by CP Smith
“Seems I missed a lot at the crime scene this morning, are you on a first name basis with the woman finally? No more Sandra Dee?” Reed asked as they headed toward the elevator.
“Jesus, you’re worse than June when it comes to news,” Dallas chuckled.
“Who the hell do you think I’m getting’ this information for?”
Dallas pushed the button on the elevator, then turned to Reed and grinned.
“I know that grin,” Reed hooted. “Just so I know, am I bringing you back to the station once we get Ms. Romance Writer’s car back to her, or are you stayin?”
“I need my bike, so no, I’m not stayin’ . . . this trip,” Dallas added.
Reed’s slow grin told Dallas he got the message. He didn’t say more. Right now, he needed to focus and find this killer, so Nicola and her friends could breathe easy.
***
“Where the fuck are you?” Dallas roared over the phone.
“How did you get my number, I don’t remember giving it to you,” I kind of slurred.
“I got it off the card you left Bill. Now, where the fuck are you?” he repeated.
“Oh . . . we’re, um, at Smoky Joes counting balls. They were having a charity bingo night so we took a cab so we could drink,” I giggled since I’d consumed three shots and three drinks in the course of three hours. To say I was relaxed and having fun with Angela and Janeane would be an accurate assessment of our current state of relaxedness.
I’m sure you wondered how I got from point A to point B, but have no fear I’ll enlighten you.
All this happened after Dallas dropped off my car like he promised, while Mom and Dad as well as Bo and Finn were at my house freaking out about me finding a body. They’d hung out half the afternoon until Dallas came by with my car. Dad took one look at Dallas and breathed a sigh of relief, and mother’s eyes had glazed over at the sight of my dark warlord, no doubt imagining the wedding she’d get to plan if this worked out between us. I’d made the introductions expecting he wouldn’t stay long, only to be hauled off to my bedroom for a “private” conversation. He told me, in between a make out session that included plenty of groping, that he’d be at my house no later than ten, and to wait up for him. Well, as you can imagine, when my mother heard he was coming over after work she’d shooed my father and brothers out the door, spouting off that a man doesn’t need company after a long day at work. Yeah, I know, but you can’t help but love her.
Angela came over early in the evening, since her husband was out of town and we discussed the whole killer-after-us scenario and decided that Toni and Melissa’s deaths couldn’t possibly tie back to the five of us. I mean, we didn’t really know them. In fact, for all we knew they could have known each other. If the killer had gone after one of the five of us, I could see the cause for alarm, but these women weren’t our friend’s per se, more like acquaintances. We knew them obviously, since Angela worked with Melissa and we all took the same yoga classes with Toni. Not to mention, we all bought our coffee at the same coffee house, but so did thousands of other people. If anything, it linked back to the coffee house or the yoga studio, since Toni worked there and Melissa took classes as well. The way I saw it, Dallas should be protecting Kasey not me.
I know that doesn’t answer how that got me from point A to point B. Patience, my little grasshoppers.
Here’s the deal. Janeane held a nasty grudge when she was pissed. And by nasty I mean digs her claws into it and won’t let go until she is good and ready. Which is what she was doing with the whole, “You broke your oath” fiasco. So when she called while Angela and I were hanging out at my house, throwing back a few shots to calm down, saying, “I’m at Smoky Joes come play bingo we me. You gotta meet Mrs. Slocume from my law office, the woman is a hoot and has the most gorgeous pink hair,” I knew I was in a pickle. You see, I knew I’d promised Dallas I wouldn’t leave, so I was torn between trying to mend fences with Janeane and not breaking my promise to Dallas. Then Angela pointed out that I had no problem breaking my word to them, which made me feel about two feet tall. Hearing that, my guilt won out over any caution I may have had about staying home with a killer on the loose. Not to mention, my slightly inebriated writer’s brain heard “Slow Cum” instead of Slocume and I knew we had to go so we called a cab and left.
I’d known Dallas a week; these women were my best friends and had been half my life, there really was no other option—hoes before bros. Since Angela needed me and Janeane was willing to speak to me, it was my duty to go per the BFF manual. Pissed off cop or not.
I figured I’d go with Angela, make sure she got home safe, and then head back home in time for Dallas to arrive. Unfortunately, between three shots and three drinks in three hours, not mention Mrs. Slocume, the hip grandmother with shaggy pink hair, who screamed out Orgasm whenever she bingo’d, I lost track of time.
“You wanna explain why you’re at Smokey Joes Tittie Pit when you promised me you wouldn’t leave your house?”
“Ok, here’s the deal. Janeane was mad at me and I’ve only known you a week, so when I heard Mrs. Slow Cum was here and that she had pink hair I couldn’t say no to her, understand?”
“You’re tellin’ me that you and your friends are riskin’ your lives by being out unescorted while there is a killer on the loose, because of a woman with pink hair?”
“That and men in chaps. We’ve seen more balls tonight than at a porno convention,” I explained, but got nothing back but dead air.
“Dallas?”
“Give me a second . . . I could handle the pink-haired woman named Mrs. Slow Cum, but the image of men walkin’ around with their balls hangin’ out is gonna take a second.”
“Dallas, I’m pretty sure they’re gay.”
“Nicola, I’m pretty sure I don’t give a fuck.”
“You know, you should learn to relax. Chasing bad guys is gonna make you old before your time.”
“If you woulda been where you were supposed to be, I’d be workin’ off some of this stress with that gorgeous body of yours.”
Well then . . . I couldn’t argue with that.
“Um, give me an hour and I’ll be home.”
“Stay put I’m comin’ to you,” Dallas ordered before he hung up abruptly.
Angela had been listening to my conversation and was grinning from ear to ear when I laid down my phone. We were waiting for the next round of bingo to start, while Mrs. Slocume or Bette as she called herself, an outrageous older woman from Janeane’s law firm, who indeed had pink hair, danced in the aisle.
Bette was not like any other grandmother I’d ever met. She was tall, lithe, dressed classy, and had dyed her short, shaggy, silver hair pink. Dressed in a white-linen pantsuit, silver trench coat, and sliver spiked-heels, she’d had us rolling in the aisles all evening and kept up with us drink for drink. All while slapping gay men’s asses when they passed our table.
“Tell me about this new man in your life,” Bette asked as she plucked a cherry from its stem.
“He’s a detective, and has the dreamiest honey-colored eyes,” I informed her.
“Oh, you poor, romantic child, eyes aren’t important in the least,” Bette chuckled. “He must be well-endowed, dear, that‘s what is most important. It’s my considerable experience that unless they’re well-endowed to begin with, you’re in trouble when they get older.”
“Sorry?” I laughed.
“Shrinkage, my dear. If they start out small, they end up the size of a twelve-year-old boy.”
“You made that up,” Angela laughed.
“Did I?” Bette smiled. “My Frank, God rest his soul, was a virile man, but as he grew older and gained weight there was shrinkage. I believe it has something to do with blood flow. Anyhow, everything stops working properly when they hit fifty, then it’s a fast ride to celibacy or a bumpy ride until it stops working once and for all. It’s God’s last laugh over men and their superiority complex. They’ve controlled women since, well, the beginning of time, bu
t women can have an orgasm until the day they die. You tell me, ladies, would you rather be a man with a limited sex life or a woman who can go to her grave moaning in ecstasy?”
Do you see what I mean?
“Woman,” Angela, Janeane, and I agreed laughing.
We’d no sooner stopped laughing when the next round of porn bingo began. We each had cards, but instead of numbers, the cards had phrases.
Each woman had twenty-five penis shaped chips, and each man had twenty-five vag shaped chips. Though, most of the men wanted penis shaped and most of the women wanted vag shaped chips. This made sense, of course, since the charity bingo was put on by the LGBT community. Instead of warding off men’s advances all night, we’d been warding off women’s advances all night. I’d never been propositioned by a woman before, and though it was flattering, it made me giggle.
How porn bingo was played was simple. Each round was over when you had two winners. It didn’t matter if the same sex who won, there just had to be two winners. Those two were then called up to the stage and a bad porno was played without the sound. The two winners were required to ad-lib dialogue and the one who had the most applause at the end of the round won a gift certificate to a local restaurant or store.
There were gay men dressed in chaps, bare assed, of course, and they were circulating amongst the crowd bringing drinks to everyone while we played. They had drag queens calling out the phrases as a ball was drawn, and in between rounds, they performed to the delight of the crowd. Oh, and you had to shout out “orgasm” if you had a bingo. Bette had bingo’d twice and won both of her challenges. Angela, Janeane, and I had yet to bingo, and with Dallas on his way, I figured my chances were waning.
On the other hand . . .
“Orgasm,” I cried out when I covered “wet spot” on my card. I was the second winner of this round so I crawled off my stool and headed toward the stage.
The first winner was a woman who, from the way she was checking me out, was batting for the other team.
“Aren’t you just the cutest thing,” Rue Bella announced to the crowd, while she looked me up and down. “Tell me sugar, do you save all that sweetness for the men or the women?”
As if on cue, Dallas walked into the bar, so I grabbed the microphone and shouted, “I save if for dark and dangerous warlords.”
Dallas didn’t know what I was talking about, since I hadn’t shared any of my dreams about him, but the half-grin he gave me told me he caught my meaning. He walked to the bar, raised his hand for a beer, then leaned against the long oak counter and watched.
“Ok, sugar, you’ve seen how this works all night. Put your game faces on and give the crowd a show they won’t forget anytime soon.”
At that announcement, the girls and Bette started chanting, “Nicola, Nicola,” as a bad porno called Edward Penishands began to play. My opponent got down to business quickly and decided to improvise as the man on the screen. However, I froze when it came to my lines. One reason was because the screen was huge and all that nakedness right in my face made me laugh. The other reason was that Dallas was in the crowd making me nervous.
“Um, you’re very big,” I laughed because obviously, when the screen is twenty by twenty any penis would be huge.
“I know just how to use it, baby doll,” my opponent.
“Um, that’s nice?” I replied, completely at a loss for words. Then I peeked at Dallas and saw that what few women here, who weren’t gay, were trying to talk to him.
Hmm.
“I bet you do know how to use it, my handsome warlord. I’m sure those big, bulging muscles and strong, firm thighs could sweep me off my feet, my lord,” I continued breathlessly staring directly at Dallas. He’d been watching me, ignoring the ladies around him and when I uttered that line, he’d choked on his drink. I smiled at Dallas when he shook his head in warning, then laughed when his narrowed eyes darted around the room as people turned to look at him. I nodded slowly, letting him know he wasn’t getting out of this, and watched as his corded neck tipped his head back in acceptance. Then I continued before the other woman had a chance to gain some ground.
“You know, I’ve waited a long time for a man like you to come along, one who knows exactly how to make a woman burn. I knew the first time I saw you, nay, the moment I looked into those honey-colored eyes, that you were the mightiest warlord of them all.”
At this point, Dallas titled his head back down and watched cautiously as I’d exited the stage and made my way toward him. The closer I got, the taller he stood, until he was ramrod straight in front of me.
“Um, can she leave the stage like that?” the other woman asked.
“Honey, I’m thinkin’ she can do whatever the fuck she wants,” Rue Bella replied.
Ignoring the other contestant, I looked Dallas up and down, then put my hand on his chest, and said, “Of course, my maiden sensibilities tell me to run from you. Aye, I can see that you might be too big for me to handle. Yet, I’m sure a mighty warrior as yourself knows how to use a slow, but firm, hand when the maiden is so pure.”
I finished my dialogue and rubbed my hand over his chest and down his stomach, but was halted by his hand before I could go further south. I looked up into those honey-colored eyes, when he stopped me and my breath hitched when I saw them staring back at me— intense and hungry. A tad uneasy that I’d made such a spectacle, I started to turn back toward the stage since I was finished. However, Dallas had other ideas when I tried to leave He grabbed my waist and halted me, then swung me back, dipped me low across his arm claiming my mouth. The whole bar erupted into applause as Dallas pillaged and plundered my mouth, and I held on for the ride of my life. When he was done, he pulled back, kept his eyes pinned on mine, and then softly whispered, “What did we win for that performance?”
“I had my heart set on dinner for two at Mahogany Steak House.”
Smiling at that, he then whispered, “Babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Maiden sensibilities?”
“I’m fairly pure,” I scoffed.
“I got a memory from this afternoon that says otherwise.”
“Don’t be crass.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“Whatever, I was winging it.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Dallas mumbled, “it worked. I intend to take a slow, but firm, hand with you as soon as I get you home. Though, probably firmer rather than softer for the shit you just pulled.”
Hell’s bells, he wouldn’t, would he?
I narrowed my eyes and studied Dallas closely, then decided by the gleam in his eyes and the twitch of his lips that he absolutely would.
Thirteen
You know how in romance novels, or even movies, the woman goes to the bathroom to “freshen up” before sex. Giving her a moment to compose herself, maybe even have a pep talk about stomach in, boobs out, don’t moan too loudly or too softly—don’t use your teeth on the wrong body parts. No? Well, that was my previous experience with men. Dallas, however, was a beast of a different color, a horse of a different breed. Any thoughts I had about being shy, insecure, or hesitant about jumping in the sack too quickly, melted into oblivion when I opened the door to my house and got about two steps in before Dallas was on me. There was no warm up, no, “Do you want something to drink,” or “Maybe we should sit and talk?” One minute I was in the foyer, and the next I was being backed down the hall with an occasional pit stop against the wall. Pictures fell, the cats scattered, and I had no time to worry about what underwear I was wearing, or if the push-up bra I had on shows me in the best light. Why? Because it was mouth-on-mouth, hands tugging hair, strip your clothes off on the way, thank God I’m on the pill so I can jump his bones, goodness. And for your information, he wore black boxer briefs. Yep, all that man in tight boxer briefs.
***
Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, casting a soft glow throughout the room. The light danced off his face casting him in shadows, making his dark features alm
ost look sinister. I hadn’t been wrong when I thought he looked like a warlord ready to plunder. He was doing just that. He’d tasted every inch of my body, brought me almost to the brink of shattering, and then rolled me over and told me, “I wanna be in you the next time you come.”
Now, I was on top (my favorite position), riding him hard while he slammed up to meet me with each downward stroke. My head was back and I was moaning as his large, larger-than-I’d-ever-had, cock, filled me, stretching me to my limits. Dallas grunted, “Give me your mouth, baby,” as one of his large hands grabbed my neck. Following instructions I leaned down, gave him my lips, sliding my tongue into his mouth, and kissed him like he asked. When I was out of breath, I pulled back and caught Dallas watching me. I thought right then, the way the moon highlighted his body, the way his bottom lip was fuller than the top, and the way his eyes seemed to reach into my very soul, that he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
Normally, I was shy during sex, but the way he held my eyes, his strong hands drifted whisper-soft across my skin, as if he was memorizing my every curve, emboldened me. His intense stare and the way it burned into me made me feel sexy, beautiful even. I hadn’t even climaxed yet and the way he played my body, touched and caressed me, made him the best lover I’d ever had, bar none.
I was reaching for it, trying to find that bliss that burned white-hot, but Dallas wanted control again. He pulled me off suddenly, moved me to my knees, moved in behind me, and slammed back inside.
“Hands on the headboard,” Dallas ordered. I reached out and grabbed hold as his hand slid down and around, finding the spot that took me to heaven.
I learned quickly the man was efficient, and that he wasted no time when he wanted something. Luckily, for me, what he wanted was me in his bed and my cries of passion ringing in his ears.
‘Dallas,” I whimpered as the warm burn I’d been looking for started to build.
“Find it, baby,” Dallas growled, so I slammed back into him repeatedly while he rolled my clit with one hand and the other worked my nipple, pinching and pulling until a moan broke free deep in my throat.
