Baddest Bad Boys (10 page)

She squeaked, realizing his intentions, but he clamped her knees wide and kissed her belly, flicking his tongue over her navel.

“I’m still hungry,” he said. “And you took the last piece of bacon.”

“But I haven’t—I need to take a shower—”

“And wash away all that yummy lube? What a waste.” He pressed his face against her muff, kissing the ringlets clustered over the hood of her clit until the giggles faded into the trembling silence of anticipation.

Only then did he venture to tease his tongue inside. She tasted of latex, but a couple minutes of ravenous licking and her own sweet sea flavor welled up and shone through. He wallowed in the tender pink and crimson folds of her succulent cunt, lavishing her with tenderness. Her nails dug into his shoulders, trying to hold herself steady, and her shivering sharpened, tightening.

Her climax throbbed against his mouth as he sucked and tongued her clit. She clutched his shoulders. The sting of her nails felt so good.

He groped for the condom he’d left on the table. He rolled it on and pressed himself against her, forcing himself inside.

Robin leaned back on her elbows, an arch in her back worthy of a classical dancer. She opened her legs wider, offering herself. Every detail of her, from her gleaming hair, her shining eyes on down to the gleaming pink folds of her pussy, stretched taut around the shaft of his cock, moved him. He rocked, sinking deeper with each thrust, until his cock shaft gleamed like it was oiled. Hugged by the quivering muscles inside her.

They hit their stride, a deep, pumping thrust-and-glide. He lost all sense of time. Every licking shove into her juicy pussy was a question, every clutching, sighing response she gave was an utterly satisfying answer.

Their eyes locked, a raw, electric contact so intimate it scared him. No jokes, no smiles, just panting breath, soft moans. And a sense that something huge was waking up inside of him, displacing his old, familiar self. Shuffling it off like a scaly husk. Leaving him with a new self that he did not know, and could not predict or control.

Or protect. He was totally exposed. Naked under the floodlights.

You are so in for it. Fear pierced him, like a needle of ice.

She transformed him. Every time he touched her, kissed her, put his cock into her. Even the way he came was different. Usually he let loose at the starting gate and pounded madly to the finish like a racing stallion, but he was melting into a shimmering blur of total oneness with her, riding long, cresting waves with her, one after the other. A piece of him stood aside and watched, stupefied. Multiple goddamn orgasms, for Christ’s sake. Like a woman. This shit was not normal.

But God, it was nice. He followed her slavishly to the end, let her sobbing, clutching orgasm finally milk the come out of him, in violent spurts, like a geyser, and then sagged against her, hiding his wet eyes.

He pulled out, turned away. Covered his face with his hands until it felt more like his own mug, and less like a neon signboard.

The silence scared him. She was waiting for him to make a move, break the spell. Wasn’t happening. He was too naked. He couldn’t deal.

“Why don’t you go take the first shower?” he suggested, gruffly.

She slipped off the table and marched into the bathroom. Back very straight. Pissed at him, for chickening out on her. Fuck.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it. He’d seen that anger radiating off a naked woman’s back before. But still. He hated it. He couldn’t steel himself against it, like he usually did. His steel was melted down.

The shower started to hiss. He had just that much time to pull himself together. He gathered jumbled plates from the table, dumped them into the sink. His phone lay on the table, still off. He thumbed it on, to see if anything was happening out there.

Six calls. All from Jo Hirsch, his buddy from Social Services whom he’d asked to check on Molly. His chest seized up at the thought of something happening to sweet, dotty old Molly, his honorary grandma. He was pulling up Jo’s number when the phone buzzed in his hand. He hit Talk. “Yeah? Jo? What’s up with Molly?”

“Thank God you finally turned your phone on,” Joanna fussed.

“I know.” Impatience roughened his voice. “What’s up with Molly? Is she sick? Did she fall? Did something happen?”

“Molly’s OK. But something weird happened. I saw this woman come out of your duplex. Young, pretty, blond hair, well dressed. Turns out she was in there with Molly for the last half hour, eating lemon cookies and sorting her meds! She told Molly she was me!”

“No shit,” he said slowly. “That is really weird.”

“It sure was,” Joanna said forcefully. “Particularly since it took me twenty minutes of talking through her door, plus a call to my boss, to persuade Molly that I was not the impostor. And now Molly’s all wound up. I stayed with her as long as I could, but I have lots of calls to make.”

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me know.” His mind buzzed, wondering who he knew who would pull a stunt like that. He came up blank.

“Have you disappointed any of your lady friends recently, Jon?”

Yeah, right. He snorted. Jo enjoyed needling him. “No hot blondes come to mind except for Vicki, and Molly knows Vicki. Hates her too.”

“I don’t blame her,” Joanna commented. “I checked Molly’s meds, and they were sorted appropriately, but still. It makes my flesh creep.”

“Jo, I know you’re busy, but could you check on her tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve already slotted her in. Don’t worry.”

Good old Jo. He sighed in relief. “I owe you. I’ll call tomorrow.”

“OK. Till then. Have a good one.”

He hit End and stared down at the phone, sick with foreboding.

He punched in Molly’s number, waited for the ten rings it took for the arthritic old lady to hobble to the phone. “Hello?” she quavered.

“Hey, Molly, it’s me, Jon.”

“Jonny! The funniest thing just happened! There were two Joannas this morning!”

“Yeah, I know. Joanna number two was the real one. If you ever see Joanna number one again, lock your door and call 911. Then speed dial the other number I programmed into your phone, OK? That’s Mendez, the detective that works with me. Talk to her. Understand?”

It took fifteen solid minutes of stroking and soothing to get the rattled Molly calmed down and coherent. When he finally ended the call, Robin stood behind him. Damp, naked and gorgeous, toweling her long, wet hair. She looked troubled. “Problems?”

He tossed the phone down. “I got a friend to look in on my neighbor while I was gone. Molly’s ninety. She can’t get around much. And some blonde came to see Molly this morning who said that she was Jo. Sorted her meds. Ate her cookies. What the fuck is that about?”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Ooh. That’s creepy.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Oh, yeah.”

“Are you, um…” She chewed her lip. “Are you thinking you need to go back early?”

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted. “I don’t like this. At all.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “When will you leave?”

He hesitated. “Not before tomorrow. I don’t want to pop our magic bubble yet. Not before we absolutely have to.”

Her face lit up, like dawn lighting the sky. “What’ll we do today?”

“You mean, aside from…” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

She giggled. “Aside from that.”

He glanced out the window. “It’s a beautiful day,” he said. “Let’s go out and play in the woods.”

Her grin grew dazzling. “That sounds great to me.”

“I’ll call Molly every couple of hours or so,” he said. “If anything else weird happens, I’ll have Mendez send someone to check it out.”

He was talking out loud, trying to justify a purely selfish, egoistic decision, but God, just look at that woman. Buck naked and smiling at him like that. She fucking glowed. How was a man expected to resist?

 

The business suite was equipped with Internet access, and Julia made excellent use of it. Crowne Royale Group’s corporate website was sleek and professional. As was the flattering photo of Danny MacNamara, CFO. Julia read his bio, dismissed him, and moved on.

She typed “Robin MacNamara” into the engine. After a half hour, she hit the Ace Entertainment Agency site, and got a photo and bio of Wiggles the Clown. Wiggles offered general clowning, face painting, juggling, balloon twisting, humorous magic, stories, games and puppetry. Wiggles claimed to meet all clowning needs, be they birthday parties, corporate events, holiday parties, charity bashes, children’s hospitals, daycares, and so on. Wiggles had purportedly been entertaining in the Greater Seattle area and bringing smiles to faces of children and adults for the past six years.

Another paragraph revealed that the clown’s alter ego was Robin MacNamara. Julia stared at the big dark eyes and wide smile of the garishly painted creature who sported an enormous green wig and protruding red nose. Wiggles was Robin. Strange, but true.

Entertaining for six years? Either she was older than she looked, or she’d been clowning since she was no more than a child.

She found a contact number. “Ace Entertainment,” said a woman.

“Hi. My name’s Melinda Sykes, and Robin MacNamara did a birthday party for my nephew a few weeks ago at my house. I just found her handbag,” Julia said. “Could you give me her home number? I could just drop it by for her on my way to work.”

The woman hesitated. “Um, I could pass your number on to her.”

Julia sighed. Sometimes people were stupid and credulous. Sometimes not. She gave the woman a fake number, and hit End.

There was always the passwords William had obtained from the DMV. She entered the Washington system, with “Robin MacNamara,” scrolled, she found the girl’s face. Wide brown eyes. Born twenty-five years ago. A bit old, but when she closed her eyes, William gave her an assenting nod.

She cross-referenced the address with a reverse directory, found an R. MacNamara on Etruria, and dialed the number.