PsyCop 1: Among the Living (12 page)
“Ready to lose the pants?” he asked me.
I wanted to give him a sulky answer, but he was stroking the skin behind my balls, just one fingertip, light and repetitive, and it was like all of my awareness surged into that one spot, leaving me helpless to reply.
He twisted my nipple again, and I arched and moaned.
“God, you’re so hot,” he said, and sank his teeth into the meat of my shoulder while he took his upper hand and jammed my sweats down around my thighs.
More shocks of arousal traveled down to my cock, which seemed very happy to be free and butting against the comforter.
I felt him against my lower body, thick black body hair, belly, groin and thighs, tickling against my ass and the backs of my legs. He pressed one of his knees between mine and spread my legs from behind. His thigh was so muscular and solid it felt like iron, and my back arched some more to allow him to spread me.
His lower hand slipped deeper between my legs, fingertips gliding feathery touches over my asshole that left me gasping.
“Touch my cock,” I demanded, and my voice was a desperate rasp.
Jacob let go of my nipple and ran his upper hand down my ribs. He gave my cock a cursory stroke, then fondled my balls.
“Goddamn it,” I said, but I wasn’t mad, not really. Just so hard that it hurt—and he knew it.
His upper hand slipped around back to my ass, spread the cheeks while the fingers of his lower hand continued to swirl and tease. And then I felt his balls nestle against my ass, his thick, hard cock cradled again between my ass cheeks.
“Squeeze,” he said, and I clenched up a little. He slid his cock within that cleft and shuddered against me. “Oh, God, yeah.”
His voice was thick, not the usual controlled purr I’d come to associate with Jacob, the hottest cop in the city. And I dug that I could do that to him, make him all trembly and needy and hard.
He took my cock loosely in one hand while teasing my ass, my balls, the creases of my thighs with the fingertips of the one he’d wedged between my legs. It would’ve tickled, except he shifted his grip on my cock and gave it a long, hard stroke.
I arched and swallowed down a yell that would’ve carried to the next apartment if I’d let it out.
“Like that?” he said, gravelly in my ear.
“Fuck, yeah.”
He pulled on my cock again, this time slipping a finger inside me.
I arched, hard, and stroked his cock with my ass.
He grunted and bit down on my shoulder, and pulled my lower body roughly against his on the downstroke. We caught a rhythm somehow, me grinding and clenching the length of his cock between my ass cheeks, him fingering me, stroking me, tearing at my shoulder with his teeth like some kind of beast.
I broke first, grabbing at the comforter, the windowsill, Jacob’s wrist as he jerked off my cock, fingerfucked me, his leg between mine opening me even more, spreading me, taking my body and dragging an orgasm out of me.
I gasped his name as I came, my whole body twitching helplessly on his, splayed out wide like I’d been stretched on a giant rack.
He stopped pulling my cock and just held me for those final few twitches, so violent they rattled the bedframe against the floorboards.
“C’mere,” he said, once I managed to draw a normal breath. He scootched back and helped me to roll over and face him. He took my trembling hand between his and wrapped it around his cock, and I felt my own come, sticky between his fingers. He moaned when I grasped him, and pressed his forehead into mine. He let go of my hand and brought his fingertips to my face, tracing the line of my cheekbone and jaw while I re-learned the shape of his thick, veined cock, learned how he shuddered when I thumbed the ridge under the head, learned how he groaned when I bore down hard on him and glided strong, even strokes down the length of him.
His top leg was thrown over mine and I felt his thighs begin to tremble as he got close. I slowed my strokes and he hissed, whether in approval or frustration, it was hard to say. And then his fingers wove into my hair and he pulled me forward into a slow, deep kiss as his breath hitched, and his hot, wet come painted my hand, belly and chest.
He kept on kissing me, long after he’d gotten off, until finally he drew his tongue into a gentle sweep across my lips, and he lay back just a few inches from my face and sighed.
I held him and felt his breath warm on my cheek, the weight of his leg solid and heavy just above my knee. It was so close to perfect. Except for that cold knot in my belly that told me my jealousy was still coloring everything.
“It’s none of my business,” I said, “but I can’t help but wonder whose face that incubus was wearing for you. I mean, who’s so great that you’d ditch me at the Cottonwood Lounge and run home with him?”
“You’re kidding.”
I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see him looking at me and decided it was best to keep my mouth shut, too.
“You are kidding, right?”
As if I would make a joke about something like that. I kept my eyes closed and refused to answer.
Jacob’s sticky fingers traced the shape of my face yet again. “You really don’t know, do you?” He pressed a gentle kiss onto one of my eyebrows, then the other. “It was you, Vic. He disguised himself as you.”
-end-
About this Story
It’s unfortunate that I can’t write at the speed of thought. When I first started writing this series, Victor Bayne was about my age...and now I’m catching up with Jacob and not-quite-forty Vic has been looking more and more like a young whippersnapper!
Among the Living
was written in answer to a call for entry for a novella-length story featuring paranormal beings in everyday situations. I hadn’t really thought about writing a series back when I got the idea for PsyCop. It just seemed like it would be an interesting premise to have psychic cops going around doing their jobs, but then also dealing with the personal ramifications of being psychic, because certainly, the knife needs to cut both ways. It’s no fun giving a character a supernormal power without also saddling them with a liability that’s just as prominent.
The worldbuilding and characterization were the two things that made me eager to keep expanding the PsyCop world once this initial story was written. It seemed like there were so many more profoundly awkward situations with Vic’s name written all over them just waiting to be explored.
I don’t think PsyCop should go on forever, since series that do that, in my opinion, tend to overreach the protagonists’ character arcs and jump the shark. But thanks to the worldbuilding I’ve done so far and the slow but sure evolution of my narrator, I do have at least a couple more PsyCop stories planned before Vic will need to ride off into the sunset.
About the Author
Jordan Castillo Price is optimistic enough to hope that psychic powers could be real, and cynical enough to assume that someone will undoubtedly exploit them should tangible evidence of the sixth sense ever become incontrovertible.
She lives in rural Wisconsin.
Find out what she’s up to lately at
www.jordancastilloprice.com
Check out the bonus PsyCop goodies at
www.psycop.com
Dear reader,
We are witnessing the start of a huge shift in the publishing industry.
Before 2003, if I wrote a story that wasn’t corporate America’s idea of What Deserves to be Published, the best I could have put together was a photocopied ’zine that I distributed at whatever comic shops could be coerced into keeping a few copies on consignment.
The advent of epublishing and print-on-demand has changed that. Big time.
We’re on the cusp of a meritocracy of ideas, where books sink or swim based on what readers want, rather than what corporate marketing folks think will sell.
Every time you choose to buy from a small, independent publisher or self-published author, you’re shaping the availability of future books. By saying “yes” to the indies, you become a patron of the arts, and you ensure the author has a paid mortgage, food on the table, a decent internet connection…in short, you’re contributing directly to that author’s paycheck and making sure he or she can keep writing!
If you enjoy this book, you can make even more of a difference. Blog about it, tweet about it, post reviews, and tell your friends. The more you spread the word about the indie works you enjoy, the more support you’ll funnel our way.
Thank you very much for buying an independent book. It does make a difference.
Jordan Castillo Price
Owner, JCP Books LLC
The PsyCop Series
Paperback
PsyCop Partners (contains Among the Living and Criss Cross)
PsyCop Property (contains Body & Soul and Secrets)
Camp Hell
GhosTV
Ebook
Among the Living - PsyCop 1
Criss Cross - PsyCop 2
Body & Soul - PsyCop 3
Secrets - PsyCop 4
Camp Hell - PsyCop 5
GhosTV - PsyCop 6
Inside Out - PsyCop Short
Many Happy Returns - PsyCop Short
Mind Reader - PsyCop Short
Striking Sparks - PsyCop Short
Thaw - PsyCop Short
www.PsyCop.com
Beautiful • Mysterious • Bizarre
fiction by Jordan Castillo Price
Don’t Miss the Next Story ~ Sign up for Jordan’s Free Monthly Newsletter Today!
Enjoy Victor Bayne? Check out these additional titles by Jordan Castillo Price.
Criss Cross (PsyCop #2)
Criss Cross finds the ghosts surrounding Victor getting awfully pushy. The medications that Victor usually takes to control his abilities are threatening to destroy his liver, and his new meds aren’t any more effective than sugar pills.
Vic is also adjusting to a new PsyCop partner, a mild-mannered guy named Roger with all the personality of white bread.
At least he’s willing to spring for the Starbucks.
Jacob’s ex-boyfriend, Crash, is an empathic healer who might be able to help Victor pull his powers into balance, but he seems more interested in getting into Victor’s pants than in providing any actual assistance. (Novella)
Payback (Channeling Morpheus #1)
The hunt is on.... Pretty young men and women like Michael’s best friend, Scary Mary, are disappearing from underground goth clubs all over Detroit. For over two years, Michael has been scouring the midwest for buried newspaper articles and obscure medical reports, and now he’s finally pinpointed the source of the problem. Too bad he can’t exactly go to the cops and tell them his friend was murdered by vampires. Since it’s his duty to start wiping out the scourge, he’s posing as bait—and he’s got a bag of sharpened hickory stakes to do the job.
Everything should go smoothly, given the amount of preparation that Michael has put into the hunt. He’s got a practiced repertoire of come-hither eyeliner looks and a full blister-pack of the date rape drug Rohypnol. But he didn’t count on Wild Bill showing up.
Wild Bill is a vision in spiked hair and scuffed black leather—exactly the type of guy Michael would have fallen for…if he’d ever had the chance. Unfortunately, with a vampire in his sights, Michael has no time for an actual date. Despite his best efforts, it seems there’s nothing Michael can do to shake Bill loose. Looks like they’re in for a wild, wild ride. (Novelette)
