DAIR (7 page)

I had her sit on my face, her hands gripping the flimsy motel headboard, banging it hard against the wall as I went to work on her with my tongue.
 

She circled her hips, bearing down.

I got her off, flipped her over, and started from the top.
     

It was hours later when I started to recover brain function again.
 
Not all of it, just enough to remember that our situation was less than ideal.
 

“We need to get dressed,” I told her.
 
When Heath showed up again, I intended to be ready for him.
 
It could be our best and only shot at an escape.
 

To say she wasn’t listening was an understatement.
 
She was to listening what writers were to math.
 

Not even in the same realm.
   

She was straddling me, playing with her tits while I rubbed my thumb over her clit in slow, lazy circles.

I wasn’t inside of her, but under, and she was gliding up and down my semi-hard erection like it was a slip-and-slide.
 

It was just a prop at this point, putting on a good show, but more than likely useless.

She reached a hand back and started scoring her blunt nails lightly over my scrotum, dragging them to my taint, then back again.
 

Not so semi now, I reached up and squeezed a hand over hers, kneading hard at her soft breast, knowing I didn’t have the time, but still wondering if I could possibly fuck her again.

I bucked up lightly a few times, bouncing her hard enough to slam my cock against my naval.

She didn’t let up on that addictive glide, and possibly quickly flowed into maybe, then turned to probably, and stopped decisively at
Fuck Yes
.
 

“Are you sore?” I asked her, heavy-lidded eyes watching her pussy teasing over my cock.
 

She moaned out a languid
yes
, then shifted until she caught the tip of me with her entrance, easing me in that first tight inch.
 

Without warning, she slammed herself home, and I nearly shouted the roof down, hands (not lazy or slow now) shooting to her hips to guide her to the perfect rhythm.
 

She leaned down, gripping my head to suck at her heaving breasts with one insistent arm.
 

The other arm was busy elsewhere, but I wouldn’t connect those dots until later, when it would do me not one bit of good.
 

I folded my body as much as I could to accommodate both her furious riding of my cock, and her needy tits pushing at my mouth.
   

I was as hungry as she was needy, and I got rough with her, drawing firm at one abused peak until she sobbed.
 

I pulled back, but she gripped me to her, hard nipple rubbing against my lips until I started sucking hard at it again.
 

I switched to the other, leaving bruising marks along the skin between on the journey there.
 

I helped her jerk up and down my length, keeping her flesh in my mouth.
 

She’d be sore and bruised tomorrow, every twinge of it a reminder of to whom her body belonged.
 

She came first, a loud, clenching orgasm that had my balls drawing up tight with a few tight squeezes.
 

My nails dug into her hips as, with a hoarse shout, I slammed home and shot my load deep.

I was still catching my breath underneath her when she leaned back to look me.

Without blinking, she covered my nose and mouth with a piece of material that reeked of chemicals.
 

I’d never actually smelled it before, but almost instantly, I knew what it was.
 

Green eyes met mine over the ether soaked cloth.
 

“I love you,” Iris mouthed, right before the world went black.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I woke up alone and in my own bed.
 

Alone and sore as hell, head to toe.
 

I doubted the bastard had been gentle when he’d transferred me back across who knew how many states and to my own house again.

Alone, sore as hell, and furious.
 

I slammed through my house, feeling a need to lash out and vent in a way that only helplessness could breed.
 

I didn’t know if I was relieved or more pissed off when I found a note on my kitchen counter.
 

It wasn’t written by Iris, of that much I was sure.
 

I could only assume by the bold writing and the hostility that fairly leapt off the page, that Heath had penned it.

DON’T TELL ANYONE WHAT HAPPENED OR WHERE YOU’VE YOU BEEN.
 
YOU’LL BE PUTTING IRIS AT RISK IF YOU DO, SO JUST KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
 
AND DON’T TRY TO LOOK FOR HER.
 
BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS, I’LL HAVE MOVED HER AGAIN.

I really hated that motherfucker.
 
Sincerely.
 

What was I supposed to do?
 

Just wait around until he decided to kidnap me again?
 

So that I could go drive for hours in the back of a creepy van, fuck Iris raw, then have her knock me out again while I was still twitching inside her.

Iris had fucking ether tapped me.
 

I couldn’t get over it.
 

Whose side was she on, anyway?
       

It was hard to say what was worse, the before or after.
 

No, it was definitely the before, I decided, because though the after was torture, in the before I hadn’t known if she was whole and alive.

Now at least I had that.
 

Even so, I was plagued by thoughts of her in that dingy motel, being held captive by that bastard Heath.
 

What was going on with them?
 
Did he and she—
 

No, I wouldn’t think about that.
 
No good could come of it.
 

—Were they lovers?
 
She’d said he didn’t hurt her, but it was a fact that she had no problem lying about any damn thing.
 

Still, I didn’t think they were, but whether that belief stemmed from anything logical, or merely a strong desire to believe it because the alternative was unpalatable to me, well, that was anyone’s guess.
 

“You need to turn this mess into a book,” Turner told me.

It was about a week later, and I was at his house, venting again.
 

I’d told him all of it, every insane detail of that crazy ride, from the abduction to the ether.
 

Needless to say, he was intrigued.
   

“Not happening.”
   

“I’m using it, then.
 
It’s just too crazy not to write down.”
 

“Hell no.
 
No way.”

“Okay, okay, but listen, someday this is not going to be such a touchy subject, and when that day comes, it will be a long time from now, and the details will be fuzzy, so at least jot it down in your diary or something while it’s still fresh.”

“I don’t have a diary.
 
Do
you
actually have a diary?”
 

“Well, no.
 
I’m just saying, write it down somewhere.
 
You don’t have to publish it.”

Needing a distraction, I changed the subject.
 
“What happened to Candy?
 
I had to let myself in.”
 

“Please.
 
Like that’s unusual.
 
That chick didn’t answer the door once the entire time she worked here.
 
And she quit.”

That had me raising my brows.
 
“Oh yeah?
 
How come?”
 

He gave me a knowing look.
 
“I’ve told you about this.
 
Same reason they always do.
 
She wanted to fuck the boss.”
 

“And did you oblige her?”

“I did.”
 

“Well?”
 

He shrugged.
 
“It was fine.
 
I mean, it was good, but, and trust me I know I’m a bastard for saying this, I think she exaggerated her own oral skills.
 
I watched that chick suck on lollipops for
months
like she was
fixated
.
 
It built up some unrealistic expectations.”

“What about the rest?”
 

“Good.
 
She was fine.
 
I kept her around for three days before it got a bit redundant.
 
I don’t know.
 
I think it’s me.
 
I’ve been bored lately, or hell, maybe I’m just bored with redheads.
 
I’m sure it’ll pass.”
 

“I think you’re growing up, Peter Pan, and that maybe, just maybe, you need to start looking to get involved with a woman for more than sex.”
 

He shrugged.
 
“That’s so typical.
 
And boring.
 
I like to think I’m more interesting than that.
 
I’ll tell you one thing, though, I’m not hiring any more dimes for the assistant gig.
 
I’m finding someone that will actually help me with the work around here, someone that won’t quit after I spend three months training them.”

“Sounds like a worthy goal.
 
Maybe you’ll progress to finding someone that just quits because they hate working for you.”
 

He threw back his head and laughed.
 
“That would be refreshing,” he added, when he’d caught his breath again.
 

“What do you need an assistant for, anyway?”
 

Turner shook his head at me like I was missing something important.
 
“You get to pull the reclusive author bit, doing a few interviews, what, like, once, twice a year?
 
No Facebook presence.
 
No Twitter account.
 
Hell, you probably don’t even know what Instagram is.”
 

I did, but only because I’d heard him and Candy talking about it several times, and as far as I knew, it was just a place where women went to post cleavage shots (and men went to look at said shots).
 

He rolled his eyes at my look.
 
“What I’m saying is, in the writing world, there are only a few that get to do it like Alasdair Fucking Masters.”

I just continued to stare at him.

He shook his head at me again, as though I was a lost cause.
 
“It works for you, but some of us have to
promote
.
 
That means on top of writing books, there’s a few extra full-time jobs that may or may not get done, and this may or may not tank a new release if we don’t have some help.”
   

Finally, it made some sense, though
he
still didn’t.
 
“So there’s actually work to be done, and you still keep hiring people that aren’t doing any of it?”
 

“Not anymore.
 
I swear it.
 
Candy was the last one.
 
But enough about me.
 
What’s the word on Lourdes?
 
You going out with her again?”
 

I flushed.
 
I didn’t like his wording.
 
“We went out for coffee.
 
As friends.
 
We did not
go out
.”
 

He shrugged.
 
“Well, she’s smokin’.
 
A dime for sure.
 
I think she could be a body double for Nicole Scherzinger.
 
And maybe you
should
ask her out.
 
Why the fuck not?
 
One big selling point: I can guarantee she won’t rag tap you post coital.”
 

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked her out,” I mused, thinking about it.
 
I knew she’d photographed headshots for him at least once, so they knew each other, and a girl like Lourdes was straight playboy catnip to a guy like Turner.

He flushed, shifting.
 
It took me a moment to place the look on his face, because I’d never actually seen it before.
 

He was uncomfortable.
 

“You
did
ask her out,” I guessed.
 

He winced comically.
 
“Yeah, I did.
 
I’m not her type.
 
I think I came on a little too strong for her, right after her divorce.
 
After that, she’s refused to take my calls, even professionally.”
 

“What on earth did you do?”
 

“Nothing terrible.
 
I was just a bit crude, and she’s a lady.
 
Put in a good word for me with her, will you?
 
At least professionally, if nothing else.
 
I could use some new headshots.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but I probably won’t see her any time soon.”
 

“Sure you won’t, stud.”
 

As though fucking Turner had willed it, I ran into Lourdes at the market three days later.
 

We hugged, she kissed me on both cheeks, European style, and we proceeded to go for coffee and chat for over an hour.

I really did enjoy her company.

Something seemed different about her, some new flush to her cheeks that hadn’t been there before.
 
A new light in her eyes that made me wonder what she’d been up to.