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NO HOLES BARRED:
A FAMILIAR FACE
By
Marie Harte
© copyright April 2007, Marie Harte
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright April 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Trotting down Newtown's crowded sidewalk on four padded feet, her tail flat with irritation, trade witch Mallory West had sunk to an all new low. Acting as her own familiar, she wrinkled her nose and tried her best to focus on the rank smell of her quarry, rather than the seafood market so tantalizingly near.
Frank, that rat, would have to flee before she'd been able to fix dinner, and after a hellish Friday at that. Two more skipped claims, three more orders for restraint spells she couldn't possibly finish without wasting away her weekend, and the little shifter just had to decide he couldn't possibly do his time in Takori prison, not for a 'whole 'nother four months.' Sob sob, yadda yadda.
Pansy-ass. She sighed, a rumbled purr that irritated her whiskers, and followed him past the crowded markets, across the street and into a seedy-looking alley. Hecate's cauldron, but the magically-minded criminals in town weren't even criminals anymore. The clear-cut evil that used to comprise the baddies had denigrated into whining, sniveling scum that took too much effort to catch and afforded little in the way of reward. Serving the greater good seemed to be no more than an unappreciated headache lately.
Her energy bill was past due, her wax lien perilously close to being called-and what witch could perform without wax, thank you--and her super promised to evict her if she didn't pay her late rent by Monday. As it was she'd managed to eek this past week out of him by promising to acquire and return his precious 'videotape', an ancient relic her quarry had stolen for leverage. Leverage against what, she didn't know, and frankly, didn't care. Her super could have screwed the entire police force, disgusting as the thought was. She wanted to continue living in her rent-controlled apartment. And if catching Frank 'the rat' was her only way out, so be it.
She sighed again and skirted a rotting door into an abandoned building. Trash and dead roaches littered the cement floor. Graffiti and hexes covered the walls, and she itched to leave, her feline senses tingling with displeasure. Soon, she promised herself, waiting until 'Ratman' Frank transformed back into his wiry, slovenly self.
A hazy rush settled over his body, and with a quickness she admired, he regained his human feet. She tried not to stare at the natty man still quivering like a rodent. Instead, she mentally prepared her spell and rubbed the silver charm around her left front paw against her scratchy tongue. Narrowing her eyes, and with no help for it, she meowed the verbal command. In the seconds it took her to resume her natural form, she'd teleported Frank to Takori. Whipping out her cell phone, she autodialed Sherman Jakes, her best friend.
"Yo, Sherm. Another one coming your way. Yeah, Frank Norton, wanted on extortion and assault charges. He skipped last week. Oh, and do me a favor. The videotape he has on him? Shoot it back to my place, would you?" She paused, shaking her head at his comments. "No, sorry. I'm really not in the mood for The Palace tonight. What? Sheila's coming? Oh hell, okay. I'll see you there at nine."
Hanging up, she muttered to herself and refrained from licking her arm to smooth down her hair. Drop the familiar. She swiped at a descending spider and quickly exited the building, kicking through the decayed door. Well, at least tonight hadn't been a total waste. She hadn't had to expend but the one charm on the capture. And she'd have a check coming-
"Well, well, well. What do we have here? An actual witch on ghoul territory. Where's your sugar daddy, baby?" Ace MacNafee grinned, his blackened teeth on par with his odious breath. Terrific. He had what passed for his friends with him, four snotty teenagers with more brawn than brain. All undead and rotting from within. Smelly, obnoxious, and unbelievably stupid. She grimaced at the skin and sinew hanging off the tallest man-child. Did his parents have no concept of trimming excess flesh?
"Not now, Ace. I'm leaving. I'll come back to play on Monday." Like hell I will.
"You're leaving when I say you can leave. Now come here and gimme a kiss. We don't get many aristocrats in the alleys, Mal-or-ee. And we sure don't get superfreak ass like yours." He licked his lips, his gaze lingering over her breasts before opening his mouth wide. He blew out a noxious red gas--dreaded ghoul toxin that could paralyze if ingested in sufficient quantity.
Mal rolled her eyes and twisted the charm bracelet on her wrist. As her fingers closed over a miniature iron dagger, she lamented the expense of another charm, but knew, without it, she wouldn't be leaving the alley intact, let alone meeting Sherm and Sheila in a few hours.
As a mystic dagger suddenly appeared in her palm, she aimed and threw, chanting under her breath. Though pleased at a ghoul's shrill cry, a bit of the toxin entered her bloodstream, making her slightly dizzy. And in her ensuing weakness, she felt rough hands grabbing her forearms.
"Ace," she said through gritted teeth, wishing the chief of police would rein in his worthless kid. "I'm not playing. Keep it up and I'll remove those fingers, regardless of your dad's status."
"Oooh," he mocked. "I'm so scared."
Tired of dealing with the literal scum of the earth, she stared hard at his left hand and released the holds on her 'illegal' magic. Within moments he was screaming, his friends were screaming, and a squad of police had entered the alley with their guns drawn.
****
Sherm sipped his beer. "I don't know, Mal. I think you may be the unluckiest witch I've ever met. Your familiar left you. You're nearly flat broke, the only witch I know without a trust fund, and you just maimed the chief's only son."
Sheila, his fiancée, giggled. "You go girl! You're on fire!"
Several nearby patrons, regulars at The Python Palace, saluted her with drinks. Though she'd only brought more trouble upon herself by roughing up Ace and his goons, she'd actually done the city a real service. Everyone hated the ghoul gangs that paraded around the wharf. And Chief MacNafee should have retired years ago.
"You know, Sherm," Mal said, sipping her wine. "You have an amazing tendency to make my life seem even more dour than it is."
He grinned, white teeth flashing against dark brown skin. "I do have skills, you know."
"Especially in bed," Sheila muttered, sliding him a wink. He gave her a thorough kiss, what looked like a rousing game of tonsil hockey, and Mal sighed.
"Not more of this lovey-dovey crap. Can't you two contain yourselves for a night, get a room or something?"
Sherm eyed the Palace's second floor, the one off-limits to seemingly everyone.
"What? Don't tell my you're not on 'the list'?" Mallory blinked. "But Sherm, you're so big and handsome, so strong." When Sheila laughed at the chagrined expression on his face, Mal added, "Couldn't bribe Rattler either, eh?"
"No. I swear, I've never met a bartender so close-mouthed. Hell, I'm law enforcement. You'd think he'd accept the bribe, a favor for a favor or some shit. But not Rattler. 'Mr. Python' will not budge." He glared when she would have spoken. "And don't give me any crap about you being special. We both know the only reason you've been allowed to even walk upstairs is because of your 'under the table' part-time status here."
Mal shrugged. "A witch has to eat."
"I still don't understand why you haven't married." Sheila motioned to a waitress for another round. "Even though your parents are total assho--ah, oddballs, they still don't have the authority to prevent you from marrying up."
"Sheila, you and Sherm are in love. Why should I settle for less?"
"Yes, but I can afford to eat, with or without Sherman."
"Good point. But I don't want to marry. I don't want a man telling me what to do all the time. And you know how arrogant warlocks are. You two are different from any couple I know. You're actually in love." She groaned. "I won't marry an asshole like my parents, but I admit I'm tired of living claim to claim, of being considered the lowest of the low because I'm forced to earn a living." She rubbed at her aching ribs, having suffered several unnecessary 'pat-downs' from the chief's men before the news cameras had arrived. "My rent is due, my energy bill is overdrawn, and I never seem to have time for me anymore."
Sherm looked sympathetic. Sheila captured her hand and squeezed.
"I'm sorry guys. I'm just feeling sorry for myself tonight. I told you I shouldn't have come."
A sudden presence behind her made her still, but the familiar sensation of sheer power pressing against her back told her who neared. "Rattler, what can I do you for?"
"I'm sorry to bother you three, but Mal, I could really use a hand tonight." He nodded to the thickening crowd spilling toward the throbbing dance floor a split-level below. "Festival always perks sales, and Becky called in sick. You mind filling in? Double your wages …."
Hell, her night was shot anyway. Why not make some much-needed money? Besides, in here, she didn't have to worry about being shot or cursed. No one screwed around in Rattler's Python Palace, not if they wanted to live. The police skirted the place, and Rattler's mysterious otherworldly connections made him a powerful man indeed.
Hairless but for his thin black eyebrows and wicked goatee, covered with multiple piercings and an intricate snake tattoo, which covered him from the back of his neck and around his shirtless, muscular torso and presumably further beneath his jeans, Rattler should have looked too freakish to be attractive. But something about the large male had always made her feel comfortable, protected. And the grayish tint to his flesh made him almost as unique in the community as Mallory. A snake man running a dance club who answered to no one. A witch without means or a familiar. Two peas in a pod, except Rattler was a success, and Mal simply aspired to be one.
"Okay, you're on. Sorry guys, I'll stop by later to chat."
Sherm and Sheila took her departure easily, sinking back into that couple's connection that made her both envious and a little sad. She'd been close to that once, or at least, close the that picture. Her relationship with Aaron Floyd Crowe III had been anything but loving, and all about appearances.
"Mal," Rattler prodded. "I need you now."
****
Four hours later, Mal reminded herself how fortunate she'd been that Rattler needed help. The bills, remember the bills. Maybe with tonight's take she could give herself tomorrow off and focus Sunday on the restraint spells. She carried out another order and, subtly glancing toward Rattler, mumbled a curse under her breath at a nearby customer with grabby hands. He'd feel it tomorrow and hopefully wouldn't associate it with The Palace. She'd tried, she'd really tried to resist using her magic, but enough was enough. The human octopus didn't seem to understand no.
"Everything okay?" Rattler asked from behind the bar. His fathomless black eyes were narrowed on her and she did her best to appear innocent of any wrongdoing. God forbid he caught her doing magic in his place. She couldn't afford to alienate Rattler--literally.
Sighing and trying to appear pathetic, she didn't have to fake her yawn. "Sorry, but it's been a long day. And I wasn't prepared for tonight." She glanced down at her stained jeans, cropped t-shirt and beer-covered flats. Normally when she waited, she wore her snakeskin boots, waterproofed and comfort-lined.
"Damn. I hadn't though beyond replacing Becky. I'm sorry, Mal. Your feet are probably killing you. Why don't you head upstairs and rest a few minutes?"
Her eyes widened and she automatically looked at the imposing, guarded entrance to the Lounge's stairwell. She'd only once before served drinks in the open, modern loft area, accompanied by Palace security. No one knew what was up there except Rattler and a few select guests. From what little she'd seen, the Lounge sat between the low wall visible to the downstairs and three black doors spaced evenly against the inner wall.
A black floor, hot pink walls, neon lights and a disco ball made the place garishly attractive when active, a rare occurrence in itself. And the lights and hot pink paint made the three ominous looking black doors even more arresting.
She'd been dying of curiosity about those mysterious doors, but damned if she'd ever had a chance to investigate. Exposed to the familiar within her, her feline senses ached to see, to know. But she'd have to use magic to work around Rattler, and she respected him too much to violate his trust. A harmless spell here or there hurt no one. But she'd never violate his one rule to working at The Python Palace-never, ever go upstairs without Rattler's express permission.
"Go upstairs? Sure." She paused, waiting for him to say more. He didn't, and the look on his face made her somewhat uneasy. "What?"
"Nothing." But he was smiling. "Go on up. Don't worry about it, Mallory. You need some time to regroup, even the 'slave master' that I am can see that."
She flushed. "You heard that, hmm?"
He raised a brow. "You said it loud enough to be heard three blocks down."
"Yeah, but that was a week ago and to Becky. You have ears like a bat," she said under her breath as she headed eagerly to the stairwell.
"I heard that, too," he shouted, laughing. "See you when I see you." And with that, he turned to help another customer.
The massive bouncers merely nodded her through and as Mallory ascended to the second floor of The Palace by herself for the first time, she wondered why she suddenly had a feeling that facing those three black doors might be a huge mistake.
She paused at the landing and took a deep breath. Nonsense. The Lounge was empty, unless Rattler had a secret passageway through which he smuggled privileged customers. Walking through the entrance, she noted the cleanliness and order in the oversized loft. Magazines tidied, vids scrubbed free of smoke, the black lacquered floor a study in clean. But those three doors captured her eyes like magnets.
Her nose twitched as she stared at them. What the hell was beyond those doors?
Approaching them, she studied each one. Of average height and width, black with gold knobs, they looked standard. Normal. The same. So why did the familiar within her guide her to the middle door?
Almost as if in a dream, she watched her hand grasp the knob, felt the cool glide of metal under her palm, and listened to the quiet click as the catch released. She entered the room and a dim light illuminated the space. Huh. A plain, average bedroom. Same lacquered floor as the lounge, white walls. A king-sized bed with black sheets and a white downy duvet. No other doors or windows, and no furniture. Hell, not even a mirror. The door closed with a soft nick, but her eyes were focused on Rattler's suggestion.
The bed seemed like heaven at the moment, and without thought, she lay down on her back, sighing at the feel of silk under her tired and aching muscles. In seconds she'd sank deep into the comfort of sleep.
Minutes or hours might have passed when a noise interrupted her rest. Shouts and moans, what sounded like fighting and, well, sex, increased in volume until she couldn't stand it. That curiosity again. But at least she felt refreshed, and mentally thanked Rattler for her small nap.
A loud thunk rapped the wall outside the door, and she heard what she imagined to be cursing and threats in a foreign language. Opening the door, she came face to face with a man who could have been Rattler's twin. He had shoulder length black hair, gray skin, and a snake tattoo curled around his body and up his neck. What looked like a leather kilt and crossed straps across his chest that behind his back held two crossed swords--their hilts visible over his massive shoulders--made her blink.
She had to clear her throat. Unlike his 'brother', nothing about this guy felt comfortable or safe. He easily could have passed for security, as big as an ox and wearing a mantle of menace over those brawny shoulders. Her blood heated and her heart raced, in fear and a surprising arousal, worrying her more than she liked. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even fantasized about sex.
"Um, Rattler said it was okay to be up here."
His eyes widened and he stared down at her-way down-his gaze first suspicious, then bolder as he roamed from her face, lingering over her lips, to her breasts and the slim expanse of abdomen showcased by her cropped shirt. She had an urge to cross her arms over her breasts, doubly so when her nipples peaked under his regard.
"Cuwenicu," murmured throughout the crowd, and she was momentarily distracted by the foreign word.
Without warning he latched onto her wrists and pulled her from the room. The minute the door closed behind her, he let her go, and the Lounge fell into complete and utter silence.
"Hey buddy, what the hell is your prob…lem?" She trailed off as she watched his eyes turn into something she'd never before seen. As a witch, Mallory knew all about the otherworldly creatures in existence-the vampires, ghouls, shifters and mages that wandered her neighborhood. But this guy…he didn't fit into any category she knew.
She glanced nervously around her, and couldn't help gaping at what looked like a Rattler family reunion. Every single male in the place had height, muscles, and gray skin. Several had hair, however, and none sported any body piercing that she could see. She turned back to the one responsible for pulling her out of her safe haven. Good night, but his eyes! Moonlight and fairy dust, this guy wasn't human. Wasn't otherworldly, either. But what he was, she didn't yet know.
His eyes, at first a vibrant gray-green, changed, the pupils thinning and elongating as the irises took over the whites of his eyes. His teeth suddenly lengthened, not just his incisors like the fangs of a vampire, but his entire mouth, and his skin started hardening, resembling iridescent scales more than flesh. But he didn't transform into a snake. And no shifter that she knew of could remain between forms. You were either human or animal, but not both. His teeth didn't look like they belonged to any vampire she'd ever met. Besides, this guy was gray and now shiny, but not white. And the language he'd been speaking hadn't been anything she recognized.
He hissed at her, and the rumbling all around her returned to normal.
"Look, I'm not sure what all this is about." She paused, listening to herself, and frowned. She understood the meaning of what she said, but the words themselves were completely foreign. She sounded like him.
"Cuwenicu." He scoffed. "I didn't think so. The Phrellian spy regains her tongue, eh? Perfect, we'll have so much fun together now." He smiled, his teeth wickedly sharp.
Phrellian … spy? And by the look on his face, 'fun' might mean something entirely different in this place.
This really was the Friday from hell.
No Holes Barred 5:
FORBIDDEN DESIRE
By
Angelia Whiting
© copyright May 2006, Angelia Whiting
Cover art by Dan Skinner & Kat Richards, © copyright May 2006
ISBN 1-58608-909-9
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Dedicated to Tracie M., my sister of the wolf.
Chapter One
Xander Alik sat alone at the table in the farthest corner of the club’s main level. He watched the many guests taking pleasure in the amenities that the No Holes Barred Nightclub and Spa had to offer. Some were content to engage in the company of the patrons on the first floor. Others wandered up one of the two wrought-iron, spiral staircases seeking more adventurous activities promised at the top.
His gazed lifted upward, sweeping across the faces that peered down from the second floor mezzanine, and then turned his attention to the patrons on the lower level once more. For the most part, all seemed to be enjoying themselves.
He was not.
Restlessness seemed to be the most appropriate word he could think of, though Xander had no clue as to why he felt this way. He had plenty of wealth, plenty of opportunities to travel the galaxies abroad, plenty of women willing to satisfy his carnal needs.
Not that Xander was soft. There were many times his services were required in battle, when the security of his planet, Handris, was threatened by forces seeking to conquer it. He’d even engaged in a few ground combats while aiding other planets in need, witnessing the foul consequences of war.
But always he had the comforts of his home to return to--a home filled with conveniences that many commoners of his planet could only dream of.
He was a royal after all, born with title. That alone afforded him luxuries that were beyond the reach of most of his people, though he suspected that despite their lack of privileges they were still content with their lives.
Xander should be content, grateful, appreciative of his status.
Yet, of late he was feeling unfulfilled. Something was missing in his life, something much, much more than his bestowed, material comforts could offer.
Focusing on a couple who seemed deeply engaged in conversation, Xander studied the way that they stared at each other, touched affectionately, the seductive body language and smiles that passed between them. His attention shifted to the male and Xander noted that the attention he showered on the woman truly appeared genuine. It had Xander wondering if he himself would ever be so taken with a woman that nothing could distract him from her.
"Hey there, gorgeous," a voice interrupted his thoughts, and Xander looked up.
Shial Lenn stood at his table, smiling, apparently waiting for an invitation to sit down.
Xander motioned to the seat on his right, though he was less than enthusiastic about her presence. "How have you been, Shial?"
"Bored," she answered with a sigh as she fidgeted with the crystal teardrop pendant that rested on her chest. "I haven’t found much satisfaction since … since...."
"I don’t wish to discuss it," Xander warned.
Xander knew what she alluded to. He and Shial had shared two eves of sex on the second floor, and ever since then she’d been prying into his personal affairs, pushing Xander to tell her if he’d bedded another since they’d been together. He suspected she wanted more, but they both knew the club’s rules--twice a date, thrice a mate.
It was for that reason Xander refused to offer her another eve of sexual indulgence. The men of Handris scented their mates and Shial was not his mate. Xander was grateful for that because the woman was a bit too brassy and meddlesome for his taste.
"Tell me, have you found pleasure with another since our last date?"
Xander shook his head. He couldn’t believe she was prying again after he told her to stop doing it. He looked at her necklace, which now glowed blue. She seemed to always be fingering the thing--an unconscious habit, he presumed. "My personal affairs are none of your concern."
Shial’s mouth turned downward into a disgruntled frown.
But she was the last person Xander would extend private information to. He was quite sure he couldn’t trust her. Especially since the incident that occurred during their second date. Xander had fallen deeply asleep. When he finally awoke, it felt as though he was emerging from a drugged stupor. And there was another woman in the room--a woman with berry pink hair.
At first his thoughts turned kinky, but when Shial made a point of telling him the woman was a chamber maid, he became wary. Being a regular at the club, Xander knew most of the employees, and surely he would remember a staff member with such distinct hair. He’d never seen this woman before.
Aside from that, the woman left without tidying a thing, augmenting Xander’s suspicion. He couldn’t help but feel Shial and the woman were up to something.
Stealing from him perhaps?
But he had no proof and nothing in the chamber appeared disturbed or missing. And of course he never saw the so-called chambermaid again.
Xander let the incident drop.
"Ah, there you are." Trina Wensling, the club’s manager appeared.
She took a seat in the empty chair on Xander’s left, and without warning, she lifted her hand, curling her fingers around the back of Xander’s head. Jerking his face toward her, Trina planted a lip to lip kiss on Xander, lingering longer than what could be considered a platonic greeting.
It took Xander by surprise and his eyes widened. He could nearly feel the heat of Shial’s irritation radiating directly at him.
Pulling back, Trina smiled slowly, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"My handsome scoundrel," she said, dragging a finger lightly down the line of Xander’s cheek and across his jaw.
Xander tamped down a snort. He’d never bedded Trina, but knew her well as a friend. She was rescuing him--that was suddenly obvious--from Shial’s persistent pursuit of him.
"You’re such a naughty girl," Xander responded, playing her game. "You never fail to amuse me, mistress."
"You look bored, Xander." Trina peered around him, looking at Shial. "He looks bored, doesn’t he?"
"Xander and I were having a private conversation," Shial answered, making no attempt to hide her annoyance at Trina’s intrusion.
"Oh." Trina pressed her palm to her chest in an innocent gesture. "I’m so sorry."
She moved to stand, but Xander grabbed her wrist. "Our private conversation is over. Please stay."
Xander turned his head toward Shial. "You don’t mind, do you?"
Shial’s mouth dropped open, but apparently she thought better of what she was about to say. Her mouth snapped shut. As if it were a strain to say the words, she merely shook her head from side to side. The muscles in her jaw twitched, and Xander could see that Shial was clenching her teeth.
"Of course I don’t mind," she finally answered, but her miffed tone belied her real feelings.
"Oh, good!" Trina answered. "Xander promised to show me his talents."
"Really," Shial answered dryly, turning her head aside.
Trina pressed her body closer to Xander, but directed her question toward Shial. "Would you like to join us?"
Shial’s head snapped around and her body stiffened as she hauled a harsh breath of air into her nostrils.
"Hardly!" Her voice rose with outrage. Abruptly, she stood.
"Please, Shial, sit down," Xander pleaded, hoping she would leave. "I’m sure Trina meant no offense."
"I’m sure," Shial answered sarcastically. "Excuse me, there’s something I need to do."
With that, she turned, her head jerking askew, her chin jutting pompously.
Xander watched Shial stalk from the club before turning to Trina.
He smirked.
"Since when do you resort to lying, Mistress Wensling?"
"Me, lie?" Trina feigned offense, her head tilting slightly. "Why, Xander Alik, I am not lying."
"I never promised to show you my…." Xander cleared his throat. "…talents."
"Of course you did. Don’t you remember?"
Xander drew his brows together. "No."
"Why, early on yester’s dawning you were telling me that you could make the most wicked chirkare salad in the galaxy. You promised to teach me the recipe."
After staring at Trina briefly, Xander burst out laughing. He’d forgotten about that.
His expression sobered. "You truly are a demon, Trina."
"Now, why would you say such a thing?"
"You know very well the impression you gave Shial. I believe the woman’s feelings were hurt."
"I wouldn’t worry about Shial’s feelings. Men of status and wealth are frequently her target. A fortune huntress that one, I think. I’m sure by now she’s honed in on her next prey."
Xander shrugged. He couldn’t care less what Shial was doing as long as she wasn’t directing her motives at him. Still he asked. "Then why do you allow her to keep invitation here?"
"Not all males or females are as discreet as you, my prince. I have it on good gossip that she is sexually clever and adept. As long as she remains out of trouble I will allow her to please my guests."
To that Xander grinned subtly. He knew firsthand it was true.
A server appeared at the table. "Your order, mistress." She lowered the tray she was supporting and set it on the table top.
"Thank you, Narla," Trina said.
The server nodded and then departed.
Trina turned over two crystal glasses and looked at Xander. "Fruga Wine?"
"Thank you, yes," he answered.
Filling both glasses, she slid one to Xander, and then stilled when she heard yelling coming from the corner of the bar. One of her patrons, a Zedlet male was clasping her bartender by the shirt and yelling at him, his green, pointed nails tearing through the frightened employee's shirt. The patron was obviously upset about something--he received the wrong drink, or it was too weak.
"I need to attend to this, Xander." Trina stood. "Excuse me."
Xander was watchful as the mistress approached the Zedlet male, ready to intervene if the need be. But always the perfect hostess and effective peacemaker, Trina resolved the issue quickly and was now enjoying a drink with the patron.
The chatter in the club, which stopped abruptly when the disruption occurred, had resumed and the atmosphere became light and festive again as nerves began to settle.
Xander relaxed against the back of his chair and sighed. He stretched his legs beneath the table and closed his eyes, pondering which of the club’s activities he might enjoy.
A massage, he thought, imagining a female’s hands caressing the surface of his skin.
His eyes snapped open and Xander realized that it wasn’t just a massage he wanted. It was to feel the hands of a woman stroking his erected flesh, sucking it, sinking down upon it.
No Holes Barred 6:
THE BAD TOUCH
By
Raven
Willow-Wood
© copyright October 2006 Raven Willow-Wood
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright October 2006
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Sounds of pleasure filtered through each of the doors as they passed, sending little ripples of anticipation through Erasmus. He glanced down at Alana to see if her expression would give him any clues as to what she was feeling or thinking at the moment, but he found nothing there that helped assuage his curiosity. His pleasure mounted when he realized he couldn't tell anything. It was exciting not knowing every thought as it passed through someone's head. To think other races lived their whole lives like this!
Distracted as he was by his growing desires, Erasmus mentally noted that he hadn't heard any sexual sounds for a while as they neared the end of the hallway. Testing a doorknob, he found it unlocked and entered the room, holding the door open for Alana.
To his stunned surprise, Alana rushed past him and practically dove onto the bed, "testing" the firmness of the mattress by bouncing on it with almost childish delight. Sending him a grin that was part bashful, part teasing, she buried her face into the billowy white softness of the pillows and comforter on the bed. Apparently satisfied, she rolled onto her back and kicked her heels off then onto her side, propping her head on one hand and crooking a finger at him.
Erasmus watched Alana with a mixture of laughter and desire. Even as he felt the urge to surge eagerly toward her, however, sudden doubt shook him. He had never coupled with a female that was not of his world. He had always known exactly what to do to please the woman, exactly what to touch, how he should touch it, the moment before her climax--everything. Feeling abruptly uneasy and uncomfortably uncertain, he closed the door to the room, locked it, and leaned back against it for support as the realization hit him.
He didn't know what to do! He certainly knew how to make love, but he was so used to anticipating what the woman wanted--knowing instantly the moment he touched her exactly what she needed--he discovered that it was extremely disconcerting to realize he didn't even know where to begin with Alana. He watched her uneasily as she rolled onto her back and propped up on her elbows and gave him a seductive come hither look under her long dark lashes, long strands of her brown hair cascading around her angelic face.
His throat closed and he felt like he was suffocating. When he swallowed, the sound was so loud in his ears it further exacerbated his nerves. He forced his lips into a semblance of a smile, but he had a bad feeling it looked as sickly and uneasy as it felt. Raking a shaking hand through his long, black hair, Erasmus stalled for a little bit of time, trying to decide how to approach the situation.
He could see she was disconcerted by his hesitancy, however. He would just have to let her make all the moves, he decided abruptly. Surely he couldn't go wrong that way? If he let her start, he would know what she was interested in and he could work with that.
Deciding her impulse to be playful had put him off, Alana slid off the bed, watching him as she struggled to perform an enticing strip tease with hands that shook with nerves. She was glad she'd invested in sexy underwear for the occasion. His eyes narrowed as she removed her dress and tossed it aside, darkening with desire as she slowly discarded her bra and then slipped her thongs off, leaving the garter and hose she'd worn. In seconds, she had her dress off and lying carelessly on the floor beside the bed.
She hesitated then, uncertain of whether to approach him or wait for him to come to her. Finally, quirking an eyebrow at aloof demeanor, Alana turned away from and crawled onto the bed very slowly, making sure he got a good view of her ass and a peek at her woman's place as she made her way to the top of the bed and lay down, waiting for him.
After an unnerving moment, Erasmus followed suit. Peeling the black material that clung like a second skin off his body in one fell swoop, he crossed the room to stand beside the bed, staring down at her, his mind so clouded with the lust pounding through him that he'd lost all awareness of everything else.
His uncertainty had fled, but he was no better off, he realized dimly. He couldn't think beyond the fact that she was the most beautiful, desirable creature he'd ever set eyes on. Everything about her called to some fierce, primal need inside of him, prompting him to simply fall upon her and take, to taste and touch her all over, to bury his cock inside her and drive into her frenziedly until he assuaged the burning, blinding need pulsing inside of him.
He was still fighting the impulse to fall upon her like a madman when she caught his attention by dragging a hand slowly down her body to the soft curls that covered her mound. As he watched, she pulled her knees up, spread her legs, and began to caress her woman's bud with two fingers. Transfixed, his tongue affixing to the roof of his mouth, he watched her, forgetting even to breathe until darkness joined the pounding in his head. Everything on his body tautened, became rock hard, his blood pounding painfully in his temples and through his cock until it began to seem that one or the other or both would explode. Like an automaton, he moved stiffly, without conscious thought. Settling on the foot of the bed, he sat back on his feet and touched himself. A hiss that was part pain part pleasure escaped him as he closed his hand around his aching member and slowly stroked it from the base to the tip.
Alana bit her lip, delighting in watching him as she touched herself, in having him watch her as he pleasured himself. Gooseflesh rippled all over her skin and brought her nipples to hardened peaks as she continued little round circular patterns on her woman's bud, but it wasn't nearly enough. She wanted to feel him, to taste his flesh, but she wanted to take her time, enjoy the experience.
She sat up in front of him then. Grasping his hands, she guided them toward her breasts and then and grabbed his rock hard arms to steady herself as she leaned closer and began to nibble his neck. Erasmus let out a short, harsh breath as her lips brushed the sensitive flesh. The sound excited her tremendously and spurred her on. While he gently cupped and massaged her full breasts, she traced a path from beneath his firm, square jaw to his ear, nipping and licking intermediately, using her sharp teeth to gently graze the hollow of his neck. She licked the bottom of his ear delicately, just barely touching his skin. He trembled slightly beneath her and it only made the blood pump harder to her woman's place.
Encouraged by Erasmus's response, Alana let her hands roam freely over the deliciously warm skin of his upper torso and delved her tongue from the back of his ear around to the front, darting it inside his ear canal briefly. He let out a soft moan of pleasure at that that went straight to her womb, her passage clenching as if he was already inside her. She looked at his face then. He had closed his eyes and his face was contorted in a look of ecstasy that was almost agony.
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