Make Me Scream (3 page)

S
till in mourning for his nonexistent sex life, Devon made the beer run.

The party around the pit was getting rowdy. Grant, the mysterious guy from upstairs, was in Devon’s chair with a girl when he returned with the beer.

“This is Mindy,” Grant said as Devon walked up. Their eyes met. “Did we take your seat?” He stood, lifting Mindy high in his arms, treating everyone to a view of her smooth little ass and the strip of fabric separating the firm globes.

Which was probably exactly what Grant had planned, Devon thought, when Grant casually tweaked Mindy’s nipple through her cropped-off tank top, eliciting a giggle.

She, obviously, was not the shy type.

Grant strolled to a chair in the darkened corner behind the fire and sat down.

Devon took a draw from his beer, watching over the bottle as Grant reached beneath his date’s skirt and pulled off her thong.

Devon glanced around at the other tenants who were engrossed in conversation. He had no idea what they were talking about because their voices were just a murmur, drowned out by the blood roaring in his ears. No one seemed to notice the little sex show going on in the corner.

Although he told himself not to look, Devon’s gaze kept drifting over to the couple.

While Devon’s attention had shifted, Grant had removed Mindy’s top. It was almost like Grant wanted an audience, the way he had her stretched out over his lap, legs spread while he played with her pussy and leaned over her shoulder to suck her obviously augmented tits.

Beneath Devon’s shorts, his cock twitched against his zipper, wanting to come out and play.

Grant stretched Mindy’s nipple, clenched in his teeth, when he looked up and across the fire, directly at Devon.

Grant’s teeth showed white in the semidarkness. He smiled, never relinquishing the nipple, then shifted, spreading his date wider as though giving a better view.

The obliging Mindy arched sideways, encouraging Grant to take her nipple deeper into his mouth while he spread her legs to rest on each arm of the patio chair. Her nether lips parted, exposing her shining cherry-red folds. He reached around her to grasp her gaping lips in both hands and pull them so far apart Devon wondered if Grant was hurting her.

Evidently not, since her giggles drifted over the conversation.

Devon watched with rapt attention as Grant manipulated Mindy’s genitals, rubbing, pulling, flicking and finally slapping. To Devon’s fascinated surprise, the girl only whispered things to Grant, spreading her legs impossibly wider and occasionally giggling.

She slid off his lap. Devon noticed sometime during their sex play that Grant had released his erection from his basketball shorts. Mindy straddled his legs, bent almost double in order to take him in her mouth. While she went down on him, Grant somehow managed to reach through her legs and play with her clit.

Although turned on by his latent foray into voyeurism, Devon wondered how she could bend like that.

He must have looked away because when he looked back he saw that Mindy had climbed back onto Grant’s lap. She now faced forward, her breasts jiggling slightly with each thrust of Grant’s hips. Grant pushed on her back, causing her to practically lay on her stomach on his legs, her breasts hanging over his knees while he continued to pound into her.

Todd walked across Devon’s line of vision, talking in low tones to Grant.

Mindy did something, but Todd was in the way, so Devon couldn’t see.

Damn. Reality hit Devon.

As the manager, he should put a stop to it. If the other tenants saw what was going on, they gave no indication. Francyne was holed up in her apartment, no doubt dozing in front of the TV by now. But what about Jamie? If she was embarrassed by what they’d done behind closed doors, what would she think about what was going on in the courtyard?

From her front window, Jamie peeked through the curtain to watch the group of men by the fire. Her gaze kept drifting back to Devon. Firelight bathed him in a warm, intimate glow. Though definitely not the most handsome man at the gathering, he was easily the most fascinating.

She watched the play of light on his face as he lifted his beer bottle, the ripple of his throat when he swallowed. What was it about him that called to her?

And what held his attention so thoroughly?

She edged closer to the side of the window.
What on earth
…
oh, my
!

Beyond the fire, a man and woman were clearly having sex. Darn. Another guy walked up, blocking her view.

Dropping the curtain, she leaned against the wall and fanned her face and then put her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle.

She lifted the curtain for another peek. The guy blocking her sure had a great butt, she’d give him that. Under normal circumstances, she’d have enjoyed the view. But right now, he was spoiling hers.

Thoughts of herself in a similar position as the woman in the courtyard shot heat through her, tingling her nerve endings. Fanning away the blush, she tried to conjure up the scene in her mind. But the only man she could imagine doing such intimate things with—and enjoying them so much—was, strangely, Devon. And that was, well, dumb.

She snuck another peek. Would Devon be turned on from what he saw? Would he want to come back to finish what they’d started? More importantly, did she want him to?

She ran her hands over her chest and pushed up her new, impressive cleavage. Would her ex-boyfriend, Fred, or anyone for that matter, even recognize her now?

The image of a stranger stared back at her from the old mirror on the back of the door. She was still in there somewhere. She had to hide for just a while longer.

Flipping on the bathroom light, she leaned close to the mirror to inspect her hair for dark roots. The last highlight job had taken care of most of them, but if she looked close, she could see tiny traces of her once auburn hair.

She pulled her makeup kit from her shoulder bag and rummaged until she found her contact case. The blue contacts folded into the case until she squirted the disinfectant into the little pods and closed the lids. The little bar of soap would have to do for now. She dried her face on the threadbare washcloth she’d found under the sink and then stared at the mirror.

Pale green eyes stared back at her.

“Now you look more like you,” she told her reflection. Turning on her heel, she strode to the bedroom and pulled a nightshirt from her suitcase and then reached into her bra and pulled out the flesh-colored gel sacks, tossing them into their storage box.

It itched where the latex had rested against her breasts, so she hopped into the shower. She could always drip dry. A laugh escaped her. Heck, she could even sleep in the nude now if she wanted to. No one was around to stop her.

Humming, she lathered with the little sliver of soap and rinsed off.

Through the haze of steam, she exited the bathroom only to walk naked into a hard chest.

She screamed and staggered back. Strong hands shot out to steady her.

“I’m sorry!” Devon’s voice sounded strangled. “I knocked. When no one answered, I let myself in to leave the sheets and towels, with the pillows and stuff.” He pointed to a pile of linens on the bed. “Then I heard the shower and thought I’d reach in and leave a towel for you to dry off on.” He shrugged and swallowed. “Then…there you were. Are.” His gaze did a slow track down her nude body. At least, she thought it did. Without glasses or contacts, it was kind of hard to tell. Wait. Naked. She was naked.

Belated modesty washed over her, and she hopped behind the partially open bathroom door. “That still gave you no right to come into my apartment,
my
apartment, uninvited!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking.” He turned his back. “If you want to dry off and get dressed, I won’t look.”

“Darn right you won’t look! Get out of here!”

“I—I can’t. I need to talk to you about something. It can’t wait.” Pause. “After you get dressed, I can help you make the bed while we talk.”

Shoot. If he stuck around, he’d see her. The real her. She looked longingly at the bed.

“Turn off the light.” Maybe if they made the bed in the dark, he wouldn’t notice the discrepancy in her appearance.

“Why? It would make putting on the sheets kind of difficult.”

“Um, I don’t like to be seen without my makeup.”

He sighed. “You may not believe this, but I really don’t care about your makeup. Jamie, I’m tired, and I still have a lot of work to do tonight. I know you must be tired, too. Just throw on some clothes and come out here so we can get your bed made. Then I’ll leave and you can get some sleep. I promise,” he added.

When she didn’t answer, he ran his hands through his hair in a gesture she was already coming to recognize and said, “Fine. Stay there. I’ll make the bed, and you can come out after I leave.”

The soft, squishy feeling came back to her. No one had ever been that nice to her.

Memories of his kiss and her subsequent orgasm ran through her mind. Could she set aside her inhibitions and just let nature take its course? Men had one-night stands all the time. Also a lot of women. Unfortunately not her. But she could…couldn’t she?

Devon told his semierection to behave and flipped the top sheet onto the bed.

The bedroom plunged into darkness.

He reached back for the light switch and encountered a feminine hand.

“Keep it off,” she commanded in a husky whisper.

“Why?” He swallowed around the lump of anticipation in his throat. If he was misinterpreting her intentions again, he’d have no choice but to go home and whack off. Maybe he should find some new ways to use the plethora of sex toys he’d accumulated over the years.

Her hand closed over the bulge in his shorts, and he bit back a surprised yelp. Barely.

“Ah, Jamie?” A trickle of sweat ran down his cheek. If she kept stroking him like that, he’d come in his pants.

Her hands shoved at his clothing until he stood naked. The blackout shade he’d installed when he lived there made it impossible to see anything, but he knew she was naked, too. Naked was a good thing.

He turned off his mind to all the reasons why he shouldn’t take her up on what she was offering.

Her breasts branded his chest. Well, maybe closer to his upper abs, since she was short.

She hopped into his arms, pushing her arms against the top of his shoulders, her moist center pressed against him, aligning his mouth to her breast.

“Suck it,” she commanded.

If he did as she ordered, he would lose any control. He could live with that.

He drew her pebbled nipple into his mouth and frowned against the fragrant skin. Something was different.

He staggered toward the window.

“What are you doing?” There was no mistaking the panic in her voice.

“Call me old-fashioned, but I like to see what I put in my mouth.” He reached for the shade.

Her hand gripped his arm. “Stop! Don’t you want to,
you know
?”

“Of course I want to
you know
.” He reached, stretching for the cord. “I’ll just put the shade up enough to let in a little light. I want to see your beautiful breasts.”

The amount of light coming in through the six-inch opening barely illuminated anything, but at least it became obvious he was holding a woman.

“Just because we do this, it doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Her voice was coming in little pants while he suckled her.

“Right,” he said against her skin and then dropped her to bounce on the clean sheets. He grabbed her legs and put them around his hips. “Not a thing. Maybe you should think of baseball.”

He plunged into her wet heat, biting back a curse at the rightness, the ecstasy of it.

Jamie, however, screamed.

“Y
eah, 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.