Adrien English Mysteries: A Dangerous Thing & Fatal Shadows (40 page)

“Are they going to arrest Kevin?”

He didn’t meet my eyes. “I’m not in their confidence.”

“Would you arrest Kevin if this was your case?”

He shrugged. “There are a lot of factors involved in timing an arrest. At this point, I’d want a tighter case. Something to take to court.”

“Do you think I’m still considered a suspect?”

He pushed his plate away. Now his eyes did meet mine. “You’re suspect all right. I just don’t know that it’s murder they suspect you of.”

I considered this.

“Jake, you know what happened in the woods today --”

“Here we go,” he muttered. “The Blair Witch Project.”

“Hey, you were there.”

“These men were shot to death. The Guardian did not rip them to pieces like that dog --

not that the dog was ripped to pieces by supernatural beings. The Guardian is a legend. A 250

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folk tale. It’s not -- I admit there was something funky about the woods today, okay? But I’m not prepared to -- I mean --” He shook his head, denying any and all paranormal possibilities.

Not that I blamed him. For all that I prided myself on keeping an open mind, I wasn’t ready to log into the Twilight Zone.

I redeemed myself from the pork chop fiasco by coming up with raspberry and dark chocolate ice cream for dessert. There’s nothing like a pint of ice cream to soothe the savage beast. He had quite a sweet tooth for such a tough guy. And a head for drink, but the latter was typical of cops, according to him.

Catching my speculative gaze, his mouth twisted. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I have?”

He nodded. “I can always tell. You start giving me these looks.” He propped his chin on his hand and dropped his eyelids to half-mast, imitating me I suppose. I have to admit it was a pretty sappy expression.

“Come hither,” he stated.

“Pardon?”

“That’s your come hither look.”

Reluctantly I laughed. “And this is my go to hell look.”

He sighed, a regretful sound like blowing into a beer bottle. “You’re probably the best looking guy I ever knew.”

“A bottle of whisky helps.”

“No seriously. You are. Your eyes and everything. Not my type, but beautiful.”

“What is your type?”

“A girl.”

“Bullshit.”

His head jerked up and he gave me a bright hostile look.

“Bullshit,” I said again. Maybe I had had too much to drink because I wasn’t backing off although I saw it go through Jake’s soggy brain to pop me one.

Instead he said clearly and bleakly, “I’ve got nothing to offer you, Adrien.” These were not the opening remarks to a proposal.

“I don’t recall asking.” For good measure, I added, “Hell, you came after me, Jake. Every step of the way.”

I don’t know how we jumped from mild flirtation to open hostility. A few too many drinks, I guess. I figured Jake’s next move would be to push away from the table and call for another early night. I didn’t want him to walk away, but I knew I couldn’t stand down. Not about this.

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He eyeballed me for a long moment then he shrugged. The tension was gone, just like that. He refilled his glass, held it up briefly in a salute and knocked it back.

“So,” he said casually, “You want to fuck?”

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“Sure,” I said.

But I was less sure when we walked into my bedroom and undressed. For one thing, I knew sex wasn’t going to solve anything, but it might change things. For the worse.

As I watched Jake unbuckle his belt in a business-like fashion, I remembered that this was guy who liked to do it with whips and chains -- and strangers.

If we could have fallen on the kitchen table, swept away on a tide of passion ... but the lag time of walking to the bedroom, stripping, lying down on the bed ... it gave time to think.

To reflect. To pause.

To remember the last time I’d had sex with a guy I didn’t know that well. Not exactly a joyride.

It was cold in the room. The light seemed too bright. I crawled onto the bed and wondered what the hell to do next. Had he ever done this without tying someone to the bed?

Assuming he even did it in bed. My knowledge of the BDSM scene was sketchy at best --

which was kind of the way I wanted to keep it.

Jake knelt on the mattress and slipped his condom on with a snap like a detective donning latex gloves to examine a crime scene. Not a romantic noise.

“Have you got lube?” he asked.

“Uh ... no. I wasn’t planning ...”

He glanced up and smiled. The smile disarmed me. He looked a little self-conscious.

There was a flush across his cheekbones and his eyes were very bright.

I smiled back and he leaned forward and kissed me. The kiss reassured. His mouth was warm and already tasted familiar.

“I like kissing you,” he said softly. “I didn’t think I would. But I do.”

“Good,” I said. “I like kissing you too.”

We kissed again. I tasted the licorice-bite of the whisky on his tongue.

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He kissed harder and said against my mouth, “I want to fuck you so bad.”

I nodded.

“Lie back.”

I stretched out. I wasn’t exactly sexually active these days but I wasn’t a virgin either. I knew what to expect and whatever Jake’s range of experience, I figured it would be okay.

Probably not great for him, without all his little toys and costumes, and maybe not great for me either since he probably was not much into giving pleasure that didn’t involve the release of some serious endorphins. I’d do my best to make sure he enjoyed himself; I wanted him to see that it could be good without the improper use of kitchen utensils.

He touched my face. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Maybe a little puzzled that he seemed unsure about it.

I ran a light hand over the hard planes of his chest. Flicked one flat brown nipple with my thumbnail. He swallowed hard and I smiled. Teased the other nipple into a hard point.

He sucked in a breath, let it out slowly.

I’d had enough to drink that I should have been incapable of rational thought, but for some damn reason, the wheels were still turning. Way too fast. Spinning, in fact. I felt detached, a little distant as he bent over me, big hands denting the mattress, the muscles on his arms standing out like ropes. His cock looked like a warhead.

I remembered the last time -- and flinched at the sudden stark vision of all that strength and frustration slamming into me. I stared up into his hard face. He was watching me closely.

My stomach knotted with anxiety.

But that other time hadn’t been Jake. That didn’t have anything to do with ... us. I wanted Jake. I did want him. And if I let myself think about that other time I was giving the memory power. And I’d been waiting for this moment for way too long.

He said, “What if I --”

“Maybe if I --”

Suddenly there seemed to be knees and elbows everywhere.

“Ouch,” Jake said.

“Sorry.”

He bent forward at the same moment I raised my head, and we banged noses.

“What the hell?” His voice came out muffled behind his hand.

“Sorry.”

“You’ve done this before, right?”

I don’t know why that hit me as funny, but I started to laugh, and Jake pushed back and said exasperatedly, “What the hell is so funny?”

I shook my head.

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“You sure know how to break the mood.” However he didn’t appear to be giving up. His mouth found mine and he kissed me again, insistently. I felt myself quieting, giving into the unexpected tenderness.

He drew back, licked my mouth, which was different, sort of playful. My lips parted, anticipating, but he softly bit the side of my neck -- then harder.

I bit back a yelp.

“Going to behave?” His eyes were amused.

I said in my best hypnotic-subject voice, “Yeees ... Maaaster.”

He nuzzled the bite mark and I shivered.

There was a lot of strength and heat in the body poised over mine. He smelled good, like my almond soap, and he tasted good, and he felt very good, his hand slowly stroking my belly.

I said huskily, “I’m having trouble believing this is you.”

He reached across to the nightstand with his free hand and picked up my sunscreen.

“Nah,” he said. “You knew this was going to happen. Like I did. You called it right. I came after you. Every step of the way.”

He squirted a glop of sunscreen on his fingers and warmed it. I bent my knees, opening wide for him. Focused on relaxing my muscles. Jake’s fingers slipped along my crack, slick and silky. I’d wondered what those long sensitive fingers would feel like and now one of them was pressing against my hole.

I bit my lip, trying to keep it quiet, trying not to scare him away.

He pushed in. Just a fingertip. “You’re so tight,” he murmured.

He pulled out. Dipped in, dipped out. Pushed further in. That friction felt so good. I moaned. I couldn’t help it.

“Yeah,” he said with slow satisfaction. “You need it bad. Worse than I do.”

I gasped, “Is it a competition? What do I win?”

“Shhh. Turn off for a few seconds, Adrien.”

“A few seconds? Is that all it’s --” I caught my breath as his finger moved knowledgeably, unerringly.

“There’s the off button,” he murmured.

I pushed back hard on his hand. Not like I’d never felt this before, and yet somehow I’d never felt it quite so intensely. It was like he was reaching right into me, stretching me open, finding every little secret place, stroking, smoothing, soothing the naked underbelly of need.

I wanted to talk myself away from feeling too much, too keenly, but all that came out was a something unnervingly like a whimper.

So much for my theory on his lack of expertise. It was going to be okay. I was going to be more than okay.

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“Baby, that little sound you made ...” He stroked with two fingers. “What about this? Is this good too?”

Where had I got the idea he might not be experienced at this? He was in total control, perfectly gauging my responses and expertly bringing me to the edge with each electric --

and deliberate -- stroke across the gland.

No way was that beginner’s luck.

The pressure built unbearably. My eyes flew open. “I-I think I’m going to come.”

“You think?” His eyes were crinkled at the corner, like he was laughing inside.

“But ...” It’s way too soon. I let the half-formed protest go. Too hard to form thoughts, let alone words. I strained against his hand, aching for more, trying to capture that maddening touch, draw it deeper into my body, ease that screaming tension.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got you. Just let go ...”

The wildness welled up inside me and began to pump hard, spilling through my body, sizzling along nerve endings, shooting out in creamy plumes. A half-sob of relief tore out of my throat.

“Whoa,” Jake murmured eons later. He traced some design in the sticky wet splash on my abdomen. I opened my eyes, blinked at him. He was smiling, looking as relaxed as I felt.

I managed a grin. He leaned over me, kissed me again, said quietly, “Yeah, I like that.”

I ran a hand over the top of his head, feeling the crisp texture of his cropped hair. It was the first time in our friendship I felt free to look my fill: the hard line of his cheek and jaw at odds with the sensual fullness of his mouth, the knowing gleam of his hazel eyes. My breathing had slowed back down, my heart raced happily along like the start of summer vacation. “You’ll like the next bit even more.”

He was still smiling. “There’s no rush.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said. I was tired, but it was a good tired. Loose and light. I sat up, but he pushed me back gently.

“On your back. I want to watch your face.” He met my eyes. “And you’ll like the ...

stimulation.”

We realigned ourselves, the mattress squeaking noisily, and I raised my legs over Jake’s shoulders, leaving myself exposed and vulnerable, but I wasn’t worried now. His warm hands slid over my ass, spreading me wider. His cock rested against my wet slick hole. Holding my gaze, he pushed in. “Christ, that’s sweet.”

I gritted my jaw, forced my muscles to submit.

He paused. Even stretched and prepped, my body needed a chance to adjust; he was a big man.

“Say my name,” he urged.

“Jake,” I said huskily.

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Something lit in his eyes. He shoved the rest of the way in. I gasped, sphincter muscle spasming around his stiffness.

“Christ, you feel good. Like a glove.” He thrust against me, just once like he couldn’t help himself.

I panted, writhed a little, still trying to accommodate him. Making room for him in my head and in my body.

His hands covered my chest, tugging the nipples. I’ve never particularly got off on having my breast touched, but this felt weirdly good. I rubbed against his palm. He lowered himself, kissed me, hotly, hungrily, pushing his tongue in. I moaned into his mouth, wanting more, needing more.

His mouth ground down on mine, his fingers pinched my nipples. So much sensation distracting me from the massive cock crammed in my ass.

“What are you feeling?” Jake’s breath was warm against my face, my bruised lips tingled.

“Tell me what it feels like with me inside you.” His hips thrust against me again.

What did it feel like? My legs felt weak and trembly, my belly soft and liquid; my channel felt scraped and burned with satisfying friction. It felt like invasion -- the invasion that comes with a liberating army. I felt my face quiver with that mix of pain and pleasure, lifted my lashes. He was staring into my eyes.

Something snapped inside me, relented, freed itself. I began to move, contracting my muscles around him, trying to arch up against him. My fierce response triggered him. He made some exclamation, began to move, hips pounding against my ass, impaling me with each thrust. The relief was that I could be rough back; I could let go and take what I needed too.