The Geography of Murder Page 15

  "Oh God, don't stop—"

  He hauled me up after him. "Not stopping. Come on. In here."

  He led me into the bedroom and pushed me up against the bed while he searched through his bedside table in the dark.

  He ripped the condom packet open. I reached for his 184

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  waistband again, wanting to expose him to my hungry touch, but again he sidestepped me.

  "No, like this," he said and sinking to his knees in front of me, yanked my jeans down and slid the condom over my pulsing cock. I cried out when he wrapped his mouth around me. I steadied myself on his shoulders, bunching his shirt up as I clung to him while thrusting myself down his throat. His fingers slipped between my legs, teasing my hole, tugging at my balls. I ground against him, my breath coming in sharp gasps as my orgasm slammed through me.

  He disposed of the condom and shoved me down on the bed, rolling on top of me. He rose above me, arms planted on either side of my head. He rocked his wool-clad hips against my pelvis. "Do you trust me? Do you feel safe now?"

  I looped my arms around his shoulders and pulled him down. "Yes. Always." I nuzzled his throat, his five o'clock shadow rasped under my lips. "Do you want to fuck me?"

  "Later." He moved over so we lay side by side, no space between us. "I bought salmon steaks. You up for cooking supper?"

  I'd walk on hot coals if that's what he wanted from me. "It means getting up."

  "Bed's not going anywhere. Neither am I."

  He got up first and tossed me my jeans and jock from the floor. I reluctantly followed. Dinner was followed by a movie, another one of Alex's ancient films. Something that had an old-fashioned bi-plane dive-bombing a couple in a cornfield.

  Don't ask me the plot. All I wanted from the evening was to curl up on the sofa beside him sipping the two beers he gave 185

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  me, forgetting the day that had passed. I was absorbed watching his face in the silver glow from the TV screen. The room was dim. It was as though all color had been leeched from the world. But I had never felt more alive.

  Every so often he would turn that serious gaze on me and I would melt. The movie ended and I was afraid he was going to put in another one. Instead he collected the empties and carried them into the kitchen. He moved through the house, checking windows and doors, making me feel safer by the minute. When he came for me I followed him eagerly.

  In the bedroom he became all business. He led me over to his bondage wall and told me to strip. When I was naked he slid a pair of soft leather cuffs around my wrists and pinned them over my head to the wall behind me, forcing me to stand on my toes. I stood facing him, my cock already stiffening again. He was still fully clothed. The last thing I saw before he slipped the black leather hood over my head was his hand going to the thickening bulge between his legs.

  "Who's being a good boy," he whispered as he slid his hand down the skin of my chest, pinching and pulling my nipples and sending shards of pain straight to my groin. He replaced his fingers with the metal clamps, the pain became wave after wave of pleasure pulsing toward a release he was a long time giving me.

  My Alex was back.

  The next morning I mumbled into wakefulness, slowly growing aware of a pressure on my legs and the dull ache in my ass and wrists. I blinked the remnants of sleep out of my eyes and stared up into Alex's amused gray eyes.

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  "For someone who was so sound asleep you thrash around like a piked fish."

  "I suppose you'll be saying I snore next."

  "Wasn't going to mention it—"

  I went to take a swing at him and stopped at the look in his eyes. Some lines couldn't be crossed. Instead of belting him I slid my hand over his chest.

  "Come on." Alex threw aside the sheets that were tangled around our legs and rolled out of bed. Once the pressure was off my legs I flexed them to get the feeling back. Regretted the action when my feet started tingling. It was another minute before I followed him. By then he was in the bathroom with the shower running.

  I went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, knowing he'd want a cup when he got out. Not sure what he'd want for breakfast I got some cereal down and bread for the toaster. A glance at the wall clock said it was probably too late for a cooked breakfast. Apparently we had both slept in.

  That gave me a warm feeling. I must have done something right if he had overslept.

  He looked crisp and handsome and so very butch when he entered the kitchen, doing up the buttons on his shirt, tucking it in to his navy wool pants. I pushed his hands away and finished the job for him. He smelled amazing and his gray eyes behind his glasses were bright. He kissed me on the forehead and poured himself a mug of coffee.

  "Can I make you some breakfast?"

  "I'll grab something on the way. You work today, don't you?"

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  "Yeah, Phil has a charter going out tomorrow and he needs the boat made ready. He may want me to go out with him.

  He hasn't decided yet."

  "He likes to leave it to the last minute."

  I shrugged. Phil was ... Phil. "There are a couple of other guys he could get."

  "So he what? Keeps you in line by having you vie against each other, playing favored son? You need to get a better job."

  "Right, with my job skills I can walk into corporate America and start pulling down those million dollar bonuses."

  When his eyes narrowed I thought I'd gone too far. I straightened and raised my chin. Let him think I was being defiant.

  "Did last night mean nothing to you? Do you like being punished?"

  It was totally insane and I probably needed my head examined, but I did need his punishment. I don't think I would have taken it from any other man, but even thinking about it now, in his tidy kitchen, I got hard. He saw my reaction and cocked his head to the side.

  "What time will you be home tonight?" he asked.

  Home. I liked the sound of that. My whole body was tight with need. I wanted him to drag me back into the bedroom right now. "I won't be late."

  "See that you're not," were his parting words.

  I waited until he pulled out of the driveway and set about cleaning up the kitchen. Then I called my insurance company and arranged for someone to come out and look at the car.

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  I'd have to drive it until I could square that away and get the thing fixed. Meanwhile I prayed it wouldn't rain.

  I was in the marina just before noon. Phil gave me a laconic nod and told me to look at the instrument panel on Weeping Lady, the charter he planned to take out tomorrow for some Audubon society types. There was a good chance I'd get the gig, since Phil knew I could talk to the animal crowd on their own level and they always appreciated that. He kept me busy on one thing or another until six when he called it a day.

  "The charter leaves at eight tomorrow. Be here at seven-thirty to help me load up the supplies. We'll be out till around four, weather permitting."

  I flipped a hand at him and hurried to my car. Traffic on the 101 was a nightmare with a big rig in the ditch and Caltrans doing their best to break records for incompetence.

  It took me nearly an hour to get to Goleta. I rushed for nothing. Alex wasn't even home yet.

  I let myself into the house, bringing the day's mail with me and dumping it on the kitchen counter. I browsed the fridge and freezer and came up with a package of pork chops. I prepped potatoes and cut up some cauliflower. If I could have gone online I would have found a recipe for cheese sauce, but Alex had never given me permission to use his computer so I settled for a jar of processed cheese that I would microwave.

  Everything ready, I retreated to the living room and channel surfed
until the front door opened and Alex's boots clumped on the tiled floor. I'd have cracked up if he had 189

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  called, "Honey, I'm home," like some 50s sitcom. Somehow I don't think Father Knows Best ever envisioned this scenario.

  His boots thumped when he pulled them off. He padded into the living room in bare feet, leaned down and kissed me.

  His hand lingered on my shoulder.

  I captured his hand and held it there. "Have a good day?"

  "No," he said, dropping into the seat beside me.

  I was going to say something stupid like, "Poor baby," but decided that wasn't too smart. Instead I jumped to my feet.

  "Get you a beer?"

  He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Sure. Get yourself one, too."

  I got two, handed him one and set mine on the glass coffee table in front of the sofa. When I went around behind him he looked over his shoulder, a question on his lean face.

  His glasses caught the glint of light off the TV that was playing in the background.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Giving you a back rub. You look tense."

  "You're a masseuse, too?"

  "Strictly amateur. But I've been told I'm pretty good."

  His voice grew cool. "Told by who?"

  "Nobody. All before your time."

  "Good," he said and leaned forward.

  "It would be better if you took your shirt off. Where's that oil you used the other night?"

  "Bedroom. Second drawer."

  When I came back with the oil he had stripped off his shirt and was flexing muscles and wincing.

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  The oil evoked memories of the other night. I closed my eyes and stroked his bare back, gently at first then digging into muscles riddled with tension. The oil slicked over warm flesh; the scent of sandalwood overwhelmed my senses. My cock pressed against my jock, straining to get out. I shifted to ease the pressure, wishing I could wrap my oil-covered hand around myself. Wishing I could wrap it around him.

  He made a soft sound in his throat and every muscle went slack. I leaned over.

  "Lie down."

  Without any questions he did as I ordered after removing his glasses and putting them on the coffee table. I moved around to the other side and straddled his butt, smoothing my open palms down his spine ending at his kidneys and worked my way back up. He had a small scar above his left hip. I rubbed it and kneaded it then moved up. By the time I reached his collarbones he was totally limp, his breathing shallow and slow. Was he asleep? I kept up the massage, kneading his arms and the side of his neck, prodding and digging at the tension there. He must have had a terrible headache with that much tightness in his head. The soft moan that came out of him told me it was working. The pain was leaching away.

  I straightened up, my own back beginning to ache. I flexed my fingers that were cramping up. He rolled his shoulders and turned his head to the side.

  "Are you done?"

  "Only if you want me to be."

  "I'm going to turn over. Don't stop."

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  He maneuvered himself over, holding my hips in both hands. He closed his eyes when I used the oil already on my hands to slick down his chest, paying special attention to his nipples. They swelled into hard nubs that scraped the palms of my hands. I traced a path across his abs, along his rib cage, following the line of fine hair that snaked down under the waistband of his pants. Already the bulge between his legs had thickened, pressing against my ass as I rode him. I swept back up to his shoulders, massaging the knots there, stroking his throat where a strong pulse beat, then returned to his nipples. More sighs and guttural moans from him. Back down to his washboard stomach. When I slipped the top button of his pants off and slid the zipper down he made no protest. I rose up on my knees long enough to shove his pants open and down to his hips, freeing his cock which bounced off his stomach and left a smear of juice. I poured a tiny amount of oil on my hands and wrapped my fist around him, using my thumb and forefinger to circle the fat head already slick with precum.

  He was so hot and hard he felt like tempered steel just out of the smelter. I traced the outline of veins circling his erection then rolled his balls around in my fingers finally sliding a stiff finger behind his balls. I alternated between watching his cock and the play of emotions across his flushed face. He rocked into my hand and tremors passed from between my legs as he tried to thrust up. His engorged cock throbbed in my hand and he spilled his seed all over his stomach and chest.

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  I only released him when he grew soft and pulled away from me. He blinked his eyes open. He was still struggling to get his breath back when I bounced off him and went into the bathroom where I dampened a towel and brought it back to wipe him clean.

  He grabbed my wrist as I wiped his belly.

  "I want you to swear to me you will never do that for anyone else."

  I allowed myself a small, smug smile then nodded solemnly. "I swear."

  He raised his hips up and pulled his underwear and pants back up, standing to zip them up. He looped his arm around me and drew me in for a lingering kiss. "You are definitely a keeper," he said so softly I doubted my ears. Arm still around my shoulder he led me into the bedroom. "Get spruced up.

  We're going out for supper."

  It turned out Goleta actually had some decent restaurants.

  Who knew, right? He took me to the Ming Dynasty where he patiently taught me the difference between Hunan and Szechuan and the regions they came from. We ordered—well, he ordered and I ate—tea-smoked duck, delicious soup with minced beef and cilantro, ta-chin chicken, sichuan hotpot and too many others to remember. None of which I'd ever heard of. My exposure to Chinese food was egg rolls and chicken balls. Even with his tutelage I still couldn't resist the lure of a dozen deep-fried wontons dipped in sticky red sauce.

  Over our fortune cookies and green tea he asked what was going on tomorrow.

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  "Going out with Phil. He said we should be back around four."

  "Good." He shifted in his seat. "If he wants to talk about the murder, let him. Don't tell him about us, though."

  "Sounds very James Bond-ish."

  He shrugged easily. "People will tell civilians a lot more than they'll tell the cop. They tend to clam up when we're around."

  "Well you are pretty intimidating," I said, touching his foot with mine under the table.

  "I can demonstrate it again when we get home."

  "I'll hold you to that."

  "Yes, you will."

  He didn't take us straight home. When we pulled into the parking lot of the Vault I sat up in the passenger's seat. I hadn't been back here since the last time we had come together. A lot of water under that bridge. I glanced over at him and found him staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

  "What?"

  "We're going in there. You got a problem with that?"

  Since I doubted it would matter to him if I did I shook my head. He climbed out, clunking the door behind him. I followed, trailing him into the dark bar. Business was brisk tonight. Almost every inch of floor space was occupied by men. There must be some kind of contest on, nearly everyone was gigged out in leather or vinyl and there were enough dog collars to dress the Westminster Dog Show. The air reeked of testosterone and the unmistakable smell of poppers. I'd never 194

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  seen so many acres of male bodies encased in black leather, vinyl and latex. I could see why Alex liked his forays into Santa Barbara's underworld of leather and bondage. Here he was just one of the guys. And not even one of the really weird ones.

/>   He led me through the crowd to stand by the bar. The bartender, a young Hispanic, gave Alex a burst of delighted smile and barely glanced at me. Alex ordered two beers and leaned over the bar to say something to the bartender. I couldn't hear what he said and trust me, I tried.

  A massive, tattooed bear shoved past me to get to the bar.

  He pushed me into Alex who steadied me. Their eyes met over my head and the tension ratcheted up.

  The bear huffed like his namesake and cleared the space around me. The Hispanic bartender hovered around us and I caught him eyeing Alex. My hackles went up. We were quite a pair, both getting bent out of shape when another man looked at our man. I burst out laughing, earning a quizzical look from Alex.

  He straightened and nudged my elbow. I followed his gaze and saw a large, rouged drag queen in a knee-length slinky red dress and a feather boa around her neck entering the bar.

  The low cut gown showed a vast acreage of hair that matched what was on her bare legs below the hem of her dress. Alex leaned down to shout in my ear. "Think she's out of place?"

  She steered her broad bulk through the dancers who parted like water before the bow of a ship. When she docked at the bar the bartender automatically brought her a ruby 195

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  cosmo. So she was a regular. She looked around and saw us.

  Or rather she saw Alex.

  She teetered over on her six-inch heels and thrust her phony tits in his face. "Dance, mister?"

  He shook his head. "Sorry." He pointed down. "Broken leg."

  She snapped around and headed to the other end of the bar. I saw Alex breathe a sigh of relief. A few minutes later he touched my arm.

  "I see some friends. I have to go say hello. I'll be right back."

  I was watching him when two guys I recognized from other places came to stand on either side of me. I nodded a greeting but didn't speak.

  The tallest of the two, a slender black man leaned over me and shouted to the other guy, an equally skinny Anglo. "Is he hot or is he hot?"