“You’re robbing me of half the fun, Joan. Keep your hands to myself.”
With a grin she knew must be silly—she didn’t want to confirm her suspicion by looking in the mirror—Joan went back for his hair. Just glorious! And so much of it!
After some pretty imaginative tugging, Archer managed to get her thong down around her knees, which she twisted inward so the garment would fall loosely to the floor. He flicked it behind him.
“Joan,” he murmured against her belly. “You’re just…man, you’re hot.”
“Mmm,thanks.”
He knelt again. “Spread your legs wide then go down along the pole.”
The rebel in her demanded he curb the commanding tone of voice but that little devil just kicked the other’s ass and told her to shut the hell up!
While she still stood with her back against the pole, Archer reached between her legs, grabbed it with both hands and provided support as she lowered herself, almost sitting on his corded forearms. Showing impressive strength, he widened his arms so he could approach her, effectively spreading her thighs even wider.
“It’s just selfish of me, but I have to get a little taste.”
He began by kissing her sex as he would a mouth. Wet sounds could be heard between the music’s louder passages. A fever spread to her belly and legs. Joan held on to the pole above her head, muscles screaming for reprieve, a reprieve she couldn’t give. If he stopped, she’d go crazy!
“Roll your hips,” he said against the inside of her thigh. “Roll.”
She did, gyrated her pelvis against his face while he licked her vulva in long, unhurried passes.
“Harder, make it wide. Yeah, that’s it. Use those abs.”
Tingling began at the base of her spine, swelled to encompass her whole back and shoulders, her arms, which cramped, as did her legs and feet. But roll she did! She threw a quick glance at the mirror and curled her upper lip. Almost like looking at other people having sex. What a buzz!
She’d always managed to come with her lovers, through their skills or her own, their fingers or hers, their cocks or her acrylic companions, and she knew the signs well. They would usually start with a tingle at the base of her spine—as had just happened—then she’d have to work hard not to lose it, keep the fire stoked, the cadence, the pressure. After the tingle would come the heat—on her skin, in her muscles, her gut. Her vagina would spasm, her thighs too. Then she would slide. That’s what she called it. A slide. An inexorable descent into a whirl of colors and sensations where there wouldn’t be anything important except to come, to reach the all-important climax that would cure all the ills in the world and make her a goddess to be worshipped and fucked and hand-fed grapes.
Whew, damn, woman! Here it goes!
But not with Archer.
She went from warm tingle to screaming-like-a-banshee “If you stop I’ll kill you” climax, the kind where sanity was a curious, foreign concept better relegated to moments when her body’s temperature didn’t reach delirium peaks, her mind chasm-deep crashes. She’d go totally, utterly nuts! His tongue proved a magnificent escort to the sharpest climax ever to register on her scale. She didn’t come. She exploded.
While she still spun in a vortex of euphoria—that feeling after a few glasses of wine, the superhero complex, the “get out of my face” attitude, that sort of euphoria—Archer lowered his arms and stood between her legs. He grabbed the pole right behind her neck, tilted his hips forward and literally scooped her up with his cock. It glided in, that glorious rod, long and smooth and so hot, with ease and practice that it left Joan on the brink of another brutal dive into Climaxdom.
“Ohhh! Fuck! Yeah!”
Was that me? Holy…
He had his bottom lip tucked in hard—she could see, despite the mini-suns bursting in her vision, that his teeth dug in deep and stopped blood flow. Pecs bulged when he encircled her waist with his other arm and rodeoed her up higher on the pole. The skin on her lower back squeaked in protest. Who cared?!
“Mmm.” The sound rumbled in his chest as he rocked underneath her. “Mmm! Man. Joan. You’re. Incre. Dible. Ah.” He punctuated each word with a forceful buck.
Her abs burned as if acid had been poured on her. Did she give a damn? Did she slow down? Hell no! Using every shred of muscle she could muster, Joan held on to the pole above her head, ignored how it dug painfully between her shoulder blades, and wrapped her legs around his hips while he pounded away, hanging by a hand, never letting his other loosen from around her waist.
“Give it to me,” she snarled, fought the urge to giggle. Give it to me?
A wicked gleam in his eyes made her hold on even tighter. “Oh, not good enough, huh? How about this?”
Instead of a piston action, Archer began to move like a crazy top would, ‘round and ‘round but never in the same spot, forcing her up another notch against the pole, detaching her lower back from it yet keeping her suspended against him.
“Is that better?” he snarled before drowning her reply with a deep and unyielding kiss.
She’d been about to say, “Oh baby!”
Screw it!
Without a stitch of shame, Joan let him hear it. Yes, dammit, he was good, and he was gorgeous and the biggest tease. But the thing was…he could deliver too.
“Archer, yes, yesss. Ahhhh.”
She’d come again! Damn!
Sweat now linked them, rendered her grip on the metal tube slippery and dangerous. His must have been too for he scooted upward several times as he thrust ever harder into her. He seemed to be close to orgasm for his face tightened, his breathing accelerated. He grunted her name through his teeth.
Joan thought she heard something.
What was that? A doorbell?
Yes, a doorbell rang somewhere, followed by a woman’s voice announcing, “That Italian left a ping on my radar this time! He’s soooo busted!”
And when the door unexpectedly opened—hadn’t he locked the damned thing?—and the lights switched full-on, both Archer and she went tumbling from the pole and thudded on the mat in a snarl of limbs.
Three voices simultaneously rose in the studio.
Joan scooted from Archer. “Arghhhhhhh!”
Archer punched the mat. “Arghhhhhhh!”
A dark-haired woman—the epitome of geek girls the world over, right down to askew ponytail and funky upturned eyeglasses—dropped something to the floor and hid her eyes with both hands. “Arghhhhhhh!”
Chapter Four
“How the hell was I supposed to know that…that…you were busy?” Mel hissed under her breath. A harsh shout for anyone else. “You weren’t at home, yet the car’s in your garage. And it’s late, you never give lessons this late.” Keeping her gaze averted, she bent, pawed around the floor for her gizmo and retrieved it.
“Don’t you take a listen before barging into people’s homes?” Archer demanded, wrestling with his pants. He fished inside, tossed the boxer briefs in a wad across the studio then shoved a leg into the twisted garment. He didn’t know if he should keep his butt to his friend or his lover. “For Pete’s sake, next time wait, Mel.”
He threw a quick glance at Joan, who similarly struggled with garment issues but who enjoyed a bit more success than he did. She stood, thong, pants and sandals back on, and crossed her arms while she eyed Mel with a mix of bewilderment, amusement and just a hint of aggravation. A healthy glow flushed her cheeks. He could see it clearly since the lights were fucking ON!
Thanks, Mel.
“Sorry,” Mel offered with a lopsided grin. She waved at Joan, shrugged sheepishly. “Hello. I’m Mélanie Girard, since Archer is too rude to introduce us. Call me Mel.”
To his surprise, Joan grinned and nodded. “Hi, Mel. You’re like me, you have the gift of great timing.”
They shared a chuckle.
Something snapped into place in his heart and Archer had no idea what. Only that it felt good. Like a plush bear. Or a really good blowjob.
“Oooh
, er, I’m a friend,” Mel was quick to add. “Not girlfriend, you know, just, like, a good friend.”
“And I’m…” Joan stopped, arched her blonde eyebrow at him. “A student, I guess.”
“Oh, you’re the lady cop Archer has to train for…” Mel stopped abruptly when Archer narrowed his eyes at her. “Oops?”
A Mexican standoff!
Joan was scowling at him.
He was scowling at Mel.
Mel was…just Mel. Looking confused, ready to burst out laughing and wearing the wrong shoes for her outfit. Pink sneakers, even from a topnotch brand such as Diesel, did not go with an asymmetrical black jeans skirt. Jeez, woman.
“All right, ladies, you two just make friends. I’ll go put on an apron and cook us something.”
Mel looked elated. “Really?”
“NO!”
Joan cleared her throat—and it sounded suspiciously as if she’d just covered a chuckle—and inched toward the door. “Well, I guess I should go. When do you want me back tomorrow?”
“Yeah, Archer, when do you want her back?” Mel echoed above her eyeglasses rim.
He just avoided looking at either woman. He heard the snorts and “pfft”. They must have been separated at birth, these two. How could he not have seen it earlier? Although physically they looked nothing alike. Joan was all athletic blonde bombshell while Mel was the petite nerd with too much hair. He’d never seen his friend looking so jovial at interrupting him. She usually made him feel like shit. Which she was doing, come to think of it. Only not in the usual way.
He sighed. “In the morning. Seven-thirty sound good?”
“Perfect. See you then,” Constable Blair replied. “Nice meeting you, Mel.”
And then she was gone.
He heard her car’s engine rumbling to life before the sound receded to a pleasant tingle in his balls.
He hadn’t even come.
“Damn, Mel.”
She looked down at her most prized possession—her PDA—and just shrugged. “I said ‘sorry’ already. But I was sitting on something I think you’ll want to see. I couldn’t help it.”
“You were blabbering about something when you crashed my party. What was it again?”
“Adriano. I think I’ve narrowed the search parameters.”
Search parameters?
She sounded like Data again, her “Most Favorite Person”. Archer had wasted a lot of saliva over the years trying to remind her “Mr. Data” was a fictional character from a losers-only television show and that he represented an android. Not a person by any stretch of the imagination. Not one to be considered “sexy in a synthetically flawless kinda way”. Brr. That was usually when she’d pull a rocket-scientist joke on him and debate about metaphysical something and artificial life and a bunch of other things he never understood because he was busy rolling his eyes.
“You found out where he lives?”
The grin evaporated. “No. I said I’ve nar—”
“Yeah, yeah. So you don’t have anything new. You’ve interrupted something very, very good for, well, nothing. Basically.”
“I do have something new,” she countered, waving her Pocket Life, as she called it. “He sent this message from Rome. That’s the third message he’s sent from there. That means it’s either close to where he lives or a place he frequents a lot.”
“Or it means you need a life,” Archer snapped. “And stop poking at my boss. I don’t want him to drop me from the agency.”
Mel grinned wide. “Ah, yes, The Agency. ‘Give us a call. We, at Gentlemen Inc., look forward to meeting your every need.’ Pfft!”
“Har har.”
“It’s just funny. That business card makes me want to laugh every time.”
As part of his “welcome package”, Adriano had sent Archer a bunch of business cards to leave with each Lady he was tasked to help. Each had taken the card as if he’d just given them a gold bar. He tried to imagine himself giving one of the gold cards to Joan and the vision shattered.
Fuck.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. What? And don’t say ‘nothing’ to me. I’ve seen you puke. I know you inside out.”
“Is that a pun geniuses would laugh at?”
Mel shook her head. “What’s wrong? I found where Adriano might live. That’s good, no?”
“I don’t care where he lives. As long as he pays me for my services…”
“Services.” It sounded so businesslike.
That’s because it is.
It was all about business. From Adriano’s point of view and from the Montreal police. Both paid him to do a job.
But then again, it didn’t really make a difference. It wasn’t as if he owed Joan and wanted to have anything to do with her once the job was done. He enjoyed her body, true, but she was a cop and he…well, wasn’t. Plus, his undeclared revenues kind of put him in the same basket as other crooks. Cops didn’t go out with crooks. And with liars. Archer shook his head. Why had he lied about his involvement with other students? What difference did it make if he fucked everyone right at the door? He was an adult, single, willing and oh-so able.
Why did that make him want to scrub himself with pine-scented detergent and a wire brush?
His best friend must have caught on to his chain of thought, even if he wasn’t too sure what it entailed—he was still shaking from his encounter with Joan—and made a face. “You like her.”
“Joan?”
“No. The queen of England! Yes, Joan. You like Joan.”
“Yeah, so. It doesn’t change anything. She’ll be gone in a few days.”
“Not if you two start dating.”
“Dating a cop? Me?” Archer snorted.
“Well, you like her, so why not date a cop?”
He shook his head.
“Hypothetically speaking, if you started, let’s say, dating a cop, would you tell her? I mean, about Adriano and the rest of it?” She rubbed her index finger and thumb together to indicate the money issue.
“Hypothetically speaking, I’d tell a cop I’m being paid under the table by some mysterious Italian guy? She’s with the Morality squad if she goes after this pig who brings kids into Canada to be sex slaves, so she basically arrests the people in my social spheres.”
“Maybe she doesn’t…” Mel didn’t sound nor look convinced.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll tell her that my lifestyle includes but is not limited to fiscal fraud, training exotic dancers—people she arrests on a daily basis, remember—and being an undercover escort who has sex with his clients? I’m sure she’ll understand. Are you nuts? No!”
“You’re such a drama queen.” Mel rolled her eyes. She slipped the PDA in her skirt pocket, now bulging with the cell phone on one side and the thin, expensive piece of hardware in the other. When would the woman get a purse? “So you like her. What’s the big deal?”
“Not that I’m admitting anything more with regard to Joan, but remember what happened the last time I ‘liked’ a woman?”
“That was almost two years ago, Archer,” Mel said gently, crossing the studio to pat his elbow. “You have to let that one go. It’s only hurting you because you won’t let it go.”
“I wanted to be a father.”
Whoa.
That had come out all of a sudden. He never talked about it so openly and readily. A sappy movie and a few drinks were usually needed to loosen him up first. He swallowed, crossed his arms and took a big breath. Archer thought that for the first time maybe he should’ve kept his dick in his pants instead of getting all tangled in his own two feet. Or better yet. Keep screwing with the hot lady cop but break everything off as soon as her job was done. The thought of not seeing her again pissed him off for some strange reason. Man, what a mind fuck. He was losing his edge.
Cool mountain brook, cool mountain brook.
Fuck cool mountain brook. Raging, destructive avalanche rolling down the fucking mountain.
Mel lowe
red her gaze. “I know.”
* * * * *
“And then what happened?” Chantal asked, eyes twinkling over her colorful cup of coffee. Daffy Duck stared at Joan from across both their desks. It too wanted to know what had happened at Archer’s.
“His girl friend walked in.”
Chantal cringed. “Oy! Did you have to hurt her?” She made a hand-chop motion directed at the desk lamp.
“Not his girlfriend, his girl friend, lady friend. And no, I didn’t have to. She was funny. The look on his face!” Joan spun in her chair, did her Austin Powers Surprised Double-take Look then leaned her elbows on the desk. Dust floated down from behind Chantal’s computer screen. “He was pissed.”
“Well, if the guy didn’t even have time to co—”
“Soooo,” a gravelly male voice interrupted Chantal and made her sit up straighter. “Constable Blair, how did the first lesson go yesterday?”
Joan turned to face Sergeant-detective Luc Sauvageau, a huge but warm and bearish police officer who’d once taken a bullet for a dog. Or so the story went.
“It went great. My trainer is the best. Very flexible.”
Behind Sauvageau’s back, Chantal licked her upper lip and winked.
“Good. I’ll go with you tomorrow. That’ll be your third day, you should have something to show for it and I need to brief him for Saturday.”
“You’re not going to come see me do my routine, are you?”
The sergeant-detective shivered. “It’d be like watching my daughter. Brr. No, I’ll just come in before you guys start, talk to the both of you together then I’ll leave you to the shaking and grinding.” He hooked his thumb at the lieutenant’s office in the corner, still empty. “I’ll brief her when I come back. She’s not too keen on letting a civilian in there with you.”
The three of them were alone in the office. Chantal’s husband, a bus driver with not enough seniority and required to work “the crazy shift”, had dropped her off early while Sauvageau always came in before anybody else so he could play Solitaire on his computer. His wife didn’t want a computer in the house.
Tease Page 5