Nightwind (21 page)

bringing the silken coverlet over her head in denial of what he was making sure she felt.

Blair looked downas his hand slid over to her thigh from the gear knob. The fingers were strong,

powerful, and his touch was unlike anything any boy had ever bestowed on her. Where he touched her,

she felt a warmth and trill of excitement and wetness began to form at the juncture of her thighs.

“My name’s Blair,” she said, looking from his caressing hand to the strong profile that faced the road.

“It suits you,” he answered in that honey-lined voice that sent shivers of pleasure down her spine.

“What’s yours?” She placed a jittery hand over his and felt his fingers clutch her thigh and still.

He turned and smiled. “Syn.”

Her lips formed the word and she smiled back at him as he returned his gaze to the road. She was

beginning to feel a very strong sexual arousal and she knew before this ride was over, he’d be hers.

“Where you heading, Syn?” Her fingers stroked his until his hand slid over her thigh and to the V of her

legs. Her indrawn breath was loud enough to be heard over the wail of the tape in the player. The

warmth of his fingers oozed through the tight fabric of her jeans as his hand curled under her and he

squeezed.

“Where you wanna go, baby?” he asked, rubbing his hand between her legs.

Blair groaned, thrilling to the feel of his hand on her, the heat of it through the fabric making her pant. She

opened her legs further, wanting more of him to touch more of her, and she heard his low chuckle of

satisfaction.

“You like that, baby?” he asked in that mellow, slightly accented voice that drove her wild.

“Um,” was all she could say as his hand shifted up to the button of her jeans. As it came undone, her

breath caught in her throat and his fingers began to expertly lower the zipper. The tight constriction of the

fabric loosening sent more moisture flooding through her lower body and she jerked, whimpered deep in

her throat as his hand dipped down into the opened fly and his fingers tangled in the thick thatch of tawny

hair above her vagina.

“You want it?” she heard him ask in a husky, throbbing voice.

She turned her head on the seat and gazed at him with lust. “Any time, any place, any part of my body,”

she answered and drew in a startled breath as he withdrew his hand.

She was about to protest, but saw that he was slowing down. She watched him gear down with the

expertise of a racecar driver. She saw him glance behind him then he turned into a dark lane off the

highway. As the car moved under the canopy of the spreading live oaks, she reached out to put her hand

in his lap. When she felt the bulge under the soft leather, she smiled, molding her fingers to him.

“Looks like you want me,” she said in a coy tone of voice.

“More than you know.” He slid the car beneath a low-slung branch of oak and cut the engine. Pushing

off the lights, he turned in the seat and grabbed her, pulling her over the gearshift toward him in one

mighty movement and pressing his body down hard atop hers.

Blair had never felt such raw, naked hunger in a man’s kiss before. It both thrilled and alarmed her. His

hands were on her, along her back, at the nape of her neck, and his mouth was covering hers completely,

his tongue thrust so deeply into the recesses of her mouth, she could barely breathe. As his hand came up

and grasped at her breast, squeezing urgently, she managed to pull her mouth from his feverish suction.

“Do you have a blanket?” she breathed, panting like a dog in heat.

He let go of her and reached into the backseat, snagging a wool blanket. He was out of the car even

before Blair could react to his timing. Even as she turned to the passenger door, he dragged it open and

his hand was on her arm, urging her out of the car.

“Eager little bugger, aren’t you?” She laughed as he dragged her behind him to the base of the sprawling

live oak. Batting Spanish moss out of his way, he let go of her long enough to flick the blanket open,

spread in on the ground and reach for her blouse.

Syn’s fingers snagged in the fabric at her throat and in one powerful flick of his strong wrists, rent the

material down the front to her waist, sending buttons flying about them.

Blair gasped with outrage. “Now, wait a minute!” she tried to say before his hands were on her naked

breasts beneath the torn fabric and his callused palms were scraping sensually over the suddenly erect

peaks of her nipples. His arms went around her, drawing her to him and his head dipped at the same time

until his eager mouth was fastened as firmly on her breasts as it had been on her lips.

A ripple of staggering lust shot through Tiffany Blair VanLandingham and she lifted her hands to thread

them through the dark silk of his long hair, pulling it free of the band at the nape of his neck. She threw

her head back as his teeth grazed her nipples, bit lightly at her flesh, and his tongue spiraled like molten

fire around the puckered tips of her breasts.

“Oh, my God!” she gasped, feeling his tongue flicking up her bare chest to the base of her throat.

“Not even close,” she heard him growl as his mouth came down on hers with merciless passion. He

invaded her mouth with his tongue, thrusting deep inside. His hips were against her, the bulge at his thighs

prodding against her lower belly.

He dragged his mouth from hers. “Tell me what you want,” he demanded. “You have to ask me to do

it.”

“Please,” she begged. Nothing in her five years of sexual activity could have prepared her for this

onslaught of dizzying hunger. She felt herself being lifted and gripped him between her thighs as he turned

and dropped to the blanket on the ground.

“Ask me,” he snarled at her, his fingers shredding the blouse from her body.

“What?” She had no idea what he wanted, but she knew full well what she wanted: His magnificent,

powerful body inside her own.

“Ask me to take you. It must be of your own free will,” he said and his hands were at the waistband of

her jeans, tugging them viciously over her hips.

“I want it,” she echoed. Heat, throbbing and moist, was crawling inside her belly and making her hips

undulate as the jeans were yanked down her legs.

“Ask me to take you!” he demanded as he threw the jeans away into the darkness.

He was over her, braced on his hands and knees, paused above her, still clad in the sleek leather

britches and dark silk shirt.

“I want you,” she agreed. Her hands went to his shirt and ripped away the buttons as she threw the

material back from his wide chest. She could see his chest heaving in the faint sky glow shifting through

the lacy branches overhead and ran her hands over the thick muscle of his powerful chest, her fingers

threading through the crisp chest hair.

“You have to ask me to take you,” he snarled.

Her hand went down to the closure of the leather britches. It didn’t take much to free the throbbing,

pulsing member that leapt out at her with intent. “Take me, Syn. I want you to take me.” She curled her

eager fingers around the steel of that massive manhood, feeling the blood coursing through it, wanting it

so deep inside her that it would hurt.

“It will,” he promised.

Blair felt the flesh in her hand expand beneath her touch, grow, broaden, elongate. The silky flesh turned

hard and callused and ice cold to the touch. She jerked her hand away.

“What’s the matter, Blair?” he crooned to her, seeming to loom over her more than ever. His body was

expanding like the flesh of his penis. She heard the leather ripping at his hips as his lower body grew

heavier on top her own.

“Wanna see something really neat, Blair?” she heard him ask in a snide tone.

Blair smiled into his handsome face then the smile slipped as she watched his face change.

“Like what you see?” he sneered as his face disappeared, dissolving into a moist plain of warty, horny

protuberances.

As his eyes sank deep in his head, his forehead bulged forward to a broad ridge that shot out over his

flat nose with its wide, flaring nostrils, he smiled at her.

The last thing Tiffany Blair VanLandingham ever saw was the wicked canines so long and sharp, they

glinted in the moonlight.

Gathering up hisown tattered clothing, as well as the girl’s, Syntian Cree wrapped them in the damp

blanket and buried them beneath a mound of debris and leaves deep in the pine thicket where he had

brutally ravaged Blair VanLandingham. Calmly, with a smile on his lips, he opened the trunk of his car

and took out a pair of blue jeans and T-shirt, pulled them on, then got back into his sleek black Porsche

and drove away.

Lauren recognizedthe girl’s picture on the news. She’d seen her only a few days before driving the car

that had almost run her over as she’d crossed the street on her way home. Shaking her head, wondering

what had happened to the teenager, Lauren sat back in her chair at the dinette table and sipped her

coffee.

“Anyone knowing the whereabouts of the VanLandingham girl or who might have seen her on Highway

Ninety last Friday night is asked to contact the Santa Rosa County Sheriffs office at...”

She stood up, leaned over and switched off the television, finished her coffee then carried the cup to the

sink where she rinsed it and turned it upside down in the drainer. As she dried her hands on the

dishtowel, she peeked out the window over the sink and smiled.

“Well, hello there. Who’re you?”

The black cat that was sitting on the picnic table on Lauren’s postage stamp-sized patio lifted one

graceful paw and began to lick the fur, dipping its sleek head as it swiped at its ears. The feline studiously

ignored Lauren as the human female came to the opened screen door of her kitchen and watched him.

“Are you hungry?” Lauren asked. She eased open the door, wondering if the cat would stiffen then bolt

at her approach.

It did neither. Instead, after craning its head to look around at her, the cat continued his morning bath.

Lauren watched the feline for a moment then went back inside to pour a small bowl of milk for it. She

opened the back door once more and stepped out onto the first riser, her movements slow and

non-threatening, but the cat still sat on the top of the picnic table, licking its chest.

“Who do you belong to, big fella?” Lauren asked as she moved over to the table and placed the bowl at

the opposite end where the cat was sitting.

The feline stilled in its ablutions and looked around at her, shook its head, stood up and padded

gracefully to the bowl of milk, sat down, dipped its head and began to drink as though he had been

expecting just such a tribute.

Lauren’s smile turned to a pleased grin. “Trusting sort, aren’t you?” she asked, wanting to reach out to

stroke the cat’s head, but afraid her actions would scare it away.

As a child, she’d never been allowed to have pets, and as an adult, on her own, she’d never let the

thought of owning one cross her mind. Idly, she wondered if her lease precluded her having an animal.

“You’re a pretty boy, did you know that?”

The black cat lifted its head, flicking out its pink tongue to clean the milk from its mouth, and then moved

over to the edge of the table where Lauren stood. With a low sound of pleasure, it bumped its midnight

head against the woman’s hip, purring deep in its throat as a soft human hand came down to stroke its

long back.

“If I were to get you a bed and some litter, would you stay with me?” Lauren asked, scratching the cat

behind his pointed ears. A deeper purring was her answer.

Lauren laughed and slowly put her hands on the cat to lift it, holding her breath in the hopes the animal

wouldn’t mind being picked up. When there was no adverse reaction to being held, and a soft mewing

sigh of pleasure when Lauren kissed it on the top of the head as she rubbed its ears, Lauren made up her

mind to keep the cat.

She put the animal on the table. “I guess if you belong to someone, they’ll come looking for you, huh?”

The cat shook its head then strolled back to the bowl of milk. It sat down and went on with its meal, not

bothering to look up as the woman went back in the house and shut the kitchen door.

“Onyx,” Lauren said as she locked the back door, watching the cat through the slats of the mini blinds.

“That seems a fitting name for you.”

The feline lifted its head, looked up at Lauren and seemed to nod as though it agreed. Returning to the

last few ounces of milk, it didn’t look up again until it was finished. When the last drop of milk was gone,

so was the cat, leaping agilely to the ground in a smooth arc and then trotting carelessly away, never

looking back. It disappeared under the row of azalea bushes that separated Lauren’s house from Anna

and Agnes Black’s, the two old maid piano teachers who had originally owned the house in which

Lauren lived.

Tearing off a sticky note, Lauren made a list of things to buy at the variety store around the corner from

the bookstore on her way home that afternoon. At the top of the list was cat food.

Grabbing up her purse she stuck the day-glo note to the vinyl and left the house to begin her morning

walk to work. Just as she made it to the sidewalk, the sleek black Porsche pulled up beside her and

stopped, its idling engine sounding like a giant cat in the early morning stillness.

“Need a ride?” he asked as the window on the passenger side slid smoothly down in its track.