by Jackie Ivie
Screw the boots. And the stockings. They could stay right where they were. Didn’t matter. He yanked his robe apart before getting his hands back under the skirt. Skimming his fingers the entire way up bare flesh that trembled. She was perfect there, too. He didn’t have to look. He could feel the even tone of her muscles. The supple strength and perfection of skin that comprised her thighs. Upper legs. The firm globes of her buttocks. Then the obstruction of her undergarment.
“Oh Jacob! Yes! Yes! Oh….please? Yes!”
She’d finished her attention at his throat, and amid pleas and cries for him to continue, he felt her licking at his skin. He didn’t care about that, either. All he cared about now was finding a way through these damn lace bloomers of her. Every garment had a waist band of some sort. Some avenue created for donning them and then taking them back off. It only stood to reason. And he finally found it. There was a tie above her waist, well beneath the corset he probably should have taken off. But to hell with that. They had time for real lovemaking later. He had to get connected to her and he had to do it now. Now! The craving that filled him was raw and primitive and untamed. It wasn’t going to get halted by some bit of grosgrain ribbon connecting these bloomers with whatever garment she wore above it. He had no idea Londoners wore so much beneath their clothing, and it was just her tough luck. She was losing these panties. Right now. Jake grabbed the material on either side of her hips and ripped the garment apart, splitting the center seam.
She gasped, and he slammed his lips to hers, toying and sucking, and elevating everything to an even higher level of desire. He was riding a wave filled with rapacious, unstoppable, inconceivable need. His chest shoved against her, pressing those breasts upward with his weight. He didn’t have to look. His mind saw it for him. Those perfect, large, white globes…without a hint of saline or silicone…smashed against him…
Oh love. Oh sweetness. Oh heaven. His fingers quested for her haven. Found it. Slithered about. She was wet. Warmed. Ready.
Jacob grabbed for her hips to elevate them, and then he drilled into her tightness, feeling the cavern sucking at him, welcoming him, enwrapping him, and then…oh shit. Everything stopped at an obstruction that just couldn’t be. Time even stalled. And then he lifted his head to stare down at her.
He’d never seen anything to compare to the goddess beneath him, her hair fanning out onto the leather of the sofa, her bosom barely hidden in her corset, her lips plumped and sweet and yet wet with a dark red film that couldn’t possibly be what it looked like. Could it? And then he factored in her eyes, sparking with something like blue fire, spearing him right through the heart.
“You’re a virgin?”
The whisper was harsh. Guttural. Rough. Filled with frustration and overwhelming male need. Portraying exactly what his rod felt as it continued to pump in little surges against where it was being denied.
“Not anymore.”
She smiled after the answer, showing off sharp-tipped canines. Fangs? Jake narrowed his eyes on the sight, and then looked down. And that just got him an eyeful of her breasts, barely leashed by her corset. He was mistaken. He hadn’t seen fangs. That was just too much to believe.
“Oh…Baby. I’m so sorry. This is bad. Why didn’t you…say something?”
Taking a virgin was bad. Taking one who claimed to be his mate was even worse. And taking one without a shred of protection between them had to be the absolute worst. This sort of thing carried penalties. He wasn’t this stupid. Ever.
“Ah!”
His cry carried rage that started at his loins, swiftly churned to his lower back, and just moved outward from there, encompassing everywhere it roamed with the same fiery sensation. His shoulders tensed next, taking some of the angered tautness from inside and putting it on vivid display. He was probably bruising the flesh he still held in both hands, too.
“Please, Jacob! Finish. Take me. Now! Please?”
“You don’t…know what…you ask!”
His reply came in panted breaths, through gritted teeth, and was accompanied by the slightest push into her. She stiffened and that just got everything he still controlled more tightly coiled. He should stop. They should at least find a rubber. He had to move away. And yet nothing on his body obeyed. His rod tunneled even deeper. Getting gripped tighter. With more suction. While masses of flesh-wrapped coils slipped and gripped as they tried to embrace him. Milking him. He was going to lose it in a moment.
It was her movement that decided it. She lunged upward, lifting both of them as she reached around and grabbed his buttocks. And that unbelievable move was done so she could yank him down fully into her cavern, ramming him to the hilt, while sending a cry that sounded pain-filled and full of recrimination into the room. But that couldn’t be, because she was laughing before the sound died. How was it possible? And that was just as impossible as the fact she was setting the rhythm next, using her hands to control his thrusts, pushing him almost out of her. Ramming back in. Almost out. As if he was some sort of do-it-yourself sex toy she’d decided to try out. And that just wasn’t happening. No woman had that much strength, and he really was going to explode if she kept it up. And that was definitely not happening. Not tonight. Not ever. Jacob Walsh had a reputation with the ladies. He never took pleasure. He gave it. His satisfaction was always secondary.
He should have known making love to this woman would alter everything. Cassandra turned him inside out with her movements, drove him wild with her continual cries of satiation, and met him thrust for thrust as he hammered his way to fulfillment. Every muscle tightened to the breaking point, his throat tore itself raw with the force of each tormented gasp of breath, his heart thumped in ever increasing strident beats as he pumped against her. Into her. Worked with her. Pleasured her. And when he couldn’t hold it back any longer, he finally exploded.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Shut the fucking blinds!”
“Hey guys! Did you hear that? Our Jake’s dropping the f-bomb. On us. His closest and dearest friends. And those blinds are already shut, Bud. And locked.” The answer came in a low soothing tone, followed by a snickering sound.
“Then dim the lights!”
“Already did that, too. Good thing we know the override codes.” The words were spoken in the same even tone. The same hint of laughter was at the end of it, too.
“Then, do it again!”
“You know…if you use your ‘nice Jake voice’, the audible activation system would turn the damn things off if that’s what you want. You wouldn’t need to chew us out over it. Then we could all sit here in the dark while you rage at us.”
“That’s it! You’re fired.”
“You’re just making him angrier, Sam. Let me give it a try.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot. You’re a doctor now. Fine. Go ahead, Doctor Malcolm. Try out your new psychology degree on Mister Mensa I.Q. here. See if it gets you anywhere.”
A heavy sigh echoed so loudly through the room, Jake nearly howled in pain at the volume of it.
“Now, Jake—”
“Shut up,” Jake replied.
“Come on, man. Calm down. We’re not here for our health. Daniel was afraid you were dying. Comatose. We can see that for a lie, but if you decided to go on a bender you should’ve alerted him. Then we’d all still be at our own pursuits this evening rather than babysitting you. Take me, for instance. I was schmoozing lobbyists. Lining pockets. Making sure our side gets heard in the video game violence debate. I mean, really. You think I enjoy wearing a tux?”
“Did I ask?” Jake responded after that diatribe.
“Perhaps you could cease acting like a grizzly bear with a hard-on, then?”
“You ever see a grizzly?” Jake’s reply came through his teeth. It was still loud enough to add to the effect of hammers hitting the sides of his head.
“No.”
“Then just shut up.”
“You know…we haven’t seen you this bad since that weekend we flew to Bangkok. Remember tha
t little restaurant with the hand-rolled appetizers—what the hell did they call them?”
Another voice inserted the words and the memory. Sounded like Ryan. Speaking at jet engine decibel level. Or thereabouts. Jake cupped his hands over his ears. Why was everything at odds today? He seemed to have gained light sensitivity and hyper-hearing, and with the increase in vision and sound came a massive headache. And he was cold. Not just shivering with a fever, but freezing. Nothing helped. Not the turtleneck sweater he’d donned atop thick sweatpants or the blanket draped across his shoulders. He was still a mass of sickness. It might have been his lucky night, but it hadn’t been followed by the same type of day.
“How can we forget that trip? Talk about gastrointestinal hell. Took me a week to recover. Come to think of it, Jake here looks even worse than he did then. And that was close to death-warmed-over.”
That was Grant speaking. Their bodybuilder friend. Six, six. Two eighty. Nose tackle size. The man who acted as bodyguard when Jake needed to look like he had one.
“You need something on your tummy, big guy?” Ryan asked.
“You’re fired, too,” Jake replied.
“You already fired me. A couple of hours ago. I think we’re all fired by now. Malcolm? Ryan? Grant? Yep. All fired. We’re just waiting for pink slips. Heck. You even fired Daniel, and he’s been your buddy since kindergarten.”
Jake groaned again. Daniel spoke up.
“You were looking really bad, man. I mean, bad. I’m surprised I didn’t call 911. Maybe we should take you to the emergency room. See what’s wrong. I mean, just ’cause you’re rich and smart doesn’t mean influenza or some super-bug can’t take you down.”
“Why don’t you figure out how to make a decent cup of coffee? That would be helpful!” Jake snarled and spat the mouthful back into the mug. This particular effort tasted like ancient, warmed, flat soda water. Or worse.
“That’s the umpteenth one we’ve brewed since we got here,” Ryan replied. “Using every combination of your specialty beans. Freshly ground. Each time. We’re taking turns. And you call our efforts piss-water. Why don’t you figure out what you want and clue us in?”
“All right. Food. I need real food. You could order some. I’m famished, and you’re having the kitchen send up crap.” Jake slapped a hand to his eyes to shield them from the light. And then he lurched onto the black leather sofa again. On his belly, so he could stick his face against the surface. He was still on this particular sofa, and it carried a hint of her scent, as well as a heavy dose of reverie. Hmm. Perfect lips. Body. Face. Moves. And that hair. She’d had tons of it. It had cascaded off this particular sofa like a red wine-hued waterfall.
“Uh…I’m not asking Anton for another dish. You do it, Sam.”
“No way. He threatened to walk out when I asked him for a pizza. And you know how that was received. It’s still stuck to the 60 inch flat screen television. How about you, Doctor?”
“Call me Malcolm, you jerk. And I’m responsible for the four-course dinner disaster that got tossed down the garbage disposal not fifteen minutes ago. Ryan?”
Jake slit his eyes open and swiveled his face back to the men lounging about on the other furniture on this particular plateau. The light was still bothersome. And he’d never been light sensitive. In his life. The blinds were closed and latched. It was nearly evening. They’d dimmed the lights so far they were almost out. It was still so bright, his eyes watered up.
“Don’t look at me. Anton and I don’t see eye-to-eye. I don’t speak the language or something.”
“He’s French, but he speaks perfect English. You haven’t tried yet. It’s your turn. Show of hands, gentlemen. Who’s for sending Ryan?” That was Malcolm again.
Hands shot up. Jake would’ve rolled his eyes but he sensed it would add more pain to his headache. He knew what he needed. He knew what he wanted. Every cell in his body seemed to crave her. Cassandra. It was like she was in his blood…and yet she’d disappeared. She’d walked out on him. Sometime in the early hours before dawn. Probably the moment she depleted him and finally let him sleep. How could she leave me? Was all the mate stuff she’d told him just a means to an end? She took what she wanted from him, and then just dumped him? Jake wondered if this was what women felt once the party was over, and they got dropped off.
He’d never thought of it until now. And felt ashamed. That was sobering. He almost felt worse.
“You want me to approach Anton? You’re joking, right? That guy asked me out on a date.”
“Right. Every man tries to date you, Ryan. It’s your movie-star looks. We think you’re a homophobe. Go anyway. It’s your turn.” Sam answered and then Jake spoke up, stopping them.
“Order a steak. Filet. Sirloin. T-Bone. Doesn’t matter.”
“Steak. Right.” Ryan stood up. Grinned. “You want sides?”
“No.”
“Medium well as usual. Yes?”
“No. Rare. And bloody.”
Full silence followed his request. Silence. Finally. And oddly, the dearth of noise didn’t soothe. It just made everything feel lonelier. More bereft. Almost unbearably so. Jake blinked away the mist in his eyes. This was worse than when his mom had passed. He was grieving? Ridiculous. He had to get control of himself. He was acting like a spoiled two-year old on a tantrum. The last thing he could do right now was bust out in tears. He’d never live it down.
“Okay. You want a steak? Done. You want it, uh…warmed? Maybe seared? Or you thinking just straight out of the icebox? Or…as they say in Texas: ‘cut the throat, wipe the ass, and serve it on a platter’.”
Jake took in the looks of shock and disgust on just about everyone’s face. He should feel it, too. He didn’t. It’s the only thing that sounded remotely appetizing.
“Seared,” he finally replied and watched the guys relax. And since he’d never studied body language or any of the soft sciences, he didn’t know how he knew that.
“On it.”
They all watched Ryan leap down to the next plateau, and the one below that, and then he shoved out the glassed doors of Jake’s inner sanctum. Where nobody ever came, unless invited. And yet here they all were. Regarding him.
“You decided to join the living again? Thank goodness. We were about to send for an exorcist or something.”
“What the hell for?”
Jake put his hands beneath his shoulders, flexed, and did a series of push-ups. Then he sat up. The sun had gone down. He didn’t have to see it, he just knew. And for some reason he felt energized. Awake. Aware. And warmer by the second.
“Well…you did have us chasing imaginary women. As if poring over the video feed from security would make one magically appear. For hours now. Ceaselessly. Slow-mo. Frame-by-frame. On every television in the place. Look. You try. We still can’t find her. Ryan couldn’t even find her. I think that’s why you fired him the first time.”
The television monitor filled up with a screen split into four sections, all showing a different angle of his pool. Even in slow motion, it wasn’t possible. There was his hand smacking the timing pad. There! If he watched for it, and knew where it was, he could just spot the ripple made from where she’d had her umbrella tip. The water was definitely swirling. But nothing was assisting it. He knew about four minutes in slow-motion time later, his spa robe would miraculously drop into his lap. From right out of thin air. While it looked like he carried on a conversation with nothing.
“She’s not imaginary. That robe landing right there…is the proof.” Jake stood, waited for the sick feeling he’d been dealing with to hit, and when it didn’t, he shrugged the blanket off. Then he stretched fully, working the knots out of his muscles. This was truly odd. He’d felt like a week-old, used and discarded dishrag a few moments ago, and now he felt almost well. And it was getting better by the second.
“Okay. Maybe I misspoke. Let’s just call her invisible, then. But that’s really stretching the bounds of reality, man. She’s invisible, and everything s
he touches is invisible while she’s touching it. Then, the moment she lets it go…poof! Visible again. Want me to fast-forward to the hall scene? That’s when it gets really interesting. As if everything in the feeds decided to have fog issues. Look. I’ll show you. Maybe you need more light.”
“Aren’t you fired, Sam?” Jake asked.
“Still waiting for the pink slip. Told you. Oh. And the severance pay. You did promise us a generous package.”
“Just let me access my program. I’ll show you.” Jake moved to a table and pulled one of the sides off. It instantly became an active internet pad. A moment later, he was selecting face shapes to begin. He did his own storyboards. Designed his avatars. Sketched everything. She was going to be the frosting to this cake. And he was really going to love drawing that hair.
“You? You’re going to find the invisible woman when Ryan’s used every code and trick up his sleeve to locate her? He even tried adding a heat signature when one wasn’t in the program to begin with. The guy’s a genius and you slur him. Good thing he’s gone for your meal. I’d help him hit you. The doctor will even help.”
“It’s Malcolm, jackass.”
“All right—Malcolm. You tell me how he’s going to do it, then. We all saw just a bunch of shadow and a hint of electronic fuzz in every single hall shot. There isn’t much to be seen because Jake’s imaginary woman just happens to be invisible, too. And she casts some weird sort of fog that camouflages everything she touches. Just our luck.”
“Oh. There’s plenty to be seen. And…stop! Freeze it. There! See? There it is. Two little, black lace gloves just appeared. Like magic. On the tile floor.”
Jake looked up at the monitor. Yep. There were two little gloves, although on that screen they were about a foot high. He went back to his drawing.
“Start it up again. And…yes. Wait for it. Wait. Wait. There! There’s our Jake’s swim trunks getting kicked free ’cause they’re no longer needed. You sure that wasn’t a cigarette gone crazy making all that smoke? Spontaneous combustion? Something physical? Or maybe she’s metaphysical…like a ghost?”