Biting Me Softly: Biting Love, Book 3

by Mary Hughes

  I almost said, “Dressed like that, young lady?” but caught myself in time. “Do you need the car keys?”

  “No, a friend is picking me up.”

  “Friend? Who?”

  “If you must know, Race Gillette. We’re going to Oakbrook. He says he knows where I can find a good vibrator.”

  “Mother—”

  “Don’t start with me, Liese. He makes me feel young.”

  I stood in front of her, hands on hips. “That’s because he is young.”

  “And just what do you mean by that? You think I’m not attractive enough to have any man I want?” She turned up her nose. “Well, stick your ageism, missy. For your information Race and I went to school together. I knew him as Ray Zorinbach.” Her lips curved slightly. “He was a bit of a bad boy.”

  “Mother, he can’t be the same guy. He’d be fifty years old.”

  She sniffed. “Forty-seven.”

  “No way. Race is lying to have his way with you. Or he’s Ray’s son…or they look alike and he’s taking advantage of a hazy memory.”

  “No, it’s Ray. I know it’s him. He has this sexy birthmark on his left testicle—” She covered her mouth.

  “Mother. How do you know that?” Oh, duh. “You were intimate with him!”

  Her chin went up. “So what if I was?”

  “So what?” I barely kept from screeching it. “You were the one forever harping on not selling myself cheap. Avoid bad boys, Liese. Only go out with men worth marrying, Liese. Nice guys, good boys…sweet Centrinos, Mother, you hammered that into me until I felt like a nail.”

  Her face paled and she sat abruptly on the stoop, crumpling like all the air had gone out of her. In her thin little jeans, that concrete must’ve frozen her ass off.

  But now I felt like a heel. Again. I folded myself beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. With the surgery and radiation, her bones were hollow reeds under my arm. “Mom, I’m just worried. This is so unlike you.”

  “No, Liese.” Her voice had dropped in pitch and become almost steely. “This is who I was all along. I made my mistakes and paid for them. I just didn’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.” She took a belly-deep breath. “Liese, I had a child out of wedlock.”

  I blinked, not trusting myself to make the right reaction. “Okay,” I said, trying to buy time, trying to remember Communications for Engineers, or at least enough not to screw this up. “Um…tell me more?”

  She gave a dark laugh. “Such an old-fashioned term. Out of wedlock. He was a bad boy. I was sixteen and thought I loved him. It was so exciting being with him. Until I told him we’d made a baby, and he left.”

  A baby. My mother, not much more than a baby herself. And her bad-boy boyfriend…Race? “Wait. Are you saying Race…and you…Mom, what happened to you? To the baby?” Did I have a baby half-brother or sister? Not a baby anymore, I realized with shock. Actually older than me.

  Her eyes got sad, and at that moment she looked every one of her forty-seven years. “I kept Kat for nine months. Nine months of heaven—and hell. I couldn’t do it. I thought I could but the responsibility…alone, it was too much. I gave her up for adoption.”

  I rubbed her shoulders. “You did the right thing.”

  “Did I?” She looked at me and her eyes glimmered wetly. “Did I really?”

  Even I knew the correct response was not “How the hell should I know?” but that was how I felt. Her tear-stained gaze was pleading for something from me, maybe understanding, maybe just acceptance. No matter how many times I might have considered it in the abstract, seeing Mom’s face, her anguish, I knew I’d never be able to make that kind of decision until it came right down to it.

  So I just said, “Yes. You made the only decision you could. You’re a different person now, Mom. You raised me just fine.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Her thin arm crept around my waist and she gave me a hug.

  Thank God. I’d said the right thing. “Did you ever try to find Kat?”

  “No, I…I was too afraid.” Mom didn’t say afraid of what, but that I could guess. Afraid of rejection, maybe afraid she’d see she’d done the wrong thing after all.

  “So that’s why you always warned me off bad boys. Because of Race.” I hugged her, then put her at arms’ length with a frown. “Then why are you going out with him now?”

  “You said it, Liese. I’m not the same girl I was. I’m a woman now, and I know what I want. What I need.” A mechanical roar came from down the street. She slid from my hands and stood. “And I need some excitement in my life.”

  I opened my mouth to object when she added, “Something to live for.”

  “Mom—you have me.”

  “And I’m grateful.” She pulled me to my feet, wiry strength surprising me in her light, cancer-wasted frame. “But some day you’ll find the right man and you won’t need me anymore. Maybe a nice blond man who plays a killer game of sheepshead.”

  “Logan’s not exactly nice, Mom.” Not exactly a man, either.

  “Well, maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

  A motorcycle pulled up. I was grudgingly thankful to see a full-sized Harley. “At least he’s not taking you out on a crotch rocket.”

  Race dismounted with a grin, held out a helmet to Mom. “Coming, Sugar Cakes?”

  Honeypot, Shweetie Pie, Babe and now Sugar Cakes. “Watch out for that one, Mom. He’s got a sweet tooth. And he already has a bunch of other honeys.”

  Mom cocked an eyebrow at me. “I’ll just have to steal his insulin, then, won’t I?”

  I snipped the tags off my new scarlet bra and thong. As I laid them on my brand new white silk bed sheets, I forced the conversation with my mother out of my head. Right now I had work to do, and it wouldn’t be easy.

  Scented candles stood unlit at key points, arranged to cast a soft golden glow over the bed. Wine was positioned strategically nearby on my nightstand. Already open, one glass down. Well, I had to try some, didn’t I? To make sure it was good enough?

  Mother was out of town for at least two hours, shopping for a new vibrator with Race…no, not thinking about that until later. I had to have all my wits for a black ops more hazardous than breaking into Steel Software code.

  I was about to try the fine art of seduction.

  I needed to pump Logan for the reason he didn’t want a household. And when did Logan get chatty?

  Yep. After sex.

  Seduction comes naturally for most women. Maybe because I’m a geek, I don’t have the social cues for the grocery checkout line, much less for being spontaneously sexy.

  Yet here I was, pitting myself against a powerful, virile male with centuries of experience. So I had mapped my battle very, very carefully. First I’d gone on the Internet and read about Mata Hari and Madame de Pompadour and other great courtesans and mistresses of the ages. Then I’d taken an extended lunch and driven over to Woodfield Mall to explore lingerie.

  According to the books, seduction was as much mental as physical. Half the battle was thinking sexy. My only hope was that the books were right.

  ’Cause reality was I probably didn’t stand a chance.

  I took the same care with my body that I had with my room. I washed and conditioned my hair until it shone. Bath oils softened and scented my skin. I ran a hand over my thanks-to-Dolly naked labia, but there wasn’t even stubble yet.

  Just in case, I rubbed some lotion in. I pictured Logan, his bright hair tumbling over his broad, muscular shoulders. Saw his gorgeous face tightened in ecstasy. His hard pecs and taut belly, flushed with desire. His huge erection, straining for me.

  Suddenly I was silky wet and hot.

  Fershizzle. The idea was for Logan to get carried away, not me. I drained the tub, applied war paint (mascara, etc.) and hustled into the bedroom. Six forty-five. Fifteen minutes.

  I shimmied into the lacy red thong and demi bra. Lit all the candles. Poured two glasses of wine. Arranged myself artfully on the clean sheets. Checked
the time.

  Six forty-seven. Ack. Any other woman in the world, that woulda taken half an hour. Stupid geeky efficiency. I changed position, leaning back on my elbows. Glanced down to judge the body appeal. Stomach mostly flat, but not enough cleavage. I sat back up.

  More cleavage, but now my rounded tummy was plain. Hmm. I needed a position halfway between. I plumped up some pillows, leaned against them, and stretched out my legs. More cleavage, less tummy.

  And really uncomfortable. I shifted again, plumped some more, leaned against the headboard, tried scooting down—and scooted my thong into pussy floss. One lip and half an inner lip stuck out. It looked like my vulva was giving me a raspberry. I shoved both lips back under.

  “Liese,” Logan’s croon came from the front room. “I’m here. Are you ready?”

  I jumped. A bolt of sheer desire sang through me. Showtime.

  “Hang on a sec,” I yelled, and winced. So not seductive. Mental attitude, I scolded myself. Sexy was in the mind. I pitched my voice low and added a little throat. “I mean, just a mo-ment.”

  Fumbling with my underwear, I arranged it best I could. A quick body check told me I wasn’t going to do a photo shoot for Maxim any time soon. Just pray mental attitude could make up for it. “I’m not quite ready,” I called huskily.

  “I’ll wait,” he called back. “Our dinner reservation isn’t until seven thirty.”

  “Right.” That was how I got him here. Asking him on a date. Apparently he’d thought that meant dinner. “I’m almost ready. Um, why don’t you take off your jacket and come in here to wait?”

  “Okay. I’ve got a surprise for you. I was trying to give it to you yesterday, but—”

  I registered Logan like a downloading webpage. His outline sketched in first, filling the doorway. Shimmering blond hair, broad shoulders and incredibly lean waist developed. His form sharpened—chiseled jaw, jutting chest, rock-hard biceps, washboard abs. The details locked in last, blazing gold-flecked eyes, flared nostrils, sculpted lips.

  And protruding fangs, lolling tongue…he choked. “Fuck me with a jackhammer, Liese! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” His eyes roved over my nearly naked body like I was an all-you-can-eat dessert bar. The crotch of his jeans suddenly poked out.

  Okay, this was better than I hoped. I remembered my plan to be the seductress and recited my personal mantra, stolen from Susan Ivanova of Babylon 5. Boom-shacka-lacka-lacka. “Have some wine.” As I reached for the glass, I stretched along the bed with lazy grace. Or at least what I could remember of how Logan moved.

  “Oh. Fuck. Yeah.” He came like a puppy, sat down on the bed next to me. Stared.

  His burning gaze made me feel like supper. Vampire supper—how close I’d been to the truth all along. Well, not exactly, since they drank blood for their veins, not their stomachs. But it felt as if Logan wanted to eat me. And that was bad, right?

  Bad? Not! my breasts said. Eat me, my pussy joined in. I shook a mental finger at them. Seductress, I scolded myself. Boom-shacka-lacka-lacka.

  I half-sat to hand Logan a glass, making sure to press my arm against my breast as I did so. A mound of breast plumped up.

  Logan’s tongue fell out.

  Wow. Maybe I could do this seduction stuff after all. I gave him a sultry smile as I offered the glass. It was a good sultry smile too. I’d practiced with my webcam.

  But his eyes were riveted to Mt. Cleavage. Fine. Going with what was already working, I pressed harder—and my breast popped out.

  Fershizzle, this was awkward. And too soon. I’d planned to strip for at least half an hour, or however long it took to get the first bottle of wine down him. I stuffed my tit back in.

  In my haste I spilled half the glass down my chest.

  Well, heck. Couldn’t I do anything right? Wine all over my breasts, so not sexy…I heard a soul-deep groan.

  Logan grabbed me with both long-fingered hands. The glass dropped and rolled unnoticed across the carpeted floor. His head plunged to my chest.

  One broad lick took half the wine off my breasts. A second took the rest. Logan kept going for a fevered third lick, and a fourth. He licked so eagerly, my breasts quaked under his mouth like mounds of gelatin.

  I fell back under the assault. He crawled over me, still licking, his mouth scorching hot. He latched onto one lace-covered nipple and suckled hard. My thighs clenched, bright need bolting through me.

  Seduction, I panicked. This fast, we’d be done before we started. I thrust my thumb into the corner of his mouth, managed to pop him loose. Slithering from under the muscular cage of his body, I rolled off the bed and took in the damage.

  Logan crouched on the mattress, red eyes on mine, fangs fully extended. And what sleek fellows they were. I had to squelch the desire to jump him and suck them raw.

  No. I was the seductress. Boom-shacka-lacka. I cocked out one hip. “Mmm. Nice. But let me do the work this time, huh, big fella?” I sauntered to where the empty glass lay, bent to pick it up. Flashed my red-thonged ass, also practiced via webcam. I gave him another sultry smile over my shoulder as I refilled the glass.

  His glowing eyes followed my every move. The sizzling promise in his gaze nearly incinerated me. Maybe I’d better speed things up a little, before we both hit flashpoint. Time to move into position.

  I’d researched a bunch of them on the Internet. Missionary, sixty-nine, doggie (Botcher’s favorite). Since I was the seductress I’d decided on the Cowgirl. But that wasn’t possible right now, not with him in the Hunting Lion position. Somehow, I’d have to get him to lie down on his back. I took a fortifying sip of wine, nerved myself to poke a finger into the velvet-covered boulder he called a shoulder. Pushed.

  To my amazement, he collapsed obligingly back on the bed.

  Well fry my circuit boards. I’d felled ultra-powerful Logan Steel with one finger. Confidence returning, I straddled his flat, muscular belly. His washboard abs rippled against my crotch. I stifled a moan. His hands opened on my thighs and I stifled another. His fingers caressed my flesh firmly and I nearly swallowed my throat stifling.

  I had to get control back. Sliding the glass to his lips, I purred, “Drink,” as seductively as I could.

  He opened his mouth. I tipped the glass.

  Sadly, I’d never done this sort of thing before. All the mental attitude in the world didn’t make up for basic clumsiness. I spilled half the wine down Logan’s cheeks.

  I was mortified. He’d laugh his ass off at the chubby geekette trying to play siren. I’d have had better luck making a supercomputer from bailing wire and earwax than a seductress out of me. Cheeks burning, I watched the stupid wine run down his jaw, soak into the collar of his shirt. It pooled in that interesting notch at the base of his strong throat. Well, at least I could start on cleanup. I bent to lick.

  He bucked at the first touch of my tongue. I sat back, startled. His eyes were squeezed shut. His nostrils were flared, his mouth open.

  He was panting.

  Tentatively, I touched tongue to liquid again. His fingers tightened on my thighs. A low groan rolled his abdomen against my crotch. “Liese.” He gasped my name. “You’re slaying me, princess.”

  I blinked rapidly. Incredible. It was working. I had no natural sexuality, couldn’t turn a man on if I duct-taped cans of cold beer to my naked body. Botcher had to use chemicals, for pity’s sake.

  But now, tonight, I had it. I was turning a male on—or rather, turning Logan on. Maybe I only had it for him. I clamped down on that thought, quick.

  The first few buttons of Logan’s crisp shirt were already open. I worked the next couple loose, noting how the pale yellow cotton picked up the white-gold strands in his hair. And no undershirt, boy-oh-boy. I dipped my fingers in the spilled wine and smeared it down the swell of his muscular chest.

  Then, ever so slowly, I licked off the smear.

  He jacked up with a roar. Tore—and I mean ripped like a violent tornado—his shirt off. Threw me under him and plunged into
an open-mouthed kiss. The wineglass went flying.

  I flattened my palms against his hard pecs and pushed. He didn’t move an inch, continued to plunder my mouth with smacks and licks and driving tongue. Slipping out from under him was impossible. He imprisoned my body simply by crushing me with his weight. But I tried. He trapped my wrists and pressed them into the bed next to my head, completely immobilizing me.

  And all the while he kissed me, that open-mouthed, hot thrusting of a dominant male, the hungry assault of a sexual beast staking its claim. Burning, virile kisses that softened me like liquefying butter.

  My legs fell open. Logan was quick to claim the gap. He started thrusting, his jeans-covered erection driving rhythmically and hard against my sex. The insistent pounding sent shocks cascading through me. My eyes flew wide.

  In about two seconds he would tear open his jeans and possess me, fully, deeply. I couldn’t let that happen. I had a mission. Boom-shacka-lacka.

  I wrapped my legs around Logan’s hips and clenched tight. He continued to rock into me, restrained by the cage of my hips and thighs. He groaned, his strokes lengthening and softening. He reached for his zipper.

  I could not let him get to it, dammit. I gripped with all my strength, welding myself to his hips. He shoved his hand between us but I was using my thighs, some of the strongest muscles in my body. He couldn’t move them without hurting me.

  With another, deeper groan, he rolled to his back, bringing me up on top of him, one hand still wrapped around a wrist.

  “Behave,” I panted. My palms planted on his luscious bare pectorals.

  “Princess—”

  “I said behave.” I found his nipple with thumb and forefinger and pinched. He shot up off the bed.

  “Liese…please…” A low, guttural groan came from his deepest pit.

  “Let go of me.” I underlined the command with another vicious pinch.

  He snarled, but his eyes burned with arousal and his hand dropped from my wrist. I felt for the second wineglass.

  “Now drink your wine.” I grabbed him by his gorgeous long hair and yanked his head up. Masses of silk ran over my skin, teasing, caressing. I leaned closer, rubbing my belly against him. When I poured alcohol down his throat, it went in.