Naughty Bits 2 (17 page)

I see the sign welcoming us to the airport. I can't believe we're already here. I have to get Leon to come or we'll still be going at it like bunnies at the drop-off point.

As I hold the driver's gaze, I squeeze my vaginal walls tightly around Leon's cock. Leon rears back and bellows. His fingers tighten against my hips with such force it hurts as he gives one final, brutal thrust.

Leon and I don't move as the limo slows down. We're gasping for air. I feel hot and sweaty and my legs ache. I see we're approaching the airport terminal and I carefully withdraw from Leon's cock. I tumble back onto the seat, sitting on my satin raincoat.

I watch Leon readjust his clothes and smooth back his hair. The high color recedes from his face and he transforms from lover to businessman. You would never know that he just had sex in the backseat of his limo.

As the limo slows to a stop at the drop-off section of the airport, I decide to be nice. “Have a good trip,” I tell Leon as he opens the door to step out.

“Be good while I'm gone.”

I watch him close the door and walk away. Be good? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is he still worried I'll mention him to the police?

I shake my head in disgust and look away. My eyes rest on the rearview mirror. I then glance at the back of the driver's head.

I return my gaze to the mirror. The driver is watching me intently. He looks like his attention is straight ahead, but his focus is all on me. What? Is he waiting for an encore?

My body jerks to attention as I remember the mirror in the fitting room at Vincent's. Nervous energy flutters in my stomach and I don't know what to do.

“Driver?”

The man pauses. “Yes?” he asks hoarsely.

“Take me back to the office,” I order, and push the button to close the privacy window. I need the peace and quiet to get my thoughts together. I think I have an opportunity to save Denise, but I have no clue what I'm doing.

Once the driver drops me off at the office, I hurry through the lobby and make a beeline to the boutique. I come to a screeching halt when I see Kyler leaning next to Vincent's door, his arms crossed against his chest.

I immediately realize that the driver and Kyler were keeping tabs on me. Were those Leon's orders? No, it doesn't sound like him. Kyler has me pegged as trouble. He's probably right.

“Don't you have work to do?” I ask as I walk toward him.

“Don't you have
anything
better to do?”

“I'm not going to mention Leon,” I insist as I press the doorbell. “I figured out who killed Vincent.”

“
You
did?”

Okay, that might be a big, fat lie. I don't know who killed Vincent, but I know who lied. I can only see one reason why she wouldn't tell the truth, and that has to do with Vincent's death.

Then again, I could be totally wrong.

A uniformed police officer opens the door. “You can't come in. This is a crime scene.”

Time to use my charm, which is really just a euphemism for my sexual allure. “I'm aware of that,” I say with a friendly smile. I press my hand against my chest, drawing his eye to the plunging neckline of my raincoat. “I'm the one who found the body. I forgot something.”

He lets me in and I hurry through to the fitting room before anyone gets the bright idea to stop me. The room is still packed with the criminal investigation unit. No one is on the raised dais and I step on it, facing Vincent's office, just like I did when I saw him getting a blow job.

“What did you forget?” Kyler asks.

“My clothes are in the dressing room.” I say as I stare at the door to Vincent's office. “Be a dear and get those for me.”

He scoffs at the idea of playing errand boy. “I don't think so.”

I hop off the dais, turn to face the mirror and crouch down. Not a good thing to do in a room full of men. If anyone looks in the reflection, they are going to get a really good look at my pussy.

The investigating officer approaches me. “Ms. Martin, you are not supposed to be here.”

“I understand, but I think Mary lied to you.”

Mary tenses and I suddenly feel jumpy. I'm not sure if I should be doing this. I'm not one to get involved and it feels foreign to me. I rub a hand over my stomach, hoping I have this right. If either Denise or Brianna is the one who killed Vincent, then I am screwed and will never be able to shop here again.

“Can you elaborate on that?” the officer asks.

“While I was getting fitted, I saw Denise and Vincent having sex in his office.”

I hear Denise's gasp and turn. She stares at me, blushing furiously. “You saw us?”

“Oh, get over it. This is going to save your ass.”

“What does this have to do with Mary?” the officer asks impatiently.

“I saw him show that document to Denise. So did Mary.”

Mary takes a step forward. “I did not. I was facing away.”

I gesture at the mirror. “You saw it in the reflection.”

She shakes her head. “I was concentrating on your hemline.”

“No, you weren't. I realized this while I was in the limo and watching the driver. You were facing forward and never moved your head. You were acting like you were working when all the time you could see what was going on in the back.”

“I didn't see anything.”

“I thought it was strange that not once did you look back with all the grunting and animal noises going on.” I give Denise an apologetic look before I continue. “But you didn't have to look back because you had a full view.”

“Even if I did—which I didn't—it has nothing to do with Vincent's death.”

“It has everything to do with it,” I declare, hoping I'm right, “because you saw him give Denise that document with the blue paper covering. You knew what he was giving her because you have one, too.”

Mary stands very straight as everyone's attention zooms in on her. Her gaze darts around the room. “No, I don't.”

She couldn't make eye contact—just like a cheating boyfriend confronted with an accusation. “All it takes is a quick call to Vincent's lawyer,” I remind her.

Mary presses her lips together. Is she going to call my bluff or start to backtrack? I don't have enough to prove her guilt, but all I want is to get the suspicion off Denise.

“You knew that Vincent doubled-crossed you,” I say, trying to sound confident in my findings. The truth is I'm guessing. “He'd already doubled-crossed Brianna.”

“And if anyone deserved the boutique,” Kyler arrogantly interrupts, “it's someone who is his own flesh and blood.”

“Deserves it?” Mary whirls around and glares at Kyler. “Brianna doesn't deserve it and neither does Denise. I'm the one who worked years for this man. I stayed late at night, I gave up weekends and holidays so he could meet these impossible deadlines.”

“And all Denise had to do was sleep with him,” I comment.

“It wasn't fair!” Mary hunches her shoulders as if Vincent's decision was too much for her to bear. “He promised me, but he took it back.”

“When did he take it back?” I ask. “After I left?”

“He didn't think he did anything wrong,” she says in a growl. “He stabbed me in the back, so I returned the favor.”

Whoa. My eyes widen. Did she just say what I thought she did? I turn to Kyler. “That counts as a confession, doesn't it?”

The police officer seems to think so. He takes out his hand
cuffs and tells Mary, “I'm arresting you on suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent.”

Oh. My. God. It actually worked! I feel a little lightheaded. I think I might need to sit down, but Denise is suddenly in my face.

“Thank you, Amaris.” Denise clutches my hand with hers and shakes it vigorously. Her relief is overwhelming. “I was really sweating bullets there for a moment.”

“You're welcome.” I lean forward and whisper, “Are you really the creative force of this boutique?”

“I am, and have been for a couple of years. I hated that Vincent took credit for my designs. He didn't do anything for the last couple of years. No paperwork, no designing. The man didn't even pick up a pair of scissors.”

“Because he had arthritis in both hands?”

“How did you know?”

“It was kind of obvious.” Okay, so I didn't recognize it until he shook hands with Leon today and my powers of observation aren't always great, but Denise doesn't need to know that.

“We all worked together to hide that from the clients. I don't know how we managed to share the secret. Vincent probably dangled the possibility of owning the boutique to each of us so we would keep quiet.”

“And you came out on top.”

“Thanks to you.” Denise's smile couldn't get any wider. “And I want to show my appreciation. Take anything you want from the boutique. It's on the house.”

“No, no. I couldn't.” I try to decline gently. I'm not being nice. The truth is that the gift of lingerie isn't good enough. Anyway, as of now, I'm her favorite customer. I want more, and I want to see what Denise can offer.

“Then tell me how I can repay you,” Denise urges me. “Name your price.”

To my surprise, I don't know what to ask for. Money can
only go so far. And, after Leon's defection during my time of need, I realize that power is a nebulous, nontransferable thing. “You know what? When I need a favor, I'll call you.”

I immediately know that this is the right way to go. Denise is now obligated to me. She will treat me well until I call in my favor. It's tempting never to cash it in.

Kyler walks over to me and casually grasps my arm. His touch makes me tingly, but I don't pull away. “We've overstayed our welcome, Amaris. It's time to get you home.”

“Fine. Let me get my clothes.” I step into the dressing room and grab my dress before leaving the boutique.

We walk into the lobby, our stride matching. We have nothing to say. I keep my eyes focused on the revolving door and I see the limo waiting at the curb. But I have one more thing to settle. “Don't tell Leon, okay?”

“Why not?”

Leon thinks all I can do is give great sex. He trusts me in his bed because he doesn't think I have the power to hurt him. It's always best if Leon underestimates me, but I don't want to say that out loud. “He didn't help and he doesn't deserve to know.”

Kyler gives an impatient sigh. “Drop the attitude, Amaris. Leon can offer limited protection. If your trouble puts him in jeopardy, or if it causes him inconvenience, he won't help you.”

“He sent you.”

“This time.”

He doesn't need to spell it out for me. I get it. If anything, the women at Vincent's have taught me a lesson. Blood and loyalty means nothing.

If I want to protect myself, I need to create my own power base. Something that is all my own and not based on being Leon Richmond's mistress. I have Denise under my thumb, but really, how much good can that do me?

“You did good back there,” Kyler says, almost begrudgingly. “You're very smart.”

Translation: he's surprised I have a brain. “I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

“I don't think he solved a crime wearing a black garter belt and bustier.”

I smile and push my way through the revolving door. I don't think Kyler realizes his slip. He can't stop thinking about my outfit under the raincoat. I hope the image is branded on his mind.

“Why are you with Leon?” I don't know why I'm curious, but the need to know has been poking just under the surface since I've met him.

It's the wrong question to ask. His eyes shutter and it's like a shadow drifts across his face. “The same reason you are. For the money.”

“Fine, don't tell me.”

I study Kyler. He really is gorgeous. I don't care that my senses are warning he's dangerous; I want him. I could do him right here and now, but I don't offer sex for free. And I'm not screwing someone who works closely with my provider.

It's a shame. Kyler has a bright future ahead of him. I know that one day he's going to be the most powerful man I'll ever know.

I can also tell that Kyler and I are cut from the same cloth. I bet he grew up dirt poor just like me. His tailored suit can't hide the hunger inside him. The kind of hunger and fear that will never go away no matter how much power and wealth you accumulate.

And he sees it in me, too.

He opens the door to the limo for me. I slide in and my raincoat parts, revealing my naked pussy.

And this time, it's intentional.

He doesn't close the door right away and I look up at him. His eyes glitter with lust and I smile back. Kyler shuts the door with more force than necessary.

I wonder if he knows that I get him. I understand what
makes Kyler tick. He wants what he can't have. It won't matter how powerful he becomes. He is not a man to be denied.

So he will pursue what he longs for with a single-mindedness that borders on obsession. He will hunt it down, corner it and pounce. Once he gets his treasure in his grasp, he will savor it and never let it go.

I lean back in the leather seat and close my eyes as strategies and ideas bombard my mind. I need to prepare now, because one day that treasure will be me.

A
LISON
P
AIGE

MEDUSA LOWERED HERSELF ONTO THE STONE-HARD
cock, slow and easy as the smooth granite split her pussy, pressed cold and solid inside her.

In all her centuries she'd never seen a gargoyle positioned quite like this one, mounted to the corner of the castle wall, leaning over the city below. Its legs bent at the knees, muscled arms back, thick, clawed fingers and toes gripping the wall, erect penis pointing straight from its body. In fact, it was rare to find them with penises at all.

And this time she hadn't questioned her good fortune, racing from the dark Paris streets below to the barred rooftop of the ancient castle. Her pussy was already creaming her thighs as she climbed the long spiraling steps, anticipation heating though her body.

It wasn't easy getting to the thick-muscled creature. Never mind the metal gates humans erected to keep mortals from exploring the top floors of the castle—laughable. The hard part had been climbing over the edge between the battlements and scaling down to where the gargoyle clung at the corner.

Though it leaned at an angle from the building, the gargoyle's stone lap made a solid ledge beneath her ass, her feet wedged between its calves and the building to give her
leverage. The gargoyle's cock was a tight fit, the stone unforgiving inside her. The artist had no doubt compensated for his own shortcomings by enhancing his creation's endowments. Men. Her sex muscles twitched and squeezed in protest.

A moment's pause and her body adjusted, fresh juice washing through her, creaming over the stone to slick the way. She pushed, her arms holding around his hard neck, lifting herself. The thick cock slid from between her legs, rippling sensation in tiny, delicious jolts through the walls of her pussy.

The smooth, round head of its cock held her open. She stilled, teasing her needy body, her sex muscles clenching for more. Medusa flicked her gaze down her body to the hard shaft poised between her legs. The gargoyle's rippled stomach glistened with her spilled cream; the stone was darker where her juice had stained it.

By inches she lowered herself again, driving the granite cock inside her, impaling her body. A hundred million little tingles vibrated through her nerves as it went, squeezing through her chest, tightening muscles, stretching and filling her so she could scarcely breathe.

Her ass settled on its cold lap again, its cock filling her so deeply a sweet mix of pain and pleasure tingled at the feel of it pushing against her cervix. Medusa took a heated moment to admire the artistry of its body, her sex squeezing and flexing around the stone.

Muscles ripped over the gargoyle's arms and legs, defined its chest and thickened its neck. Its face was squarish, with a wide nose and cat-shaped eyes. Its mouth gaped open in a joker's grin, flashing long canines and a devilishly pointed tongue. Its ears were pointed, as well, but not so much as others she'd seen, and the wings molding along the wall behind it were large and batlike.

She was fucking a stone-cold monster, but she knew of little else fit for the task. It's not easy fucking without catching your
lover's eye, and that, for a male inside Medusa, was fatal. Not that she cared.

In her experience most men deserved the punishment of her gaze. How many had she turned to stone statues over the years? They deserved it. All of them.

Medusa banished the thoughts, and with them, the anger prickling up the back of her neck. This was not the time for revenge, for hatred. This was the time for lust and sex and sweet satiation.

Though, she thought, it would be nice to feel the warm give of male flesh inside her, the firm press of lips against hers, the spicy sweep of a tongue inside her mouth. Medusa pulled close and teased her tongue against the frozen grin of the gargoyle. She traced around the upturned corner of its lips, then down to its teeth, feeling the sharp points of its canines. She drew back, the gritty mix of dirt flooding through her mouth.

Bitter disappointment and the sour taste of loneliness coated the back of her tongue. Medusa gulped it all down, shifted her thoughts once again. She arched her back and lifted her body, brushing her excited, hard nipples against a cold granite chest.

A luscious chill raced through her breasts, sent a shiver quaking all the way down to her pussy. Her sex muscles flexed, squeezing tight around the stone cock sliding through her body. She wiggled when she reached the end, stroking her sensitive folds along the smooth head, teasing her clit with chilly touches of stone.

Medusa rocked her hips, bringing her ass in line with the slippery tip of the gargoyle's cock. She rocked back and then again, spreading her juice, wetting her tight opening. With one hand still hooked around its neck, she dropped the other to her sex.

She fondled her fingers over the swollen nub of her clit, making her breath catch as she pushed her fingers deep into
the drenching heat of her pussy. Her muscles clenched around her. A building sensation coiled in her belly, tightening her muscles, squeezing through her chest.

The gargoyle's cock pressed at her anus and Medusa pressed back. Her ass clenched, both wanting and resisting the cold invasion. The promise of wicked pleasure was there. She could feel it wetting the channel of her ass, slicking her pussy, tightening the muscles of her groin. But she'd never managed to push through the sharp press of pain, the instinctive resistance.

She tried, settling her body over the hard cock, leaning back, angling her body with no concern for the precarious perch she held on the side of the castle. The fat head stretched the puckered muscles of her ass, broke through the outer rim and Medusa gasped, frozen by the quick stab of pain. She couldn't do it, not on her own, no matter how exquisite it might feel.

A shift of weight, a push of her legs and Medusa dislodged the cock from her body. Aftershocks rippled through her bottom, clenching and relaxing muscles, the pain slowly easing to nothingness.

Pleasuring herself with the rarely found stone cocks, or with less firm toys she could purchase, over the centuries had its fine points. Namely, the inexhaustible hardness. But it could also be frustratingly limiting in the way of variety.

A stone carving couldn't hold her, couldn't kiss her, couldn't press its mouth to her pussy, tease and wet her ass, coax her to relax enough to drive deep into every wanting orifice of her body. A statue couldn't speak to her, couldn't flatter her with adoration of her beauty, of her thick auburn hair, her jade-green eyes, her ample breasts and slender waist. A man carved in stone couldn't love her…and he couldn't betray her, either.

The last was all that mattered. Medusa refocused her thoughts, banishing once and for all the melancholy nonsense of her heart. The only good man was a man of stone—hard to find and good to find hard.

She rocked her hips, slid her pussy along the slick head of its cock, centering herself. Her toes curled as the hard shaft pressed inside her, smoothing between the tight clench of her walls, zinging sensation to every corner of her body.

The chilly hilt of its sex touched her outer lips. She pushed up, drawing the long cock back through her, a slow build of pressure welling through her groin.

A night breeze tingled over her breasts, cooled the exposed lower portion of the gargoyle's cock. The icy feel of stone slipping inside her as she came down again only added to the breath-stealing tingle of pleasure.

She filled her pussy with the fat, hard shaft, stroked it in and out of her body. Her juice flooded through her, each thrust churning more from her body until the granite cock was greased slick. Medusa pumped her body faster, her pussy hugging tight so every carved ripple of stone skin sent a new wave of sensation shooting through her.

Her back arched, she rubbed her breasts and her tingling nipples against the stone chest. Faster, deeper, harder, she slammed her body down onto the pillar of stone until each impalement brushed her clit against the hard curl of pubic hair at its groin. The bite of sensation ripped through her, making her rock her hips to feel it again and again.

She writhed on top of the stone monster, fucking its hard cock, tossing her head, arching her back, propelling herself faster, faster. Wicked pleasure tightened every muscle in her body, zinged along her skin, coiled deep in her belly. Her pussy tightened and flexed, adrenaline building, pressing against her flesh, pushing her to give in to the need squeezing through every fiber of her body.

Not yet. She wanted more. She wanted to ride the stone monster's cock all night.

But without warning her resolve faltered, and a gush of hot release flooded through her. Her breath caught, then shud
dered from her mouth with the flutter of muscles pulsating in her sex. Her orgasm drenched the stone she pumped between her legs as she rode the last sweet spasms of her body. But just when she finally slowed to a stop, the stone cock between her legs…twitched.

 

Uphir's hands latched onto the feminine hips straddling his lap on reflex. The sensation of her wet pussy muscles quivering around his cock was so mind-numbing he nearly let them both plummet to the sharp slope below.

He pumped his massive wings, set the two of them aloft again. The woman clung to him, a ghostly reflex of her old, mortal life, no doubt. Uphir knew her for what she was—a goddess. No mortal woman could undo a goddess's curse. No mortal woman could undo him. He sent them higher, his cock still hard as stone—or nearly—inside her.

Hell's bells, she felt good around him, tight and wet, her pussy muscles still milking his cock with quick little spasms. He rocked his hips, lifting her as he did, so his sex slipped through her walls, stroked his shaft. Her pussy clenched, hugging him so tight he nearly blew his control right there.

Uphir pumped in and out of her again, creating an odd rhythm with the flap of his wings, but no more difficult than walking and chewing gum. By the fourth stroke, her desire loosened the knot of her arms around his neck and the lock of her ankles around his waist. He drove into her again, ramming his cock as deeply as he sensed she'd taken him in stone.

The woman reeled back, nails digging into his shoulders, arms straight, angling her body to drive his sex deeper. Her long auburn curls spilled over her shoulders, and her breasts were offered up to him, their pert tips accented by rosy circles and hard, puckered nipples.

His next hard thrust ripped a gasp from her throat, set her straight again so those magnificent green eyes opened wide on
him. Their gazes met, but a moment before she focused, her brows drew tight.

“Bastard.” Her eyes clouded to milky white even as the word hissed from her lips. All that beautiful hair began to twist and writhe about her head, snakes slithering, forked tongues darting in and out.

Uphir snatched her chin with one hand, wrenched her head so that lethal gaze cast out into the night. “Uh-uh, little goddess. I've already felt a stony gaze such as yours. We'll finish what you've started before another of you curses me to granite again.”

But he couldn't take her body as he wanted while one hand held her aloft with him, and the other kept her gaze aimed in a safe direction. He lowered them to the castle keep, pinning her back to one of the higher projections of stone circling the top of the tower like a crown.

Breath huffed out of the woman when her back hit the stone and he rammed his cock deep, hard, mercilessly. How long had it been—centuries, aeons, an eternity? Uphir could hardly remember when last he'd felt the soft, feminine embrace of a woman's body on his.

He was beyond restraint, beyond gentleness. And, as she was a goddess with a proclivity for turning men to stone, he felt little guilt in his rough abandon. He'd met her kind once before, and found nothing pleasant in the remembrance of it.

The goddess struggled against him, but only served to wiggle herself lower onto his cock. Her protests be damned, the female enjoyed his cock inside her.

Uphir tucked his head beneath her chin, his eyes safe from her angry gaze, his hand free to do as he liked. He spied her breasts, flush and full, white creamy flesh quaking with each hard thrust. He raised a hand, then remembered his thick, clawed appendages. He didn't have the concentration or strength of will to alter his form to human.

“Forgive me, m'lady,” he said, though his words were more a growl. “It's been too long, and your immortal flesh is resilient enough to risk.”

He took her tiny, pebbled nipple between his fingers, careful not to nick her flesh with his razor claws. He twisted and rolled the hard little nub, and even in this thick-skinned form the feel of her was an erotic appeal that triggered everything male inside him. His hips thrust hard on reflex, driving his sex deep, ramming her body against the stone wall.

She gasped, though her body softened, her sex stretching, taking all of him. His enormous hand engulfed her breast, his long, pointed tongue flicking over the sensitive tip. She wiggled against him, pushing her little hips into him, coaxing his pace.

“Ah, the little minx likes when the monster fucks her back,” he said. He pumped into her again and again, churning sensation through his body.

His heart shuddered, filling his veins with the hot sear of lusty blood. His chest squeezed at the feel of his cock sliding through the tight hug of her pussy. Her cream spilled over his balls, wetting his thighs. Her wriggling and rocking quickened, grew frenzied, as though she'd pleasure herself with his body, his pleasure be damned.

Like hell. He wasn't stone now, to be used, to be ignored. He'd fuck her better than she'd ever been fucked if not for her worrisome gaze.

“What is it you want, my little goddess?” he asked, without risking a glance at her face.

“More,” she said on a shaky breath. “More. Faster. Do it.”

His muscles snapped tight at her plea. “Close your eyes, you vengeful wench, and I'll fuck you raw.”

“Yesss…” She leaned back, flattening herself to the wall, giving him space to move.

He straightened slowly, holding her with one hand under her
ass, the other crushing over her breast. Her weight was nothing to his supernatural strength and he pinned her to the spot.