Tasting Fear

by Shannon McKenna

  The hairs rose on her arms as he took another step closer. She could smell the fresh, crisp scent of his shirt. “You’re welcome,” she whispered, gazing at his inscrutable silhouette.

  “I spoke to Detective Lanaghan today,” he said abruptly.

  Denise Lanaghan was the investigating officer for Lucia’s case. Hearing her name spoken here, in this context, was disorienting. “You did what? Why on earth?”

  “I wanted to see what progress they were making on the case.”

  Shock was quickly replaced by anger. “Oh. I understand. You wanted to see if my story was just so much paranoid bullshit, right?”

  He hesitated. “Ah, no, actually. Not at all. A few minutes with a good search engine was enough to establish that.”

  She was further outraged. “Oh! So it’s true, then? You checked up on me? You cyber-spied on me?”

  “I would hardly call it spying,” he said. “I didn’t hack into anything private. I just looked at what was lying around in plain sight.”

  “But why?” she demanded. “Why nose into my life?”

  He shrugged, unrepentant. “I was interested.”

  “Well, this level of interest is making me nervous! And I do not need anything else to make me nervous! Understand?”

  He nodded, but did not apologize.

  “It’s all or nothing with you,” she said tartly. “Either you ignore my very existence, or you pin me under a microscope. So, whatever. What did Lanaghan say?”

  “Pretty much what you told me last night,” he said. “They haven’t made much progress.”

  “No,” she said. “The guy’s good. He left no trace. No prints, no DNA, nothing. Even the SUV in Boston turned out to be stolen, hours before.” The thought chilled her. She shied away from it, groping for something else to think about. “So what else did you find on me out there in cyberspace?” she prodded him. “I suppose you read last term’s graduate seminar paper on Christina Rossetti? Or did you dig into the archived transcripts from the message boards at the online poetry forum?”

  “Yeah, both,” he said. “But my favorites were those five short poems you published in The Golden Thread Poetry Journal last January.”

  That floored her. Her mouth opened and closed. “Ah…actually, I was, um, just kidding. About you reading…any of that stuff.”

  “I wasn’t,” he replied.

  The silence stretched out, heavy between them, and he made a sharp gesture with his hand. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “It’s not like I can discuss them intelligently. I can’t. To be honest, I don’t have a flipping clue what you were talking about. In any of those poems.”

  She was puzzled. “So how did you know you liked them?”

  She sensed his discomfort as he fidgeted and looked out the window. “I don’t know. I just did. I liked the way they made me feel.”

  She was startled and moved by the awkward confession. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about my work. Thank you.”

  He drifted like a shadow until he stood right in front of her. So close, his aura was interfering with her brain waves.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “This is the first time in my life I ever got something like that right. And damn if it wasn’t by accident. Pure, dumb-ass luck.”

  “Don’t put it in those terms,” she scolded, breathlessly. “It’s not something you get wrong or right. It’s just a matter of paying attention and telling the truth.”

  He touched one of her ringlets, pulling it out long, letting it spring back, bouncing. “I’ve got no problems with attention. Or truth,” he said.

  “Um, n-no, you sure don’t,” she stammered.

  He curled another lock of hair around his finger, stroking the texture. “So, what’s my prize for getting this right, Nell?” The deep vibration of his voice made her skin tingle. His breath was so warm. It smelled of coffee, of mint. “Did I earn some points?”

  “There you go again,” she protested, in a whisper. “It’s not about points. Or prizes.”

  His lips grazed her temple. “It’s not?” Then her cheekbone. His voice was a delicate brush of darkest sable over her nerves. “Then what is it about, Nell? Teach me. Enlighten me. I await your wisdom.”

  Her head dropped back. His hand was ready to support it, warm and strong. Cradling her. “Do not make fun of me,” she whispered.

  “Oh, God, no,” he muttered, and kissed her.

  It was like light flashing through her, delicious heat flushing every corner of her body. Like some sinuous, muscular animal thing inside her woke up, a thing that was not afraid of him at all, oh no, not one little bit. That sleek animal part knew exactly what she wanted from him. Knew that he had it to give. Lots of it. Loads of it.

  She wound her arms around his neck and demanded it. He made a surprised, satisfied sound deep in his throat and positioned himself between her legs where she perched on the table. Cupping her head with one hand and her bottom with the other.

  She’d kissed men before, and been kissed, and had sex, too. Some, not a lot. She’d even enjoyed it, sort of. But never like this. Always before, part of her had stood apart, critiquing, judging. She’d tried to let herself go, experience the magic, the ecstatic passion that poets wrote about, but she’d always stayed so flat, so cool.

  With Duncan, there was no problem with letting herself go. Oh, no. The problem was in holding herself back. She wanted to eat him up, strip him bare, ride him hard. He tasted so good. He coaxed her mouth open, and she wound her fingers into his thick, straight hair and moved against him, helpless to stop. He bent her back on the table until she let go of his arms to prop herself up on her elbows. He grabbed her ankles, folded her legs up high, until her skirt rode up and her gartered stockings showed. The ones she’d put on this morning, back when she was still trying to fool herself into thinking she wasn’t going to wrestle this guy to the ground and have her wild and wanton way with him. Like, please. Who had she been trying to kid? He was gorgeous. A smorgasbord of sexual delights. So big, so hot. She gasped and pressed back at each grinding shove of his erection against her. He circled against that crazy, hot, delicious, writhing sweet spot, and oh…God.

  Bursts of pleasure rocked her, jolting her mind out of whack.

  When she opened her eyes, she found his hand clamped over her mouth. He was grinning. Delighted with himself.

  “Wow,” he whispered, slowly lifting his hand.

  “Oh, God,” she croaked, mortified. “Did I…make a noise?”

  “Oh, yeah. Big-time. Hold on a sec.” He pulled away, wrenched the door open. Nell’s legs snapped together as a blade of cold light sliced into the room and assaulted her eyes. Duncan poked his head out the door, peered around, and closed it, plunging them into darkness again. “They’re gone,” he said, and she heard the click of the door lock engaging. “Not a sound. But just in case. Since you’re a screamer.”

  A thread of cold unfurled in her belly. She slid off the table. tugged her skirt over her legs, and found him in front of her. “Oh, no. Don’t panic on me now.” There was an edge of pleading in his voice.

  “I just…the locked door, it, ah…”

  “I’ll unlock it, if you want. I just don’t want surprise visitors.” His hands slid under her skirt and gripped the tops of her thighs, slid slowly up to her groin. “Making you come is not a spectator sport.”

  “Uh, no, of course not. But I—”

  “Shhh,” he shushed her, and he seized her again, and they were off, kissing wildly. She gripped his arms and drank him in. Their mouths melded with the sensual sureness of well-matched dancing partners. It was as if they’d known how to kiss each other senseless since time began, with all the excitement of novelty, all the grace and ease of familiarity. She wanted to claw his shirt off, to discover every detail of that big, solid torso, to smell his sweat, to feel the texture of his chest hair, the shape of his nipples, the contours of his muscles.

  And his cock. Sh
e wanted to grip it, test it, pet it. She reached down, pressed her hand against his flat belly and slid it down over his belt. His hand covered hers and pressed it against the bulge in his crotch. He stroked the gusset of her panties. A murmur of satisfaction rumbled against her shoulder as he found her wet. Very wet.

  He kissed her again, his tongue venturing into her mouth to twine lazily around hers, and both of them moaned as he explored her tender folds with a gentle finger, circling and pressing, sliding into her slick opening. She clenched around him, gasping in shocked delight.

  “Oh, God,” he muttered. “I think my hand is going to come.”

  “You think you’ve got problems,” she said jerkily.

  Then, no more talking. Just deep, ravenous kissing while his finger delved and her hand stroked that massive, hot bulge. Her legs twined around his thighs for balance, and they shuddered and gasped together, tongues twining, wrapped in a tight, trembling knot of desire. Tension rose, until the sweet, keening ache of anticipation shattered.

  Pulses of hot delight jolted through her body.

  She sagged against him, shimmering and soft. Made of liquid, glimmering with moonlight. He’d undone the fastenings of her garters at some point and was tugging her panties off her legs. She was too limp to react. She hung on to handfuls of his shirtfront and tried to form words with her mouth. “What…ah, what are you going to…?”

  “I don’t have latex,” he said. “So I’ll do this.”

  He dropped to his knees and put his mouth to her.

  She almost screamed, the sensation was so intense. He felt the flinch and murmured soothing, incomprehensible things against her groin as he rubbed his cheek against her thigh, petting her. His breath felt so soft, like a brush of fine silk, and his fingers were so skillful, parting her, and then his tongue, warm and soft, swirling and fluttering, and the pleasure grew too intense to differentiate sensations.

  She collapsed back onto the table, and a tiny part of her brain stood apart for a moment, astonished at how her life had upended itself. Last night, celibate, and crushed out on an unattainable man. Today, spread-eagled and pantiless in his conference room, getting marvellously tongue-lashed by that same unattainable guy.

  Yeah, and if she didn’t attain him all the way, she was going to collapse into a screaming, writhing human black hole, the hunger bit so deep and hard. She pushed his face away. He looked up in silent question, wiping his mouth. She saw his grin flash in the dimness.

  “Mmm,” he murmured. “Good. More?”

  “What about you?”

  His soft laughter tickled her pubis. “I’ll live.” He paused for a moment, and added, “Somehow.” He pressed his lips to her, fluttering his tongue around her clit in a way that sent her spinning into a dizzying vortex. The man was amazing. And her body was a fire gone wild in a fireworks factory. She pushed his face away, struggled up onto her elbows. “Please,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”

  He stared at her, and she wished she hadn’t used a silly romantic euphemism. It made her vulnerabilities so obvious. She should have just said, “Fuck me.” It would have been clearer, more honest. They’d both know where they stood. Or sprawled, as the case may be.

  But she couldn’t. Such a blunt, crude phrase would not come out of her mouth. Romantic, old-fashioned idiot that she was.

  He gripped her hips, fingers digging in. “No latex,” he repeated.

  She gulped in air and exposed herself still further. “I have some.”

  He froze. “No fucking way.”

  “Um, actually, yes. In my purse. My co-worker bought them for me today, as a joke. She was roasting me. I never thought I’d—”

  “Where’s your purse?”

  “On the chair, I think, on the other side of the—”

  He’d already yanked it open and flung its contents onto the table. He found the box, and seconds later he was back, opening his belt and opening the shrink-wrap in a show of manual dexterity that would be dazzling if she’d been in any condition to appreciate it. She caught a glimpse of his big, thick phallus as he sheathed it, and then he pushed her back down onto the table and folded her legs up high.

  The bulb at the end of his cock seemed impossibly big, pressing against her. He slid it tenderly up and down the length of her labia, caressing her with it until he was wet, and she was squirming against him, in silent pleading. And he drove slowly inside.

  Duncan counted back from ten, holding his breath. Please, God, not yet. He breathed the climax carefully down, but the second he opened his eyes and looked at her again, spread out beneath him, he was in trouble again.

  So beautiful. Fuck. His body shook with excitement. The jealous, eager grip of her pussy was an agonizing torment. Each stroke was another torturous lick of the lash.

  He was glad he’d gotten her good and wet, or he’d never have gotten inside. As it was, each stroke was slow, pushing against the hot, plushy resistance of her body that enveloped him, throbbing with the heavy beat of her heart.

  Again…and again, and finally the tight, careful strokes relaxed and they found their rhythm of deep, swirling, rocking thrusts, punctuated by wet slaps of contact, his labored breathing, her breathless gasps. She was working up to another climax. And now his own orgasm was crashing down on him like a falling meteor, the sky was in flames, but God knew how, he held it off…until she took flight.

  They soared together, through that inner nowhere. Fused.

  He collapsed over her, panting. His mind wiped clean. He’d never imagined feeling so close. Feeling the essence of her, in the heart of that burning, twisting glow. So beautiful.

  His eyes fluttered open. He was pinning her soft body onto the hard table with all the weight of his torso. He lifted himself hastily up.

  Her face was turned away. He felt shy, humbled. He didn’t know if she’d felt what he’d felt. The postcoital crash chilled him with doubts. He pulled out of the excellent, tight clutch of her body.

  The condom was a problem. No way in hell was he leaving it in the trash can in the conference room. He rummaged on the table for the drugstore bag the box had been in. Peeled the condom off, sealed it up. Tongue-tied as a thirteen-year-old boy who’d just had his first lay. He hastened to shove his still-turgid dick back into his pants, and fasten them, with some discomfort, over the bulge, before he even dared to look at her.

  She’d straightened her clothing in the meantime, too. She’d pulled her panties back on. Her stockings were up, skirt tugged down. She was fastening her garters. Waiting for him to speak first.

  Damn. Women were always the talkative ones. This was the first time in his life he’d ever longed for one of them to break the silence.

  “Are you, uh, okay?” he ventured. She nodded. He kicked himself for his lack of inspiration. So much for that stellar, brilliant attempt.

  “That was incredible,” he offered.

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  He was heartened. “I didn’t mean for things to happen so fast between us,” he said.

  She stifled a soft, whispery giggle. “Me neither,” she murmured.

  It looked like she wasn’t getting all emotional on him, thank God. Maybe she was a reasonable female. “Well, there’s no going back now.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I think we’re on to something here. It’ll be complicated, but it’s worth it to me. Let’s go get some dinner, and we can hammer out the details.”

  “Details?” she repeated slowly.

  “Yeah. Our mutually beneficial arrangement. It’ll need to be secret, for obvious reasons, but we can swing it. I’ll take you to my condo. We’ll order in. I’ll show you how beneficial it can be.”

  She flipped the light switch on, unexpectedly. He blinked and took in the blazing fury on her face. It rocked him back on his heels.

  “Not.” She grabbed her purse, began shoving things into it.

  He was perplexed. “Nell—”

  “Th
at’s Ms. D’Onofrio to you, Burke,” she said, scooping up the scattered stuff on the table and stuffing it into her purse. “You can take your mutually beneficial arrangement and shove it right up your ass.”

  She shrugged her purse over her shoulder and strode out. Her mane of black curls bounced with each brisk, angry step.

  He lunged after her, grabbed her shoulder to spin her around.

  “Don’t touch me.” She flinched away.

  “You didn’t complain about me touching you ten minutes ago. Are you fucking with me? Because we both know that was mutual.”

  “I am not fucking with you.” She spat each word out. “It looks like we were fucking with each other, but we’re done with that. Definitively.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t get it. Just tell me if I need to call my lawyer.”

  She blew out an explosive breath. “No, Burke. I’m not setting you up for a lawsuit. I’m not an extortionist or a con woman. If you want me to sign and notarize a piece of paper saying I came six times, I’ll—”

  “Eight,” he specified.

  “Do not push me,” she said, biting the words out. “The sex was great. You’re amazing in bed. Actually, that’s a misnomer. I’m sure you’re amazing on the floor, in the shower, up against the wall. But the minute you zip up your pants and open your mouth, you’re a rude, crass, graceless clod. So get out of my way.”

  She wrenched open the door of the office and flounced out.

  He stared at the door as it shut in his face, running through every goddamn thing he’d said and done to her. He couldn’t find any fault lines, any red flags, any horrible insults. What the hell had he said?

  He felt like he’d been stripped naked and sucker-punched.

  This was not over. He slapped the door open. The elevator down the hall was closing. He sprinted for it, but the doors pinged shut before he could wedge his fingers in. The other one was noodling up around the fiftieth floor. He dove for the stairwell.

  Enough being baffled. Enough guessing games, enough bombs going off in his face. He was sick of it. She wasn’t getting away from him until he knew exactly what he’d done to piss her off.