Edge of Midnight (13 page)

He cupped her chin, tugged it around. “Don’t hide from me.” It came out like one of those caveman commands that bugged her, but she was too limp to complain. He draped himself over her, shoving the robe up so he could lick the sweat off her graceful back. A TV chattered downstairs. White noise, to screen the sounds of sex. If they were lucky.

She made a small movement, as if trying to get some more air into her lungs, and cleared her throat. “You still haven’t come.”

“Nope. I could have, but I was hoping for one more go at you.”

Her eyes flicked back to him. “God, Sean. You are insatiable.”

“Are you going to have mercy on me?” he asked. “Or are you going to send me home with blue balls as a punishment for my insolence?”

“Quit with the snide remarks. You’re tempting me to do just that. One more sarcastic crack, and I’ll…oh…my God…”

He dragged his cock slowly out of her, then bent down and slid his tongue hungrily up and down the length of her hot, juicy slit. Yum.

She gasped, stiffened. “What are you—God, Sean, stop that!”

“Don’t punish me,” he pleaded. “Cruel princess. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t leave me hanging. Your divine majesty, I beg—”

“Shut up!” She wiggled away.

He grinned at her. Her eyes were glowing, and he could tell with his goof radar that she was trying not to laugh. Always a good sign.

“So?” he asked softly.

Her eyes slid away, cheeks red. “How do you want to do it?”

“You decide. From behind, on your hands and knees. Up against the wall. Ride me like a wild bull at the rodeo. Anything. Lady’s choice.”

“I’m too wobbly kneed to do anything acrobatic,” she said shyly.

He offered her a hand. “So lie back on the bed,” he suggested.

She let him tug her to her feet. “It’s not too boring?”

He laughed at the worried tone in her voice. “I have never been so far from bored in my life,” he told her, with total sincerity.

Liv sat down on the bed, looking uncertain.

“Sit right at the edge,” he told her. “I want to stand up for this.”

She nodded, scooting closer, and he pushed her down against the mountainous heap of pillows. She hesitated for a moment. He waited for her body’s invitation. She closed her eyes, biting that soft red lower lip.

They both sighed as she gracefully opened her legs for him.

It started slow. Silent and fraught with meaning, like a ceremony. She was so beautiful, curvy and starry-eyed. Glowing like a pink South Sea pearl against the lacy pillows. He pushed her knees wider, staring at her dark ringlets, the vibrant colors of her sexy secret flesh. “Open your pussy lips.” His voice was hoarse, his mouth dry with excitement.

She put her hands to herself, and parted her labia. A helpless sound vibrated through his body as he pressed the tip of his cock to her slippery folds, nudging inside. “Are you sore?” he asked, though it would kill him if she changed her mind. “Do I have to go easy?”

“Ah…yes and no,” she said.

He froze. “Huh? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means yes, I’m sore,” she hissed. “And no. Don’t go easy.”

He took her at her word, sliding home with one deep, heavy lunge.

Ah. Yes. She took every thick inch of him, which almost never happened, and it felt so good. His whole length hugged and caressed by that snug, super-deluxe sheath, licked and squeezed and loved.

She grabbed his waist, yanked him deeper, and off he went again, like an animal in rut. No care for her pleasure, no calibrating the stroke to get at her hot spots. Just a wild, frenzied plunge and glide.

He pounded into her. The bed rattled and shook. Her soft tits jiggled with each slamming thrust. His refined sexual technique was reduced to vapor and steam. He was a fucking raw nerve.

A fist squeezed his throat, clamped his heart, but it was swelling, too big to be contained. Everything was bursting, flying apart. He saw Kev’s face as he floated back. Smiling, like something was funny.

But it fucking never was.

Liv’s arms were looped around his back. Soft hands petting him.

The princess, soothing her lusty love slave after he serviced her. An approving pat pat pat on his sweaty, heaving shoulders. Excellent fucking. Good boy. Off you go, back to the stable. Ta ta. Be good.

This could reduce him to a begging, pleading dick-for-brains who deserved no better than to get stomped to pulp beneath her feet.

He forced his throat to stop shaking. Pulled out, turned away without looking at her. He could hear her rustling around as he fished the bag out of the trash and pried it open to dispose of his condom.

“Sean? Are you, ah, OK?” Her voice was whispery soft.

He shrugged. “I’m great,” he said thickly. “You’re a fabulous lay, princess.” He escaped into her bathroom, and splashed water into his hot, staring eyes until the inconvenient, embarrassing tears eased off.

He braced himself before going out into her bedroom. Pulled on his jeans, careful not to look at her. Strapped on the knife, the gun. Put on his shoes, his shirt, without a word or a glance. She stood silently, swathed tightly in her robe. “Sean?” Her voice had gotten even smaller.

He ignored her as he grabbed her cell phone off the dresser.

“What are you doing with that?” she asked.

“Programming my number into it,” he said. “If you get the whim, just text me with a time and place. I’ll be there. At the ready.”

“Why are you being so cold?” she whispered.

He glanced at her, frowning. “What, wasn’t the sex hot enough?”

“That’s not what I…oh. I see. You’re doing that metamorphosis thing again. You’re being the cruel, horrible Sean now, right?”

He shrugged. “Whichever Sean I am, my dick will always be hard for you. Look under B for boy toy in your address function.” He tossed it on the dresser, and flung open the door. To the right was the third floor stairs, the crawl space, the window, the tree. His covert entry route.

The left led to the grand staircase down to the main hall. He turned left.

Liv lunged out the door after him. “Hey! What are you doing?” she hissed. “Have you gone nuts?”

“Why not? If they killed me now, I’d die happy. And slithering on your belly is undignified. Have a nice evening, beautiful.”

As luck would have it, Amelia Endicott was at the foot of the stairs, whispering with that steaming turd, Blair Madden. Gack.

Sean’s tongue adhered to the roof of his mouth. He abruptly reconsidered the wisdom of his impulse to walk out the front door.

Slithering on his belly sounded real good right now.

Liv’s mom turned at his deliberately clumping footsteps, and let out a shrill shriek. Her hand flew to cover her thin red mouth.

Blair jumped and put himself in front of her, puffing out his chest like a toad. “How did you get in? What have you done with Liv?”

“Nothing,” Liv said softly from behind him. “I’m fine.”

So the princess had taken pity on him. He allowed himself one last look over his shoulder. She was still in her sheer, sexy robe, flushed and damp and gorgeous. Like a woman who’d just had fabulous sex.

Sean did not like for Blair Madden to see her like that.

“I was testing your security,” he said. “Needless to say, it’s inadequate.” He dug into his pocket, and pulled out a scrap of paper. “Here’s a list of the best security companies in the area. Private cell phone numbers included. You could call them right now. In my name.”

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice.” Blair yanked the door open.

Sean stared at the other man as he sauntered down the stairs. Madden inched backwards, a muscle twitching in his face.

“The police are right outside, McCloud.”

Sean turned at the gruff, loud voice. Bart Endicott stood in the door, his thick face red and mottled.

It never ceased to baffle him. How that fanged bitch and that pompous blowhard had managed between them to produce the princess would forever remain one of the great unsolved mysteries of genetics.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “I saw them when I came in. But I was just leaving. Good night, everyone.”

“You might as well wait where you are. We’ll be pressing charges for breaking and entering.” Amelia Endicott’s voice dripped acid.

“No, Mother.” Liv’s voice was soft, but resolute. “There was no breaking or entering. I invited him in. You can call off the police.”

Everyone turned horrified eyes on Liv. Sean did not envy her in that moment. She wrapped her arms around her chest and stared back.

Wow. He practically blushed. He didn’t deserve that kind of support, after his raving asshole routine. That woman was pure class.

“That’s hardly appropriate for an engaged woman, dear,” Amelia said loudly. “I imagine you told Sean your happy news?”

Sean looked at her. His chest cavity had just been flash frozen.

She blinked. “But I—I’m not—”

“Come on, honey,” Blair said. “We can’t keep it a secret forever.”

“We were thinking early fall,” Amelia said. “Of course, this awful business might force us to reconsider the timing. Such a shame.”

It took a minute for him to coordinate his vocal apparatus. “Uh, yeah.” He looked into Liv’s big, startled gray eyes. “I’m amazed you didn’t share something so important earlier in our, ah, conversation.”

“But I’m not—”

“Liv’s shy about it,” Amelia broke in. “But thank goodness we all have something to be happy about in these difficult days, hmm?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Uh, great. Be happy, then. Watch your back, princess.”

He was out the door. Walking blindly up the driveway towards the gate. He had to stop and explain himself to the cops that were parked outside, which was a challenge, since he couldn’t concentrate clearly enough to make any sense. All he could think about was Liv.

Engaged. Jesus Christ.

Madden finally came out the door, called the cops off, waved him on out. Just to get rid of his sorry ass. Smug toad.

The big wrought-iron gate ground open for him. He took off down the road towards his truck, dazed. He’d done every last damn thing Davy had advance-scolded him for. Breaking and entering, planting spywear, ill-advised sex. The Endicotts could nail his ass to the wall, if they found the beacons. Wallet, suitcase, purse, he’d even slit open the soles of Liv’s sandals. The burrs were traceable to SafeGuard, so he’d compromised Seth and Davy as well. They didn’t have much staying power, lacking an external power source. He’d risked his freedom and his brother’s professional reputation for a chance of keeping track of Liv for the next day or so.

And for the wildest, most explosive sex he’d ever had.

He stumbled in the dark. Ran his hands over the stinging marks on his shoulders and ass. Fuck-me-harder marks. Wildcat woman.

He would wear them like a badge. Be sorry when they healed.

Tomorrow, they would take Liv off to someplace where neither he nor T-Rex would ever be able to find her—and the world would go flat.

Unless she called the number he’d programmed into her cell.

He stopped in his tracks on the dark road, the huge dark pine and fir trees rustling in the cool wind and thought about that.

Screwing Blair Madden’s fiancée. That’s what he’d just done. He made himself face it. He imagined Liv, going home after she showered off the evidence. Thinking about her secret lover while she did her wifely duty in bed. His stomach lurched. He would never survive that.

She had to be doing the guy already, if they were engaged. His imagination promptly offered up fully realized 3-D images of that worthless turd Blair, having at her. And Liv, letting him. Liking it.

Bad idea. He hung over the roadside ditch and hacked up gastric juices, fists clenched, eyes watering. Oh, that was foul. He was a flexible guy, but that level of emotional gymnastics was not in his repertoire.

Hypocrite. Like he had a right to be uptight about Liv screwing whoever she pleased. He’d worked through six condoms—or was it seven?—in a tequila haze with the fuckbunny duo from the Hole.

Though to be entirely fair and accurate, he had not been engaged to be married to someone else while boinking the bunnies.

It gave him a sad ache in his chest, to think that he’d never given any woman more than what Liv had given him tonight. It hurt when the rest was declined. He’d dished out a lot of that. He wasn’t proud of it.

One of his former would-be girlfriends, Sandra, was a grad student at U of W, studying clinical psych. A chubby, fuzzy-curled blonde with intellectual horn-rimmed glasses and lovely pink-tipped tits. She’d explained the dynamic of his pathological condition to him, given him the number of a good therapist and a list of local support groups and twelve-step programs for sexual addicts.

All of this preparatory to telling him to go fuck himself.

He deserved it. Everything she said made perfect sense, but understanding it didn’t help worth a damn. It was always the same; the itch that drove him out to look for sex, the approach, the seduction. It rarely took long, once he turned on the charm. He made the sex safe, hot, and prolonged for his lady friends. That much, he could guarantee.