Cold Blooded Lover
ELIZA LENTZSKI
Copyright © 2017 Eliza Lentzski
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, other than those in the public domain, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, re-sold, or transmitted electronically or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
ISBN: 1544922205
ISBN-13: 978-1544922201
Other works by Eliza Lentzski
Winter Jacket Series
Winter Jacket
Winter Jacket 2: New Beginnings
Winter Jacket 3: Finding Home
Winter Jacket 4: All In
Hunter (forthcoming, Summer 2017)
+ + +
Don’t Call Me Hero Series
Don’t Call Me Hero
Damaged Goods
Cold Blooded Lover
http://www.elizalentzski.com
Standalones
The Final Rose
Bittersweet Homecoming
Fragmented
Apophis: Love Story for the End of the World
Second Chances
Date Night
Love, Lust, & Other Mistakes
Diary of a Human
+ + +
Works as E.L. Blaisdell
Drained: The Lucid (with Nica Curt)
CONTENTS
Heat
1
Chapter One
8
Chapter Two
16
Chapter Three
27
Chapter Four
39
Chapter Five
46
Chapter Six
55
Chapter Seven
66
Chapter Eight
72
Chapter Nine
84
Chapter Ten
98
Chapter Eleven
109
Chapter Twelve
117
Chapter Thirteen
127
Chapter Fourteen
139
Chapter Fifteen
150
Chapter Sixteen
163
Chapter Seventeen
174
Chapter Eighteen
184
Chapter Nineteen
194
Dedication
To C
HEAT
My home state of Minnesota was better known for bitterly cold winters instead of sweltering summer heat. But every year, for one excruciating week in late summer, the weather became unbearable. Because temperatures rarely reached over 80 degrees, not too many apartment complexes offered central air, mine included.
To combat the heat, I lay in bed on top of my sheets, stripped down to nothing but a tank top and underwear. I’d gone so far as to chill a wet washcloth and drape it across my forehead. The ceiling fan above my bed spun at its highest setting to no avail. If I had grown up below the Mason-Dixon line, I would have considered myself soft; but my arctic blood couldn’t handle the consecutive days of temperatures spiked in the mid-90’s, with oppressive evening humidity making it even worse.
Despite the evening hour, I wasn’t tired; and even if I was, it was too hot to sleep. I didn’t want to leave my bed either. I couldn’t move without profusely sweating. My phone was within reach though, so I texted my girlfriend to pass the time.
Hey, beautiful, I sent off a text in greeting.
I didn’t have to wait long for her response: Good evening, Detective Miller.
A smile spread across my face. I could practically hear Julia’s tone in my head—clipped and formal, with the slightest hint of bemusement.
I snuggled a little deeper into the pillows I’d stacked up against the wall that acted as my headboard.
What are up to tonight? I asked.
Well, I was reading a book, but I suppose now I’m talking to you.
Reading in bed? I texted back.
I pictured in my mind’s eye Julia propped up against a mountain of pillows, black-framed reading glasses hanging on to the end of her nose, and a sheer nightgown as her pajamas. It had become a familiar scene whenever I slept over, usually with me surrounded by case files and briefs of whatever case she was working on, futility trying to distract her from work.
I’m on the couch, she replied. The one you decided we still had to ‘break in.’
Julia had only been in her new apartment for a handful of months, and her brand-new furniture was still stiff and uncomfortable—much like someone’s first impression of Julia herself, until they got to know her.
Hey, I just meant we need to sit on it more, I lied. It’s not my fault you have a dirty mind.
You didn’t seem to mind my dirty mind the other night.
I cleared my throat at her typed words, and if possible, my internal temperature increased even more.
I licked at my dry lips and sat up in bed. My fingers rapidly worked over the touch-screen keyboard of my smart phone.
How about your mind and my mind have a little fun together? I proposed.
I leaned closer to the cell phone screen and waited with mounting anticipation for Julia’s response. The three dots that indicated she was typing something popped up on my screen: I’m not sexting you.
I tossed my phone down and threw frustrated hands in the air, even though she would never see the gesture. “Come on!” I complained to the sex gods.
By the time I retrieved my phone from the end of the bed, Julia had sent me a second message: If you’re interested in extracurricular activities tonight, you know where to find me.
I cracked the knuckle on my right thumb while I contemplated my response. We hadn’t exactly been fighting about it, but I’d made it clear that I thought we spent too much time at her condo when I had a perfectly respectable apartment. It wasn’t like I lived in the slums, and I liked the familiarity and comfort that came with being surrounded by my own belongings, meager as they were. Julia’s things were too nice, and I often felt on edge at her place, worried I might break or stain something. Bull in a china shop came to mind.
I composed my conservative reply: Have a good night.
I winced with regret when I heard the sound of the ill-advised text being sent. I knew my abrupt dismissal would make her angry. If I had had the ability, I would have plucked my message out of the air and deleted it. But despite advancing technologies, that kind of feat still wasn’t possible.
I passed the next hour trying to watch the Twins game, but my eyes and my attention kept drifting back to my silent cell phone, which sat on the other side of the bed. Ever since I’d cut short my conversation with Julia, I hadn’t received any calls or texts.
“Do something,” I muttered to the inanimate object.
My instinct was to apologize, but I hadn’t really done anything wrong. Admittedly, it had been a juvenile way to end our conversation, but it was also unreasonable of Julia to expect me to come over any time I wanted to see her. She already held too much influence over me; it was about time I grew a backbone.
I’d nearly given up on hearing from Julia for the rest of the night when my phone finally buzzed with another text message. I snatched my phone from the mattress and read her most recent text: Answer your goddamn door.
Julia was at my front door.
“Shit.”
I leapt out of bed, and not bothering to put on pants, I scrambled out of my room. My bare feet pounded on the hardwood floor, probably annoying the people who lived beneath me, as I rushed f
rom the back bedroom to the front door.
I took a moment to peer through the peephole, even though I knew who was on the other side. Julia stood outside my apartment door, her mouth curled in disapproval and her arms crossed across her chest. She wore a t-shirt and running capris; her hair was pulled back in a half-ponytail, and her face was scrubbed clean of all makeup—even her signature red lipstick.
I unlocked the multiple locks and let her in.
“Why weren’t you answering your door?” she demanded. She stormed past me and into the apartment. “I’ve been knocking forever.”
I doubted the exaggeration, but I didn’t call her out on it. “I had the TV on in the bedroom,” I explained. “I didn’t hear you.”
I sucked in a sharp breath as I closed the door. My body felt on high alert as I mentally braced myself for an argument.
Julia stood in the front foyer. Her dark eyes scanned the open layout. I knew she saw the water glass on the coffee table with no coaster, my police boots haphazardly discarded in the front hallway, and the dirty dishes from dinner piled in the kitchen sink.
“What brings you to my dilapidated part of city?” I was playing with fire, but I couldn’t help myself.
“You,” she grumbled. “I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn’t because I was just so angry.”
“So you decided to come over and yell at me?” I folded my arms across my chest. “That’s going to help you sleep better?” I could feel my emotional walls rising and fortifying.
Julia shook her head hard. “I’m not angry at you; I’m angry at myself. I’ve been selfish and stubborn. You have every right to expect we spend time in your apartment, too.”
I let my arms drop at my sides. I hadn’t expected that. “I do?”
“Of course you do.”
“But I don’t have air conditioning,” I meekly observed.
“So I’ve noticed.” Julia fanned her face with her hand. “Christ, it’s hot in here.”
Her hand fell to her midsection, and she pulled her oversized t-shirt up and off and dropped it to the floor.
My mouth hung open at the sight of her bare breasts and flat stomach.
She beckoned to me with a curled finger. “Get over here, Detective, and help me with the rest of these clothes before I burn up.”
I quickly eliminated the distance between us. I circled her in my arms and kissed hard against her mouth. Everywhere our bodies touched, her skin felt cool compared to my overheated flesh. She’d traded an air-conditioned apartment for an air-conditioned car to come to my sauna. It seemed too good to be true.
I broke away from the kiss. “I love you,” I told her somewhat breathlessly.
She stroked her hand down the side of my face and her serious gaze penetrated me. “I know you do. And I love you too, darling.”
I resumed kissing her feverishly as if the intensity of my embrace might erase the memory of our childish night. If Julia hadn’t humbled herself and driven across town to see me, who knows how long we would have let our juvenile interaction fester. It reminded me to apologize more. Being in love was better than being right.
Julia let me waltz her back to the couch, the closest piece of furniture for my impatience. She sat on the center cushion while I dropped to my knees before her. I rubbed the backs of her shapely calves and took a moment to admire her half-nakedness while she stared down at me through lightly lidded eyes. The late summer sun had darkened her light olive complexion. The tops of her shoulders had received the most color, a contrast to her creamy, pale breasts.
I moved my hands from the backs of her calves up to her upper thighs. Her long eyelashes fluttered as I applied pressure to her firm thigh muscles. I leaned forward and licked a line from the waistband of her Lycra pants up to the shallow indent of her bellybutton.
I held firm to her squirming hipbones as I dipped my tongue into her bellybutton. She murmured appreciatively when I flicked the tip of my tongue higher still. I stood taller on my knees to press my face between the valley of her breasts and inhaled her spicy scent.
The baseball game continued on in the background. The muffled voices of the TV announcers filtered from the bedroom where the TV was still on. The crowd cheered for the home team, and I couldn’t help feeling like I had my own personal fan section.
Cass-i-dy! Cass-i-dy!
I pressed hot kisses against the flat plane of her sternum and stroked my fingers up the sides of her torso, tickling up her ribcage. The solidness of her core was made even more apparent in contrast to the soft weight of her naked breasts. I palmed each generous breast and paid extra attention to her nipples, hardened by my touch despite the swampy heat of the living room.
Julia reached for the hair band that kept my unruly mane tied back in a ponytail and carefully pulled it free. My hair was longer than it had been in a long time, and the thick blonde waves tumbled past my shoulders to touch the tops of my breasts.
She scraped her short fingernails across my scalp and massaged her fingers against my skull. “Do you make it a habit of answering your door in your underwear?” she posed.
My eyes had shut of their own volition from the scalp massage, but I could hear the dangerous neutrality to her tone. “I knew it was you.”
“But what if I hadn’t been alone?” she countered. “Or what if one of your neighbors had been in the hallway as well?”
“Then I guess they would have gotten a cheap thrill.”
“You know how I feel about that,” she quietly warned.
“I’m teasing, baby.” I peppered kisses across her collarbone. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll answer the door in a snowsuit next time.”
Her response was to grab me firmly by the top straps of my tank top so I had no choice but to join her on the couch or have my shirt ripped to shreds. She palmed my braless chest through my tank top before yanking the shirt off. My swollen breasts and hardened nipples ached for her attention, and she didn’t deny me for long. A firm hand to my chest had me falling back on the couch cushions.
Julia leaned over my body, hand still pressing me into the pillows. She captured a tightened nipple between her lips and sucked. My hands immediately went to the back of her head, my fingers weaving through her dark raven hair.
She released my breast with a noisy pop. Her pink mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Better than over the phone?”
She returned her mouth to my nipple and lightly chewed on the sensitive bud.
“Fuck,” I groaned. The curse vibrated deep in my throat. “So much better.”
With her tongue and teeth still lathing attention on my breasts, she thrust her hand down the front of my cotton underwear and sought out my clit. The tip of her middle finger manipulated me briefly before that digit divided my shaved folds and slid into my wet heat.
I gripped tight to her biceps and cried out, caring little for the notoriously thin walls that separated us from my neighbors. In the beginning of our chaotic coupling, I had once thought Julia Desjardin to be a pillow princess. I’d never been happier to be wrong.
Julia continued to grope my naked breasts with one hand while the other remained buried in my underwear and buried in my overheated sex. The combined heat of the room and what she was doing to my body quickly had me sweating more than ever. My skin became slick with perspiration wherever she touched me. My body was on fire, or at least at risk of spontaneous combustion. What a way to go.
Julia’s mouth sought out my neck. She licked the salty sweat from the side of my throat, and her ragged bursts of breath hit my ear. I matched the movement of my thrusting hips with the fingers pistoning between my thighs. The muscles in my abdomen tensed as I felt the tingling beginnings of an accelerated orgasm.
My heartbeat galloped in my chest, and I swallowed mouthful of humid air. “It might be kind of fun though, don’t you think?”
Julia didn’t have to ask to what I was referring. She dotingly ran her fingers across my sweaty scalp. “I’m still not sexting you, dear.
”
CHAPTER ONE
My feet sank into the loose, arid sand with each begrudging step I took. With my shoes in one hand, the sun-warmed sand scorched the bottoms of my feet. My gait was unsteady and cautious as the ground slipped beneath me. With each new step I imagined having displaced millions of sand granules from their original location. Sand surrounded my ankles like a mouth devouring my flesh, reluctantly relinquishing its bite whenever I elevated my knees.
I halted my march when I spied a plane up above. It was only a commercial jet, yet I shielded my eyes with one hand and watched the airplane slice through the bright blue sky, leaving a trail of white exhaust in its wake.
“Cassidy? Are you coming?”
My gaze returned to the shimmery horizon, and I tightened my grip on the red and white plastic cooler. “Yeah.”
I trained my eyes on the sway of the shapely backside moving in front of me as we picked our way across the crowded Minnesotan beach. The opportunity to see Julia in a bikini was nearly enough to make me forget my aversion to sand. But not quite.
A lot of people like me—separated military personnel susceptible to PTSD flashbacks—avoided the beach. The sand along Minnesotan lakes hardly resembled the dirty moon dust of an Afghanistan desert, but it was familiar enough to have made me hesitate.
Cold Blooded Lover Page 1