Heathcliff broke first. With a cry, he dug his nails into my shoulder. He cock tightened, and I tasted the salt of his orgasm on my tongue. He withdrew, panting, his muscles twitching. His chair groaned as it took his weight.
I turned to Quoth and took him into my mouth. Quoth closed his eyes, his fingers stroking my hair with soft, gentle circles. He made my ministrations feel like a sacred, reverent act.
“Fuck,” he moaned as I pumped him hard.
“You like that, birdie,” Morrie grunted. He slid his hand underneath me, touching the tip of his finger to my clit. The ache inside me burned, sending sparks shooting through my limbs. With each strong, deep thrust, Morrie slid my lips along Quoth’s cock and rubbed my clit with his finger.
So intense. So good. So… oooooooh.
My lips clamped down on Quoth and I moaned around his cock as an orgasm coursed through me. Quoth’s fingers in my hair felt like shafts of heavenly light. Morrie slammed his cock deep inside me, crouching over me and scraping his teeth along my ear. He hummed, enjoying the way my body rocked back against him and the clenching of my muscles around his cock.
Quoth pulled out and shuffled back, his eyes wide. “Mina, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“Sit back on Morrie,” Heathcliff ordered from his chair.
As soon as my legs cooperated, I did as he commanded. Morrie stretched his legs out and I sat on his thighs, lowering myself down onto him and feeling him touch new and exciting places inside me. Morrie gripped my thighs, helping me to raised and lower myself.
Heathcliff tore his shirt off and dropped to his knees, crawling forward and resting his head between my thighs. His beard tickled my sensitive skin as he circled my clit with his tongue. Heathcliff licked me with ragged strokes while I rode Morrie’s cock in a languid rhythm.
Rich, intoxicating sensations rolled through my body. Pressure built up in my belly. I resisted the urge to close my eyes and let the sensations take over, determined to commit every moment of this night to visual memory. Morrie’s fingers circling my nipples, Heathcliff’s back muscles tightening as his head bobbed between my legs.
His tongue, so close to Morrie’s cock…
A second orgasm slammed into me, more powerful than the first – a hurricane whipping through my body, tossing my limbs about, ravaging my veins with liquid lightning. I felt like I was been torn in two by the power of it. The intensity of having the two guys so close, so in sync with each other, almost as if this wasn’t just about me any longer. My legs turned to jelly and I slid off Morrie’s cock, collapsing onto the soft rug.
Rough, strong hands lifted my shoulders. Heathcliff tilted his head and pressed his lips to mine. I could taste myself on his lips. His hand slid down to stroke my clit. My veins still buzzed from the last two orgasms – my body could barely handle the touch. I sank back on Morrie’s cock and pulled Heathcliff’s hand from between my legs, accidentally (not accidentally) placing it on Morrie’s thigh.
Heathcliff’s eyes darkened. Morrie’s breath hitched. I lifted myself and slammed down on Morrie’s cock, and a moan escaped my lips. Lightning forked in the air between us as I surrendered myself to the idea of the two of them, faces inches apart, the gap closing, closing… Heathcliff’s eyes darting between me and Morrie…
“If you’re going to kiss him, just hurry up about it,” I joked.
My words shattered the tension, crackling the lightning against my skin. Heathcliff growled and leaned in, mashing his lips against mine, pouring the full force of his strain into his kiss. Behind me, Morrie’s teeth dug into my shoulder as he came inside me, his body convulsing with waves of pleasure.
Morrie slunk back, panting. For once he was speechless. Heathcliff pulled away too. I turned to Quoth, my beautiful raven boy, always patient, always understanding. I cupped his face in my hands and pulled his lips to mine.
“I don’t know what you’ve done to them,” he murmured. “It’s fascinating.”
“It’s not about them right now,” I whispered. “This moment, right here, is for us.”
I kissed Quoth with everything I had because he was everything to me. He never demanded anything, always putting everyone else before himself. And I wanted him to feel as though he was the one being worshipped for once.
I crawled on top of him, pressing my body to his as my hand snaked down to grip his cock. Quoth moaned against my lips and the sound was hotter and more intoxicating than my favorite screaming punk singer.
A tap on my shoulder jolted me out of my reverie. “Oh, gorgeous?” Morrie held up the lube he’d been saving since the Jane Austen Experience.
I shook my head.
“Think about it, two of us inside you, filling you up, worshipping you the way you deserve…” his gaze flicked to Heathcliff, and I knew he was imagining it all, their cocks so close inside me, practically touching…
And I wanted it too, my body aching for it. But I knew I wasn’t ready. All of this – sharing them – was so new, I needed time to understand what it meant before I let him unleash his full deviant self upon my body.
“I’m not saying no,” I said. “But I am saying, ‘not tonight.’ I’m not ready for that yet.”
Morrie looked like he wanted to argue, like he was ready to lay down a series of convincing expostulations he’d prepared ahead of time. He flicked his eyes to Heathcliff again, and when he flicked back, that moment was gone.
“Can I at least make you come again while Quoth is inside you?” he asked.
“Yeah…” I grinned. “You could do that.”
Morrie lay on the ground and beckoned me to kneel over him. I planted my hands beside his hips, on all fours, facing the blazing fire. With a hand on my lower back, Morrie guided me lower, until I was right over his mouth.
“Get in position, birdie,” he said, his breath against my swollen clit almost sending me into another release. “Tonight, we’re going to make Mina fly.”
Quoth slid inside me, filling me completely. As he drew out and buried himself deeper, Morrie’s tongue swirled around my clit. Each touch placed perfectly, making my veins sing with music. Morrie could play me like an instrument and when he joined with Quoth – it was like a whole fucking symphony playing inside my body.
As Quoth slammed into me, twisting his hips to drive even deeper, Morrie pushed a finger in alongside him.
“Oh!” I cried out.
It took everything I had just to stop my legs giving out beneath me. The idea of two of them inside me like that, it just… it just… by Isissssssssss…
Fire consumed me as I came. My body liquified, and I slid off Morrie and puddled on the rug. Heat rolled over my skin, every sensation mapping on my body and inside me, on my soul.
“That was… amazing,” I breathed. The guys tucked their bodies in around me, forming a nest. Heathcliff pressed his chest to my back. Morrie lifted my head and rested it on his stomach, while Quoth wrapped himself around my legs, his arm draped protectively across my torso. The four of us slotted perfectly together – puzzle pieces that fit.
“I love you guys so much,” I whispered. The truth of it squeezed my heart. “Everything feels less scary when you’re around.”
“You don’t have anything to be afraid of,” Heathcliff growled. His chest rumbled.
“No, not at all,” I said sarcastically. “Only going blind, losing the shop, seeing an innocent woman go to jail, and having to do battle with Count Dracula. Nope, nothing to be afraid of at all.”
“We’ll always protect you,” Quoth said. He glanced at Heathcliff and Morrie. “Won’t we?”
“Always,” Heathcliff added.
Morrie’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything. Up this close, I could pick out his features in the flickering firelight. Even though he smiled, his eyes were a million miles away.
“You’ve already proven that you don’t need us to protect yourself, gorgeous,” he said, averting his gaze. “You’re clever and resourceful and creative and if anyone is going
to find the murderer, save this shop, and thwart a centuries-old vampire, it’s you.”
With Count Dracula on the loose, I needed all three of them by my side. I needed Heathcliff’s rage and Morrie’s cunning and Quoth’s kindness. But Morrie was pulling away. Would he be the first to leave the harem? How on earth would I be able to let him go?
Chapter Twenty-One
“Hurry up, Morrie. It’s just my mum’s stupid fitness patch event. You don’t need to dress up.”
Morrie descended the stairs, his tailored trousers perfectly pressed, his jacket lapels as sharp as knives, and that familiar evil glint shimmering in his eye.
“Sorry, gorgeous.” Morrie ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. “You can’t rush perfection.”
I shoved him towards the door, where Heathcliff and Quoth already waited, both looking equally gorgeous – Heathcliff in dark jeans and a leather motorcycle jacket, Quoth in dress pants and a blood-red shirt that picked up crimson highlights in his hair, which trailed down his back like a river of spun silk. “Get that perfect arse into the car. We’re late. I need to get there before my mother is talked into leasing a yacht.”
“Should we leave a key under the mat for Grimalkin?” Quoth asked as I shrugged my coat on over my latest creation – a black sheath dress that I’d artfully shredded around the waist and hem, and added a cascade of glittering rhinestones. It had been another impossibly quiet day in the shop, so I’d made up the dress while Heathcliff finished Danny’s book, Quoth painted, and Morrie fiddled around with something on his computer. It would have been a wonderful day if it wasn’t for my lingering worry over… everything.
“No. Serves her right for not deigning to show up,” Heathcliff growled. “If she comes home, she can squeeze through the cat door, same as always.”
Quoth looked like he wanted to argue, but of course he didn’t. Honestly, I agreed with Heathcliff. Who drops the kind of bombshell Grimalkin gave us yesterday, then just ups and leaves for a whole twenty-four hours to stalk through the night doing Athena knows what, instead of helping us try and figure out a solution?
A cat, that’s who.
Biting wind hit us as soon as we stepped outside. Heathcliff held me under the protective warmth of his arm as we rushed to the end of the street, where Jo was waiting. She flung the passenger door open and I slid in beside her. The boys piled in back – Quoth in the middle, hunched over as he was hemmed in by broad shoulders on both sides.
“Thanks so much for inviting me out,” she grinned, blasting the heater as she pulled away from the curb. “I wasn’t sure you still liked me after the kitchen incident.”
I shuddered at the memory of it. “I don’t think I can ever use the coffee machine again.”
“Neither.” Jo laughed. “I bought a replacement one. And I promise, no more grinding up body parts. And no more bugs.”
“Can I get that in writing?” What is the world coming to, when I need that particular promise from my flatmate?
A few minutes later, we pulled up at the Argleton community hall. Sure enough, a pristine silver Mercedes was parked across three spaces at the hall entrance. No less than ten Flourish stickers were visible on its surface. My stomach churned at the sight of it. Please, don’t let Mum be in trouble. But I knew my mother too well to have any hope.
I can’t believe the same woman who inspired Helen of Troy could fall for such a ridiculous scam.
Clearly, Mum had converted some people to the wonders of transdermal technology. A small crowd milled around the entrance, many of them wearing silver patches on their arms. I walked inside to a soundtrack of pumping bass. An enormous disco ball in the middle of the room splashed colored light on all the walls, and strobes made my eyes strain and blink. In the center of the room, a life-sized silver statue stood on a dais, holding a giant replica of the patch. I guessed it was supposed to be aspirational and inspire us to hit our health and fitness goals, but the sculptor clearly wasn’t very skilled because it just looked like a mildly frumpy older woman with knobby knees.
We walked over to a table in the corner that was piled high with platters. On closer inspection, there didn’t appear to be any food apart from a box of ninety-nine pence crackers and some processed cheese slices. Instead, the entire table was given over to a range of smoothies and ‘nutrient shots’ artfully arranged in tiny shot glasses on a tiered stand. We each took one. I sniffed mine.
“A unique bouquet of citrus top notes with a robust body of Worcestershire sauce,” I announced, mocking Morrie’s wine tastings. No way in hell was I actually putting this thing in my mouth.
“Guacamole and dandelions over here.” Morrie tossed his glass straight into the bin.
“I’ve got peach and… maybe boot polish?” Quoth took a sip, his face wrinkling. “Yup, definitely boot polish.”
“You’re all a bunch of Nanas. They taste fine to me.” Heathcliff snatched Quoth’s shot from his hand and tipped it down his throat.
“That’s because we haven’t destroyed our tastebuds with five-quid-a-bottle whisky,” Morrie shot back. “You realize they’re not alcoholic?”
Heathcliff immediately set his glass down and reached into his coat for his flask. “Then what’s the point?”
As the boys bickered about the merits of various bottom shelf liquors, I glanced around the room, taking in everything I could see. All this must have cost a fortune … the DJ, the lights, the statue, the ten bottles of mid-range Champagne sitting on the table over there, not to mention that bloody car outside. How is Mum paying for all this? Surely it’s not from selling a couple dozen Flourish patches…
Where is Mum? I glanced around again, expecting to see her talking and laughing with her guests. When she put her mind to it, she really was quite charming and personable. That was why she made such a good tarot reader – she could sense what a person needed to hear at that exact moment and made sure the cards reflected it. If only she’d give up on these get-rich-quick schemes and actually get a real job, saved some money…
The statue in the center of the room wobbled.
Did I imagine that?
Of course I did. It’s the strobe lights playing tricks on my eyes…
No, there it is again. The statue definitely wobbled. And I’m sure it didn’t look like it was scratching its nose before…
Oh no.
Please NO.
That’s not a statue at all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The statue listed heavily to the left. I rushed over and grabbed an arm, steadying it. Warm skin yielded beneath my fingers. Silver paint flaked on the ground and all down the front of my dress as Mum sagged against me.
“Hello, Mina,” she slurred. “I’m so glad you could make it. Did you bring your handsome boyfriend?”
“Morrie’s around here somewhere. Mum, what’s going on? Why are you covered in silver paint? And why do you sound drunk?”
“I’m not drunk! I only drink Flourish smoothies now… oh, except for my celebratory Champagne…” Mum gestured to the table in the corner, but her whole body lurched forward. She slithered to the ground, clutching my legs as if they were the only thing holding her upright. “I was trying to be innovative. Sandy, my mentor, says that you have to stand out from the crowd. She said you have to embody the Flourish brand. So I came up with this idea all on my own. Isn’t it genius?”
“Oh, sure, this is absolutely genius.” I gestured to Heathcliff, who rushed over with a chair, which I folded Mum into. “I think when Sandy said you need to embody the brand she means, you know, eating healthy and exercising, not literally turning yourself into a Flourish mascot…” my stomach churned as Mum’s head lolled to the side. Paint fumes wafted up my nose, and my temples flared with pain. A sickening thought occurred to me. ” Mum, did you check that this paint was safe for use on skin?”
“It came from the hardware store. They wouldn’t sell it if it wasn’t safe!”
Shite. I pressed my fingers through the paint on her cheek
and sniffed the pieces that flaked off. My head reeled from the fumes. “Mum… did you cover yourself in spray paint?”
“I think I need to lie down,” Mum murmured, sliding off the chair.
She’s not groggy because she’s drunk. She’s groggy because she’s been inhaling paint for Hathor knows how long. Keep her awake! I pulled Mum upright and slapped her cheeks. “That shit’s toxic! You’ve just spread toxic paint all over your skin. Your body can’t get oxygen through your pores. No wonder you’re keeling over.” I dragged her up again and started trying to rub the paint off. But it was dry now, stuck to her skin like glue. Behind me, Morrie had his phone to his ear, demanding an ambulance.
“Stop fussing, honey,” Mum murmured. “You’re so stressed out. You need to try the Flourish patch. It will mellow you right out…”
“Out of the way.” Heathcliff elbowed past a gathering crowd, holding an armload of smoothie shots, along with a large flag advertising the DJ’s services. He upended the shot glasses over Mum, dumping sticky smoothies all over her head, shoulders, and arms.
“Stop that, you gypsy heathen!” Mum screeched. Gold paint ran down her skin in shiny rivers. Heathcliff gritted his teeth as he tossed me the banner.
“That heathen might’ve just saved your life.” I rubbed at her now wet skin with the banner, trying to get rid of as much paint as possible. It came off much easier now, rubbing away onto the banner in big silver splotches, mixed with the multi-colored smoothies. The DJ screamed at Heathcliff that he would have to pay to replace the banner. In the distance, the ambulance siren squealed.
“It could have been worse,” Morrie said as he picked up the other end of the banner and rubbed paint off Mum’s back.
“How? How could it be worse?”
“Everyone could suddenly turn into a cat.” Morrie grinned. “Too soon?”
After Mum left in the ambulance, people milled around, unsure of what to do. I’d wanted to go to the hospital with her, but she’d insisted on me staying on to run the party. Not that there was much of a party now. The DJ left in a huff and there was no one to pop the Champagne or give out the mountain of free Flourish patches and smoothie mixes.
Memoirs of a Garroter (Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries Book 4) Page 13