by BETH KERY
Her fingertips pressed against steely flesh encased in warm, surprisingly soft skin. Her gaze sharpened on Ryan. Did he feel it, too? His mouth had fallen partially open. His nostrils flared. Hope felt his penis surge beneath her moving, curious fingertips.
He felt it, to be sure.
Which means he must feel her as well. She glanced down in Wonder, and sure enough four long fingers protruded from the mirror. The first two were buried in her labia and making small, firm circular motions over her tingling flesh. She moaned shakily. It felt delicious ... like he knew precisely what he was doing, exactly how to stroke her to make her burn.
She jumped when he suddenly raised the hand that wasn't playing in her heated flesh and slammed it against the mirror. The strike made a distant, hollow thumping sound. Hope tried to penetrate the glass over his splayed, pressing hand but felt only the smooth surface of the mirror.
He wore an almost frightening look of intensity as he looked down at her and his fingers rubbed and fired her sensitive flesh. Hope understood that he'd tried to reach through the mirror to her to feel her more fully, but whatever force was restraining their contact continued, only the area above their aroused sexes thinning enough to allow this minimal contact.
Her thoughts made her sharpen more on the miracle of actually touching Ryan. The head of his penis felt incredibly smooth. She looked down and used her thumb to outline the circumference of the thick ridge beneath it. When she pressed gently against the slit at the tip, a stream of clear liquid leaked onto her forefinger.
Ryan's fingers slowed on her sex. Hope glanced up in dazed arousal. He held her gaze while he reached down and touched her fingers. They rubbed their fingertips together in a slippery, sensual quest, his seed spreading on their skin.
While they gently discovered one another's touch, Ryan began stimulating her sex again.
He burrowed his long forefinger between her folds and moved the hard ridge of it up and down and in tiny, firm circular motions. Hope bit her lip to stifle a sharp cry of pleasure.
He stroked her so masterfully, as though he knew her flesh even better than she.
He once again fisted his erection and began to stroke himself with long, sure movements, twisting his fist slightly when he reached the area just below the fat, plum-sized head.
Hope watched him, wide-eyed with excitement, still clutching the damp tip of his penis.
She started out of her trance when she realized he was showing her how he wanted to be pleasured. She closed her hand into a fist, frustrated she couldn't completely encircle his girth like his own large hand did.
She began to stroke him. His movements on her sex grew more rapid. She found herself spreading her legs, wanting more of the sensation ... more of Ryan.
He watched her hand pumping his penis and Hope realized he did it for more than mere pleasure at the visual stimulation. Ryan wanted to see how far she could penetrate through their window into each other's reality. She gripped his penis tightly and slid along the dense shaft. She spied his testicles nestled just above the cotton pants that he wore and longed to stroke them. Just like the classical sculptures of the male nudes she'd studied so intently, his testicles were free of hair, hanging like round, succulent fruit between his thighs.
A more arousing, awe-inspiring sight Hope couldn't have imagined if her life depended on it.
She slid her hand along his penis but a few inches from his testicles she encountered a strange barrier. It gave to pressure, but no more than a half an inch or so.
Hope groaned. She wondered if Ryan did the same thing in his world when she glanced up at his face and he wore a pinched expression of frustration ... and something else. Her hand gripped him tight and stroked him long and hard when she recognized what she saw was arousal near the breaking point.
She may not be able to stroke his entire length or his testicles but her touch clearly gave him pleasure. It was an intoxicating experience, to realize she had the power to put that hot, almost wild look in his eyes.
He pressed as close to the mirror as he could while still giving her room to pump her hand up and down his shaft. She twisted her hand just below the head like he'd showed her. She pounded her hand over his straining penis again and again even as his fingers made her burn unbearably. She would explode any second she was so excited to touch him and to be touched by Ryan in return.
Her hand paused in its rapid pumping motion when he suddenly pressed his middle finger to her slit and pushed into her. A shaky cry leaked past her lips. Her forehead fell against the mirror with a dull thump. He continued to stimulate that burning piece of flesh between her swollen outer lips but at the same time he insisted upon entrance to her body.
She saw him spread his long legs, bringing him down closer to her height without altering her hold on his penis overly much. His face lowered to hers. He watched her, their eyes less than an inch apart even though they were separated by the barrier of the glass and 102 years. He gently worked his finger into her. Her lips fell open and she gasped softly, her breath causing a patch of circular mist to grow on the mirror when he twisted his finger and impaled her to his knuckle.
She beat his erection with her hand, wild with cresting desire. She clenched her eyelids shut as the tension broke and pleasure ripped through her flesh. Her body tightened around Ryan's stroking finger but he continued to plunge into her, faster and faster.
Still in the midst of a thunderous orgasm, Hope felt his penis swell and then spasm in her hand. The sensation was so amazing that she looked down despite the shudders of pleasure that tore through her. Thick, white fluid began to spurt from the slit on his penis.
Hope stared in aroused fascination as his seed streamed onto the floor in his world.
She cried out in surprised excitement when his still climaxing member suddenly plunged through the mirror and she found herself stroking a long, climaxing penis in her very own bedroom.
Hope looked up at Ryan in shock. Her mouth fell open in awe when she saw his large body directly next to the mirror, his muscular arms draped over the top of it, his lips curled in a small snarl of thwarted desire ... his gaze on her feral in its intensity. For a second she couldn't draw breath under the impact of the powerfully erotic image of him.
She thought sure he'd lunge directly into her bedroom, for what could possibly restrain such a powerful force of nature as Ryan at that moment?
His muscles spasmed visibly.
And then he was gone. Just like that. One moment he was there, looking like he would storm straight through the barriers of time in order to claim her. The next she stood alone as aftershocks of pleasure still vibrated through her flesh.
Hope glanced down at her outstretched hand and gave a soft cry of loss when she saw Ryan's warm seed still clinging to her skin and pooling on the wood floor.
SIX
Ryan bared his teeth when he realized he could no longer see Hope. 'He still tried to catch his breath following a blistering orgasm as he lowered his arms from the top of the wardrobe door. He felt like he'd been humping the damn thing.
The thought made him glance down quickly, relieved to see his cock had come back to the year 2008 with him. Wouldn't it have been a new definition of nightmare for both Hope and him if it hadn't?
"Thank God for small favors," he mumbled.
He searched the mirror and saw only his sad self panting like a madman, his cock still dripping for a 127-year-old woman.
Jesus, if this didn't beat all.
He jerked up his sweats and stalked back and forth in front of the mirror like a caged beast. After a few turns he paused and drew close to the mirror once again.
The fog around the edge was definitely clearing. The band that remained was perhaps only two or three inches thick. Still panting, he went to the bedside table and grabbed one of his credit cards out of his wallet. He held it up to the mirror a few seconds later, using it as an ad hoc measuring device.
Ryan stepped back and tried his best to review the
unlikely events of the past fifteen or so minutes. He'd touched Hope and she'd touched him. His cock had done the impossible and punched right through the barrier of time.
Either he was going completely, utterly insane or it'd happened just like that.
Don't be a coward, Daire. Pick your sides— believe or don't, but don't be a waffler, Ryan thought. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was a fence dinger.
He either needed to believe that for some bizarre reason he was having contact with an amazing, beautiful woman who lived in the year 1906 or he needed to decide what he was going to do about his encroaching madness.
Time was of the essence, either way. If what he'd been experiencing was true, Hope was in a crisis; if he was hallucinating, be was the one in dire trouble.
That pretty much decided him. Hope took precedence, although Ryan knew deep down there'd never been a chance of him abandoning her to such a horrible fate.
He began his pacing again back and forth in front of the mirror. Every time he had contact with Hope the fog around the mirror narrowed. Every time he encountered her their ability to commune with one another deepened.
If he had it his way, he was going to touch and pleasure Hope repeatedly until the mirror opened wide enough for him to walk straight through into her world. Once he was there, he could try to coax her into coming back with him to the year 2008 where she'd be safe.
There was plenty of time for him to do that and still be back with time to spare for Jim Donahue's sting operation this coming Saturday.
He wouldn't allow himself to dwell on what the hell he was sup-posed to do with Hope after that.
All he needed to worry about for the moment was seeing her face looking back at him once again. With any luck, he could handle things from there. He paused in his agitated pacing and lifted his fingers to his nose. He inhaled deeply before he plunged his first two fingers into his mouth, sucking strongly so as to capture every last remnant of Hope's exquisite essence. His cock swelled and stiffened into complete readiness once again.
I've got your scent in my nose, Hope. I've memorized your taste. Nothing's going to keep me from you now.
Ryan found a rare spot in front of his mother's Lincoln Park boutique and parallel parked.
Ramiro answered his call just as Ryan shifted the car into park.
"Shit."
"Didn't your mother ever teach you how to answer a phone?" Ryan asked mildly.
"Ah, fuck. My alarm clock never went off."
"That's because you never set it," Ryan heard a woman say goggily the distance. He couldn't help but grin.
"Is that Gail? You owe me seventy bucks."
"For what?"
"I reimbursed you for taking her out to lunch."
"So? You were supposed to," Ramiro replied scornfully.
"You owe me for setting you up with her. You've been after her for almost two years now, but all she ever gave you was a view of her ass as she ran away from you."
"She's not likely to run now that she's had a taste of my hard, delicious Latino flesh."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Ryan heard Gail say acerbically.
"Drive yourself into work today. I'm taking a few days off," Ryan said, thinking it would be best for Ramiro if he changed the subject posthaste.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. I just need to take care of a family matter. I'll be back on Friday for the final briefing about Donahue."
"It'll finally be over Saturday night. I can't wait to see that asshole's face when he realizes he's just dug himself a grave clear to China. Hey, Gail, you're seeing stars after that last round, but you're not gonna know what hit you when you see me in a tux—"
"See you Friday," Ryan muttered before he hung up, not particularly wanting to hear Ramiro as he dug himself his own hole with Gail.
His mother's shop wasn't open yet, but she knew he was coming and was at the door before he ever knocked.
"Is something wrong?" she asked as he leaned down and kissed her cheek.
"Has the traditional greeting gone the way of handwritten letters and eight-track tapes?"
he asked in amusement, thinking of Ramiro on the phone a moment ago. His smile faded slightly when he recognized the truth of what he'd said for Hope and him last night.
Forget "How are you feeling on this chilly fall evening in the year 1906, Miss Stillwater?" and move straight to hand jobs and blistering orgasms.
As a detective Ryan knew the world was a strange place. But thanks to Hope, he was learning it was much more bizarre than he'd previously thought. And if it turned out he wasn't in fact delusional, and what he planned actually occurred, he was about to discover the world was even more strange than he'd ever imagined.
Ryan became aware that his mother regarded him worriedly.
"Everything is fine. I'm just going to be hard to reach for the next day or two so I wanted to warn you."
Eve Daire's tawny eyebrows rose on her forehead. "Are you go-ing undercover again?"
Ryan didn't answer for a moment as he glanced around his mom's boutique. He could tell her business was thriving by the amount of stock on the racks. His mother was a talented dress designer al-though she carried more than her own products in the store. It had taken her ten years to get the balance just right between creating her own designs, marketing and selling them in a bustling Internet business and also running her own boutique where she showcased not only her dresses but those of a few other designers she intimately knew and respected. She had a loyal and growing customer base. "I guess you could say that," he murmured evasively. "I'll be back by Thursday evening at the latest. I'll give you a call when I return to the land of the living."
Eve frowned and crossed her arms over her tailored suit jacket. "That's not very funny, Ryan."
"Sorry, Mom," he muttered sheepishly when he realized what he'd said. His mother had never grown as comfortable as his father had about him becoming a cop. She worried about him incessantly. "It's not going to be dangerous. It's not what you're thinking."
Nobody would be thinking what you're planning to do, Ryan thought wryly. And if it wasn't precisely dangerous to try to travel backward 102 years, it sure as hell wasn't a ride on the kiddy merry-go-round, either.
When he noticed that his mother's forehead continued to crinkle with concern, he gave her a hug. SheJaughed at his impulsive act of endearment and gave him a healthy squeeze in return.
"I always forget how big you really are until I wrap my arms around you," she said a second later as she gazed up at him fondly. "Your father was the same way. Ryan, are you still worried about accepting the house Alistair left you?"
Ryan sighed. He really needed to work on his poker face. Then again, he could never hide his worries very well from his mother.
"There's just... something so strange about him giving it to me."
"What do you mean?" his mother asked, obviously sensing Ryan meant something beyond the obvious.
Ryan hesitated, not sure how to put into words the haunting, watchful atmosphere of the Prairie Street mansion, the bizarre yet strangely right circumstances of having gained ownership of it.
"You have to admit, Mom, it's over-the-top generous on Alistair's part. That property is worth millions."
Eve ruffled his hair before she stepped back. "He wanted to do it, Ryan."
He glanced at his mother in mild surprise. He'd become friends with Alistair Franklin while he was a student at the University of Chicago. Alistair had been a professor of history who was well known among the students for his charismatic personality and entertaining lectures. Alistair had taken an instant liking to Ryan and the feeling had been mutual. Ryan had ended up doing a senior thesis with Alistair as his counselor. Their friendship had only grown after Ryan graduated, went to law school and eventually joined the ranks of the Chicago Police Department. Ryan's father had passed away two years ago, but while he'd been alive Alistair had also grown close with both of his parents.
Still, he was
surprised to hear his mother had been talking to Alistair about the mansion.
"When have you seen Alistair?"
"We speak on the phone every few weeks, ever since he had his stroke," Eve explained.
"He can't get around like he used to, but we both know what a social person Alistair is.
He loves to talk. He wanted to give you that property, Ryan."
"He said it's helping him out tax-wise," Ryan mumbled doubtfully.
Eve's eyebrows arched. "Well, that may be. But he also thinks of you like a son, Ryan.
You know he lost a child. I think it helps him to be able to do something like this . ..
helps fill in the empty spaces that the death of a child leaves."
"Alistair had a kid?" Ryan asked, genuinely shocked. Never once in all the time he'd spent with the older man had Alistair ever hinted at that fact.
"He doesn't speak of it often, but he has told me that he lost a child years ago. Maybe he felt more comfortable telling me since I'm also a parent," Eve explained when she noticed what must have been a look of shock on his face. "At any rate, you're doing a good thing by accepting the house from him. When are you going to show it to me?"
"How about next Tuesday?" Ryan asked.
"Perfect," Eve replied cheerfully. "I'm looking forward to seeing it after hearing Alistair's and your descriptions. Imagine—you owning a house on Prairie Avenue."
"Come on," Ryan said with a tilt of his chin toward the back room of her store. "You can show me where those shelves are that you wanted me to put together."
Eve clapped once, her blue eyes going wide with delight. "Oh, today is my lucky day.
I've been trying to get you over here to put those shelves together forever."
Ryan shrugged nonchalantly as he followed her. "If forever is the same as a week and a half."
Eve snorted with laughter. "Okay, you caught me exaggerating. Seriously, though," she continued as her gaze sharpened on him. "What'd I do to deserve the favor on today of all days?"
Ryan gave her a smile. "Just figured it was time, Mom."
Now that he had everything in place to take his jaunt through time, Ryan wasn't exactly sure how to proceed. He only knew that his sexual desire for Hope had always been involved in their contact.
