Soul Stripper (18 page)

K
ayce and I had been sitting around, watching bad daytime television for hours. She was sprawled out on my couch with her feet perched on my mahogany coffee table.

“Could get your smelly feet off my furniture?”

She rolled her eyes and with an indignant sigh let her feet fall to the floor. I went back to picking at my cuticles—an old habit. I caught Kayce watching me, her lips curled back.

“Do you have a problem or something?” I raised my voice louder than the television.

“That’s disgusting.” Her gaze shifted down to my hand. “You’re going to have no skin left on your fingers.”

I dropped my hands to my lap while Kayce went to the kitchen to scour the fridge. “You’ve only got one beer left!” she called from the other room.

“So, go get some more.”

The fridge shut, glass jars on the shelves clinking as it closed. Kayce stood in the doorway to my living room. “You know I can’t leave you unsupervised.”

I shrugged. “Fine. Then do without.”

“We could both go.”

I shook my head. “Not a chance. I’m in for the night.” I was already in my flannel bottom pajama pants and my favorite supersoft cotton T-shirt. I had taken off both necklaces—assuming it was okay to do so since I had hand marks on my neck that needed to heal. I was sure that Wills would forgive me—or maybe I just didn’t have to tell him. And with my guardians around, the panic button didn’t seem necessary.

“It’s only six o’clock!”

“Exactly—no one is going to attack me at six p.m.” It was a weak argument—I knew that. I looked closer at Kayce’s face, and . . . she looked tired. Worn down and ragged. “Hey, Kayce, when was your last energy fix?”

She exhaled a small puff of air and crossed her arms. “Why?”

“Because you look—”

“Careful, Monica—”

“. . . tired.” I smiled. “You seem tired, Kayce. Low on energy.”

She shrugged and sat back down in my recliner. “It’s been a few days, but I’m all right.”

I started to pick at my cuticles again and forced myself to drop my hands to my lap. “You don’t seem 100%, though. Why don’t you go out—go get yourself a man. I’m not going anywhere tonight, I swear.”

Kayce hesitated, considering her lack of energy and need for a nightcap. She shook her head. “No. I can’t leave you. It’s too dangerous.”

“Who’s taking over the next shift?”

“Julian.” She looked at her watch. “Probably in an hour or so.”

“See? C’mon. I’ll be fine for an hour. I could really use a little alone time, to be honest.”

After an inner debate, she finally sighed and shifted into a sexy, strapless dark blue dress. The shift itself left her breathless, and she leaned on the wall to collect herself before grabbing her purse. “Do not answer the door for anyone. Do not leave this apartment. Keep the doors and windows locked.”

She had her index finger in my face, and I kept my eyes on the TV, only half listening.

“Monica! Do you hear me?”

I huffed an exhaled breath and turned my head toward her. “Don’t leave. Doors locked. Got it.”

She shook her head. “You’re so stubborn sometimes.” She turned to head to the door, her deep blue dress hugging her tiny ass.

“Wait, wait.” I jumped up, my fuzzy slippers sliding across the hardwood floors. “I’m sorry, Kayce. I’m just—I’m used to being alone a lot. And I’ve gone from living alone to having someone by my side every second. It’s exhausting. And I’m cranky.” I gave her a half smile, hoping she’d accept my apology.

She smiled back. “I understand.”

I grabbed the necklace Wills had made for me. “You should wear this. It matches perfectly. It will look stunning with that dress.”

She smiled and slipped it on, clasping it behind her neck.

“You want the earrings too?” I lifted a hand to undo the back of the little studs.

She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “No offense . . . little button earrings aren’t really my style.” She shifted two large gold hoops into her ears. “Now,
these
. These are my style.” She did a twirl, and for the first time in hours I felt like I had my best friend back. Part of me wanted to hug her, but the mysterious Kayce wasn’t necessarily great with public displays of affection.

She checked her enchantments on my apartment one last time to ensure that no one other than Lucien or Julian could teleport inside and then slipped out my door, giving me a flirty wave good-bye.

I exhaled. I hadn’t had the apartment to myself in a couple days—it felt glorious. If even just for a few minutes. Just as I was settling into my favorite nook in my rocking chair, there was a knock at my door. I hesitated, not yet getting out of my spot—Kayce’s warning rang in my ears.
Don’t answer the door for anyone.

“Monica? Are you home?”

It was Drew’s voice—and he sounded upset. Anger mixed with something else resonated in his voice. I jumped up and rushed to the door, fumbling with the various locks Kayce had installed, cursing how annoyingly intricate they all were.

“Just a minute, Drew.” I swung the door open, making sure to plaster an annoyed look on my face. Inside, I was happy to see him, but I knew I should still be pissed about our fight. The man who stood before me looked nothing like my friend. Drew’s hair was sticking out in all places. His eyes—those emerald eyes—were rimmed with red and creased as though he had slept on a plastic bag. His nose was raw and he sniffed, placing both hands on his hips. He raised his gaze to mine.

I reached for his hand. “What—what happened? What’s wrong?”

He stood there a moment, drinking me in with his eyes. “Me? What the fuck happened to
you?
” His eyes dropped to my bare neck and he reached out a hand, running his fingers along the bruise.

Shit. I had completely forgotten about the strangle marks. “I did this little B movie horror shoot for George. I was . . . a murder victim.”

Drew’s hand retreated, pulling back, and his body language shifted back to confrontational. “Movie makeup”—I shrugged—“doesn’t really come off easily.”

His hands rested back on his hips. “Can I come in?”

I held the door open for him and he entered cautiously, keeping an eye on me as he walked into my foyer. I shut the door behind him and locked the various deadbolts.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He clomped his way into my kitchen and paced around in a half circle a few times. “I never thought you’d stoop so low, Monica.” His voice was a low grumble.

“What the Hell are you talking about? Sit down. I’m going to make you some coffee.” I put a kettle of water on the stove, and Drew just continued to pace, his eyes wild like a caged animal’s.

“I know we had that fight”—he stopped pacing and looked directly at me—“but we would have worked that out.” Drew sat down at my table. “This is inexcusable.”

I sat down next to him, resting a hand on his knee. He flinched at my touch, and I pulled back as though burned. He eventually looked up, a mixture of anger and hurt swirling in his eyes, and threw some photographs down onto the kitchen table. “Did you do this?”

I looked at him, puzzled. Then down at the photographs. I swallowed. There in the first picture was Damien—and Adrienne. They had their tongues in each other’s throat, standing in front of a cheap motel room. Damien’s eyes were open, and he was looking to the left. For a brief moment, my body felt hot, my mouth went dry. Jealousy tugged at my core, and there was a slight pulsing between my legs. Damn my succubus nature. Even as a human, it still lingered.

“Well?
Did
you give these to me?” he asked, his eyebrow twitching once with the question.

“No.” It came out as a whisper, so I said it again louder. “No. Of course not.” I reached out and flipped through the other images. The next was Adrienne opening the door, one hand behind her holding onto Damien. The next was them talking in front of the window. And the last image was Damien drawing the curtain closed. I dropped the pictures back down on my table, disgusted. “I would never do that to you.”

He put both elbows on the table and wrung his fingers through his hair, nodding. I scooted my chair closer. “Drew—I’m so sorry. Have you talked to Adrienne yet?”

He shook his head, allowing one hand to rub his face down to his stubble. “It’s the guy from the church—the one you were talking to. Did you know about this?” He pointed to the pictures, his face hard and accusing.

I swallowed. “I suspected, yes.”

He laughed in a bitter way. “I tried calling her, but she wouldn’t answer. She said she was working today, but when I found the pictures, I went down to her bar and they said she wasn’t due in until tomorrow.” He leaned back in the chair. “She was probably with
him
.”

I thought back to my day. “What time was that?”

“Around three, I guess.”

I knew she wasn’t with Damien at that time since he was with me. I decided to leave that part out.

“Well—what’s your plan? What are you going to say to her?”

He snorted in disgust. “What do you think I’m going to say? I can’t be with someone who has cheated on me.” He stood up and started pacing around my kitchen again.

“Drew, I know you’re upset.” I stood as well, trying to halt his pacing. I grabbed his hand in mine. “But just sit. Try to relax. Let me get your coffee.”

He stopped walking, but his chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths. “I don’t want a fucking coffee.” He pulled his hand from my grasp, neck muscles clenching. “I need a drink. Whiskey, preferably. You got any?” He opened a few of my cabinets, moving around various items stuffed inside.

I shook my head. “Don’t let years of sobriety go to waste over her, Drew.”

“I just can’t believe she did this.” He grabbed the pictures, taking another look at the two kissing.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. In a small voice, I asked, “Is it really so surprising? Think about her.
I’m
not surprised.”

“I’m telling you, she wouldn’t do this to me. She loved me. This”—he held the pictures up—“is not who she is!”

I sneered.
Love
. They were only together for two months. “The evidence suggests otherwise.”

He threw the pictures back down onto the table and stalked over to me. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“You’re right. Apparently, I know her
better
than you.” Why he was defending a woman who cheated on him was beyond me. My eyes flicked back to the pictures on the table.

He grunted in frustration and ran both hands through his hair. “Why are you like this? You are infuriating sometimes.” His hands gestured wildly around my head.

I laughed at that. “Me? Newsflash, Drew. I’m not the one who cheated on you just now! This”—I gestured between the two of us—“is just you misdirecting your anger.”

“No, no.” He threw his hands in the air. “You don’t cheat on me. How can you cheat on me when you refuse to ever go out with me?”

I stood my ground firmly and crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s for your own good.”

“Well, why don’t you let
me
choose what’s for
my
own fucking good.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and brought the other hand to my face, pulling me in for a kiss. His lips pressed against mine—hungry, devouring.

I melted into his arms, opening my mouth around his, my tongue tickling against his teeth. He lifted me onto my kitchen table, tugging his own shirt off. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I had on a sheer cotton shirt and no bra paired with my flannel bottoms and lack of panties. Once he had rid his body of his shirt, he lifted mine over my head, my nipples hardening into two small peaks.

He lowered his face to my breasts, running his tongue softly around the edges of my nipple. I moaned and arched my back, hoping he’d take more into his mouth. He grunted, throwing an arm around my waist and pulling me closer to his body as if he feared any space between us. Teeth grazed against my sensitive skin and then—a cool breeze. When I opened my eyes, just barely, I saw his lips puckered and blowing lightly against my warm skin. He moved to the other breast, repeating the same technique.

I lay down on my table, the cool wood pressing against my back. His rough fingers tucked under the waist of my pants, sliding them down past my knees until I heard the soft rustle of fabric hitting the ground. I kept my eyes closed—not knowing what was coming next was arousal enough. A belt buckle opened, and there was a louder thud as his jeans fell.

A featherlike touch pressed against my clit, and my body responded in a shudder. The touch grew firmer, fingers circling my wetness. It wasn’t until I felt his tongue on my ear that I even knew his face was up near mine. He kissed his way down to my neck, licking softly as he traveled, all the while teasing me with playful fingers. I opened my eyes and turned to look at him as he pulled away from my clavicle. We made eye contact, staring at each other as he stroked me. I raised a hand to touch his face, running a finger over the little scar that ran along his top lip. He entered me with two fingers and my body bucked, lower back arched at the sudden force.

A guttural, urgent noise escaped from the bowels of my throat. I managed to maintain eye contact as his fingers moved in and out of me. He lowered his face to mine, lips hovering a moment, electricity buzzing between our bodies, and then he finally kissed me. His lips were soft this time, moving around mine, and with his other hand he cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer into the kiss.

I reached my hand out, quickly feeling his arousal. Running a fingernail along its length, I wrapped my hand around him. He grunted within our kiss and responded by placing a third finger deep inside me.

I pulled away from his lips, kissing his jawline up to his ear. “I want to taste you,” I whispered.