Bite my fire, p.23
Bite My Fire, page 23
“Didn’t Gretchen explain it to you? We don’t suck people dead. We take transfusions. Think hemophiliacs.”
His mouth moved past my neck, surprising me. He crawled down my body until he landed on the small strip of exposed skin between my sleep shorts and tee. Somehow my shorts loosened and lowered on my hips. His tongue found my navel, licked it delicately.
“Someone sucked Schrimpf dry,” I gasped.
“Rogues.” His breath heated my belly. “The bad guys. I’m one of the good guys.”
I pushed against his head. My fingers threaded through his thick blond hair. His neck was incredibly strong. I couldn’t budge him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Good guys, bad guys. You’re all vampires!” I couldn’t believe I said the v-word.
Something sharp ran lightly across my belly. “And you and Jeffrey Dahmer are both humans. Does that make you a serial killer?” Fingers gently tugged off my shorts.
The sense of his words came through a haze of delight. His lips pressed warm kisses against my mound. I moaned. “But humans are not soulless…soulless…”
“What makes a monster, Detective?” His tongue dipped into the crevice of my pussy, tangled in pubic hair. Dug around, trying to get past the mass of curls. I pushed my hips into his face, made a frantic note to myself to shave down there.
Bo raised his head and grinned at me. Two long, elegant fangs glinted between the curve of lips.
A scream rose in my throat.
Before it emerged, he used one fang to untangle my curls. That sharp canine parted hair as easily as a comb. Bo’s tongue dipped back into my crevice, quickly finding the hood of my clit.
My scream melted into a warm sigh. “Monster…bad.”
“Really?” he said between licks. “Like this?” With incredible agility, he kept his tongue moving and shifted his hips up to my face. I was confronted with his Viking Horn of Plenty. And oh, boy, it was a quadruple-scoop.
“Monster…good.” I took that long, smooth cock into my mouth.
“Let me show you how good.”
Chapter Twenty
After two hard orgasms took the edge off, Bo got creative. Foreplay squared, and squared again. Sixty-fourplay. He started by tongue-fucking every hole I had and it just got steamier from there.
“You know, tonight’s Friday.” He somehow managed to speak from the depths of my thighs.
“Uh,” I said eloquently.
“Isn’t that your free night?”
“Uh,” I agreed.
“So you’re not really playing hooky.” He shifted up my body. His Viking flagship trailed along my thigh.
“Uh.”
“I am. Playing hooky, that is.” He nibbled the outside of my breast while fitting himself to my vulva. “I should be patrolling tonight.” His fangs scraped the skin of my breast, making me shudder. “Hell, the way rogues have been attacking this week, all of us should patrol every night.”
“Nuh. Uh.” That wasn’t fair. Even a rookie detective got one night off a week.
“Maybe it’s not fair,” he said, as if he’d understood me. “But it’s needed. Now more than ever.” He paused, his throbbing erection inside me.
“Huhhhh.” Which, roughly translated, meant enough talk. Soul-baring later. Pummeling now. I arched under him.
“I tried to patrol. I’ve been responsible for this city for decades. And up until tonight, I’ve done my job, no matter how, no matter what.”
Overly responsible was my gig. I arched more desperately. It levered his cock against my slit, felt like getting whacked in the crotch with a hot teeter-totter. “Oooh.”
“I should be out there.” How could he still speak? “But your smell, Elena. It haunts me.” He looked down at me, his eyes the blue of a stormy northern sea. “Your taste. Your feel.” He rotated his hips. “You fit me like you were made for me. I want to thrust into you and never stop. I want to spend the rest of eternity inside you.”
Well, finally. I clutched his shoulders and jacked up my hips.
“I take it that’s a yes?” He drove into me.
“Uhhhh.” My eyes rolled back in my head.
“Even now, I worry.” Sweet mother, he was still talking. “There’s something going on. Too many rogues lately. I should be out there. Protecting people.” He began to thrust, regular, strong.
He needed to protect. To protect and serve, just like me.
“You understand, don’t you? Ah, Elena. I’ve been dying to talk but who else would understand? You’re so perfect.”
If I were perfect, wouldn’t I have bigger tits? Would I have this awful hair? Just love me, I said, only it came out “Grizzle vemmy.” English was apparently no longer my native language.
“It’s getting hard.” It sure is, I thought. He drove into me, over and over. “It’s getting hard to fight the rogues, but still keep our nature hidden. Sweetheart. You’re a refuge, you know that? With you, I feel capable. Powerful.”
“Yuhshur!” You sure are. Two orgasms already and past the checkered flag to a third.
He began thrusting double-time and I turned the corner for the finish line. Oh, damn. I could see the tape. I stretched for it—
The bedside phone rang. Bo’s head turned.
Not now! He couldn’t stop now. “Noo! Dnn stipp!”
“I thought it was your night off.” Thankfully, Bo didn’t stipp. He didn’t even miss a beat. “Who would be calling you?”
“Grnng zzz!” I replied. I was sooooo close to the big O.
No problem. Bo did translations. “Yes, Bo, it is my night off,” he said through steady thrusting. “But I, Detective Elena O’Rourke, am a consummate professional. I need to answer the phone anyway.”
“Fffk nnnooo.”
“Fffk? That’s a new one.” Hips still grinding firmly, Bo leaned over and picked up the handset, glanced at the caller ID display. “Expecting a Dirk Ruffles?”
“Shfhft,” I complained, grabbing onto his buttocks with both hands. The man—er, vampire—had an incredible ass. I felt myself coming just from touching gluteus heaven.
“Uh-uh, not yet.” Bo altered his rhythm, just enough to keep my oh-oh-O out of reach. He shifted his angle, thrusting down. I actually started building higher.
Bo pressed “on” with his thumb. “Hello? Yes, this is Detective O’Rourke’s home. May I say who’s calling?” Still thrusting, he held the phone to his chest. It nearly disappeared between the two huge slabs of pectoral. “It’s ‘Detective Dirk’.”
I concentrated on speaking as clearly as I was able. “I’m—ohh…not—ohh…home—ohh.” Each word was punctuated by a powerful thrust which sent spasms flitting through my groin and accounted for the ohhs.
“Sure you’re home. I know you now, sweetheart. You’d blame yourself if you missed something important.” Bo put one hand flat on the mattress next to my head, used the other to prop the phone next to my ear. He began riding me with a wave-like motion, swiping my clit with the whole length of his cock on each stroke.
I yodeled into the phone.
“Detective Ma’am?” Dirk’s muddy rasp was tentative. “Are you…okay?”
“Fi-eye-ne,” I bleated on an especially potent downstroke. Bo grinned. “Fine,” I panted. “I’m fine. A-number-one fucking fine.”
“Oh, good. Because I have a question about the case.”
“Ruffles, I’m off the case—hey!” Bo’s tongue was now flicking my erect nipple in time to his thrusts. I turned my head from the phone. Stop that, I mouthed at him.
No, he mouthed back, lips reattaching quickly to my nipple.
I shrieked.
“Detective Ma’am? Is there a problem?”
Hell, yes, there was a problem. But not one that I cared to explain over the phone. Even if I could. “Look, Dirk…could you call back later?” I can say this for Strongwell—he had great rhythm.
“It’s something quick, Detective Ma’am. And I really feel your input is important. It’s about Josephine Schrimpf.”
“What about her?”
“It’s about the plane reservations.”
“Ohhh, I’m com…shit…” Bo the mad drummer changed rhythm again. Now he was banging on my cymbal at the same time that he was paradiddling my tom-tom, if you know what I mean. “Wasn’t she on the plane?”
“No, Detective Ma’am. I mean yes. She was on the plane, along with a Maria Martinez.”
“The maid? Oh, shit…”
“Exactly,” Dirk said, as if I’d made some brilliant comment. In actuality, Bo had just latched onto my other nipple. “I knew you were really smart, Detective Ma’am, even though you’re a girl. You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“I knew what all alonngghh!”
“That Maria Martinez is Josephine Schrimpf’s lover. That the maid bit is just a pose. That they both went to the conference to carry on their affair.”
“And alibi each other,” I wept.
“Yes, ma’am. I have return flights for Maria on the afternoon of the eighteenth and Josephine on evening of the nineteenth, both well after the murder. It looks like our best lead is out.”
“Oh…oh…oh shit!” Bo thrust cock and fangs into me. Caught like a butterfly between two electric cattle prods, I zapped into cinders.
I came to with Dirkenstein’s voice in my ear. “Exactly, Detective Ma’am. Shitake mushrooms.”
…
Bo disappeared to patrol at nine. Just as well, because after two monster sex sessions in less than twenty-four hours, I was a little sore.
And stiff. I stumbled into the shower. My brain suggested all sorts of cute analogies with vampires and stiffs—or just stiffies—but I ducked my head under the hot water and ignored it.
Finally I felt alive enough to turn off the shower and towel dry. My hair and I fought for half an hour before it won. I settled for pulling it back and twisting it into a claw-of-death clip. “Here’s a good omen for the night,” I said to my mirror twin. She didn’t look any better than I felt.
In my bedroom I pulled open my underwear drawer. It went flying across the room.
Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten to do laundry. But there were a lot of layers to go through before I was absolutely out. Level one was good underwear. Level two was stuff with a little wear. Level three was emergency underwear. Level four was really-emergency underwear.
Level five was Stuff I Wouldn’t Be Caught Dead In.
A lot of layers. I usually did my laundry well before I got to the emergency stage. But my life had been frenetic of late. The drawer was almost empty.
Completely empty would have been better.
I pulled out my only remaining bra and panties. Stared at them like you did an accident—both horrified and fascinated.
One bra, so stretched and ratty my left tit fell out. One pair of bikini briefs that my sister gave me as a gag. The crotch was emblazoned with the picture of a billy club. A pair of handcuffs balanced on the ass, one cuff on each cheek. Front and back were emblazoned with the words “Cop a Feel”. Cop, get it? Yeah, Stuff I Wouldn’t Be Caught Dead In.
Which only meant I would have to make sure I didn’t die.
Day-old jeans went on over the panties. Whew. One disaster covered. I paired the jeans with a shirt I’d been meaning to give to charity for ten years. It was a scoop neck knit in an appalling shade of pink that was way too small.
My left tit fell out. The shirt’s low-cut neck made it easy to put back. Lord save me from advantages like that.
In this ego-building ensemble I hit the street. People stared as I passed. Goofy grins popped onto their faces. I growled at them, but the little pink girly top ensured no one took me seriously. I would have killed for a really sexy black leather coat that swirled threateningly around my ankles. That would have gotten respect. Trinity got respect.
Making do, I pumped confidence into my stride—and turned my gun belt, pulling the gun right over my belly button. It didn’t stop the staring, but it did go a long way to suppressing the goofy grins.
I was headed for Nieman’s Bar, following up on a hunch. My night off, and not my case, but I needed to solve the murder. Even if my pride weren’t involved, there was my sense of justice. And I had a feeling Dirk would need my help. Sweet guy, but a bullet or two shy of a clip. A detective only if you subbed an f for the first t.
As I waited at Fifth and Main to cross the street, a shadow swooped out of nowhere, wearing a sexy black leather coat that swirled threateningly around his ankles.
“Aw, I’d kill for one of those coats.” I holstered my XD.
Bo’s delicious lips turned up. “Would you like to earn it, Detective?” The twinkle in his eye left no doubt in my mind how he wanted me to do the earning.
“I don’t want the pressure to perform.” The light turned and I stepped into the crosswalk.
“Ten at night and you obey traffic laws? Nice top, by the way. I think one of your breasts is waving at me.”
“Oops.” Left one had come loose again. I stopped mid-crosswalk, tucked it into place. “I obey all the laws. Have to set a good example.”
“But there’s no one around to set an example for.”
“There’s you.” I arched a brow at him. “Evil creatures of the night can always use a role model.”
Bo looked interested. “A good role model, or a bad one? Are you offering to lead me astray, Detective?”
I pulled him to the opposite side. “Nice try, Viking.”
That made him laugh. “Viking. How fitting.”
“Hopefully not in the ugly evil-rape-and-pillage sense.”
“Vikings were family men too.”
Well, wasn’t that an opening? At Nieman’s door I turned. “Did you really help a kid with her history homework?”
“Reenie? How did you hear about that?”
“You should know. You’re the one who sent Gretchen to me.”
He smiled. The dimple winked. Ow. “Reenie hates history. Poor kid needed an A+ on her final project just to pass the class. I simply helped the subject come alive for her.”
“That was nice. They’re just people in your building. Just, um, donors.”
Bo cupped my chin in one hand, raised my face to his. His eyes were serious. “Those people are not just donors, Elena. They’re my family. I do everything in my power to make their lives better, happier.”
Father material? How about husband materi…no. Not going there. Not going… Bo’s smiled widened. I drowned between the Dimple and the Deep Blue Sea.
I was going under for the third time when his smile darkened to a frown. Whew. He seemed to notice for the first time where we were. “What are we doing at Nieman’s?”
“Following up on a hunch. I’ll explain inside.” I pushed the door open, let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. “Drusilla was in Nieman’s parking lot that night.”
Bo was right behind me, scanning the place. Apparently his eyes didn’t need adjusting. Which I suppose made sense for a possibly evil but definitely hunky creature of the night. “Dru didn’t do it.”
“The problem is, if she didn’t do it—and I’m not writing her off just because you, my sister, and my supervisor say so—but if Dru didn’t do it, there aren’t a lot of suspects left. Maybe an opportunistic killer.”
“Opportunistic?”
“Yeah. Cop lingo for the killer was nearby and saw his opening and went for it.”
“Someone in the parking lot.”
“Or someone in the bar who just left at the right time. That’s why I want to find out who was here the night Schrimpf was killed.”
Bo took my elbow, guided me over to the rail. “You say ‘he’. Wouldn’t bites on the testicles indicate female?”
“The biter and killer aren’t necessarily the same person.” My vision finally cleared to Granny Butt’s scrawny semi-naked ass wiggling on top of the bar. I dug fists into my eyes. Nope. Still able to see, in excruciating, living color. “And we know at least one male bit Schrimpf.”
“Really? How?”
I focused on Bo, and only on him. “The ME tested the wound area. Found saliva residue.”
“Ah. Spit.” His eyes were also locked on mine. Which meant one of three things. He found me fascinating. He found what I was saying was fascinating.
Or he was just as scared by the half-naked old ass on the bar. “How does spit indicate a male?”
“DNA. But the results are confusing.” A silver orthopedic loafer planted next to my elbow. I shuddered, eeled away, but not far enough. A thigh-high landed on my shoulder. Oh, fuck me. Though I wasn’t on duty, I was a cop and I was carrying and regulations said nothing stronger than soda. But when the bartender came, I laid a five on the bar. “MGD. With a shot of tequila.”
The bartender was a silver-haired gent who reminded me strikingly of Jeeves Butler. While I ordered he pitched a couple glasses down the bar, hitting open hands like sinking billiard balls. “One boilermaker, right. I have a party of ten, it’ll take just a bit. Anything for you, Mast…Mister Strongwell?”
“A Red Special, Buddy.” Bo slid another bill under my five.
I turned on Bo in surprise. “Buddy? You know the bartender?”
“Yes. Buddy Butler.” Bo flashed me a short twinkle of dimple. “Daniel Butler’s twin brother. Apartment Three-B.”
“Both of them live with you?”
“Yes. I was instrumental in rescuing the whole Butler family a few years back.”
“The whole family like Mom, Dad, Buddy, Jeeves and the Beaver? That would be more than a few years back.”
“Whole family as in colonial ancestors Nathaniel and Martha Butler. And a few years back as in three hundred.” At my wince Bo patted my cheek. “You’ll get used to it. But back to what you were saying. Why are the DNA results confusing?”
I shook my head. I’d get used to it? Bo saved a family centuries ago and their descendants were living with him. He was old. He could have known my parents. Could have known my grandparents. Shit, my boyfriend could have known my great-grandparents…my mind boggled. Not at the age, so much as the boyfriend. Lover, maybe. But boyfriend? What would that article be? “When Vamping Your Vampire’s Not Enough: Make Bo Your Beau”? Leaping Luminol, maybe I was the one a few bullets shy of a clip.
