I really shouldn’t be allowing myself to sink into him. I should be demanding to know where in the hell we were going. I should want to know what we were doing way out in the middle of nowhere. Maybe I should be panicking a little over the thought he was taking me somewhere secluded to kill me.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t make my mouth form the questions. The angry rants. The false accusations. Not even the flirtatious taunts that slipped from my lips as easily as the other things that were currently slipping from my more southern set of lips. I couldn’t because it was too nice – too comforting – to able to touch someone without their thoughts bombarding my brain. All I wanted to do was soak it up for as long as I could because I knew it would only end all too soon.
The ride or the peace and quiet. One or the other, it would come to an end, so I wanted to enjoy it for now because it was better than sex – in my experience anyway.
What in the hell was wrong with me?
I was falling for a suspected serial killer I’d been sent to spy on who was also my kinda sorta boss.
Rookie mistake #1!
Waiting. I kept waiting for his thoughts to pour into my head. I was relaxed as could be and clothing – made from currency-fed cows or not – never made a lick of difference in helping to block someone’s thoughts when I was touching them.
I wondered if it would hold out if I let him lick me…
It was those kinds of thoughts that had me worried. I’d been sent here on a mission. To gather evidence to support the theory Eric Northman was a murderer. Not gather a list of the ways in which I wanted him to defile my body.
And yet guess which one was longer.
I really needed to get my head back in the game instead of fantasizing about how it would feel with his other head in me, but it was awfully hard to do when I had my own stupid head pressed up against his back and Betty vibrating up against his ass. It would be so easy to just fall into him – into his bed. I’d been raised a good girl, but I’d been denied any kind of release that hadn’t been brought about by my own two hands and I wanted it. Bad. So I grasped at straws to keep from grasping other parts of him and tried to remember everything I’d been told.
I’d been told Eric Northman was reserved. Standoffish and unapproachable. It could take weeks – months – before I might find-hear-see something that would give us a glimpse into his dealings. He wouldn’t trust me right away. He wouldn’t drop his guard – ever. I would have to pay close attention because he would only let me see what he wanted me to see which might very well be nothing at all. He could put on the charm when necessary, but from every report; every stakeout; everyone the bureau had ever sent to check him out, it all pointed towards him being cold and detached.
Unless he was prowling for his evening fuck buddy.
Was that what I was?
Was that why he was acting this way with me?
He could probably charm the habit off of Mother Theresa. Have her renouncing God in a hot minute so she could be baptized in his holy cum. Worshipping the God among men as he dealt swift justice with the almighty staff in his pants.
Snap! Crackle! Pop! I smote thee with my dick of divinity.
And I was nowhere near as saintly as her.
His looks of disgust at his earlier eye fucks may have very well been because he’d been with those women before and didn’t want his own sloppy seconds. I hadn’t bothered dropping my shields around them because I didn’t need my gift to know what they were likely thinking. They wanted to fuck him and they wanted him to leave my side.
Because he was obviously a fuck ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy. He’d fucked and left lots of them according to the reports I’d read.
Never mind my true purpose for being there. Never mind my porn star fantasies about him. He didn’t know about that, so what was he thinking? That I’d drop my pants along with my morals and spread my legs? And then go back to picking up his dry cleaning while he went off in search of a new hole to fill?
I’d push him off the bike if I thought I could pull off an Indiana Jones and keep going.
Why did I care? It shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care what he thought I would do for him or what he thought about me. And the only thing I should be wondering about his sexploits should be whether or not they survived the Eric Northman Experience.
Not whether or not I could jump to the front of the line.
So why was my mind setting up traffic cones as my inner Betty donned a hardhat and safety orange vest, securing the red velvet rope behind her ass to signal this ride was closed, while backing the truck up and filling holes far and wide with her special blend of crotch cement?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
‘Rookie Mistake #2’, my mind stamped in bright red ink over the mental image.
But fuck me for liking him.
Rookie Mistake #3.
He was fun. And he was sexy. He had a great sense of humor. And he was sexy. He got my stupid jokes. And he was sexy. He treated me like I was worthy of his time and attention.
And did I mention he was sexy?
And why couldn’t I ‘hear’ him? What was it about him that made his secrets his own? What did that tell me about him?
Before him, it had only ever happened that one time when I’d been scared shitless. Since then, it had only happened with him and with others while in his presence.
It had happened before.
One time before all of the others…
Claudine’s thoughts were all her own unless she’d wanted me to hear her. It was her silence that had given me comfort. Her tutelage that had allowed me to master my gift. Her touch that allowed me relax in someone else’s arms for the first time in my life.
But she wasn’t real.
Or was she?
He was never seen wandering around in the daytime. Claudine had only ever come to me at night.
He was beautiful, almost in an otherworldly way. Claudine was absolutely stunning.
I may have been nervous in his presence. Angry, hot, and bothered too. But not once had I ever felt like I was in danger – despite the fact I should have been wary given my reason for being there in the first place. Claudine made me feel as safe as can be.
His thoughts were locked up tighter than Betty’s frustrated lips. Claudine’s head was as silent as a mute church mouse.
His birth records had him pushing forty years old, but he didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Claudine had told me she was hundreds of years old.
He’d had me pinned up against the wall faster than my libido hopped seeing him in those leather pants. Claudine could literally poof out of thin air.
Was Eric Northman a fairy?
All signs pointed towards yes. Or that I was crazy.
One and the same at this point.
He was a fairy. He was a serial killer. Either or. It didn’t matter because I was still falling for him.
The smudge left behind in my nonexistent panties indicated I’d been smote.
No. I was better than that. Flashy cars. Fancy suites. Fairy fucks with dicks of deity. It was all smoke and mirrors.
Just like my true purpose for being there to begin with.
I was stronger than that. I could overcome my attraction. It was a ridiculous crush. My ovaries exploding like it was the Fourth of July at the sight of his future great-grandbabies would just have to fuck off because we wouldn’t be fucking him. My head had been clouded by the fire burning in between my legs, so I replaced Betty’s hardhat with a fireman’s helmet and ordered that bitch to put out the flames. I couldn’t be distracted by smoldering looks and blistering banter.
I had a killer to catch and innocent lives trumped bristling Betty’s every time.
It was in the bible.
I’d been too caught up in my own thoughts to pay much attention to where we were, so when I finally looked around, I was surprised to see we were back in the city. Northman hadn’t said another word in that time, so I was startled a little hearing him speak again, pointing out a few more of his businesses. A real estate office. A security firm. Another hotel and two more nightclubs. I already knew about them from his file, so I didn’t pay much mind. It was the sound of his voice that held my attention. It was more subdued, like he had something else on his mind, but I didn’t press. I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t want to know.
Because he was a pretty Jack Nicolson and I was a pathetic Tom Cruise. Deserved or not. I wasn’t sure I could handle the truth.
Despite my earlier Joan Baez ‘We Shall Overcome’ moment, I already knew I would be disappointed if he was the actual killer. I would nail him to the wall if he was. Betty would weep over not nailing him in other ways, but I would do it. I couldn’t live with myself if someone else was murdered because I’d been too busy gathering his cum to gather actual evidence. Thanks to all of our flirty banter we were already on the precipice of a slippery slope. I needed to take a step back. I needed to put some distance between us before I slid into the abyss.
And allowed him to slide into me.
Commandment Number One – Thou shall not play ‘Just the Tip’ with Eric Northman.
And commandments two through ten would cover the other nine inches I suspected lurked in his pants.
We eventually ended up back at the casino. His mood still seemed downcast and he hadn’t said a word, so I silently followed his lead while trying to ignore the fact he looked like he’d just stepped out of the pages of a magazine thanks to his windblown hair.
And my reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator showed I looked like I’d just lost a fight with a tornado.
The corners of his lips turned up seeing me trying to smooth my hair back down, but still he remained silent. I figured we were headed back up to his office, so I was surprised when the elevator doors opened to what I guessed was his penthouse suite. In front of us was a foyer of sorts and the only other door besides the elevator’s was right in front of us.
Seeing where we’d ended up, Betty threw off her fireman’s helmet and fluffed her hair, lounging back provocatively, and made a cum hither gesture with my clit.
Betty was a dirty little bitch.
In order to keep ahead of her – and keep his other head out of me – I asked, “What are we doing here?”
Instead of answering, he merely stared down at me with a storm brewing behind his eyes. Betty’s fluffed hair fanned out with the gale force winds that came up out of nowhere and while she struggled to put up her umbrella, he slowly reached out and took my hand in his own. It may have been covered by his leather glove, but I felt the electrical charge jolt through me nonetheless at his touch. He seemed to feel it too, but he only hesitated for a moment before entering in a series of numbers on the keypad on the wall. Taking the forefinger of my right hand, he pressed it into the concave sensor pad and waited for the beep before removing his own glove and doing the same.
“Now you may come and go as you please,” he offered.
Hearing the sexuality in his voice made Betty drop her inverted umbrella and hop up from her boudoir pose to hop hop hop down the libido trail only to take a flying leap and land on top of the ISD he’d planted with both feet.
Shrapnel flew out in all directions, but I didn’t dare look down to see the damage.
I could already feel it running down my inner thighs.
My resolve to keep things professional took a major hit, so I applied pressure to the wound by clamping my legs together to stem the bleeding. Betty was going through the death throes, so I ordered an I.V., CBC, and EKG, but the bitch would have to wait until later to get any oxygen.
I would Not ask him to play doctor and beg him to rip off my pants.
Instead I followed him inside with both sets of lips clamped shut, ignoring Betty’s use of my clit to tap out her Morse coded messages of, ‘Attack! Attack!,’ but I didn’t venture further than the entry way. It was a beautiful place I was sure, but my eyes wouldn’t move beyond him.
Unfortunately, my mouth moved all on its own.
“What are we doing?”
The heat in his eyes was undeniable when he turned to stare back at me long and hard. I was sure if I dropped my eyes a couple of feet lower, it would be matchy matchy with what was in his pants, but I didn’t dare look.
The sight could either finish Betty off or finish Betty off and I didn’t want to reward her. Death or an orgasm. They were both too good for her at this point.
The business-like quality of his voice contradicted his bedroom eyes as he explained, “We’re going over your duties, Miss Stackhouse. As my personal assistant, among other things, you’ll be required to see to my personal effects. No one else has access to my home therefore I’ll need you to see to the gathering and returning my laundry. Why else do you think I would’ve brought you here?”
There was a challenge in his expression. One that all but dared me to say it. To say there was a pillow with my name on it waiting for me to bite it.
Like I wanted to bite him.
So I bit down on my tongue instead.
The pain didn’t help much, even though I could taste my own blood, so when I thought I had enough control, I asked, “Do you have a special cleaner you use for your leather pants?”
Or will my tongue do?
His eyes widened and his nose flared as he inhaled deeply with his gaze zeroing in on my mouth.
Did I say that last part out loud?
“Cat got your tongue?”
My pussy wants yours…
We stood there for the longest time with him staring at me to the point it was starting to become uncomfortable. The only movement in the room came from his deep inhales and the motion of his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed.
I felt like the antelope to his lion.
Finally his eyes lifted to my own, filled with hesitation and wonder. Much like Betty, only with less hesitation and more pre-fuck fluids, when he swallowed one last time and said, “There will be a file left on my desk for you each night. In it will be your list of tasks for the following day along with a directory of businesses I utilize for things such as…cleaning leather.”
Gone was Mr. McFlirty from earlier and in his place was Mr. Northman. I was confused. And disappointed.
And I was especially confused when I noticed I was suddenly standing all alone in the room.
Did he just poof out of thin air?
How does one ask their boss/suspected serial killer if they’re a fairy?
So, fight any vampires lately?
I wasn’t sure if I’d been dismissed for the night, so I stood there for a few moments longer when I heard him call out, “Miss Stackhouse.” Following the sound of his voice – and the ever present bump in the road his head was to me – I found him in what was likely his closet.
But looked more like a magical forest that grew men’s clothing from the magical hanger branches.
I added it to my mental fairy theory list.
It was bigger than our living room back home and I wandered in, looking but not touching, when I found him in the back.
Pointing at a hamper, he said, “My dirty clothes will be left there. You’re to gather them daily and return the freshly laundered clothing here.”
The change in his demeanor was so striking, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Did I say something wrong?” He’d been so personable up until now, but suddenly he was acting exactly like I’d first expected him to.
Aloof. Cold. Detached.
I didn’t like it.
When he didn’t say anything, I wondered if perhaps he was reacting to whatever vibe I was throwing off thanks to my earlier thoughts. It was the only logical conclusion I could come to, so I forced myself to say, “Look, I’ll admit there’s…something here, but you’re my boss. It would be wrong.”
That sounded good, right? We should keep it professional-like, but we could still joke around in the meantime. All the way to the trial even.
The cold expression disappeared as he smiled and said, “You’re fired.”
Well that would put a hamper in my FBI stat book.
“You’re funny,” I tried and failed to glare. His warm smile warmed my heart more than I cared to admit and Betty was back to fanning herself like damsel of yesteryear about to faint dead away. I didn’t want to backtrack, but I also knew it would be wrong on every level to give in to what we both wanted.
Sex. Lots and lots of sex.
That’s what conjugal visits were for.
“I am many things,” he offered with another smile. His expression changed into one of disappointment, but resolved when he admitted, “But you’re right. I am your employer and you are my employee. I didn’t hire you for your very impressive rack or your naturally blond hair and I don’t want my previous actions to lead you to believe otherwise.” Taking a step closer and causing my temperature to zoom up another ten degrees, he added, “I enjoy your company, Miss Stackhouse. It is not something I get to experience often and I’m afraid my delight in our easy banter may have made me act inappropriately. But I’ll endeavor to do better in the future.”
Every word from his lips was more or less every thought I’d had in my head. I should be relieved I could concentrate on the task at hand rather than how parts of his body would feel in my hand. I should be happy I could go about doing my duties and wouldn’t have to dodge his landmines Betty wanted to play hopscotch on. I should be ecstatic I wouldn’t be under his penetrating gaze now that I didn’t have to worry about ending up underneath him.
So why was I so disappointed?
Christ. They were right. I wasn’t ready and I was this close to fucking things up.
Because I was thisclose to fucking him if he came any closer.
“Very well, Mr. Northman,” I forced myself to say and added with a smile, “but don’t feel you have to go choir boy on me. I enjoy our banter as well.”
I didn’t want him to clam up on me. Not only did I enjoy our little verbal sparring sessions, but if he backed off too much then it would only make it that much more difficult to see who he truly was.
A killer? Or an innocent?
Betty was in hysterics and clawing her way towards him, so I clamped my thighs together and waited until he finally said, “Very well, Miss Stackhouse.” He motioned for me to follow him and led me back into the elevator and back to his office. When we were there, he handed me the file folder from his desk and said, “You’re free to enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ll see you here again tomorrow night at seven and go over whatever tasks I have for you.”
My disappointment was irrationally turning into anger at his obvious dismissal. It wasn’t like he’d taken me out on a date. Like he’d said, he was my employer and I was his employee. A kiss at the end of the night was never on the table.
Nor should I be wanting him to bend me over one.
Not trusting either set of lips, I nodded my head in response and darted into his bathroom to gather my things. As I placed my hand on the doorknob to leave his office, I turned to say goodnight just as his intercom buzzed. Mr. Fuckity Fuck’s voice filled the air as he said, “Your ten o’clock is here.”
“Send her in,” he replied.
I pounced on green-eyed Betty and wrestled her into a choke hold before opening the door to see a tall statuesque brunette heading my way. It made no difference seeing she looked nothing like his type because Betty wrenched herself free and whistled for the cement truck to back up while she pushed her nonexistent sleeves up her nonexistent arms in preparation for a catfight.
The woman gave me the same dismissive bitch-fueled jealous look as the other women had downstairs and it only ruffled my feathers more, but I allowed her to pass without acknowledgement. And, more importantly, without tripping her. However I wasn’t above dipping into her head, but her red tangled thoughts were hazy until she accidentally brushed up against me. It was only a snippet, but it was more than enough that I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to wrestle her into a choke hold and beat the answers out of her.
But I couldn’t.
Not without giving away my secret.
Like any red blooded heterosexual female, she wanted him. And like any gold digging whore, she wanted in his bank accounts. That wasn’t what gave me pause. That wasn’t what made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck or what sent a shudder down my spine.
She oozed disdain, confidence, and malice.
Disdain for me.
Confidence in that she would get what she came for.
And malice in that she would do whatever was necessary in order to achieve her goals.
Northman was certainly no shrinking violet. Hell, he was the prime suspect in a wave of gruesome murders and yet I was afraid to leave him alone with her.
It was stupid and it was just as true.
I reached for his thoughts one last time, hoping and praying I’d get just a glimpse. Did he know she was his enemy? Was he just humoring her so he could drain her body of blood and leave her corpse for the rats to feast on?
Would I dime him out if he did?
I couldn’t be sure, but it made no difference because I still got nothing from him. And I had no legitimate reason to remain. To keep pushing against the barrier of his mind. I’d been dismissed, in more ways than one. As much as I wanted to pass him a note to warn him against her and then stab the bitch to death with my pen, I couldn’t. It would be his choice to fuck her, pay her, or dismiss her just like he’d done with me.
Pay me and dismiss me, that is. No fucking.
And seeing she now had his full attention, I had only one move left to make.
It took all of my willpower to close the door behind me as he greeted, “Miss Stonebrook. What can I do for you this evening?”