by Lila Dubois
She stopped, both feet firmly planted on the step. The upstairs was an S&M lounge, with professional BDSM players performing. She turned back, prepared to leave. Her gaze skimmed the dance floor and she remembered the feel of his body at her back, his words in her ear. No, she had to find him.
Taking a healthy gulp of her drink, which turned out to be vodka on the rocks, Jane started up again.
A tiny brunette, wearing black panties and Xs of electrical tape across her nipples, was strapped to a cross. The man wielding the whip wore gray slacks with a matching vest, the jacket to his suit slung across a gymnastic’s horse. He flicked the whip, almost casually, and the brunette whimpered, writhing in her bindings.
I can’t watch this.
Jane turned to leave, her fear of what she saw cooling the fire alcohol and dance had lit in her veins.
Strong arms came around her, pulled her away from the stairs, into an alcove. He pressed her to the wall, holding her there with his body.
“Are you ready to wake up, Sleeping Beauty?”
“Who are you?” It was dark in the alcove, so though they pressed together knee to chest she couldn’t see him.
“I’m not the prince,” he whispered, his mysterious words flowing over her face in a puff of hot breath.
Warm lips sealed over hers, and everything went still.
Jane could feel the pulse of music through the wall at her back, but it was soundless, music felt rather than heard. His hand stroked her shoulder, sliding down to cup her elbow, lifting her arm and settling it across his shoulders.
She remained passive in his arms only a moment longer, because when she felt the breadth and heat of his shoulders under her arm, Jane snapped. She grabbed a hank of hair with her free hand and pulled his head down, hard, savaging him with a kiss. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and bit it.
Her nails pressed into a shoulder protected by leather and she growled her frustration. He cupped her breast, thumb rubbing back and forth over her nipple, over the dress. Jane released his lower lip. She opened her eyes, but there were only maroon shadows as the alcove was guarded by drapes that blocked what little light existed.
His lips dropped to her neck, kissing the place behind her ear and Jane whispered, “Who are you?”
“I’m not the prince,” he murmured again, dragging his lips across her cheek.
“Please tell me. Who are you?” Jane pleaded.
“I can’t tell you, you might run away.”
“Why would I run away? Do I know you?”
“Answer my question first.” Their lips sealed together in a kiss that ignited fire in Jane’s blood even as she shivered from the power of it. “Are you ready to wake up, Sleeping Beauty?”
Then he was gone. Cold air brushed over Jane, cooling skin that had known the heat of her mysterious partner’s body. She opened her eyes to see the alcove’s drapes swishing softly, but he was gone.
He could feel her heart beating in her chest where it pressed to his. He could hear the thumping, even with human ears. If he’d been in his true form he would have been able to see the pulsing vein in her neck, even in the twilight dark.
Michael pressed Jane more firmly into the wall, groaning in delight as her breath washed over his neck, even that touch enough to have his heart skipping a beat.
He wanted this woman, wanted her so bad he felt he was haunted by her, both waking and sleeping. In his dreams she was beneath him, on top of him, laid out on a bed awaiting his pleasure. Her humanity was not an issue. His clan, among all those who called themselves monster, respected and cared for humans. That’s why he’d come with Luke on what had seemed to be a desperate mission.
Humanity’s opinion of monsters was marked in the history of both species. For a hundred generations monsters had been in hiding, no longer able to protect themselves from man’s developing weapons and exploding numbers. And now the world was shrinking, humanity encroaching ever closer on their race.
A confrontation was imminent. What few battles had already taken place between monsters and humans ended in tragedy and horror. Some monsters suggested mass suicide, others wanted to fight. Both possibilities would end with heavy casualties.
Luke had a different idea. He was convinced humans could be reasoned with—that they could overcome their own myths and learn to see the monsters in a different way. Michael was skeptical, but willing to give it a try. He considered himself something of an expert on humans, having grown up with tales of human encounters.
He hadn’t expected Jane.
This sweet, beautiful human fascinated him. She was quiet and strong, beautiful in a comfortable way. Though she was open and caring, he was, after careful study, convinced that there was a sex goddess hiding within that sweet shell.
Luke said it was wishful thinking on Michael’s part. Henry, the third monster who’d come to LA on the mission, said Michael imagined her to be a closet sex maniac because that’s what he liked in females.
“Who are you?” Her breathy question broke the stasis that held them and snapped Michael back from the sensual haze he’d sunk into.
“I’m not the prince,” he said in reply, kissing her cheek.
“Please tell me. Who are you?” Jane pleaded. He almost broke, almost told her, but this plan of attack had been carefully orchestrated. She was too complicated for the straightforward approach, that tactic had already failed.
“I can’t tell you, you might run away,” he murmured against the corner of her mouth.
“Why would I run away? Do I know you?”
“Answer my question first.” He sealed their lips together in a kiss that ignited fire in his blood. “Are you ready to wake up, Sleeping Beauty?”
With a final glance at her upturned face—eyes closed, lips swollen and red from his kiss—he slipped away.
Chapter Two
Jane stretched out on the lawn chair occupying her postage-stamp-size balcony. Her view was less than inspiring, as her apartment building faced another nearly identical building, but there was a nice tree that drooped towards her balcony. In the spring and summer, leaves filtered the sunlight so that her whole balcony turned soft gold green.
Jane had her laptop with her, but it was closed. She’d told herself she was going to do work, told herself she needed to work on the backstory for their as-yet untitled “Monster Movie”. Ignoring the pending work, Jane tilted her head back against the chaise—gently, as there was the faintest hint of a hangover headache buzzing around her temples. Chugging aspirin with a gallon of water the moment she woke up had prevented the worst of it.
It wasn’t quiet, few places in LA were, but she’d grown immune to the distant drone of traffic. Comfy in her sweatpants and tank top, Jane settled in for a good Sunday afternoon nap.
Who was he? Jane could still feel his hands on her, still taste his kiss. She’d probably imagined the sense of familiarity, inferring he knew her from his words, when, really, they hadn’t revealed any salient details. Whoever he was, she wouldn’t have minded getting to know him better. She didn’t regret not having a one-night stand. She didn’t have the temperament for them. The next morning she always wanted to cuddle, maybe go out for a long lazy breakfast, and get to know the person better. As soon as the guy sensed this, he was out the door, leaving a comic-book-style puff of dust in his wake.
As she slipped towards sleep, breath deepening, Jane trailed her fingertips up and down her breast. The reality of a one-night stand with her mysterious partner would have been disastrous, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think about it, fantasize about his hands running over her bare breasts, his mouth on her nipples, then kissing down her stomach to her sex.
Jane sucked her lower lip into her mouth as she slipped her hand inside her tank top to rub her palm over her pebbled nipple.
Was his hair fair or dark? Fair, gold and slightly curled.
His body? Powerful, with lovely, big muscles, especially across his shoulders. She loved shoulders. His skin would b
e gold, paired to his hair, so that he seemed god-kissed.
His eyes would be piercing blue, and he would look at her, stare into her eyes, when he first thrust his cock into her. Sitting on her balcony, half-asleep, half aroused, Jane sank into a daydream fantasy about her mysterious partner.
“Are you ready to wake up, Sleeping Beauty?” It was him, the man from last night, whispering in her mind.
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know, life I guess.”
A warm hand covered her other breast, thumb rolling the nipple. Jane gasped, squeezing her eyes closed. This was a vivid dream. If she opened her eyes it would end. But in her mind’s eyes she could see him, tall and gold, leaning over her, trapping her in place.
“This has been a long time coming, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not.”
“Sleeping, or beautiful?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and she could picture his lips, thin, but not overly so, twisted in a smile.
“Both, either.” She moved restlessly on the chaise and her legs brushed his torso. She arched her back so her breast pushed harder against his hand. “Who are you?” She asked again, but he ignored her question. Instead a painfully soft kiss, so tender that her breath stilled, brushed the corner of her mouth.
“You are beautiful. Oh-so beautiful. And you are sleeping. Or maybe you’re hiding.”
“Hiding what?”
“Passion.”
“I know passion,” Jane protested softly.
“Do you? Or do you know the pale human imitation of true pass—”
“Human?” Jane breathed the word. Suddenly the man she saw in her mind snapped into focus, each eyelash in place, and he was no figment of her imagination. “Michael.”
“Who else?”
Jane opened her eyes and it was no dream. Michael was seated on the chaise, one elbow braced beside her shoulder, the other hand on her breast. He smiled down at her, and angels started to sing as pink puffy clouds enveloped them. He was the most beautiful man in the—
But he wasn’t a man.
The pink puffy clouds evaporated.
“I should…um…get up,” Jane said.
“Who did you think it was?” Michael demanded, his fingers kneading her breast.
“I didn’t know who it was. That’s why I kept asking.”
“Jane.” Michael pressed his hips to hers, refocusing her wandering attention, using her name now that his identity was revealed. “Are you truly surprised? Don’t you know how much I want you?”
He shifted to lie beside her on the chaise, his big body crowding hers. Michael’s erection pressed into her hip and Jane swallowed a whimper. Was she surprised? No, not really. She’d known, on some level, that it was Michael. Since Luke, Michel and Henry had entered their lives, Michael hadn’t kept his interest in her a secret. A month ago, after Lena was attacked, Michael had appointed himself her guardian. His interest in her was no secret, though Jane did everything in her power to avoid discussing it with her friends.
“Jane.” His voice slid over her, raising the fine hairs on her neck. “I want you. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what I want to do with you, to you?”
Tell me, tell me please. And use details. “Michael, we shouldn’t do this.”
“Why? Why do you push me away? There is no human man in your life.”
“Michael, I can’t have this conversation with you right now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m…” horny “…tired.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Of course I have.” Woops, hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“Why?”
“Michael…let me go.”
To her surprise he sat up, then stood. Jane crossed her arms over her chest, unbearably cold without his warm body pressed to hers. She looked up at him.
He was dressed head to toe in black, his clothing a foil for his tan skin and blond hair. Muscles roped his shoulders and arms, his flat belly hugged by the plain T-shirt he wore.
He was perfection, physically beautiful to the point that looking at him caused her body to heat. Jane hadn’t believed that she could, or would, react to physically beautiful men, but that was before Michael. She wanted him naked, wanted the weight of his muscles on her, his gold skin rubbing hers.
She looked up, and his blue eyes caught hers. They were like sapphires, bright and stunning. She was caught by those eyes, caught by her own desire, and though she told herself to go, she could not turn away.
“Michael,” she breathed.
His lids lowered from a moment, breaking the spell. What was she doing? She needed to leave.
She stood and turned to go, but Michael touched her hand. It was just the brush of his fingers over hers, with no grabbing or pulling. She turned back and there was something in his eyes she couldn’t understand.
“Michael, I—”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to send mixed signals.”
“Your power is in words, mine is not. Let me show you. Let me touch you.”
He promised dark and delicious things with his gaze, but the darkness, the intensity, scared her.
Remembering she was braless Jane crossed her arms. “I’m just not comfortable talking about this.”
“Another time.”
“That would be—”
“Have breakfast with me tomorrow.”
“I can’t, I have plans.”
“Then it will have to be dinner tonight. You’ll meet me at my place at eight p.m.”
“I—you… Where did you learn to do that?”
“Read it in a magazine,” he said with a grin.
Jane returned the smile, enchanted despite her misgivings.
“Dinner tonight?” he confirmed.
“Yes, dinner tonight at your place.” Dinner at his place sounded safe, after all, Henry was living there too. Henry and Michael were living in a condo in one of Cali’s father’s buildings. She could use the opportunity to talk with both of them about their culture—monster culture. It was a research trip, not a date.
“Then I’ll see you tonight.” Michael smiled, placed one hand on the balcony rail, and vaulted over.
Jane yelped, leapt over the chaise and leaned over the railing, looking for his broken body. He wasn’t there. No body, no squished flowers in the planter below. Nothing.
Where did he go? Jane pressed her hand against her chest and took several deep breaths. Her heart was racing, body shaking with adrenaline. What had just happened?
Why had he jumped over? Just to impress her? Would it have been easier for him to leave the way he arrived?
Wait a minute…
How had he arrived?
Jane sat on the chaise and put her head in her hands. It hadn’t, until that moment, occurred to her to question how he’d appeared at her side. Had that voice she’d heard in her head been part of her dream? Had she even been dreaming?
Letting out a frustrated sigh Jane grabbed her laptop and opened the document with her running list of “Monster Questions”. At the bottom of page three she added “Telepathy?” and “Invisibility?”.
She would definitely be at dinner, if only to ask Michael how he’d done that while claiming to have a “human” body. Filled with determination, she turned and marched into the apartment, heading for her closet to find the perfect non-date outfit.
Chapter Three
EXT. LOS ANGELES — DOWNTOWN
The BLACK SPORTS CAR weaves through the streets of downtown. It passes HIGH-END RESTAURANTS and CAFÉS.
As it passes a CAFÉ a MAN sitting outside at a CAFÉ TABLE looks up from his BOOK. He watches the car until it turns a corner.
“Did it work?”
“I think so.” Michael dropped onto the couch beside Hen
ry and propped one foot on the coffee table.
“You went for mysterious, right?” Henry asked, gaze on the baseball game being played out on the plasma-screen TV on the wall opposite the couch.
“Yea. Direct sure as hell didn’t work.”
“What about that ‘absence makes the heart grown fonder’ one?”
Michael picked up the article titled “How To Get The Girl” he’d ripped from a men’s magazine. He was a great believer in strategy with regard to seducing females. Though mating rituals for humans were turning out to be far more complicated, and intriguing, than he’d expected.
“It says you have to distance yourself from that person. We see her at least once a week to work on the movie. How the hell would I do that?”
Henry grunted.
A pop fly caught Michael’s attention and they watched the next few moments of the game in silence. When a beer commercial came on, Michael turned back to Henry.
“Why are you being so quiet about this?” Michael said.
“What do you mean?” Henry asked, watching the commercial with more attention than it deserved.
“You were against Luke having sex with Lena, and now you’re sending out bad juju about me and Jane.”
“Bad juju? What have you be watching?”
“Network TV.”
“I’m not sending out bad juju. I’ve already voiced my concerns and you and Luke ignored me.”
“We didn’t ignore you. Look at Luke. He’s happy with Lena.”
“But Luke is far less demanding, especially in sex, than you are.”
Michael pushed himself off the couch and went to stand at the window, arms crossed over his chest. “You think I’ll frighten Jane.”
“I think she’s already frightened.”
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
“Maybe, but I know there’s passion in her. You should have seen her on the dance floor. She moved as if her body were not a prison, but a beautiful instrument being played by her soul.”
“Where the hell are you getting this?”
“Oxygen Network.”
“Watch less TV, please. But you need to remember that humans do not think of their bodies as prisons.”
