Nymph (A Paranormal Romance Trilogy, #1) (4 page)

And she was used to that constant underlying arousal, even if it was more so than normal; she could ignore it for the most part, until it became too much and she had to act upon it.

She’d managed to go a whole day without having to do that, partly down to the stewing she was doing.

Chloe shook it all from her head, and looked out of the window.

Patrick was patrolling the car slowly down a side street, for no other reason than because.

She heard the noise of the tires on the road surface, hitting stones and potholes, as the suspension smoothed their ride.

“You’re quiet,” he said, staring out of the other window as he drove.

She shrugged, didn’t know what to say to that.

“Talk if you want,” he said after another beat of silence.

She didn’t want.

They were approaching a corner, and a few males were sauntering around, looking a little suspicious.

“Something to do I guess,” Patrick said, before parking up and sounding the siren once.

All faces looked their way.

“You hang back,” he instructed, then got out and approached as she climbed out and hovered a few feet behind.

She couldn’t quite hear what was being said, and her mind began to wander. In a few short seconds, she relived her whole encounter with the hooded man, from start to finish, in vivid detail, and while nothing made sense, it all seemed clear again.

And that irked her.

She wanted to prove the bastard wrong.

But she needed to focus on the now.

She noticed one of the guys was slowly stepping away from the group, trying to keep out of Patrick’s eye line, and so she walked to him and blocked his motion.

He actually walked backwards into her.

The tiny commotion made everyone look their way, and his escape was thwarted.

He towered over her though, in spite of his sudden reverential respect. She found it odd these days to see this kind of awe in citizens, and she had to hide a smile. This group was doing nothing wrong, and here they were, interrupting their afternoon for no apparent reason. And the group, they were being polite about it.

It was counter to the growing sense of fear and palpable tension in the city right now.

And that made her think.

She remembered something he’d said about them not being afraid of daylight.

Chloe looked at the man before her, all muscle and height. She even sniffed at him, trying to get a sense of who he might be. He smelt masculine, and she wondered if the Suckers gave off an odour.

Patrick was joking around with the group now, and they were joining in, relaxing now it was clear they weren’t in trouble.

And yet, Chloe suspected something.

“You,” she whispered to the giant next to her. “With me.”

She jerked her head, and lead him off, exchanging a look with Patrick as she went. He gave a surreptitious little nod, and let her go. It was one of their tricks; separate the group, get one talking while the others wondered what was being said.

Chloe kept walking, feeling the mass of the man next to her. His size reminded her of Hunter.

“What’s your name sir?”

“Darius.”

“Everything okay Darius?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Come round here.”

They stepped down another side street, out of view of the rest of the others. Darius seemed to relax a little now. Maybe because he knew he could crush her at any time, or maybe because of something else. She held her belt, fingers close to her baton and gun at all times, as she looked up into his face.

“Something you need to tell me?” she asked.

“No ma’am.”

“You seemed keen to distance yourself from those guys.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to. Just get nervous around you guys.”

“I understand. Get up to Angelino Heights much?”

It was the site of the last slayings, and if Hunter was right, the work of something other than a man.

“No ma’am. Never been up there.”

That sounded a bit too unequivocal to Chloe.

“Never?” she raised an eyebrow.

“No ma’am.”

“You strapped?”

He sighed and looked away down the side street, staring into the middle distance.

“I got two strikes,” he said.

Now it made a bit more sense.

“Say you were strapped, you got paper?”

“No ma’am.”

“Okay,” she thought for a moment. “On your way.”

The tension drained from his shoulders, and he bowed a little, offering some profuse and loquacious thanks.

And in that moment, two conflicting thoughts fought for Chloe’s attention. At once, she could prove Hunter wrong, and prove him right. If nothing else, it might shake her from her mood, and get her life moving again.

“Take it out,” she said. “Show it to me.”

He stopped mid-sentence and thought a moment, before reaching behind him to pull out the Glock from his belt.

“Not your gun,” she said, and he looked confused. “Your dick.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, then he licked his top lip, and handed her his piece. Then he looked up and down the street, and yanked open his fly, fishing out his half hard dick and letting her see it.

It was getting harder even as she just looked at it, so fat, starting to stand up now.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked, staring at it as it got fully hard for her.

“Because you asked me to,” he said, arousal in the back of his throat.

“You wanna fuck me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he sighed. “Since I saw you.”

She reached out her hand, palm up, and found his balls, massaging them in her fingers, feeling how full and swollen they were. And she couldn’t take her eyes off his massive prick, so dark against the pale white skin of her wrist.

Chloe was annoyed that Hunter was right about one thing.

But at least she could investigate her theory now.

Her hands stroked up, and she wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft, feeling the heat burning into her cool hand now. She looked up and saw him staring down at her, his eyes wide with arousal. She leaned up, letting her mouth hover close to his, letting him feel the heat of her breath on his face, as she started to jerk him off in her had. Slow at first, but then harder and faster as his body tensed and he half closed his eyes, trying to kiss her whenever she let her lips nearly touch his.

He was almost bent double now as her hand worked furiously.

“You want me to suck it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he gasped, almost in pain.

With that, she dropped to her knees and adjusted the angle of her hand, still pumping away at him as she aimed his thick tip towards her eager mouth. It felt so hot as it got closer, and she wrapped her lips around it with a gleeful moan, pushing as much of it into her as she could take. It was too big for too much, and so she swirled her tongue around his tip and continued to jerk his shaft, making his balls bounce violently below.

Before she could enjoy it too much, he announced his intentions, and she let him go, jerking him harder right in front of her face and commanding him to unload it all over her.

The warmth of his sticky white come landed on her nose and cheeks in long, ribbon-like splashes, and above her, the giant man groaned, his energy levels still high.

That answered that question, she thought, as she scooped his spunk in her fingers and sucked it into her mouth. The only sucker in this relationship right now was her. And she had loved every second of it.

“Get lost,” she said, still kneeling.

He trotted away, trying to do himself up as he jogged.

When she returned to the other street, she found Patrick alone, leaning on the hood of the patrol car.

“He had two strikes,” she explained, and Patrick nodded in acknowledgement.

“Lunch?”

“Sure.”

She looked around, seeing something move behind a dumpster, and she knew Hunter had been watching the whole time.

It made her angry, all through her Reuben and fries. And she knew he was there, hovering in the shadows, all through the remainder of her shift.

She even knew he was there, in her house, when she closed the door and turned on the lights.

There was, sitting at her table, hood down, dark hair, piercing eyes, firm jaw, looking better than she wanted him to.

“That guy on the street,” he said, without a hello. “You were trying to prove me wrong.”

“Valid investigative technique. Not a Sucker.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine.”

She opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. She didn’t offer him one.

“So, say I buy seventy five percent of what you said. What now?”

For once he didn’t seem to have an answer, and that pleased her more than she cared to admit. She twisted the cap off the neck, and chugged back a few mouthfuls of the cold brew. When she dropped her head, she saw him staring at the swell of her tits in her shirt. And annoyingly, that made her nipples stiffen.

Asshole.

A wicked thought occurred to her.

“So, any man I want?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Could I have you?” she asked, putting down the beer and stepping closer.

“Yes,” he replied, matter of fact. “But not because I feel compelled.”

With that, he stood up, and stepped to her, pushing her backwards until she hit the counter. She stared up at his face, trying to look pissed off, keeping her hands behind her as she felt his breath near her, smelled his masculine musk, sensed his taut muscles beneath his clothes, coiled and ready to spring.

And in spite of herself, she wanted him.

She pushed her face towards his, but felt his hand on her neck, stopping her, and she scowled, just as his other hand pulled up her shirt, and she felt the balls of his fingers rubbing at her hip.

He found her little butterfly, and she melted.

“Fuck me,” she sighed with such deep arousal she stunned herself.

His fingers massaged the spot with such tender perfection, and the sensation began to seep through her body, pushing her nipples violently forward, puffing them up and making them hard, making her clit sing, and her pussy swell ready for him.

She tried to kiss him again, couldn’t help herself, but his fingers squeezed tighter around her neck, and she nearly kicked him. But his fingers continued to work their magic, and her whole body was his, to do with as he pleased. And she was overcome with the urge to let him know this.

Without a word, while his fingers melted her ever more, she tore open her shirt and slipped it off, reaching hurriedly to unfasten her bra and liberate her tits. They fell free of the cups, swollen, heavy, her nipples so red and so hard, she pushed herself to his chest, straining against his hand, letting him feel them on him.

And still he massaged the right spot, until it was all she could do to moan and gasp, so breathless with wonder now.

And finally, his mouth engulfed hers and they kissed, deep, hard, passionate, their tongues lapping and dancing, his free hand on her tit now, massaging it, his thumb rubbing her aroused nipple to the same rhythm as his other fingers. She sucked his tongue, then let him suck hers, and when their kiss broke, she was teetering on the brink of the biggest orgasm of her life.

And then he let go.

And she swore with deep annoyance.

Just as he dropped to his knees and pulled open her jeans, yanking them down, along with her panties, spreading her pussy lips open with two fingers, and flicking his tongue at her clit.

And suddenly, she was no longer on the brink.

She came.

Hard.

Harder than she had ever come in her life.

Over, and over, and over again.

He feasted on her pussy, bringing her off in wave after wave, each more powerful than the last, until she could take no more, and she had to push his face away and sink down to the floor. She gasped for air, kicking her clothes away so she was entirely naked, the cold floor so wonderful against her boiling hot skin.

A few deep breaths, and suddenly another hunger overwhelmed her.

She crawled forward and pushed him onto his back, not hearing, or wanting to hear his protests. Before he could stop her, she fished out his cock and crawled up his legs, pushing her hot pussy down against the underside of his stiff shaft, trapping his cock between them as she looked deep into his eyes and rocked her hips, letting him feel her silky wetness, giving him a sense of what was to come.

“I can’t,” he gasped, but his hands betrayed him, one snaking to her tit, the other to her ass, where he spanked her with a stinging slap.

That made her hiss with delight, and she angled her hips to push her lips around the swollen tip of his cock. And then she pushed deeper down it, gasping loud as she took him inside, feeling him stretch and fill her.

She planted her hands firmly on his chest and started to fuck him, hard and fast, her tits swinging in his face as his hands smacked against her taut ass cheeks.

She came again, though not as hard, even though it felt fantastic.

Chloe wanted him to come inside her, needed him to.

But when she looked down at him, his neck was straining, he was in pain, his face red, the veins almost purple.

She stopped fucking him, overwhelmed with a confusing concern for him.

“What?”

“I can’t,” he gasped. “Hurts.”

“What?” she asked, sliding off of him with a delicious shiver. “Why?”

“Dunno,” he sighed, suddenly relieved of the pain. “Maybe what I take from them affects me too.”

“For fuck’s sake,” she yelped, screaming a little tantrum. “I want you so badly.”

“Me too,” he hissed.

They lay side by side, her body at once satiated and frustrated, feeling him so close to her and yet so far away now.

Life was too confusing.

And she was fingering herself, not done, not wanting to be done.

He rolled onto his side and let his hand replace hers, letting his fingers play her like a fiddle, until her back arched and she tensed, screaming yet another orgasm at the ceiling, almost out of anger now.

Hunter stroked her hair and watched her come down from the heights, her whole body flushed red with it all.

“I’m going to make you come in me,” she said, wanting to sound angry and spiteful, but hearing the desperation in her voice.