by Nicki Elson
“So you’re actually a redhead, huh?” Cliff asked.
“I am tonight.” She prowled closer and pressed against him, holding two fingers to his lips. The tips of her long purple fingernails tickled against the bottom of his nose. “I’d rather not talk.”
She gave the side of his neck a tentative lick and then touched kisses up his throat and over his face until her mouth was against his. She dropped her hands to run along the sides of his hips, caressing and groping.
His mind sped. His heart galloped. The cool confidence he’d mustered before her arrival evaporated. He wasn’t sure he could do this. He didn’t know this woman at all and now she was feasting on him. He’d much rather have talked with her for a little while before jumping right into it.
Channeling his inner alpha, he forced himself to return the kiss. He slid his hands over the slick fabric of her cape to the small of her back and pulled her close. She was significantly shorter than him, even in the spiked heels. Her body felt so soft against his. Her lips tasted like strawberries.
I can do this.
He did know this woman. It was Claire, the willful strategist with whom he’d been rampaging the kingdomside. He noticed that though she’d been aggressive in her advance, she kept the kiss to lips only, almost as if waiting for him to take it to the next level. He liked this small show of submission.
I can totally do this.
Bringing his hands to her face, gently stroking her jawline with his fingertips, he nudged her lips apart with his own and flicked his tongue to lick the tip of hers. She let out a soft moan, encouraging him to dive farther in. But he kept the kiss gentle, slow and lingering. The strawberry flavor of her lips mixed with vanilla and something headier on her breath. It seemed Claire had also been drinking before their encounter. Smooth brass horns hummed a melody in the background in time with his kiss. The mildly spiced scent of teakwood from the candles enveloped them.
Violating her request for no talking, Cliff slid his tongue from her mouth and rested his lips against hers, whispering, “It’s nice to meet you, PlanetClaire.”
She breathed out a small laugh and pressed a kiss against his mouth before stepping back. Her shimmery fingertips worked at her throat, untying the cape. She shrugged it over her shoulders and let it slither to the floor, like a seductive snake shedding her skin.
Cliff didn’t know what character she was portraying, but whoever she was, she was a shapely, alluring sex goddess in a black-and-silver corset with a short tulle skirt flaring to barely cover her wide hips. Except for the silver detailing on her corset, she was all in black and far more curvaceous than the video-game version of Claire. Precious few inches of her supple thighs showed above the long stockings that rose from her tall boots.
Oh, hell yeah, I can do this.
This time it was Cliff who advanced, digging his hands into her meaty thighs, dragging his fingertips upward, under her skirt. He clamped his mouth onto the curve at the base of her throat, sucking and biting and massaging with his tongue while he assessed with his hands that she wore skimpy panties under the frill of her skirt.
He gave her butt cheek a slap, which seemed to excite her. She curled her leg up around his hip and clawed her fingers through his hair, pressing her pelvis against his. Cliff hooked his hand around the back of her knee and stepped backward, toward the bed, keeping his other hand cupped around her ass cheek. With only one foot on the floor, Claire had to hop to follow.
Trying to be suave, Cliff slid his hand down her thigh and gripped the back of it. He pulled her other leg up and wrapped it around him so he carried her. He miscalculated the extra weight of her curves compared to the stick figures he was used to lifting. Engaging his core muscles and moving his mouth from her neck to take a deep inhale, he made it to the edge of the king-sized bed and fell backward—with Claire landing smack on top of him.
Her hips slammed into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He wasn’t able to mask the grunt caused by the collision.
“Sorry, sorry,” Claire said, scrambling to the side to lay next to him.
“Don’t apologize.” He rolled to face her, his eyes landing on the pale flesh bulging above the top of her corset. “You’re heavenly.”
Nuzzling his face into her cleavage, he licked and nipped and kissed. His hand found its way back to her rump. Most of the women he’d been with were thin with perky breasts. His motto had always been that more than a mouthful was a waste, but as he felt the warmth of her excess bosom cup his face like a pillow, he understood what a foolhardy saying that was.
He smacked her ass again, and this time it brought her up onto her knees. Hovering above him, she stared down through her laced mask. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, pirate.”
Cliff breathed out as a wicked grin curled his lips.
She lifted a leg over him and rested the sole of her boot on the comforter, her leg forming a bridge over his waist. His eyes trailed up to the lush red waves that hugged her shoulders and framed her masked face. He couldn’t be sure in the dim, pulsing candlelight, but the hairline seemed to be slightly askew. Of course, he thought. It’s a wig.
Bracing her hands on his chest, Claire lifted to stand on the bed and set her other foot so that the V of her legs hovered over his hips. She busied her hands at the back of her waist and unfastened her skirt. Pulling it away from her body, she tossed the fluffy mass to the floor. “Help me with my boots?”
Like a good little pirate, Cliff located the inside zippers and pulled down. Claire lowered to her knees. While she wrestled with a boot to pull it off, Cliff’s eyes riveted on the thin lace covering her crotch just inches above his face. I should at least know her real name, he thought, though he knew better than to ask for it. Bad boys didn’t need to know names.
With his thumbs, he pushed her stockings low on her thighs and kissed the soft, exposed flesh. Claire may not have been as skinny as most of the women he’d dated, but her inner thighs indicated excellent muscle tone. Should be great for stamina, he surmised as he lifted his head and pressed a series of insistent kisses against the strip of lace.
Claire giggled and crossed one leg over him to sit at his side. The dark talons of her fingertips tickled across the sash at this waist, locating the knot, which she went to work untying. He arched his back just enough for her to pull the fabric free. Cliff’s legs extended over the end of the bed, bent so that his boots touched the floor. Claire crawled off the bed to kneel on the carpet in front of him as she tugged down his zipper.
Cliff lifted onto his elbows, watching her reach inside his pants to set him free. She slid her shiny, red lips over his length, and he breathed out a strangled sigh at the glorious feel of her hot, wet mouth pumping over him.
Pushing up onto one hand, he reached with the other to comb his fingers through her crimson locks, resting them against her rocking scalp. After a moment of reveling in pure pleasure, he realized that as he gripped the base of her hair, it no longer moved in time with her head. When he unclutched, the collection of strands dropped half an inch and slid sideways.
Claire jerked back, her mouth breaking suction. Her wide eyes locked onto his as her hair fell to the side of her face. She snatched the wig from her head and stood, wringing it in her hands while she stared at Cliff. Her real hair was plastered to her head underneath a beige, nylon wig cap, making her appear to be bald with a slightly enlarged skull. Combined with the lacy, tattoo-like mask covering half her face, she looked like an alien. Despite the cool shock of air against his exposed tender skin, Cliff stiffened into a solid steel pole.
He stood and pulled her to him, trailing kisses down the side of her face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered while running his hands down her corset to the bare pudge of flesh beneath and then to her hips.
Claire’s body relaxed under his touch. Giving her a peck on her lips, he sat on the bed and kicked off his boots. Then he stood again and finished removing his pants and briefs, snatching the condom from his pocket and tossin
g it onto the bed. When he reached for Claire again, she curled into his arms and suckled at his neck while she unbuttoned his shirt. Once it was loose, she pushed it open and spread her fingers through the dark thicket of his chest hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and their mouths came together, slipping and sliding, intent on devouring each other.
As Cliff’s hands roamed over her, he discovered ribbons at her hips. Tugging on one, he unfastened the fabric covering the part of her he was now raging to get to. His eager hands pulled and untied until, at last, he yanked the lace away from her. She wore only a bustier and stockings with nothing in-between. He’d never been more grateful for the existence of hot wax than when he explored her smooth entrance before diving two fingers deep inside her.
Claire moaned, pulling her mouth from his as she arched her neck. With her eyes closed, she breathed a heavy, pleasure-filled gust of air.
Splaying a firm hand across the bare skin of her back, he told her. “I’m going to fuck you now, Claire.”
Sliding his fingers out of her, he wrapped that arm around her waist and turned her around. Taking one step forward, he pushed her onto the bed, on her knees with her ass in the air facing him as he rolled on the condom. He crawled up behind her and drove himself between her labia, grunting at the feel of her soft tissues surrounding him. Claire let out a sharp squeal. Her howls and moans kept coming as Cliff pounded into her hot, tight center, shoving her body forward with each thrust until they were at the center of the mattress.
Like a wolf during breeding season, he rocked into her, groaning and huffing. He took his pleasure with wild fervor, as if the survival of his species depended on it. The growing pressure in his groin told him climax was near. But he didn’t want this to end yet. They had the whole night.
He pulled out, twisting Claire around and falling to the bed as he guided her on top of him. As amazing as it felt to have her to mount his erection from this new angle, the change in position had slowed Cliff’s urgency. He was content to let her do the work. Slowly but deliberately, she rose and fell on him, her alien head bobbing and moaning.
“Show me your tits, Claire.”
Her light eyes snapped open, peering down at him. With her cherry lips puffed into a coy smile, her fingers trailed down a hidden zipper at the front of her corset. She opened the stiff piece like a set of French doors, revealing a pair of swollen but buoyant breasts. Her nipples stood at attention like tiny soldiers. Cliff reached up to pinch them while her hips continued to sway. He spread his fingers and cupped as much of her pliant mounds as he could, kneading with both hands.
Claire lifted higher as he ground his pelvis against hers, thirsting to get even deeper inside. He dropped his hands to her hips and held her steady while he increased the speed of his thrusts. Her freed breasts bounced with each frantic rise and fall.
“Show me your face, Claire.” He had an overwhelming desire to look full upon her when he climaxed, which would happen very, very soon. Seeing alarm race through her eyes at his request, he demanded, “Show me your face, Claire!”
“Show me yours,” she panted back, continuing to ride his bucking hips with the expertise of a Triple Crown jockey.
“At the same time,” he huffed. He could feel that the bandana had already pulled free from his head with all his jerking back and forth against the bedspread. “One…two…” He set one hand aside his mask. “Now!”
He pulled it off, looking up in time to see Claire’s wig cap roll off as she tugged away her mask. Her natural hair fell in a messy tangle aside her uncovered face. In one split, startling moment, Cliff realized he knew her. And he’d fucked her before. In college.
Chapter 12
JOANNE’S EYES OPENED WIDE in an unmistakably horrified look. Apparently, she recognized him, too. As if on autopilot, her hips continued rocking as she stared. Every cell of Cliff’s brain wanted her off of him, but his body was unwilling to lose the hot tightness surrounding him. He pulled down on her thighs and thrust up, driving farther into her. She ground against him, jerking her head back and yelping as he touched places deep with her.
Arching her neck so that she faced the ceiling rather than him, she continued pumping. A stream of pleasured mewling poured from her throat. He couldn’t believe he was here again, making a stupid mistake with her.
“Fuuuuck,” he bellowed into the room. Claire’s—no, JoJo’s—body heaved on top of his, shuddering against him while she uttered pornographic gasps and moans. Cliff’s entire body tingled as his conscious mind gave way to the thrill of his release. A multitude of sparks popped in front of his eyes, like tiny fireworks. The earth shifted while his essence convulsed around the endless tide pouring forth.
The spasm eventually calmed, and his mental functions came back into focus. Jo tilted her chin downward to look at him. Her light gray eyes were glazed. A small crinkle formed between her eyebrows as she took Cliff in. It appeared she, too, had gone on a temporary trip to la-la land and was easing back into reality. She made it there before Cliff had quite arrived.
The haze cleared from her eyes, and she swung her leg off of him, snatching her corset from the bed and grabbing her cloak and other discarded items on her way to the bathroom. She slammed the door, and Cliff stayed flat on his back, staring at the ceiling and panting. He half thought he might have been hallucinating at the end—perhaps it wasn’t JoAnne at all. But why, of all people, would he imagine her in a moment like that? She’d never done anything to attract or hold his attention after their brief hookups in college.
The bathroom door banged open, and Jo emerged, covered in the cloak. The punky platinum-on-black of her hair the last time he’d seen her had faded to dark brown with faint highlights. When she saw him looking at her, she pulled up the hood of her cape and went straight to the door, yanking it open. Before stepping over the threshold, she turned toward him. “Bet you’ll remember this one.” And then she was gone.
His fogginess dissipated in a snap. She did this on purpose! He shot up to sitting with the conviction that she’d set him up. She was still pissed he hadn’t remembered her when Trish had reintroduced them over a year ago and had arranged all of this to get back at him. He’d agreed to an anonymous hookup, not one with a woman he knew and generally disdained. He ignored the fact that he’d sought her out at the beachside wedding, instead thinking, What a psycho.
He hopped off the bed and went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and quickly spray himself off in the shower. After thrusting on his jeans and a T-shirt, he shoved his feet into flip-flops and rushed out of the room and down the hallway. He’d catch up to her and tell her off. His bad memory didn’t justify the way she’d manipulated him for the last few months.
“Dammit!” he cursed as he jabbed at the elevator button. He’d really liked Claire, who he now realized had never existed. She’d been invented as a way for JoJo to get her revenge.
Stepping off the elevator onto the muted geometric patterns of the carpeting, he verified that he was in the right place when a group of adults dressed as colorful ponies swept past him. A sprinkling of space creatures wandered around the wide foyer. Looking beyond the double doorway into a mass of humanity swarming the huge ballroom, Cliff felt like he was peering into a bowl filled with extra-bright jelly beans.
“I need to see your pass.” The demand had come from a round, bald guy wearing a khaki jumpsuit. He had an inflated ghost-busting apparatus strapped to his back.
“I don’t have a pass. I’m just looking for someone. I’ll be in and out in fifteen minutes,” Cliff said.
“Sorry. Can’t let anyone in without a pass.”
“Can I buy one here?”
“Sure. You can get the late-comer special—seventy-five bones for the rest of tonight and all-day tomorrow.”
“Can I get one for just tonight?”
“Not how it works.”
Cliff reached for his wallet only to realize he’d left it back in the room. He shifted his gaze through the opening to
the ballroom, looking for any sign of her. Chances were she may not have even gone back in there. She’d said she was staying at a friend’s for the weekend, so it was as likely for her to be gone from the hotel entirely as it was for her to be in that room.
“Never mind,” he said, turning back to the elevator. It was probably best for him to just forget the whole thing. If he still felt a need to confront her when he returned to Chicago, he could look her up there.
Instead of going to his room, he descended to ground level and was drawn, as if by a magnet, to the sports bar at the corner of the complex. The furry ponies had gathered at the opposite end of the square-shaped bar. Most of them had taken off their pony heads. Cliff chuckled, thinking he should’ve come as a Minion, after all. That would’ve thrown seductress JoJo’s plan off-kilter.
“I don’t suppose I can get something toxic in a to-go cup, can I?” he asked the pretty brunette behind the bar.
“Sorry. Alcohol has to stay inside.”
“I figured. How about a shot of Jack, then?”
She poured the whiskey, and Cliff slammed the drink. Then he signed for it to be billed to his room, scrawling a generous tip under the total, and was on his way. He wasn’t in a mood to stay still.
His restlessness led him out of the hotel and onto the curving sidewalk that wound to the bay. Every few yards, punches of light shot up from the manicured lawn to trap ornamental plants in a luminous glow. He followed the ghostly path to the promenade. The water’s still, glassy surface soaked in the city’s amber lights.
He thought of the castle moat the night he and Claire had found the egg and wondered if she’d really been faking it the whole time. It was possible she hadn’t known it was Cliff at first and only discovered his identity at some later point during their adventures. Maybe something he’d told her in their online conversations had tipped her off. She hadn’t gotten frisky until that night in the forest, after the wolves had attacked. Maybe everything up until that night had been real.