by Eve Langlais
“Errr, you’re welcome?” He didn’t sound sure.
She wiggled her hips and flung a leg over his groin, squirmed around too, enough to tease him to hardness and draw a sharp breath from him.
“Be careful, little flower, lest you get what you’re asking for.”
“Promise?” Said in a sultry query she’d never employed before.
“You asked for it.”
He kissed her, a soft, exploring embrace that was unlike the angry one of earlier. It caressed. Teased. Parted her mouth for a tongue that ignited her senses. Sent heat flowing through her.
So much heat.
He nestled between her legs, the fabric of his pants creating a barrier, but she could still feel the hardness of him pressing, rubbing. Exciting…
She threaded her fingers through the short strands on his head, holding him close, returning the kiss. Wondering at the insanity. Basking in the pleasure.
His lips left hers, and she protested until they blazed a trail down her neck to the valley between her breasts.
He nuzzled. She moaned.
When he flicked the nubs through her bra, she arched.
“Yes. Yes.”
He suckled the nipple, and she writhed in pleasure. Wanted more.
Ring. Ring. The phone in the other room went off.
“Ignore it,” he muttered, scooping her breasts together and burying his face between them. He groaned in pleasure.
The phone on the nightstand rang, freezing them.
“Bloody hell.” He leaned over and grabbed it. “Who is this?”
She only heard part of the conversation.
“Yes, N. I hear you. Loud and clear. No, it’s not a problem.” The more he replied, the farther he moved from Petunia until he stood beside the bed, leaving her body to cool.
When he hung up, she asked. “Who was it?”
“My boss.”
“What did he want?”
“She. Just checking in. We should get some sleep.”
And by sleep, he didn’t mean with her but beside her.
Seven
It killed Simon to lie beside Petunia and not touch her, especially given he still ached. Ached. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself to the hilt, but N’s orders were clear. No seducing the professor’s daughter.
She didn’t say why, other than it wouldn’t be a good idea.
Usually, he’d ignore that kind of well-meaning advice. After all, every mission he was told to keep it in his pants, he didn’t.
So, why did he lie beside Petunia now, pretending to sleep? He could tell that she remained awake, as well, her body humming with need. He could smell it.
Almost taste it.
Taste…
Which gave him a delicious idea. He had been told not to fuck Petunia, but no one had said anything about giving her an oral orgasm.
Simon might be many things, but a selfish lover wasn’t one of them. There was so much pleasure in giving pleasure.
Decided, he didn’t waste time, just shifted himself until he kneeled at the foot of the bed. He slid his hand up her calf.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping us both get to sleep.” He kept stroking, his hand moving towards its goal, enjoying her smooth, silky skin. She wore only those gawd-awful underpants, and when his fingers encountered the fabric, he tore them off. A single sharp rip that drew an excited cry from her.
“Simon!”
“Shhh,” he murmured. “Let me make you feel good.”
He lowered his face enough that he could blow on her, excited by the fact that she was all-natural down below. None of that waxing and shaving stuff happening here. She was all woman, and the scent of her, the sweetness of her arousal, surrounded him in a heady perfume.
He had to taste her, but he took his time, spending a moment stroking her curls, soft and teasing caresses that had her writhing. She squirmed at his touch, her entire body trembling.
Her desire was clear to see. Her scent the most entrancing thing. And the heat of her…when his finger slid between her slick folds, the scorching wetness had him sucking in a breath.
He slid the digit deeper, past his knuckle, delighting in the way she gripped him. He brought his face close enough to place a kiss atop her mound, and she shivered. He blew on her clitoris, and her sex almost pulverized his finger.
He yanked his digit free before he lost it. She made a soft sound.
“Don’t worry, my sweet flower, I’m not done.” Sliding his arms under her thighs and pushing them wide and out of the way, exposed her to him.
All that sweet, pink flesh for the licking. And he loved to lick. He went for it, flicking his tongue against the wet slit. Parting those nether lips to do a dip into her honeypot. She cried out and trembled, but Simon had a firm grip on her as he parted her lips and lapped at her, her nectar like a drug. He couldn’t get enough.
When he decided to risk his fingers again, he slid two into her, and she bucked, the spasm of her channel fantastic. His tongue found her clit and flicked it. Then he sucked it. That had her bucking and screaming. But he held on.
Kept licking and sucking and fingering her until her body arched on the bed. Bowed with pleasure as she came.
And she came hard. Clamping his fingers. Gushing him with her juices.
It was more than he could bear. Forget his orders. He unbuttoned his trousers, moved up the bed. Prepared to sink into those ebbing orgasmic waves.
The phone rang. Just a single time. A warning.
Simon sighed. He should have known N would cock-block him.
“Something wrong?” she murmured, her eyes shut, and her body now relaxed. Unlike his.
“Go to sleep, my flower. All is well.”
Not. For the first time in like…forever, he finished himself off in the bathroom. It didn’t take long with the scent of her cum on his fingers.
Then he spent a while sitting in a chair, watching her sleep, rolling the tracking rings in the palm of his hand. After the stunt he pulled, he really should put one on her finger.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The idea of even pretending to be married… Scarier than any mission he’d ever been on.
Which might be why he ended up flushing them, before he did something crazy, like drop to one knee.
Eight
The next morning, Petunia paced. Mostly because she had nothing else to do. Simon had taken off to fetch them breakfast after securing her promise that she wouldn’t leave. As if she’d go anywhere once he murmured, “Be a good girl, and I’ll go muff-diving again later.”
Not exactly the most romantic way of putting it, but her body didn’t care. The spot between her thighs got wet. Hot. Throbbing.
What did it say about her that despite everything that had happened, she wanted to do it again?
Still, sticking around for good oral sex probably wasn’t one of her brightest moves. Maybe she should use this opportunity to leave. An idea quickly squashed when something on the television caught her attention. The news was on location, filming the aftermath of an overnight fire.
“Oh my God, that’s my house!” Not just hers. The entire block had gone up in flames. The police claimed it was too early to tell the cause, but she already knew it was arson.
Someone burned down my house!
All of her things. Clothes. Memories. Books. Oh, shit, her files for her job. Her laptop probably didn’t survive. She just hoped it got backed up in the cloud. Her client was expecting the project by the end of the month. Petunia was an author, the ghostly kind, writing for a rather famous person mostly because the idea of doing it as herself terrified. She’d take the steady paycheck instead, thank you.
She just hoped she got to keep the contract, given her face was now plastered on the news! Using that crummy picture that someone had taken and posted on some social media site. The only image of her around, and she just had to look as if she’d escaped a homeless shelter and stopped taking her meds.
“
…Ms. Erwin was last seen in the presence of a person of interest. Neighbors described a fancy, red sports car, the license plate reading LZRD69.”
Bad news, especially since it appeared the cops were looking for Simon rather than the thugs who’d broken into her place with guns. The jerks who’d burned down her house!
At the end of the news piece, there was a brief mention of her father. “In a suspicious coincidence, Ms. Erwin’s father is also missing. If you’ve seen either of them…”
Please call, blah, blah.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, she might have dialed the number. But since seeing the video, Petunia had begun developing a plan. All of this seemed to center around that darned family cookbook. The one no one was supposed to touch.
Especially her daddy.
So, how did he get his hands on it? To find out, she needed to pay a visit to her great-grandmother. Who was surprisingly still alive and going strong at ninety-two.
Problem was, how to see her? Petunia didn’t have her number. Just an address. She also had no wallet and no clothes. Simon had taken her only pants and shirt with him, which weren’t a significant loss. As for her panties…they hadn’t survived the night, which meant, after her shower, she wore only a towel.
She’d enjoyed that shower all too much. Her hands got busy with that soap, and not just to get herself clean.
Now, with only a thin towel tucked around her breasts, she sat and waited for Simon, her wet hair slicked back and brushed for the first time in days. The motel comb smoothed the knots but not without casualty. She was glad to see her face barely showed any bruising. She’d healed quicker than usual from her latest episode of clumsiness. She did, however, feel antsy. A side effect of not having her medicine she imagined.
Medicine that had also burned up in the fire. Uh-oh.
When Simon entered with, “Darling, I’m back,” Petunia startled. She popped up from the chair too quickly. The towel caught, and she ended up nude and in plain view.
Which shouldn’t have been embarrassing after what the man had done to her the previous night, yet she flushed from head to toe at his perusal. Her nipples puckered as his nostrils flared. Wet heat pooled between her legs at his growled, “Damn, how did I ever think you plain?”
A nice way to douse the desire. She quickly wrapped the towel and managed a sour, “Excuse me?” as he stalked towards her.
“Well, you gotta admit, when we first met, you weren’t at your best.”
“Because I work from home.”
“You had a pirate squint when you answered the door.”
“From soap. It got in my eye.”
“And the purple lump on your head?”
“I’m clumsy.” She sighed. “I get your point.” Didn’t make it any easier. If he thought her so plain, then why the seduction the night before?
“I got you some stuff.” The bag he shook had some kind of logo done in gilt. She was more interested in the paper bag. She dove on it and squealed at the sight of the wrapped bagel with everything on it. She munched at it happily while he stared.
“Thank you.” Said in between bites. “I needed that. I was so hungry.”
“Me, too.” He looked sadly at his muffin. Bran, it appeared, which made his misery understandable.
“So,” she finally said, licking the tips of her fingers while he chewed sadly, only halfway through his healthy breakfast. “I was thinking about last night, and I think I know what we should do next.”
“We really shouldn’t—” he began to argue.
“No. I want to do this. Not just for you. But for me. And maybe my dad, too.”
Simon choked. She leaped to his aid and pounded him on the back, losing her towel again in the process. But she saved his life.
He dragged in a breath. “Er, what are you talking about?”
“Visiting my dad’s apartment.”
He heaved a sigh. A sound of relief and disappointment. “I told you, the place appeared ransacked.”
“I know what you said, but I’m wondering if they found my dad’s hidey hole.”
“Your father has a safe?”
“Kind of. It’s hard to explain, but I can show you.”
Which was how she ended up dressed in the clothes he’d bought, a curve-hugging knit dress that hit mid-calf and clung most indecently. A tiny scrap of underwear, and a bra that elevated her breasts to a place where she could almost rest her chin on them.
She frowned at the ensemble. “I think you got it a size too small.”
He shook his head. “You look perfect.” So perfect, he couldn’t hide the boner in his pants. Her cheeks flamed.
What was it about Simon that turned her into a giddy woman? Like one of those heroines she wrote about in books—before they got killed by the sadistic murderer.
The last novel she’d ghostwritten had gotten a wonderful review calling it ‘a sick peek at the misogyny plaguing females in literature.’ The publisher had it printed in every ad for the book.
Writing about stupid victims didn’t mean she wanted to be one. Was she being foolish trusting Simon?
Probably. But, at the same time, she couldn’t turn back. She’d lost her house, her dad was still missing, and she could be next!
I need to be a brave heroine. The kind who got naked and showered in a suspected haunted house. Who looked suave and confident as she stepped out of the motel room beside her handsome lover. Actually, he was currently only a licker, and fondler, but she got the impression that would soon change.
When they exited the motel room, she glanced around, not spotting his car.
“Are we calling a taxi?” she asked.
“Don’t be silly.” He opened the door to a bright blue car, not at all the same as the one they’d arrived in.
“New car?” she enquired, sliding into the interior that seemed somehow familiar.
“Same car. It’s equipped with a holographic body.”
She stared at him blankly.
“It means it can look any number of ways.”
“And you chose another high-end sports car. Wouldn’t we blend in better with something mass-produced?”
He shuddered. “Perish the thought.”
In no time at all, they’d made it to the next town and were coasting the quiet streets with their stately older homes.
Her father’s house looked like all the others, just with longer grass. Simon drove up a ways.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure no one is casing the place.”
She looked at the street. The very empty street. “We are the only car here.”
“That we can see.”
“Where do you think they’re hiding?”
“Could be the enemy has invaded a neighbor’s home and is now lying in wait to ambush us.”
“You’re insane.” She hopped out of the car and stalked back to her dad’s place. Simon crept alongside her in the car, hissing through the open window. “What are you doing? Get your ass back in here.”
“You’re going to draw attention. Park the thing or go away.” She veered and strode across her father’s front lawn. Knowing where he hid the spare key, under the flowerpot with the dead plants, she let herself in, which caused Simon to have a bit of a spastic fit when he caught up.
“What part of be discreet did you not grasp?” he barked.
“You said the bad guys already went through the place.”
“Doesn’t mean they left!”
“Then I hope you brought your gun.” Turning from him lest she kiss those angry lips, she gasped at what she saw. “What happened?”
Said without really expecting an answer. Petunia could see what had happened. Someone, with no care or morals—who probably didn’t get hugged enough as a child—had torn the place apart. The console table in the front hall was tilted over. The hall closet emptied, coats and boots and gloves scattered everywhere.
Inside the living room, the couch cushions bled white foam, torn open and
discarded. The couch was tipped over. The TV screen cracked.
The destruction swept through the house into the dining room with its shattered fine china. The kitchen with its cupboard doors open, and shelves empty.
Her father’s bedroom looked about the same, though—the one place he allowed messiness to reign. She kicked the pile of clothes on the floor and sighed.
“Why would anyone do this?”
“Someone wants something from your father.”
“But what? He’s a simple professor teaching alchemy and biology, who works part-time as an apothecary for the local pharmacy because being an academic doesn’t pay enough.”
“I’d say it’s obvious that someone thought he was hiding something of value.”
“Could be drug addicts broke in looking for a fix.”
“Do a lot of drug addicts steal entire libraries?” Simon pointed to the empty shelves.
Petunia snorted. “Maybe they wanted to build a bonfire.”
“Perhaps they were after that recipe book in the video.”
Once more, he hinted at Great-Grandma’s book. Petunia frowned. “You seem a little obsessed with the book in that video.”
“Just noting that the two things seem connected.”
A fact she couldn’t deny. Especially damning was her father even having the book. If Great-Grandma found out… Who knew what she’d do! Mother used to say that her entire family was more vicious than a bobcat in heat who hated all males.
Thump.
The noise barely registered, and yet Simon tensed as if a bomb had gone off.
“We have company. Hide,” he ordered, his voice firm.
“Or how about we demand they tell us what they’ve done to my father.” Petunia was ready to ask some questions.
“What makes you think they’ll speak?”
“You have a gun. Use it.” She waved at him.
“They had weapons last time, too,” he reminded.
“Are you saying they’re better shots? For a guy who claims to be a spy, you’re being an awful pussy.”
He glared. “Caution is not cowardice.”
“I thought you wanted to solve the case of my missing dad. Whoever is downstairs is a clue,” she hissed. “If you’re not going to deal with it, then I will.” In spite of her pounding heart and clammy hands.