Call Me Killer (55 page)

"Have no fear. I don't do students."

"I hope he doesn't do students," Stephen said as they strolled away and Jeff continued on into the library. "He could get into deep shit for that."

"You know that girl?"

"I remember her from Jeff's last Christmas party. She was there with a singer friend who performed carols for us. She was trying real hard to snag Jeff's attention."

She poked him playfully in the ribs. "You have a good memory for
some
people's faces, I see."

"Ouch! I knew it—you're going to taunt me for the rest of our lives about my deplorable memory. But I'm remembering that girl for her tits, not her face."

Viola laughed, rolling her eyes. Men!

"Wait until you see what's happened to poor old Bart."

"You mean you're going to let me read it?"

"Only as long as you swoon with admiration. The moment you turn into a literary critic, I'll confiscate the manuscript and make you wait until the book comes out. "

"Have you got it with you?"

He patted his pocket. "On a data stick, yeah. I can upload an ebook version to your laptop."

"I'll read it as soon as we get home."

He grinned and moved a hand over her backbone as a reminder. "We have another little matter to take care of first, my love."

She returned his grin and his caress. "First things first, of course."

Several hours later, Viola was curled up on one of the easy chairs in her living room with Stephen's novel. She was clad in a short bathrobe, and her hair was a wild tangle from his passionate caresses. He was stretched out on the sofa in front of a blazing fire, which had been kindled less for warmth than for atmosphere. He was naked except for the pair of worn cutoffs he'd pulled on after they'd made love. He was drinking a glass of the wine she'd opened in celebration of his completion of his mystery, watching an old classic film on television.

When she first began to read, Viola's attention kept wandering to memories of their bedroom antics. But soon the adventures of Bart Giles drew her in. There were some subtle changes in the offing this time around. For the first time in his eventful life, Bart was in love.

Not that he admitted it. But the state of his heart would be obvious to the reader.

The woman was a red-haired lady-in-waiting to the Queen. She had wit, beauty, and spirit, and Bart had been afraid that she would reject him if she learned about some of his more uncivilized activities in his inquisition chamber.

Viola couldn't guess how it was going to end. She was ready to be furious if Stephen killed off the woman. Surely Bart wouldn't torture her to death this time?

As she approached the final pages, she began to think that Stephen was going to allow his hero to keep his lover, maybe even to wed her. The villains were all dead or in the Tower, and Bart's love interest was still alive. In the final chapter, Bart awkwardly asked her to become his bride.

Viola impatiently flipped a page. The lady rejected Bart. She had heard rumors about dark doings in the Queen's dungeons that made her reluctant to pursue the relationship. Besides, Queen Elizabeth was intent on retaining her royal power by remaining unmarried, and Bart's lover had decided to emulate her wise example.

The book ended with Bart drinking in a tavern with his cronies and joking callously about the affair. "She was a whore like any other," he declared. But Viola knew—as every other reader would—that Bart was suffering.

She closed the file and looked over at Stephen. He was staring at the final long shot of Garbo as Queen Christina just as she learns that her lover is dead. She thought she heard him swallow rather loudly. Reaching for a tissue, she wiped her eyes, then tossed the box to him. "Are you crying?" she asked as the movie faded out.

He rolled his eyes derisively. "I thought you were reading my book, not watching my movie."

"I'm sniffling over your damn book," she admitted. "I feel sorry for Bart."

A slow grin lit his face. "You're kidding."

She got up and crossed the floor to the sofa, dropping to her knees on the floor beside him. The posture had become more familiar to her since they had started playing around with dominance and submission. "She didn't have to let him down so hard. She knew all along that he tortured people. Maybe she could have reformed him. Why don't you rewrite the end and let them marry?"

Stephen's fingers slid into her hair on either side of her face while his thumbs gently rubbed her temples. "What a romantic you are. Bart can't get married. My readers would never tolerate it. He's got to be free to rape more women in his next book." He paused. "You really liked it? No scathing review this time?"

"It's good! You saw how I fast ripped through it. I couldn't put it down. It's more realistic than your others, and less misogynistic. But it's not as if you've changed your style or anything. You've still got your brawls and your bloodbaths and your murders and blasphemy. But your art is more mellow this time."

"Heh." He pulled her down across his bare chest, massaging her shoulders through the terry-cloth robe. "You know whose fault it is, don't you? You're a dangerous influence."

She laughed and bent her head to kiss him. "I doubt that." From there her mouth moved down to one of his tiny nipples, which hardened just as her own did when stimulated. The feel of it tensing under her tongue sent a warm rush of desire through her.

"I love you, Bart," she whispered, as his hands swept her backbone more insistently.

"I'm not him," he said fiercely. He spread his legs enough to pull her in between them so her body was lying the length of his. His cock pressed against her. He undid the cloth belt at her waist and parted the V of her bathrobe at the collar until her bare breasts tumbled against his chest. "I'll prove it to you," he added, his mouth administering a series of short, biting kisses to her lips and throat.

"How?"

He slid the robe off her shoulders and tossed it on the floor. She moved up slightly so her breasts hovered above his lips. When he tried to reach her with his tongue, she drew back just enough to make it impossible. He smiled, even as his breathing accelerated. "Oh, honey, you're gonna pay for that."

The pressure of his hand between her shoulder blades brought her down within his reach, and his mouth captured a nipple and sucked on it greedily. She shivered against him. He changed breasts, gently nipping the second tip with his teeth. She gasped and arched away. "No you don't," he drawled, pulling her back for more loving punishment. "Don't you dare pull away when I want to hurt you."

"Yes, Master," she smirked. "Whatever you say, Master."

He nipped her over and over until she was torn between trying to escape and surrendering herself for more torment. "So disrespectful," He murmured, his nails scoring her lightly, up and down her back.

"Brute. And you still claim you're not him?"

"There's a big difference between us, I assure you."

He expertly flipped her over so she was lying beneath him. She unzipped him and guided his shorts down over his hips, fondling him as she undressed him, reveling in his flat stomach, his hard-muscled thighs, his beautiful cock. When he straddled her shoulders and thrust into her mouth, she took him gladly, caressing his balls as she licked and sucked. He was always aggressive and dominant when she gave him head, fucking her mouth hard and thoroughly. But she loved it.

He didn't push it to climax, though. Pulling her face away from him by her hair, he chuckled and said, "Not quite yet, Professor."

He rolled off the sofa and knelt on the carpet with her body stretched out before him like a sensual feast. His fingertips moved over her so lightly that she wanted to scream. Arching her body, she tried to get him to deepen the caresses, but he persisted in the maddening, light stroking. "I'm going to make you beg for it."

"Ha!" She slid off the sofa too, laughing. "Let's get you begging for a change."

"I dare you."

She crawled over him on her hands and knees. When he reached up to touch her, she pushed his hand away, then grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the floor, as he had often done to her. Teasingly, she kissed his lips, brushing them with the tip of her tongue. He laughed up at her, his eyes aglow. "In two seconds I could have you flat on your back pleading for mercy."

"Not in this fantasy. This time you're helpless, and I'm in control. Do you want me?"

"You know I do."

She shook her head so her hair lashed him across his face and neck. Then she lowered her body along the length of his. Her mound found his cock, and she moved provocatively against him, deftly avoiding his attempts to claim her.

He groaned his frustration.

"Mmm. I'm beginning to see why you like this masterful stuff, tough guy. It feels good to see you helplessly writhing with lust."

"Just wait 'til I get you back to my place. There are devices in my dungeon that you haven't even seen yet. When it comes to the masterful stuff, you're strictly an amateur."

She found a tender spot on his shoulder and let him feel her teeth. He made a low sound in his throat and arched against her, aiming his cock at her cleft. She evaded him again, laughing softly. "Take it easy. I like it slow, with lots of preliminaries."

He laughed. "I know exactly how you like it."

She slid down on him and dropped fiery trail of kisses from his chest down to his inner thighs, where the skin was almost as tender as her own. She avoided his penis this time, although she did devote some loving attention to his balls. His body moved erratically, in little jolts, every time her tongue found a new spot to probe, but she never continued any caress long enough to grant him his release.

He was breathing in shudders when he finally said, in a voice made unrecognizable by passion, "Fine, I'm begging. I need you now."

She grabbed his cock and stroked him, kneeling over him, helping him find the place. Then she slowly lowered herself onto him.

"Oh yeah," he whispered, wrapping his legs around her to draw her closer. For the first time since she'd started teasing him, he brought his hands into action, stroking her shoulders, her back, and digging his fingers into her bottom.

For several seconds they lay still. Despite her need, she was conscious of a deep sense of peace, merged with him thus, flowing together like two drops of water. He, too, seemed to find a momentary relief from his tension, even though fulfillment was yet to come.

"I love you, babe. We're perfect for each other, you know that?"

"We are." She withdrew slightly, then rocked back on him until the tenderness in his eyes changed back to lust. He lifted her enough to get his hands on her breasts, bringing her lower body arching more tightly against him. She moaned as he squeezed and tugged on her nipples. Her body began to move with his in an erratic rhythm that quickly built to ragged bursts and thrusts. She lost awareness of her surroundings as she felt herself caught in a web that grew ever tighter until it burst apart, flooding her with pleasure.

Stephen stayed with her, riding the crest a moment behind her, whispering her name as he went rigid in her arms, his pulse careening against her lips.

For a long time afterward, they were silent and content. The only sound was the occasional hiss and crackle of the dying fire. Then she raised her head to grin down at him, saying, "I expect to see masterful women in your novels from now on."

With a quick, clever motion, he flipped them both over so she was trapped beneath him. She laughed and strained against him, enjoying the still-erotic feeling of his body pinning hers to the carpet. His lips feathered her eyelashes, her cheeks, and the corners of her mouth as he said, "Don't get cocky, bright eyes."

"I love you, Bart."

"I'm not him," he said intensely. "Listen, I'll tell you the real difference between Bart and me." He paused, his expression becoming serious. "Bart's girl refuses to stick with him. Mine, I hope, is going to opt for the happy ending."

Her tongue went thick. "What are you asking?"

"I thought you might want to move in with me."

"Stephen..." Her hands combed through his hair and held his face still, just above her. "You mean it? You want me to eat with you, sleep with you, live with you in your splendid seaside isolation, be there even when you're writing?"

"That's what living together usually involves. There'll be a few other requirements too, don't forget, such as cooking an occasional meal. You can cook, can't you, darling?"

"Not as well as you," she said wryly.

"It'll be easy during the summer, but for the fall I guess we'll have to keep both houses. Or give up your rental and buy a second place in Whittacre. I can be there with you during the week, while on the weekends we can escape to the seaside."

"That sounds perfect."

"So that's a yes?"

"Yes, Stephen, of course it's a yes!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I should warn you that when you're there I'll keep you imprisoned in my dungeon. There's this cage I'm thinking of having constructed. Very cruel and restrictive. I want you naked in chains."

She giggled and punched his shoulder playfully. "You are so full of shit, Master. No cages. Jeez. Next it'll be a rack. I keep expecting you to build one."

"I'm not that handy. But I suppose I could hire someone. If you really, really want one, that is."

She couldn't stop laughing. "I love you so much. Sometimes it still seems like a dream that you love me, too."

"Idiot," he teased, the warmth in his eyes flooding her with love. "I knew as soon as I met you all those years ago that someday you were going to be my partner in life."

"Oh, sure."

"Really. I loved your ass even when you were too young for me to fuck."

"Your ass is pretty cute, too," she laughed.

"You know what I think we should do this summer?" he said after a while. "Rent a wind surfing rig for a few days in honor of the afternoon we fell in love."

"I'll bet you still can't keep your balance."

"You'd lose. I want you to know I now have mad wind surfing skills."