Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy

by Hughes, Jill Elaine

  The best Shirley ever had, in fact.

  She opened her eyes and stared up at Randall, watching him as he fucked her. The mound of hair that rested over his cock was sandy brown, just like on his head, and it was damp and glistening with her juices. She watched his thick, hard, purplish-red cock slide in and out of her, in and out, in and out. It was shiny and moist from their fucking; it reflected the bright afternoon sunlight on its surface, making it appear a shiny, well-formed weapon. Her cunt was like a wet, dewy rose, his cock its thick, knobby stem. Together they formed a beautiful garden, filled with heady scents and natural sounds.

  Randall’s eyelids drooped half-closed, his mouth hung half-open in an expression of pure sex as he rammed into her again and again and again. The musky, salty-sweet smell of their sex permeated the room, mixed with the clean-linen odor of the lavender-scented bedclothes and the wafting perfume of the freesias, lilies, and magnolias growing in the gardens growing outside the bedroom window. Their fucking filled the room, made it bigger somehow. The ever-narrower space between them was hotter, thicker, steamier than any Southern midsummer afternoon. There was no need for any fancy sex toys or scented lubes of exotic fisting—the simple motions of their bodies and the animal noises they made with each thrust were already more erotic than anything Shirley had ever experienced.

  And even so, Randall was about to intensify things even further. He leaned forward, changing the angle of penetration so that the tip of his cock hit her womb, shaking her whole body to the core. As he did so he moved in to kiss her, teasing her mouth with his tongue, sucking her entire lower lip into his mouth. He darted his tongue in and out of her mouth in perfect synchrony with his thrusts, then he moved lower to suck her neck, leaving a trail of deep purple love-bites in his wake. He worked his way further down, leaving more love-bites on her shoulders and in the valley between her breasts, until he found his way to her left nipple and began to suck it hard, taking the whole areola into his mouth, along with some of the surrounding flesh. The resulting suction was hard, intense. Shirley knew she’d be black and blue all over by the time he was done with her, but she didn’t care. She’d wear all those love bites like a badge of honor.

  He transferred his attentions to her right breast—sucking it just as hard and deep as the other one, so she’d have a matching set of hickeys—all the while not letting up one iota on the fuckfest happening down south. The sound of their slapping bodies and mingling juices was deliciously obscene. Shirley listened to the noises of sex as they filled the room, and longed to say something—something dirty. She didn’t know much about dirty talk in the bedroom, but she figured there was always a first time.

  “Fuck me, Randall, you dirty boy,” she grunted. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me hard.”

  He obliged, stepping up the pace of his thrusts. The force of each impact was so strong, so earth-shattering, that Shirley thought her whole body would just dissolve. “Do you want me to fuck you, Shirley?” he yelled at her. “Do you? Do you?”

  “I want you to fuck me,” she cried. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

  “Do you want it harder? Do you want it faster?”

  “Yes! Harder! Faster!”

  He gave it to her so hard and so fast she thought her cunt would explode. And an instant later, it did—it exploded into a thousand spasms that throttled her body from the tip of her crown to the surface of her curling toes. Her pussy lips expanded and contracted, expanded and contracted, her juices gushed out of her in a raging salty river. “Look down,” he commanded her. “Look down and see what we’re doing to each other.”

  She obeyed, and was stunned at just how otherworldly her cunt and his cock had become. Her pussy was more swollen and slick than it had ever been, her labia swelled to almost three times their normal size and spread out wide, exposing her deepest recesses to the air. His now dark-purple cock slid in and out of her distended lips, the condom so slick with her juices it was almost transparent. The blue veins on his shaft stood out at attention, rippling up and down his equipment and increasing her internal sensations better than no studded plastic sex toy ever could. The display of raw, pure sex between their bodies was the most erotic sight in the history of their shared world. And it was enough to send them both over the edge.

  Randall grunted as he exploded into her, and Shirley immediately joined him in by far the most spectacular of her many orgasms. They rode the tidal wave of ecstasy together until it crashed hard against the beach of their bodies, ebbing and flowing until the last sensual vibrations disappeared. They collapsed into each other, enveloped in satisfaction, and the afterglow overtook them like a velvet glove.

  They dozed there in the huge bed, their bodies wrapped and folded into one another, for several hours. They slept the deep, dark, dreamless sleep of spent lovers.

  The shrill sound of police sirens jerked Shirley awake. She glanced at the open bedroom window, saw from the steep angle of the sunlight and the long shadows on the floor that it was now early evening. The sirens were still far away, but Shirley had a strange, sinking feeling that the cops were headed straight for them.

  She grabbed Randall’s shoulder and shook it, hard. “Randall, wake up. Wake up!”

  He opened one eye, keeping most of his face buried in the pillow. “Mrrgh?”

  “Wake up! I think the police are on the way here.”

  “Mrrrgh.” He pulled the pillow over his head. “No they’re not.”

  The sirens grew louder and louder, until they were almost deafening. Red and blue lights spun on the bedroom walls. “Yes, they are! They’re here now! They’re here for us! Randall, get dressed!”

  Shirley leapt out of bed, reaching frantically for her clothes. She jumped around like a gazelle, slipping into her own clothes while she gathered Randall’s up in her free arm and tossed them onto his head. “Get up Randall! Otherwise you might be dragged off to jail naked.”

  Randall finally took her at her word and pulled himself out of bed. He tugged on his boxers and peeked through the curtains just as the whole house shook. “Oh shit,” he said. “They’ve got a police ram. I better go down and meet them, otherwise they’re going to break down the door. I can’t afford to replace my front entrance right now. Double-mahogany Georgian replica doors don’t come cheap.”

  Shirley eyed his half-naked body. “At least put a shirt on. As much as I like seeing you this way, I’m sure the jailhouse isn’t the place to show off your chest.”

  “Agreed.” He tossed on his shirt and headed out the door, buttoning it as he went. “You better meet me downstairs as soon as you’re decent,” he called after her.

  Shirley got her clothes and shoes on, then checked her reflection in the mirror. She might be back in the attire of a workaday hospital nurse, but her face and hair were that of a steamy sexpot. Her hair was a disheveled, sexy tumble; her lips were swollen from kissing and her neck was dotted with at least three hickeys. Not exactly the wholesome girl-next-door look.

  Oh well. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now. And from the sound of things downstairs, the cops were about to break down Randall’s gorgeous antique-reproduction front entrance.

  By the time Shirley made it to the bottom of the massive winding staircase, Randall had managed to avert disaster by unlocking the door and ushering the police inside with all the charm of an English nobleman. “Breaking down the door won’t be necessary, gentlemen. I would have been outside to greet you, but I’m afraid you disturbed my afternoon siesta. I believe you are all here to arrest me? If so, please get on with it. I hate long waits.”

  The police, who were in full riot gear, seemed very confused. Clearly, they’d been expecting more of a fight. “Actually, uhhh, Dr. Hamm, uhhh, you’re not under arrest. At least, not yet. We’re just here to execute a search warrant.”

  Randall frowned. “Is that all? Then why all the pomp and circumstance?”

  The top-ranking police officer removed his bulletproof helmet and scratched his head. “Uhhh, we
received a tip that you’d put up a real fight,” he said.

  Randall laughed. “You might want to take a better look at your informants, then. Officers, I have nothing to hide. Take a look around, search whatever you want. Just please don’t break anything.”

  The police still just stood around looking confused. They didn’t seem to notice Shirley at first, but she decided to take the initiative and introduce herself. “Hi, I’m Shirley Daniels. Excuse me, umm, officers, but is there anything you needed from me?”

  The head officer jerked his head in Shirley’s direction. “She with you?” he asked Randall.

  “Yes.”

  The cop whispered something to his other officers, who began nosing around the house without actually doing any real searching. After a few minutes of that, they came back and shrugged. “Don’t look like anything’s here,” one of them said.

  “Don’t look like what’s here?” Randall snapped, impatient. His charm was already starting to evaporate. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but if you don’t start giving me some answers about what’s really going on here, I’m afraid I’ll have to call my lawyer.”

  More whispering among the cops. “Look folks, I think there’s been some sorta mistake,” the head officer said. “Neither of you are under arrest, and what we came here to find ain’t here. But if the two of you wouldn’t mind, we’d appreciate it if you came down to the station so we could ask you both some questions.”

  Shirley and Randall exchanged looks. “I don’t see the harm in that,” he said with a shrug. “Shirley, what about you?”

  “I guess that’s fine,” she stammered. “Though I really don’t have any idea what this is about.” Which wasn’t exactly true—of course she had some idea. What she didn’t know was what she had to do with it.

  “Let’s go then,” the officer barked. “You can both ride in the back of the squad car.” He put his meaty hands on their shoulders and not-too-politely urged them outside.

  As they climbed into the back of the squad car, Shirley felt the bottom fall out of her stomach. Maybe they weren’t technically getting arrested—at least, not yet. But something sinister was definitely going on. And whether she liked it or not, Shirley was mixed up in it.

  Fifteen

  Shirley sat alone in a cold, sterile interrogation room at police headquarters. She wasn’t handcuffed, but the duty officer had locked her into the room “as a precaution,” he said. She’d asked for something to drink, and was provided with cold, acid-tasting coffee in a soggy paper cup. Her requests to go to the bathroom had been ignored.

  If this is what it was like to be interviewed at the police station voluntarily, Shirley shuddered at the thought of what actual jail was like.

  She heard muffled shouts coming from the next room, followed by something that sounded like furniture being thrown. She knew that Randall was being held in one of the other interrogation rooms—and hoped against hope it wasn’t him who just threw a chair or table. (Or that he hadn’t had something hurled at him.)

  Shirley had often heard that big-city police departments were corrupt, and wondered if maybe she was witnessing that kind of corruption now. As if in answer to that silent question, a heavyset plainclothes detective lumbered into the interrogation room, lugging a cup of coffee and a huge strawberry Danish in each meaty hand. “Evenin’,” he said in a thick Carolina drawl. “Ye must be that gal from up Statesville way. Ye know you’re in the federal database?”

  Shirley blushed to her temples. “Yes, sir,” she said meekly. “I pleaded guilty in a federal case not too long ago. A misdemeanor, not a felony.”

  “Hmph. Database says ye were mixed up in all that Covington Community Hospital nonsense that was all over the news,” the detective snarled. “So why weren’t you on the news?”

  “That was part of the terms of the plea bargain,” she explained, blushing even deeper. God, this was humiliating. Next thing she knew, she’d probably be strip-searched. “So, umm, officer, what exactly is all of this about?”

  “What’s all of what about?”

  “Why did you want my—ahem—friend and I to come down to the station today?”

  The detective’s thick gray eyebrows raised, and he snickered around a mouthful of Danish. “I was thinkin’ you could tell me that yerself, missy.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  The fat detective polished off his Danish, then licked the icing and grease from his fingers. He plopped down on one of the hard plastic interrogation chairs, cupped his hands around his steaming coffee. “Look, lady. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. An’ the hard way ain’t pretty. So I suggest you start talkin.’”

  “But I don’t know anything! I don’t even know what this is about!”

  That didn’t seem to impress the cop. “Oh, I think you do, missy. ‘Specially considerin’ you’re already purty well acquainted with our criminal justice system.”

  Shirley stamped her foot. “This is ridiculous! This is an outrage! I demand a lawyer!”

  The cop smiled, admired his ragged fingernails for a moment, then finally spoke. “You ain’t entitled to a lawyer yet, missy. Ye ain’t even been charged with anything. But if ye want a lawyer, I’ll be more’n happy to charge ye with somethin’ and order up a two-bit flunky from the public defender’s office for ye.”

  Shirley’s heart skipped a beat as the full realization of what was going on began to sink in. She was here because she was a murder suspect. That was the only explanation for what was happening. And she had no idea what to do next. She was innocent as innocent could be—and yet, she didn’t believe for a minute that the fat, drooling cop sitting across from her would believe a word she said.

  Still, the truth was the truth. And deep down, she knew it could set her free. “I know what this is about,” she admitted. “I’m here because of what happened to Enola Higginbottom, right?”

  The cop laughed and rubbed his pudgy hands together. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere, missy.”

  “Well sir, not really, because I don’t know anything, other than the fact the woman died. I have no idea why, or who may be responsible. Or if anyone’s responsible, for that matter. Sometimes people just die in the OR for no reason.”

  The cop leaned closer. Shirley could smell salami on his breath, along with raging body odor. “Is that an admission of guilt?” he oozed.

  “Of course not! What reason would I have to kill a woman I’d never even met?”

  This seemed to subdue the cop a bit. “So you didn’t know her?”

  “No. I barely know anybody in Raleigh. I just moved to town a little over a week ago.”

  The cop pursed his thick lips and twiddled his thumbs. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. “So you don’t know anybody in Raleigh, huh? What about the guy you came here with? Seems you know him real well.”

  “So what if I do?”

  He laughed. “Well, if he’s the only man in town you know, missy, ye sure know how to pick ‘em.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He templed his fingers under his chin and eyed her balefully. “Ya know missy, ye can make this a lot easier for yerself if you just tell us what you know ‘bout Dr. Randall Hamm.”

  At this, Shirley had to laugh. “You know, here’s the thing. I know next to nothing about Dr. Randall Hamm.” Except how he was in bed, of course. And that he was very easy on the eyes, and had a good sense of humor. Other than that—nada.

  “Lyin’ to me ain’t gonna help ya, missy.”

  “I’m not lying,” she said. “I admit to having an—ahem—intimate relationship with Dr. Hamm, but that’s pretty much the extent of it. I know almost nothing about him as a person. And that’s God’s honest truth. Hook me up to a polygraph if you don’t believe me.”

  The cop seemed puzzled, and didn’t say anything for several minutes. Shirley scanned him up and down, searching for a badge, a nametag—anything that would indicate the guy was legit.
“You know, you’ve never told me your name, Officer. Or your badge number. And I’m beginning to think that I’m being held here without probable cause. I’m also thinking it might be a good idea if I knew who you were, so I can make a complaint about how you’re treating me here.”

  The cop hemmed and hawed, and dark circles of sweat appeared at his armpits. “’Scuse me,” he muttered, and left the room.

  Shirley shifted back and forth in her seat. She really needed to find a bathroom. And then to get the hell out of there. Neither of which was likely to happen anytime soon. She twiddled her thumbs and counted the cracks in the ceiling, then the stains on the cheap industrial carpet—anything to keep her mind off of things.

  About fifteen minutes later, a stout gray-haired woman entered the room, followed by a youngish man with a crewcut and goatee. Both of them wore crisp white shirts and sported leather-mounted police badges that hung from lanyards around their necks. “I’m Officer Reynolds,” the stout woman said, “and this is Officer Doyle. First accept my apologies for the ahhh, treatment you got from our colleague, Officer McIntosh. He always likes to play the bad-cop routine, even when he shouldn’t.”

  Shirley shrugged. “Whatever. Right now I really need to visit the ladies’ room, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Officer Reynolds said. “I’ll walk you there myself. Doyle, do me a favor and get the lady something cold to drink. See if you can drum up some sandwiches, too. I think once we get things going we’ll be here for awhile.”

  Shirley breathed a sigh of relief as she followed the stout woman down the hall. That relief was short lived, however. Because just as she was about to duck inside the ladies’ room, she saw Dr. Randall Hamm being led down the hall in handcuffs.

  She started to cry out, but he shook his head at her as he passed. “Don’t worry,” he mouthed silently at her.

  Then he was gone.