Cat Scratch Fever (3 page)

She was left staring at his retreating back. Oh yes, she and Mr Twitchy would be spending some quality time together tonight, with some new fantasies to amplify the vibrations.

But why would Gabe be staying so long? Had he found them in violation of something? Her eyes narrowed as she realised if he had, if he shut them down, then her fantasies would convert to the murderous variety.

He’d seemed perfectly pleasant when he’d said goodbye. Then again, she’d dealt with enough Hollywood actors to know a pleasant goodbye could mask a stab in the back.

Well, he’d spent enough time with José – surely their vet would have an opinion to share with her. It was after hours already and, although she’d be taking paperwork home with her, she could lock up her office and pay José a visit before she left. One of the Amur leopards, Noelle, was very, very pregnant, and José was bunking down in the clinic until she gave birth.

As she approached the clinic building, a low utilitarian cement structure out of sight of the public area, she heard a long moan. The sound was almost eerie, but she’d been around long enough to know that some of the cats, when hurt, made very strange noises.

Her stomach twisted. After last night, she just didn’t want to think about one of the cats in pain. It couldn’t be Noelle, because the sound was coming from the clinic rather than the leopard’s enclosure.

The noise filtered through the evening air again. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

Not wanting to distract José, she looked through the window that comprised the upper half of the metal door to the clinic building. She gasped. It was neither a cat she was hearing, nor the sound of pain.

The moans of pleasure were coming from Mel. Felicia’s cunt spasmed in empathy. She’d be making the same noises, too, if José’s face was buried between
her
thighs.

Mel half-sat, half-lay on the very examining table Felicia had been thinking naughty thoughts about the day before, one foot propped on the table to give José maximum access. Her head lolled back, and she pinched her own nipple with her free hand. She had small firm breasts, with blushing nipples that made Felicia’s mouth water.

And then, of course, there was José. Already prepared, he was naked on the metal examining stool, his slender, tanned legs braced to keep the chair from rolling away. Felicia’s mouth watered more at the sight of his cock. Long and uncut, it looked like it had in her fantasies.

Her mind flashed to the night before. She’d used thoughts of both José and Mel to help her come. She hadn’t known they were an item, and wondered how long they’d been acting out part of her daydreams.

She felt a fresh wave of moisture dampen her panties. Her clit ached. She wanted a mouth on it, a tongue flicking across it.

Annoyingly, it was Gabe’s face that flitted across her mind. She had to get him out of her system. José and Mel were her friends…

Before she had time to think the idea through and come up with reasons against it, she pushed the door open.

Mel heard her first, and froze, her almond eyes doing that deer-in-headlights thing. It took José longer to realise something had changed, probably because he was so intent on his task (definitely something to be commended), and because his hearing was somewhat muffled by Mel’s luscious thighs.

Finally, he looked up (no doubt noticing that Mel had stopped responding), his face glistening with Mel’s juices and his dark eyes just as wide.

Busted.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ Felicia said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me watching.’

Neither spoke, still lust fogged and surprised. Felicia bent over and flicked her tongue against José’s chin, tasting Mel’s sweetness.

‘OK,’ she amended. ‘I hope you don’t mind me joining in.’

By the time she’d kicked off her heels and peeled out of the silk shell, the other two had gotten the message. When she leant in and kissed Mel full on the mouth, José resumed his ministrations between the handler’s thighs. Felicia felt Mel jolt as his tongue collided with her clit. Her own clit throbbed in sympathy.

Mel’s lips were soft and pliant. It had been a long time since Felicia had kissed another woman. It took a special woman to spark her interest. Mel had done so from the first time Felicia had met her.

She was short and sturdy, her womanly curves hidden beneath jeans and work shirts. But her small breasts pressed against those shirts appealingly, and her lower lip pouted out in such an enticing way that Felicia longed to nibble on it while she ran her hands through Mel’s short, flippy blue-black hair and pull the other woman closer, harder, into a kiss.

Felicia threaded her hands into Mel’s hair and turned her fantasy into a reality. Mel moaned against her mouth, her tongue flicking out to meet Felicia’s. A small, pointed tongue. Felicia’s clit fluttered again. Now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to feel José or Mel against her cunt.

Maybe one, then the other.

Sharing was good. She’d learnt that in kindergarten.

Then Mel’s concentration faltered, randomly kissing rather than focusing on the action, and Felicia guessed she was close. She broke the kiss and bent her head, capturing one of Mel’s plum-coloured nipples in her mouth and the other between her fingertips. She suckled and pinched, pinched and suckled, and then Mel was screaming and writhing and coming, crying out her thanks to God and whomever else might be listening.

Felicia whimpered, the same release denied to her so far.

But there was something about seeing another woman coming that fuelled her fire, enticed her to a higher state of arousal. She could almost feel the same orgasm rippling through her – not as intense, not nearly, but an echo, an empathetic understanding. Not to mention that there was a heady sense in knowing you were partly responsible.

Without another thought, she urged Mel back on the table, sliding her farther along it until she was lying back with both feet planted firmly on the chilly metal surface. Felicia ditched her skirt and now useless panties and, nudging José aside, clambered up between Mel’s bent knees, the metal table cold beneath her bare legs. She could smell the other woman’s scent, spicier and stronger than her own.

She wanted to hear Mel scream again.

She toyed with the opening to Mel’s cunt, her fingers dipping between the rough tangled curls to skid in the slick moisture.

Mel sobbed something incoherent that sounded like a plea.

‘Tell me,’ Felicia whispered, leaning over her so their faces were nearly touching. ‘Tell me what you want.’

‘F –’ Mel almost couldn’t get the words out. ‘Fuck me.’ Then, before Felicia had had time to fully slip her fingers inside Mel’s demanding cunt, Mel looked over Felicia’s shoulder and added, ‘Fuck her.’

Intent on the delicious little Mel, Felicia didn’t realise until just then that José had climbed up on the table behind her.

Sensation everywhere. His breath on her ass, as his hands, gentle yet firm and demanding, slid up her thighs, over her hips, around her waist. He reached beneath her and pinched both of her nipples at the same time, his fingers strong. Felicia felt the tug deep inside her, and she shivered, feeling as desperate as Mel.

Then she felt his cock at her entrance, nudging between her wet, swollen lips. She wriggled back, trying to suck him in, but he mirrored her movements, staying just out of reach.

He leant over her, his taut body pressing against hers, and said, close to her ear, ‘You heard what she said. Don’t keep the poor girl waiting.’

As Felicia sank her fingers into Mel’s hot, wet pussy, José finally gave her what she craved, sinking his cock deep inside her.

For a moment, all three of them froze, a forbidden sexual tableau, hovering on the brink of passion.

‘Please,’ Mel said, and Felicia echoed, ‘Please.’

She drew her fingers partway out, José doing the same, and then they were both plunging in. Two fingers, then three, fitting into Mel so snugly. Hands fisted, Mel pounded against the table as her hips rose to meet Felicia’s hand.

Felicia was only dimly aware of that, just enough to keep her fingers plunging in and out of Mel. José’s cock was slender, but the angle was just right, so perfect. He clutched her hips, pulling her back as he thrust forwards, and she arched her back, desperate to take more of him in. More, and more, and more.

She was lost in a frenzy of heat and wet and motion. She felt Mel’s cunt clamp down on her fingers, and she crooked them, rocking deep within and drawing out the other woman’s orgasm. Mel was screaming again, and Felicia added her own cries as Mel’s pleasure triggered her own, tipping her off into her own waves of coming. She bucked back, pressing her ass against José’s hips as his rhythm changed to a flurry of thrusts, signalling his orgasm.

They ended up in a tangle of limbs, and it was a long time before any of them had the energy to move.

*   *   *

With a phone meeting with a potential funder just finished and the new caterer due to arrive any minute, Felicia allowed herself yet another reverie about the night before. José and Mel, it turned out, were not exactly an item, but friends who fucked regularly when the opportunity arose. Once they’d regained enough strength to talk, they’d made it clear she was welcome to come play at any time.
Very
welcome. An invitation didn’t get much clearer than what Mel had done to her using that luscious little mouth and her small strong hands before they’d gone their separate ways. José had been mostly content to watch at that point, but his touches and kisses had helped to slick her skin with heat.

So why did she keep imagining Gabe in José’s place when she relived the scene? José certainly knew how to show a girl – or a couple of girls – a good time. But Gabe had got under her skin. She’d like to get him under
her
.

She’d like him all sorts of ways, but the first time she’d want to be on top, just so she could enjoy the view.

No no no. There was never going to be a first time, let alone other times. Flirting with him was one thing – it would keep him off balance and maybe make him feel friendlier towards SCCS. But getting involved with the Zoological Association’s spy could only be trouble, no matter how sexy he was.

Nope. Time to force herself to review the menu the new caterer had sent – a sensual distraction of a different nature.

She hadn’t met Debbie Landstrom yet, but they’d talked on the phone and exchanged many emails. Debbie’s references from various Los Angeles establishments had been impeccable. And one of the board members, Richard Enoch, recommended her highly after using her for several of his corporate functions. Richard knew his food and wine, so that was almost good enough for Felicia.

Meeting Debbie would be the key. You could tell so much more about a person face-to-face – body language said so much.

Don’t. Think. About. Gabe.

DonotthinkaboutGabe.

Felicia looked at the time, threw her disordered desk into only slightly less chaotic heaps and, as an afterthought, shoved the dead aloe into a filing cabinet. She did say a sad prayer over its brownish stalks as she relegated the plant to its ignominious grave.

She’d just got the drawer closed when Debbie arrived. Talk about body language! For a few seconds, that was Felicia’s only thought. On the phone, Debbie had been bubbly but efficient, so she’d envisioned someone to match the voice. Short-haired, perky, wholesome and slightly plump, a soccer mom crossed with a gourmet chef.

The woman who walked in the door was a classic California bombshell – tall, tan and busty, with a wild mane of champagne-coloured hair. Her outfit was deceptively casual: jeans that accented her round bottom, a tight purple T-shirt with a deep V-neck that showed off both cleavage and a swirly D dangling from a gold chain, and tan sandals with staggeringly high heels. Lips, fingertips and toenails were all the same shiny red. Felicia was sure that neither the hair colour, nor the impressive cleavage, nor the tan was natural, but all three jobs looked to be top of the line. And that seemingly simple outfit was put together out of expensive components. The only off note was a rather awkward square shoulder bag but, for all Felicia knew, it was something trendy.

An outfit like that was hard to pull off without looking too relaxed or too slutty. But Debbie had got it just right, and Felicia doubted it was by anything other than sharp planning.

Impressive. Very impressive. A woman like that was one you’d expect to have a dead aloe in her filing cabinet, but wouldn’t.

Debbie took her proffered hand and shook it enthusiastically. ‘I am
so
glad to meet you in person! Richard has told me so much about you and SCCS.’ The words practically ran together: ‘Iam
so
gladtomeetyou!’

‘He’s told me a lot about you as well,’ Felicia said. ‘Or at least about your inventive takes on sushi, your godlike – his word – asparagus risotto and some amazing eggplant pockets stuffed with pork.’

Debbie leant forwards, beckoning Felicia closer. Felicia got as close as she could without getting her nose caught in ample cleavage.

‘Don’t tell anybody,’ Debbie whispered conspiratorially, ‘but I got that recipe right out of
Gourmet
. It’s nothing that unusual. He hasn’t tried the new version yet. Same technique, but I stuff them with morels and lamb. They just melt in your mouth. I do a vegetarian version as well, with three mushrooms and garlic, and they are just –’ She blew a kiss, and then giggled like a schoolgirl on helium. ‘Sorry. I get a little carried away talking about my work.’

Felicia’s mouth watered. ‘Sounds amazing.’

‘Don’t take my word for it.’ Debbie opened the square shoulder bag and delicious aromas wafted out. Not an ugly purse after all, but an insulated container, full of tasty samples of Debbie’s handiwork.

Felicia tasted, and swooned at what could only be described as food porn. Debbie might put on the Pamela Anderson act but, like Pam, there was a shrewd businesswoman underneath all that silicone and enough hairspray to have a hole in the ozone named after her. Even when Debbie was talking about food, she was all bounce and giggle, almost too cute to take seriously – but, at the same time, she waxed brilliant about food and food service. And the samples she had brought with her were sheer edible poetry. Erotica for the tongue. Stifling a moan, Felicia wondered if it was possible to come from just taste.

She pulled herself together and asked, ‘Why come all the way out here for a job? With dishes like this, I’m amazed you’re not booked for, oh, the next millennium.’

Debbie laughed and shrugged, but seemed about to give a real answer when the phone rang.

Valerie Turner, according to the caller ID.

‘Sorry,’ Felicia mouthed and picked up the receiver gingerly between two fingers as if it might bite.

Mrs Turner started right in without even bothering to say hello. ‘I just got the best idea for the menu. You simply must serve wild game. I’d cover the costs, of course. Things the cats would eat themselves. Zebra, gazelle, like that. Raw, like steak tartare…’

Felicia rolled her eyes and made a throat-slashing motion with her finger. Debbie giggled behind her manicured hand.

‘That is certainly creative, but I think there might be…supply problems,’ Felicia said, improvising. An evil thought struck her. ‘Fortunately, our caterer is right here. Let me put you on hold for a second and explain to her.’

Due to long practice, she managed to hit hold before she began laughing. Between bursts of hilarity made worse by her sleep deprivation, she filled Debbie in.

Debbie’s perfectly lipsticked mouth curved into an O. ‘Oh my God, you’re kidding. You’re
not
kidding. OK, I’ll talk to her. I’m used to dealing with rich wackjobs.’

She straightened her shoulders – which made her breasts impressively torpedolike – and tossed her hair, then took the phone. ‘Mrs Turner? Hi! Debbie Landstrom here, of Landstrom Catering. Ms DuBois was telling me about your
fascinating
idea! Totally unique! We’ll have to modify it, though. Health codes and all that, you know.’

Partly because she talked so fast that Mrs Turner could barely get a word in edgewise, over the course of the conversation Debbie managed to convince Mrs Turner that serving ostrich tenderloin as one of the courses (‘because, of course, lions eat ostriches’) would carry off the theme well enough, without violating health codes or, worse, serving unpalatable food. ‘Dear God, not zebra! I mean, have you ever had zebra? Oh my God! It’s so tough!’

When the insane donor from hell hung up the phone, Debbie dropped back into her chair, looking as exhausted as Felicia usually did after a conversation with Mrs Turner. But only for a moment. She perked up faster than braless nipples in the frozen-food section of the grocery store. ‘She’s a wackjob even by LA standards, but I think I’ve got her pegged,’ Debbie said. ‘Control freak, right? Has to feel her ideas are being listened to?’

Felicia nodded numbly. Debbie was almost as overwhelming as Valerie Turner. But in a good, helium-sucking way.

Debbie had her Palm Pilot out and was making notes. ‘It’s all set. Ostrich is
fabulous
– everyone will love it. I know this great organic farm up north. They might even donate to get the publicity.’