Читать книгу Make Me Scream - P.J. Mellor - Страница 11

“Yeah, baby, that’s right, scream for me,” he said against her ear. Hot damn. He’d never been with a screamer.

She screamed again. He must be better than he thought. Practicing alone must have paid off.

“Get away from me.” She shoved on his shoulders until their connection was severed and she scurried across the mattress, dragging the sheet to cover her. “He’s out there!” She pointed toward the window.

“Who?”

She scooted to the edge of the bed, taking the sheet with her. Raising one shaking hand, she pointed and said in a tremulous voice, “Fred. I’d know his beady little eyes anywhere. He was looking in the window at us!” Then she promptly fell off the edge of the mattress with a teeth-rattling thump.

Devon peered over the edge of the bed, sympathy taking the place of sexual urgency. “Who is Fred, and why is he peeping in your window?”

Instead of answering, she struggled to stand, battling the sheet until she got her feet under her.

Under normal circumstances, he’d have enjoyed the view or even thought up a way to recapture the mood. After one look at her terrified face, though, normal went out the window.

“Nice dive, by the way,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood. “I’d give it a seven-point-five. You need to work on your form.” He wiggled his eyebrows and said in his best Groucho imitation, “Or I could work on your form, if you’d rather.”

She turned, her lips tightly compressed, and stared at him.

“Feel free to laugh.” He reclined on the stack of pillows he’d tossed on the bed when he’d thought he was getting lucky. “I know you want to.” He motioned with his hand. “Go ahead. I’m used to women laughing at me in the bedroom. I’ve even, in some weird, perverse way, come to expect and even enjoy it.”

She smiled and sat on the edge of the mattress. “Right. Do they point when they laugh?”

“Okay, that’s enough, woman. Let’s not get insulting here.” Smiling, he took her hand and drew light circles on her palm. “Want to tell me about this Fred?”

For a moment, he thought she might and felt an urge to tell her he was kidding, he didn’t really want to hear about another guy. Lucky for him, the moment passed when she shook her head.

She reached beside the bed and tossed his pants and boxers to him.

“It’s late,” she said, turning her back while he pulled on his clothes.

“You’re right.” He gathered her into his arms and softly brushed her lips with his. “Stop begging, I can’t sleep with you tonight,” he said with a grin and then kissed the tip of her nose. “I have work to do anyway, so it’s just as well. Let’s call it a night.”

He stepped back, his arms falling to his sides. “But if you play your cards right, I may just cut you a break and let you have your way with me next time.”

She laughed. “I’ll have to remember that. Next time.”

He nodded and stepped out of the room. No point in bringing up the lease at that moment. “Good night. Make sure you lock the door behind me.”

And he was gone.

Damn, he hated being a nice guy.

Whoever had been outside Jamie’s window most likely was long gone, but he walked to the side of her unit just to make sure.

Petunia sat on her haunches just below the window ledge, a forlorn look on her grizzled face.

“You do realize,” he said to the big dog, scratching her ear, “you just put a major hitch in my previously nonexistent sex life.”

“That’s because you’re standing around talking to animals, you ninny. Don’t go blaming my precious Petunia.” Francyne walked up and swatted his butt and then deftly attached a leash to Petunia’s collar. “Bad girl! I’ve been looking all over for you.” Shoving her glasses up on her thin nose, she looked at Devon. “Shot down again, huh?” She shook her head. “And I had such high hopes for this one, pumpkin.”

“Well, if you’d keep your animal under control so she wouldn’t peep into windows, I might be able to change my luck,” he said and then immediately felt guilty for snapping at her. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. In fact, I’m going home. Night.”

Devon walked past the crowd in the courtyard, not stopping until he gained the relative safety of his apartment.

He leaned against the closed door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Killer pranced over to welcome him home, leaving a trail of drool.

“Hey, big guy, you hungry?” Devon walked to the cupboard and surveyed the dinner selection. Cooking, his usual comfort activity, held no appeal. “I’m thinking I might fix myself a Hungry Man dinner.” He pulled out two jars of baby food. “How about beef stew with an apple-crisp chaser?” The dog sneezed and shook his head, scattering little droplets of doggy spit. “Okay, beef stew it is. And an excellent choice, monsieur. Have I mentioned what a discriminating palate you have, big guy?”

After their late dinner, Killer snoozed under the chair while Devon stared at the flashing cursor on his laptop. Trent’s PI adventures held no appeal for him. If he had to write another sex scene for the hapless detective, he just might puke.

He switched files and brought up the catalog copy he was working on for Midnight Fantasies, one of three sex-toy manufacturers who bought his product pitches. The last item he’d described was the Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee combination nipple clamp and personal waterproof vibrator. He absently rubbed his still tender nipple.

According to the technical jargon, the apparatus could be used by either sex. He picked up the innocuous-looking blob of lime-green, sparkling soft gel shaped like a bee with an unusually large wing span and flicked the little red stinger. Glancing at the spec sheet, he pushed the bee’s nose, activating the “stinger,” touching it with the tip of his index finger. A not unpleasant buzz of low voltage current warmed the tip of his finger.

“Wonder where you’d use that,” he mused and then activated the fluttering wings, holding the bee close to his bare chest. The wings vibrating against his nipples shot an unexpected surge of arousal to his extremities.

A guilty glance at the chair confirmed that Killer was still lost in dreamland. Slowly, in an effort not to disturb the dog, Devon stood and let his shorts and boxers fall to the floor with a soft plop. Killer twitched but resumed snoring.

Devon looked down at his erection casting a shadow across his keyboard. No doubt about it, something had to be done or he’d never get any work done tonight. He thought of Jamie, frustrated to see his cock grow and swell at just the memory of his time with her. Whacking off would be faster, but he needed to do research for the catalog anyway, so why not.

Slowly moving the fluttering wings down his abs, he watched his penis twitch with anticipation. The gel wings lapped at the length of his cock, reminding him of the eager tongue of a lover. A dry tongue.

He grabbed his glass of iced tea and fluttered the wings in the cold liquid before putting them back on his now iron-hard shaft.

“Aahh!” He shuddered and resisted the urge to close his eyes and savor the feeling of the cool wet gel gently slapping the sensitive skin. Research. It was research, and he needed to make mental if not physical notes.

The gel wings lapping at his engorged head had his hips pumping in a lazy rhythm, the old leather desk chair creaking with each thrust.

He noted that the wings felt especially erotic on his clenched balls. His excitement ratcheted up another notch.

Gripping his erection, he pumped, slowly at first and then gaining momentum. The wings continued their sensual torture. He found it added to his excitement to allow them to flutter against the head of his cock while his other hand continued to pump.

The pre-climax built, tightening the muscles progressively up the backs of his legs. Too soon. He wanted to fantasize a little longer about his new neighbor.

Slackening his grip, he fumbled with the bee to push the button that would halt the fluttering wings.

A searing jolt of electricity shot into the tip of his penis, streaking clear up to his belly button. He screamed and contracted with the pain filling his abdomen.

Wrong button.