by Sandra Hill
“I’m damn sure gonna try.”
“It could be messy.”
“I hope so.”
“Do not think that we would take a shower together to wash it off and then have sex in front of the mirror again.”
“Oh, yeah, go ahead. Give me ideas.”
“And there will definitely be no cunning-tingles.”
Cunnilingus? Chocolate cunnilingus? Have mercy! The ideas you plant in my . . . head! “Hilda, Hilda, Hilda. You are going to be the death of me yet.”
“Nay, naught of which you speak will happen, because there will be no touching.” That is what she said, but what she thought was, I wonder if I have a taste for chocolate, too.
Aliens and chocolate and Victoria’s Secret, oh, my! . . .
All of Torolf ’s grand plans for seducing Hilda came to a screeching halt when they got back to the trailer.
He had just unlocked the door and stepped inside behind Hilda, when his cell phone rang. It was Slick.
At first, his brain didn’t comprehend what Slick was saying, because Hilda was on the other side of the small room, which was ungodly hot, having been closed up while they were gone. She was taking off the white shirt, giving him his first full-blown view of the black bustier. He already knew she had pretty breasts. This wisp of male testosterone torture announced it to the world by pushing them up into a real-live cleavage. Who knew? Good thing she hadn’t taken off the shirt at the birthday bash. He would have had to beat guys away with a stick.
“Are you listening?” Slick asked with exasperation.
“Huh?”
“Is Hilda there with you? Am I interrupting something? Not that I care a rat’s ass. But I can tell your mind is elsewhere.”
Yeah, like smack-dab in the middle of bare skin and chocolate paint. “What’s the deal? Make it quick.”
Slick chuckled. “Turn on your laptop and look at the downloads I’m sending. Do it now while I’m still on the line.”
He put his hand over the phone and told Hilda, “Give me a sec, hon. I need to check something out for Slick.”
She nodded and turned to go down the hall.
“Don’t get naked, though. I want to do that for you.”
“No touching,” she answered without turning back.
Was she kidding or just teasing? Either way, there was hot-damn sure gonna be touching. He could guarantee that.
Once he had the laptop booted up and Slick’s e-mail opened, he downloaded the first of the files. It was a picture of a middle-aged man, probably late forties with red hair and a receding hairline, which he had combed over. “I’ve got it.”
“That’s Richard Phillips, a lab technician at Holy Cross Hospital in Malibu. Get this. He’s taken a two-week vacation.”
Torolf didn’t need to be told what that meant. “The jerk is out to get Hilda.”
“Yep. Is Hilda an alien?”
“Good Lord! No. Do you believe in aliens?”
“Just thought I’d ask. Something is strange about her.”
“I’ll tell you later. You won’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“Is Phillips dangerous?”
“He has a license to carry.”
“Is he operating alone?”
“So far, I think he is, under the center’s direction, I suppose. The PI I hired thinks these people at the National Center for Alien Research are more than wackos. They believe that the world is on the fast track to self-annihilation, and the answer to saving it lies with alien nations. They also claim to have met aliens in the past, some of whom have taken earthlings captive. But this will be the first alien in captivity that they can study. And I mean, study . . . like dissection, autopsy, and a whole lot of other unsavory crap.
“The other files I’ve sent are in the attachment . . . mostly stuff about the center and its chairman, a real dingbat . . . except he’s a dingbat with a Ph.D. Read them over, then let me know what you want me to do as a follow-up.”
“Oh, man! This guy’s timing really stinks.”
“About to get lucky, are you, Max?” Slick guessed.
“Real lucky.”
“I heard about the chocolate body paint.”
“Damn! Are there any secrets in this team?”
“Hey, some of us live vicariously.”
“Yeah, right. What I meant about timing is our team going rough and ready. We’ll be boots down in Iraq the week after next. I figure minimum two weeks for this rotation.”
“Yep.”
“I’m not sure she’s safe here anymore.”
“I don’t know of another soul in the world who’s heard of Hog Heaven.” Slick was laughing on the other end of the phone.
“I suppose. But all I’ve got for protection here is a fifty-year-old biker who does body piercings. Maybe I should hire a few bodyguards.”
“You better do it quick. You’ve only got twenty-four hours or so before you head back here.”
“Maybe Spike knows someone. Hey, thanks, Slick. You’ve been a big help.”
“No problem.”
Torolf felt a headache starting at the back of his neck. His life was becoming a royal goat fuck. And now he had to give Hilda the bad news. “Hilda,” he yelled to her in her bedroom.
“What?” she said, scaring the hell out of him. She was standing only a few feet behind him, frowning as she listened to his half of the phone conversation.
And she was licking a finger that she had just dipped in the chocolate body paint.
Hoo-yah!
How do you feel about bondage, baby? . . .
“What is amiss?”
Torolf was staring at her finger as if it were some miraculous object, but that was not why she asked her question. He was worried about something, something Slick had told him on the talking box.
“I need to go find Spike.”
After all his talk of seduction, he was going to leave her. To talk with Spike. Not that she wanted a seduction or that she would have succumbed. But still . . . she was surprised. “Spike? Whatever for? He is no doubt still back at Fire Hall.”
“Something has come up. Slick has been checking up on that Phillips character. He’s looking for you, all right, and I’ve gotta see if Spike knows some men who can stay here with you.”
“You would have men stay in this metal box with me? I do not think so!”
“I can’t go away for two weeks or more and just leave you here. Do this for me, if not for yourself.”
“Nay!”
“Don’t force me to make you obey.”
“Obey? No man forces me to obey, you loathsome lout.”
“It was a poor choice of words. Come here, honey.” He motioned with the fingers of both hands for her to come to him.
“Dost think you can order me to live with bodyguards and then waggle your fingers, and I will jump into your arms?”
He laughed. The man had the nerve to laugh at her. “The genie is out of the bottle, honey. No putting it back now.”
“What does that mean?”
“When you bought that chocolate it was tantamount to rubbing my lamp.”
“What lamp? . . . Oh, you are so crude,” she said, spinning on her feet, about to walk away from him.
He grabbed her from behind. “Uh-uh, you’re not walking away from me.”
“Go! You said you had to go find Spike. Do so, now.” Hilda was the one doing the ordering now.
“I’ve decided that I can wait till morning.” He was holding her around the waist and nuzzling her bare shoulder, something she could not let him do, lest she fall under his spell . . . again. She shrugged herself out of his arms and stepped backward. Shaking a forefinger, she said, “Let us understand each other. You are leaving for some battle, I suspect. I will be going back to the Norselands. There is no life for us together. So, you will respect my wishes when I say, ‘No touching.’”
“What about love?” He advanced on her.
She backed away. “Love has naught to do wit
h it.”
“Oh, I think it does.”
“Stop it! Stop it right now!” She slapped at his hands, which attempted to touch her on first one spot, then another on her body. He was teasing, but she was not.
Before she could say “Stop it!” one more time, he lifted her over his shoulder, walked back and picked up the chocolate, and then went into the bathing chamber. She pounded his back the entire time and called him the vilest names she could think of.
He put her in the tub and stepped in after her, pressing her against the tile wall to prevent her escape. Then, putting one foot on the side of the tub, he lifted the edge of his braies and pulled out a knife from its sheath on his calf. While she was gaping at the knife, he pressed it to the top of her busty-air and cut the knot of the laces.
“Noooooo!” she screeched as he pulled the laces out in one long strand. He then used the lace to tie her hands over her head to the showering hose. She had to stand on her tiptoes and clutch the pipe, lest she fall. Breathing in and out to calm herself down, she forced herself to stop struggling, realizing it would be useless to fight his greater strength. “You would take me against my will?”
“Never,” he said, kissing her softly on her lips, even as she twisted her head, trying to evade his mouth. “I love you, and I’m about to show you how much.”
She let loose with another stream of expletives.
“If you don’t shut up, honey, I’m going to have to gag you.” He stopped in the process of removing her shoes and tight braies. And he smiled . . . an evil grin. “Hmmmm. That gives me an idea.”
He took off her braies, though not without difficulty and some expletives on his part. He left her with only the busty-air, which was gaping open, and the pant-hees. While she watched, warily, he stepped out of the tub, took off every item of his own clothing, then searched in the parchment bag she’d brought from the shopping mall. Inside, he found a pair of knee-high sheer hose, which was worn under braies or long gunnas.
With one of them, he did in fact gag her mouth. She continued to hurl nasty names at him, but they were muffled now. Then he used the other stocking to blindfold her.
She whimpered, frightened now.
“Don’t be scared, sweetie. It’s just a game. A game, I promise, you are going to like.”
Hnefatafl is a game. Dicing is a game. This . . . is . . . not . . . a . . . ooooooh! She felt cool air on her skin as he peeled the busty-air off of her.
There was silence then. What was he doing?
“I’m just looking at you, Hilda. You are so beautiful.”
I am not beautiful, you fool.
“I know you think you’re not, but you are, believe me. I want to imprint this image in my head for when you’re no longer here, or when I’m no longer here. Well, enough looking. Sorry to take these off, but I don’t want to get them dirty. I don’t suppose they’re edible . . . No, I see they’re not.”
Edible pant-hees? He really is daft.
She heard water running then.
“I’m warming the chocolate in hot water,” he told her. “Don’t want to jolt you with a cold paintbrush.”
She sensed when he stood before her again. “Ready?”
She shook her head.
He paid no heed.
Then began the most horrible wonderful torture she could have ever imagined. He painted her breasts, taking special care to flick the bristles back and forth over her nipples, which were no doubt standing out like traitorous pebbles. He painted a line from her breasts over her belly, into her navel, and down to her nether hair. Then he painted from the inside of one ankle up her calf and knee and thigh. Then repeated the process. The whole time, all she heard was his heavy breathing.
“Now, what have I missed? Ah, yes, here.”
Before she could imagine what he would do next, he inserted the brush between her legs and ran it along the channel. She could swear he was kneeling now. Yes, he was, she realized with a gasp as he parted her female folds with one hand and brushed that special nub of ecstasy that he had shown her before. He repeated the process in that place over and over till her belly tightened, her legs went rigid, and she bucked against the brush’s handle till the tautness exploded within her in ever increasing and then decreasing spirals of pleasure. He had to hear her keening behind the gag as well as witness her coming apart, up close as he was.
“I hope that was as good for you as it was for me, babe,” he murmured in a raw voice.
Outraged, she flailed from side to side as best she could without the use of her arms. “Let me go!” she screamed behind the gag. Even though the words were indecipherable, he had to know what she was saying.
“No, sweetheart, we are not going to stop. We’ve barely begun. Time for dessert.”
He licked and licked and sucked the chocolate off of her then, making appreciative noises, holding her in place when she squirmed away. By the time he had consumed all of her, except for her female place, he said, “Now, my dear, for the best part. I am going to eat you.”
What in bloody hell have you been doing so far, if not eating me?
She soon found out.
Kneeling down, he put her legs over his shoulders so she had no support other than clinging with her hands to the pipe, and then he proceeded to minister to her there. For a long, long time. She lost count of the number of times he made her come to climax. She lost count of who she was and where she was and how much she had resisted him doing this to her. When he finally released her legs and entered her, she participated fully and willingly in the rhythm of lovemaking.
And he was the one who cried out his pleasure in the end.
Chapter 21
When tables get turned . . .
Torolf turned on the shower, holding a limp Hilda in his arms. As the hot water hit them, he released her restraint and the gag. She immediately came to life, kicking and screaming.
He held her tightly in his arms for a long time, till the water turned lukewarm and all the fight seeped out of her. Then he gently washed her body and shampooed her hair.
“We’ll talk later,” he told her, gently putting her in his bed. “I need to go find Spike.”
She said nothing, just stared up at him accusingly with those big blue eyes of hers. When he attempted to kiss her, she turned her face to the side.
So that’s the way we’re playing it. Forget how much fun you had. Pretend you didn’t like it. “I’ll be right back.”
Before he put on his clothes and left the room, she was sound asleep. And he’d forgotten to tell her that he loved her. Big mistake, that. Well, I’ll make it up later.
He found Spike and Serenity at the fire hall, paying the caterers and the band. Everyone else had left.
“Hey, Max, thanks for the cigars. Serenity is even gonna let me smoke one in bed tonight.”
“Hah! Dream on, mister. You be sleepin’ alone, if you do.”
“Okay, sweetie,” he said quickly and winked at Torolf. The gag gift that Serenity had given him was two X-rated movies, which she’d promised to watch with him as a birthday present. Biker Babes and Hot Rods. Spike said he wasn’t giving that up for a friggin’ cigar.
As Serenity went off to talk to the cleaning crew, Spike took the last two glasses of beer from the keg and walked over to a table, motioning for Torolf to sit down. “What’s up, son?”
“It’s Hilda. I can’t explain all the details, but there’s a danger. I need to find two bodyguards. Reliable men who can be with her at all times till I get back.”
Spike raised his eyebrows. “And Hilda agrees with this?”
“Not exactly, but it’s got to be done. There’s this organization in D.C., the National Center for Alien Research, that thinks she’s an alien. They intend to abduct her and take her to some lab for study.”
“You mean dissection and stuff like that.”
Torolf nodded.
“Holy crap! Why would they think she’s an alien? . . . Oh, never mind. Yeah, I can make a few phone calls
when I get home. When do you need them?”
“Tomorrow night. I’ve gotta be back on the base by six a.m. Monday, and I’ll be gone at least two weeks. I wouldn’t ask this of you if it weren’t important. Focus is critical on a live op, and I can’t focus if I’m worried about her.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll give you a picture of the guy in question before I leave.”
“Gotcha.” Spike emptied his glass and set it down. “Care for the girl, do ya?”
He nodded.
“Love?”
He nodded.
“And her . . . does she love you?”
He pictured how angry she was when he’d left and hesitated. But then he said, “Yes.”
“Are we talkin’ wedding bells here, my boy?”
“No. It’s too complicated to explain now, but Hilda will be leaving here in a few weeks.”
“Don’t tell me she’s already married.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Well, hell, boy, go after her then. Make her stay.”
Torolf didn’t know about that, but he thought about it as he made his way back to the trailer. So much had happened to him in the course of this day. So many discoveries about his feelings and hers, as well.
Do I want her to stay? If she stays, it will mean commitment . . . probably marriage. Oh, boy! Maybe this is just lust overload. Maybe it will pass.
When he got back to the trailer and locked the door, he turned the lights out and made his way to his bedroom, where Hilda was still sleeping soundly. He took off his clothes and crawled in beside her. For a second, he thought about waking her for another bout of lovemaking. His you know what was certainly willing. But he decided to let her rest.
In the middle of the night, he dreamed he was in the middle of the desert, and it had begun to rain. One drop at a time. But then he realized the drops were only hitting one part of his body . . . his cock. His eyes shot open to see Hilda standing at the side of the bed, wearing a sheer red-and-black negligee, with her holding a tipped spoon of chocolate dripping onto him.
He grinned. “So, you plannin’ on lickin’ that off, sweetheart?”