that was me.” He turned away, lowered his voice. “But, master, I didn’t mean to… Well, yes. It was what you asked for. To make trouble for him, but…” I could barely make out the words, must have gotten some of them wrong because they made no sense.
But one thing suddenly did. DD-lady. A hooker. Stunning. Favorite.
Who she must be hit me, and I grinned. “Nice to meet you—Drusilla. How’d you like to come to the police station with me?”
–—
“Yes, I was with Nappy Schrimpf Tuesday morning. I left him very…happy.”
Happy Nappy. Now there was a Dr. Seuss book that could never be published.
Five forty-five a.m. Drusilla sat across a thick, scarred table from me in the police department conference room. With its tiled floor and institutional feel, it doubled as the interrogation room.
