Noone Else on Earth

by Jeanne Barrack

  He placed his hands on the couch, dropping her legs, so he could tilt forward and take one succulent nipple deep within his mouth. He tongued it and nipped it, then stood.

  He drew his black t-shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. His eyes never leaving hers, he unzipped, freeing his cock. His big, long cock, bigger than in her dream from last night. He toed off his boots and shoved his denims down his lean, muscular flanks.

  Naked, every glorious inch of him, naked.

  And hers. At least for now.

  He cocked his head.

  “Like what you see?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.”

  He planted his feet to either side of her legs, still outstretched before her, moving until his shins bumped the couch.

  “Lean forward, baby, and open wide. I’ve got a present for you.”

  Needing no further urging, she shifted and brought his ridged prick to her mouth. Pre-cum glistened on his tip and she licked her lips. She took him in inch by inch, adjusting so she could take as much as possible.

  It was impossible; he was just too big. Her tongue laved his length from base to tip while she cradled his balls. Her fingernails lightly scraped the tight skin of his sacs and he shuddered.

  She smiled.

  Seems she wasn’t the only one affected. She sucked harder, as though he were an all-day lollipop and she had the world’s worst sweet tooth.

  He gently pulled her mouth away from her arousing task.

  “Take off the rest of your clothes. If you play me any more with that mouth of yours, we’ll be done before we’ll have started.”

  She placed her thumbs under the waistband of her high-cut lace panties and pulled down her slacks with them. She tossed her clothes onto the desk and lolled back, her legs spread, revealing her soaking wet pussy.

  She smiled and repeated his earlier words. “Like what you see?”

  He nodded.

  “Good.” She placed her palms on the inside of her thighs and spread them even further.

  He fell to his knees as though worshipping her and cupped her buttocks, lifting her so he could bury his face in her downy snatch.

  He inhaled her arousal, her womanly scent sending a chill down his spine.

  It had been a long, long time for him.

  His tongue darted out and slipped between her pouty lips. She bucked against him, grabbing his hair. He kneaded her plump cheeks, loving the feel of soft, sweet skin.

  How the hell was he going to last long enough to make her scream when he felt like a celibate monk offered dispensation after years of denial?

  He lifted his head and almost lost his wad.

  Julie’s mouth was slack with passion. Her nipples, hard and pointy begging for his mouth.

  He straddled her, his hand pushing against the wall behind her, one knee on the couch, his leg stretched out on the floor. He lifted her, resting one thigh on his, bringing her other thigh clenched around his hip.

  “Hang on tight.”

  He positioned his aching penis at her entrance and drove into her. Hard, short, fast, over and over again. He twisted around until their positions were reversed and he was the one sitting on the couch with Julie on his lap.

  He held her slim waist securely as she slid up and down his erection. He bucked against her, meeting her movements.

  “Grab my shoulders. I want to be able to play with your sweet tits.”

  She nodded and gripped his bulging muscles, her nails digging into his flesh. Rocking back and forth, she swiveled her hips. Her head lolled back, and her eyes closed.

  Mike looked at her.

  Her long hair hung almost to the floor. Her breasts were ripe fruits just waiting, begging to be sampled.

  Waiting for his mouth to claim them.

  His lips fastened onto one long nipple and suckled, pulling her flesh deep within his moist, hot mouth. Like a greedy child he pulled at her soft tips.

  She groaned, an incoherent sound welling up from her soul.

  Mike almost came right then.

  He pulled his lips from her body and gasped for air like a drowning man. With one massive thrust he arched into her tight sheath, his body lifting.

  He spasmed, as his climax crashed over him, filling her with his essence.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Even as he felt her orgasm rip through her, he knew it wasn’t enough.

  More. He wanted, needed more.

  He was still hard.

  And coming close to losing control.

  He stood, his hands supporting her weight easily.

  “Put your legs down.”

  Like a puppet, she followed his command, still a bit unsteady on her feet.

  He stepped away from her, then continued his directions.

  “Get on the couch, kneel and face the wall, grab the back of the couch, and lean your elbows on it. Lift that sweet, juicy ass of yours. I’m gonna fuck it until you scream for me.”

  He watched her eyes widen and then close, watched her tongue lick her lips until they glistened, watched her lips tremble as she complied with his demands.

  He positioned his cock behind her and impaled her with his length. He rammed into her, his balls slapping against her as he moved. Hard, short, thrusts driving her, driving him past the brink.

  Faintly, past the roaring of his blood in his ears, he heard her whimpering.

  He brushed aside her hair, revealing the slim column of her neck. It blended into the graceful line of her shoulder. His fingers skimmed her soft skin.

  His leash slipped even further. Only a thin vestige of sanity kept him from giving in completely to his own terrible cravings.

  The cravings that were the reason why he had been assigned to track Tzahyad.

  His affinity with and understanding of the driving need to consume his sexual partner.

  He felt the tips of his fangs as they slid a fraction of the way out. He yearned to plunge them into Julie’s neck and release the elixir that would make her his whether she willed it or not.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and forced the beast within him to subside. Once more, he allowed himself to release just a modicum of the power of his climax.

  It was enough to make Julie cry out in ecstasy. Enough to assuage his hunger.

  For now.

  Enough to bring him back to the reality of what he’d done.

  His otherworldly aura was on her now.

  A beacon to Tzahyad.

  He had to leave. Eliminate the scent of her from his body before Tzahyad could sense their intimacy and unmask him.

  He withdrew his limp penis and pulled on his denims. Threw on his t-shirt and shoved his feet in his boots and fled the room.

  And Julie.

  * * * * *

  Julie slumped against the couch, too weak and satisfied to move. Then she felt her lover slip from her trembling flesh, heard the rustle of his clothes as he put them on, heard the door open and close and the lock click in place.

  And realized just how much she’d been fucked.

  She sank to the floor; her hands fell to her side.

  And tears oozed from beneath her eyelids.

  She wasn’t given any time to dwell on what had happened.

  “Julie? Julie? We need some help out here. The CD player’s gone nuts.”

  She took a deep breath. “Just a minute. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She dragged herself up, stumbling a bit as she gathered her clothes and threw them on.

  She sniffed.

  She smelled of sex.

  She shrugged. Nothing she could do about that now.

  She pulled off the elastic binding her hair into a ponytail and smoothed the loose tendrils and neatly wrapped her hair once more with the elastic.

  Squaring her shoulders, she unlocked the door and faced her world.

  * * * * *

  Mike strode toward the stairway leading to the upstairs dressing room. He cursed himself with every step.

  The very
thing that had made him the perfect agent to track Tzahyad had just bit him in the ass. His fangs, back in place now, ached with the aborted piercing of Julie’s milky white neck. He yearned to give her that jolt of pure ultimate, sexual pleasure contained within the liquid in his fangs.

  Instead, all he’d done was mark her with his essence and release his own sexual energy.

  There was nothing he could do about Julie. Tzahyad would know she’d mated with one of his kind.

  The most he could do was obliterate the traces from his own skin and keep Tzahyad guessing.

  He had to get to his kit.

  The dressing room wasn’t empty. Contestants milled about half-dressed or sat before the mirrors putting on make-up. The bathroom door was shut and the shower was going full blast. Two men in robes stood near the bedroom door, towels draped round their necks, chatting.

  Mike paused.

  What if one of them was Tzahyad?

  He pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the laundry bag he’d left by his space and grabbed his robe from the chair. Pulling off his jeans from under the robe, he shoved them in the bag, too.

  Thank God, he’d brought fresh clothes with him.

  He got in line, praying that Tzahyad was elsewhere.

  * * * * *

  Tzahyad strolled around the bar, watching the other men practicing. The two he’d sampled late last night had found each other it seemed. They sat side by side, touching every now and then.

  He smiled.

  Perhaps he’d try a two-for-one later.

  He tried not to wince as the music suddenly blared out. They’d been having trouble with the volume for the last half hour. Someone had suggested they get the female owner to investigate.

  His attention wandered. He wondered if the redheaded female was going to be there tonight. He licked his lips. Her sexual energy was even stronger than the blonde female he’d taken the other night.

  He walked closer to the stage, getting a very nice view of the thick cock of a contestant dressed as a toreador. His gimmick was to whip a red cape before him, pull down the material in front of his prick and conceal the end result so his rampant penis was draped in the cape.

  When he moved to the side, he could see the man’s prick.

  As he stood there admiring it, the office door opened and Julie Turner rushed past him.

  He stiffened.

  It wasn’t possible. He moved after her as she slipped behind the bar and fiddled with the controls on the CD machine. He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush.

  Tracer.

  She’d had sex with a tracer very, very recently. If fact, he’d venture to guess, within the last ten minutes.

  It could only mean one thing.

  One of the contestants was a tracer, and he’d been followed to Earth.

  But who?

  His gaze shifted to the men moving about the area. Not all of the contestants were here; some were up in the dressing room. There might even be one or two not yet on the premises.

  He stalked with purpose around the room, pausing as he came near each one.

  None of them bore the distinctive stink of a tracer.

  He moved to the steps leading to the dressing room. Perhaps he’d have better luck upstairs.

  He entered the dressing room, counting the men roaming around. Two were unaccounted for, but hopefully he’d find his tracer by the time they returned.

  He sauntered around the men, touching them if possible making it easier to identify their scent.

  Disappointed yet again.

  A robed contestant stood near the bedroom door.

  Tzahyad moved toward his make-up area and bumped into him. “Excuse me. Been waiting long?”

  “No. About three guys went in before me, but they were real quick. I won’t be long. You’ll have time to shower if you want to before you rehearse.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll wait until after my act.”

  “Good idea.” The man fingered the dark shadow on his cheeks and chin. “I like to shower before I shave. Makes the beard softer.”

  Tzahyad shook his head. “I’m lucky. I don’t usually have to worry about it.”

  He lingered as a slightly damp performer left the bathroom.

  Still nothing.

  He cursed inwardly.

  His tracer couldn’t be in two places at the same time. The men not at Real Bad Boys had to be eliminated from suspicion.

  That left him right back where he started.

  A tracer was here, and he had no fucking idea who it was.

  * * * * *

  Mike heaved a sigh mixed with relief and disappointment. He hadn’t been attacked by any of the contestants, so he must not have passed by Tzahyad, and he had been able to use the special cleanser and remove his sexual essence. But he still didn’t know which entrant was Tzahyad.

  And Julie was still in danger.

  Tzahyad might go after her and force her to reveal with whom she had had sex.

  He couldn’t chance it.

  He’d have to make sure Julie wasn’t out of his sight.

  But how to do that and still maintain his cover?

  He’d have to figure out a way damn quick.

  Chapter Six

  Mike figured he had a few hours before he would need to worry about Julie being alone. As long as she stayed at the club, surrounded by people, she’d be safe.

  The problem was after.

  Right now he’d better work on maintaining his cover and that meant getting ready for his run-through for the contest.

  He’d put a lot of thought into the routine. Now he wasn’t sure that he’d thought about it enough. He shrugged. It was a pretty spectacular number. If he wanted to remain throughout the contest, he’d have to stand out. And wasn’t that too fucking ironic.

  He opened his make-up kit and applied the first layer of pancake. By the time he was through, he’d be unrecognizable.

  * * * * *

  Julie dawdled by the CD player as long as she could after she’d tweaked the sticky volume control.

  What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  Sex. Glorious, hot, sticky, down and dirty, pure sex. Well, maybe not so pure. A shiver of remembrance ran through her.

  What had she done? But how could she have refused? What woman in her right mind could have refused being made love to by the man of her dreams?

  Okay. One of the men of her dreams. Would her other lover come calling?

  If he did, could she let him make love to her now that she’d had the most mind-blowing sex of her, to be honest, limited real life experience?

  The answer was simple. In a New York minute!

  She stared into space, reliving her earlier sexual encounter in the office. A sappy smile appeared on her face.

  “Excuse me, Julie? Here’s my CD. When the spotlight goes on that’s the signal to play it.”

  She started. Speak of the devil. One of her fantasy twosome had just interrupted a replay of his star performance.

  “Sorry. Lot on my mind. Go ahead. I’ll be ready.”

  The stage lights dimmed. A blue light washed over the empty platform. And Julie started the music.

  The haunting strains of “The Music of the Night” from The Phantom of the Opera filled the air.

  As though he’d appeared out of nowhere, her dream lover glided into the light. His mask covered half his face in his persona as the Phantom. He sported a long, black cape lined with crimson satin. A snowy white frilled dress shirt, black bow tie and tuxedo jacket, peeked from beneath the cape’s concealing folds. A blood red, satin cummerbund wrapped around his trim waist.

  He wore only a miniscule, black satin jock below that. His bulging penis set off lascivious comments from several of the other performers.

  “Christ, wouldn’t you like to peel off that piece of material and sample what’s underneath?”

  “Please don’t tell me he’s straight. I want to take him home to meet my mother.”

  “Str
aight. Queer. Who cares? Give me some time with him; I’ll unmask him.”

  Julie blotted out the raunchy remarks she heard.

  The man on stage mesmerized her.

  He glided toward its edge and swooped low toward the tables down front. When they were filled with panting females, he’d have them fainting.

  He flashed enticing parts of his skin as he moved around the stage. The voluminous material hid his hand movements. Pieces of his costume lay scattered on the platform. As they fluttered to the ground, he’d whip back his cape to offer a glimpse of the flesh unveiled.

  Finally, as the seductive strains of the song faded away, he threw back the cape to stand gloriously naked except for the satin material covering his genitals.

  Gathering the edge of the cape in his hands, he drew it over his body and the blue spotlight went out. When it went back on, the stage was empty. Only a black satin G-string remained in the light.

  The spontaneous applause from the other contestants rocked the club.

  He was going to be a hard act to beat.

  A few minutes passed while the stage was made ready for the next act.

  One of the men handed her a CD and gestured to the stage.

  “He asked me to give this to you. You can start it any time.”

  Julie placed the plastic disc in the rack and pressed the control.

  A soft, golden spotlight illumined the stage centered on a life-size statue standing on a six-inch high marble platform. The sounds of Zamfir’s panpipes drifted into the audience.

  The statue’s marbleized flesh was all muscle and sinew. Even the hair, à la Greco-Roman style, was a curly white wig with marble-like veins running through it.

  The only spots of color were a deep purple bunch of grapes held aloft by one strong hand and a strategically placed fig leaf offering scanty covering for the heavy cock blossoming between the statue’s thighs.

  Then the statue came to life. As it stepped about the stage, it paused and struck pose after pose.

  One position had him on his knees, bending backward, thrusting his cock upward. He, too, drew near the rim of the platform, offering his grapes to the now empty tables.

  In another pose, he lay on his back, the leg farthest away from the audience bent. He plucked a grape and slowly chewed it. The action proved incredibly erotic.