Traveller's Refuge (7 page)

“I knew I was missing something!”

He was up and away before she could draw breath to protest. “You’re going to get this robe stained. I’ll never get the chocolate out.”

“Mmm.” He stood next to the chair shaking the squeeze bottle of chocolate sauce in his hand while he concentrated on a solution. Then, with a sharp nod, he set the bottle down and retrieved the kitchen shears.

He nipped through the collar at the nape of her neck, carefully deposited the shears back in the drawer and then in one quick jerk, ripped the robe from collar to hem. It was a pretty flamboyant move but didn’t really address the issue as now she just had a torn robe—
hanging from her shoulders
.

After one quick look, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. He could tell she was silently counting to twenty. When it obviously wasn’t enough, she continued on to thirty. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in despair. “Do you know how much this robe cost me?”

“Not as much as I’ll be paying to replace it, I bet,” he retorted while he went back for the shears. When he returned, he cut the robe down the length of both sleeves and with great deliberation, gathered up the pieces and tossed them in the trash. Almost immediately, he changed his mind and jerked the soft belt free from the tatters and stuffed it in the pocket of his robe. Then mindful of her original complaint, he removed his own robe and tossed it on the table.

Dusting his hands off, he turned to face her and inquired, “Any other problems we need to take care of before I get down to business?”

She stared down at the impressive erection he seemed to have acquired. Evidently, ripping up her clothes really turned him on. Mutinously, she shook her head. Damned if she would give him the satisfaction of speaking out loud.

“Excellent!” He slipped back onto his chair, taking care not to smack his hard cock on the spindles running up the chair back. It was a shock to him how hard he’d gotten from trashing that slutty robe Tiffany loved to wear. Until he had ripped it in half, he had just not been aware of how much he hated it. Forgetting the chocolate sauce after all, he took a deep breath, cupped her ass in his big hands to lift her closer, bent his head and dived in, ignoring the squeals and whimpers and moans from Tiffany. Noting the heavy stream of cream she was producing, he decided that Tiffany might not have liked that robe as much as she said.

The first licks brushed Tiffany’s skin like butterfly wings but once Bish cleared away some of the dessert, his tongue became an artist’s brush swirling and twisting, creating a masterpiece. He planted a leisurely kiss on the sensitive area between anus and pussy and she jerked. Fluttering brushes interspersed with tiny sucking kisses equally scattered the length of her plump labia. Mini-hickeys sprinkled over the smooth rise of her puffy mound. He carefully avoided her clit though she thrashed around, trying to get his mouth on her.

Finally he decided it was time to up the ante and planted his mouth square on her swollen clit and sucked hard at the same time he shoved two big fingers in her sopping pussy. She shrieked as deep pulsating waves of climax centered in her vagina and washed up her spine. He felt the fresh rush of slick fluid as her pussy clutched at his fingers.

Resting his chin on her mound, he patiently waited for her to calm down before fluttering his dark eyebrows at her and sending her a “trust me” smile. When her panting faded to hitching shuddering breaths, he nodded and whispered. “Good. Again.” And he set back to work with the dedication of a man who enjoys what he’s doing.

After her fourth screaming, moaning orgasm, he reached the limits on his control. He got up, kicked the chair out of the way while he fumbled for one of the condoms he kept stashed in a kitchen drawer. Once he got the packet ripped open, it was the work of mere seconds to prepare himself. Without further ado, he plunged into Tiff’s warm, wet, welcoming cunt and she immediately went into the paroxysms of yet another climax, squeezing his cock so tightly she dragged him along for the ride. He braced his arms on either side of her slumped body and struggled to breathe.

They were both a mess. The whipped cream on her nipples had melted and run down her rib cage and belly. By the time Bishop had decided he couldn’t delay his own satisfaction any longer, the whipped cream had become a dandy, slippery lubricant between their sweaty bodies. Inhaling sharply, he leaned over and discarded the condom in the trash can. When he was sure he would be able to carry her, he released the belt around her wrists, hoisted her over one shoulder and headed back upstairs to the master bath. In the wide shower stall designed for two or more, he turned on the water, ran it until it was very warm and gently dumped her directly under the spray. Tiffany snapped out of her muzziness with a snarl.

“Are you crazy? Now my hair is wet!”

“I think you’re right,” Bish agreed cheerfully while he squirted liquid soap on a filmy puff.

She stared at him in disbelief, lost for words. Before she could frame a retort, he proceeded to run the soapy puff all over her body with lusty enthusiasm, paying meticulous attention to the sticky area between her thighs and around her nipples.

Slapping at his hands, she wriggled into the corner out of the direct spray. Bish simply nodded, grabbed the shampoo bottle and squirted a generous dollop on her soaked hair. He scrubbed, rubbing her scalp gently and shoved her back under the spray to rinse her hair clean. Conditioner was next. While it worked, he washed himself with brisk efficiency. He finished their shower with a thorough rinsing with the handheld showerhead before shutting off the water. Tiffany stood numbly, waiting for his next move.

A quick pass with huge fluffy towels and they were both dry enough to go back into the bedroom. Bish wrapped Tiffany’s wet hair so that it wouldn’t ruin his feather pillows. With a quick tap on her butt, he indicated that she should get on the bed. She crawled up on the bed with a yawn. All the vigorous sexual activity caught up with her and she collapsed with another yawn.

Bish straightened the covers and tucked them around her. “Take a nap,” he suggested quietly. “When you wake up, I’ll have something ready for you to eat.”

A vague sense of disquiet threatened her peace but then exhaustion took over and she fell off the edge of the world. Patiently, Bish waited to make sure that she was really asleep before he rose and dressed. There was much to do while she was sleeping—arrangements to be made, information to gather—without her watching eyes and listening ears.

He went back down to the living room, found her tote bag and with no compunction whatsoever, dumped it out on the couch. Pulling a set of latex gloves from his pocket, he slipped them on and then proceeded to examine the contents of her tote.

Spare lacy black bra and panty set, black skinny-legged jeans, black cotton sweater, black cotton socks and black running shoes. There seemed to be a theme going on, the Black Phantom, maybe.

Handgun. Well, well. With approval, he noted as he set it aside that it was loaded and the safety was engaged.

Red leather wallet which contained three credit cards, a driver’s license with a decent picture, business cards for her doctors, dentist and hair stylist, medical ID cards and seventy-eight dollars cash. Forty-two cents in the zipper pocket along with two safety pins and a paper clip.

Mini-recorder with the auto switch engaged which made sense. That way it only recorded when there was someone talking, which saved on the batteries.

A small red plastic zipper bag contained three tampons and six condoms. Birth control pill packet with two pills remaining. That explained the tampons. Always good to be prepared, he supposed.

Makeup bag with lipstick, blush, mascara and eye shadow. A small pill bottle with twelve tiny pills. He checked the label. Blank. Thoughtfully, he set that on the coffee table to check against his pill encyclopedia.

Brush and comb.

Date book. He flipped through the pages for the previous two months, mildly amused to find his name marked in as business appointments. Well, he’d known from the start that he was her assignment. He noted the number of times his father’s name was marked down for lunch and wondered if she was screwing his old man too. If so, she was certainly earning her pay. His father was a hearty seventy-five. Maybe he couldn’t even get it up. Or maybe he had stock in the little blue pills. With a shrug, he checked her appointments for the rest of the week and saw that she was supposed to meet his father in three days. Too bad. He didn’t think she was going to make that appointment.

PDA. He turned it on and flicked through the menu until he found her notes section. Her observations made interesting reading. His father was also one of her assignments. Her life wasn’t worth the powder it would take to blow her away if he found out. Bish shook his head. Some people liked to live dangerously.

Leather ID folder with her shield. FBI. He nodded to himself. Just as he thought. She looked like a bimbo. She acted like a bimbo. But the FBI wouldn’t hire a bimbo as an agent. When she first ended up in his bed, he had done a quick background check on her. He happened to know that she had graduated with honors from MIT.

All that was left was a small pile of miscellaneous receipts and scraps of paper. Two pens. Three peppermint candies. A pack of gum with two sticks left. He scanned through the receipts and papers. Nothing.

With a sigh, he tossed everything back in the tote except the makeup bag and pill bottle. He replaced the tote on the chair where he found it, located his pill book and settled on the couch with it and the pill bottle. It didn’t take long to locate the correct page and identify the pills, since he already had an idea of about them.
Phenobarbital
. That would certainly explain his sudden drowsiness, headache and klutziness last night. He pried off the cap and dumped two pills in his palm. Didn’t they say what was good for the gander was good for the goose?

He returned the bottle with the remaining pills back to her makeup bag and stuffed it down in her tote beneath her folded clothes.

It belatedly occurred to him that he hadn’t found her cell phone, so he went to the closet and searched her coat pockets. He was rewarded not only with her cell phone but also found a combination stun gun-flashlight. His eyebrows shot up and he silently whistled. Well, well, well. Wasn’t she the naughty girl! He scrolled through the menus on her phone, taking special note of her most recent calls. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. Boy, his father must have a real hard-on to be calling her so frequently.

Or he expected Traveller to show up at Bish’s apartment. That was more likely.

He put everything back where he found it and went to prepare breakfast—along with his little surprise for Tiffany. While he fried the bacon and baked the refrigerator sweet rolls, he tried to put himself in Trav’s place.

Dancer had disappeared four weeks before. Traveller’s picture was on all the news shows along with Dancer’s and they were listed as armed and dangerous. In the past four weeks, there hadn’t been a trace of Dancer once he disappeared in the mountains. Bish was willing to bet that he had found himself a deep hole, crawled in and pulled the dirt and rocks in behind him.

Trav, on the other hand, was still popping up from time to time, which meant that every law-enforcement type out there with a badge, all the hopped-up bounty-hunters, eagle-eyed grannies and secret agent wannabes would be on his tail. Trav had formidable acting and survival skills, could open any lock with a paperclip and chewing gum and could make any computer sit up and sing. But he was only one man against thousands of hunters who were anxious to nail him, skin him and hang his hide out to dry for the huge reward his capture would bring.

It was up to Bish to be ready to help him. That meant he had to put Tiffany out of commission. Bish set to work on the orange juice surprise for her. He had a notion it wouldn’t be too long before she made an appearance and he wanted everything ready.

* * * * *

Hey
,
baby
.

Trav’s salutation jerked Wrenna from her contemplations.
Traveller
?

You were expecting someone else
?

Wrenna couldn’t hold back a smile.
I wasn
’
t really expecting anyone
,
especially you
.
You said that your shadows had caught up with you
.
Are you safe now
?

Trav’s snort of aggravation came through clearly.
Not likely
.
I don
’
t remember the last time I was safe
. He sighed.
But for the moment
,
no one is breathing down my neck so let
’
s get back to this bonding crap
.
You said that mind
speech was one of the two signs of attachment
.
What is the other sign
?

Schalzina
.

What the hell is that
?
Try explaining in words of one or two syllables
, he suggested impatiently.

Schalzina
is the name for the physical changes that prepare valley women for bonding
.
There is rhythmic tightening in the womb and an increase in fluid from the vagina
.
Over time
,
if bonding is delayed too long the tightening becomes contractions and eventually terrible cramps
,
leading to convulsions and finally death
. Her calm, blunt explanation captured his attention in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Her tranquil acceptance of the possible life-threatening consequences if he failed her stunned him to silence as he groped for something to say. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Her explanation was so beyond what he had expected that his mind froze.

Then in the way that men latch onto something familiar, he demanded,
You mean your pussy gets wet
?

Very
, she answered with restrained brevity.

So the short version is that once you begin this
schalzina,
you get aroused and need to be fucked
. She wasn’t surprised by his crude but succinct summation. She had brothers, didn’t she?