PsyCop 2: Criss Cross (19 page)

Jacob turned his head so that his lips grazed my ear. “You don’t have to channel anyone unless you want to,” he said, low and close.

I shuddered and slipped a hand around his waist, pressing myself against him tighter. I was just fine with never having someone else’s ghost inside me again. Ever.

“You should take some time off. A big block of time. Rest. Take a vacation.” His index finger slid into me while he talked, his voice gentle and hypnotic. I gasped and bit on his shoulder, working gently with my teeth as that finger of his moved in and out.

“You like playing with my ass,” I whispered. Too porno for my taste, but I was going somewhere with it.

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, and his finger sank in deeper. His big cock was hard now, too, brushing against my stomach.

I smeared some of the body wash off my chest and grabbed him by the cock with a soap-slick hand. He gasped and his head fell back, eyes closed, lips parted. I gave him a few good strokes, then turned myself around and ground my backside against him. “Take it, then.”

He ran his hands down my back, sliding his hot, wet cock experimentally along my ass crack.

“Come on,” I prompted. Just me, Jacob, and some body wash. Because all the talk about not having any condoms around had only been an excuse. We get blood tests quarterly on the force; all the cops do, even the elite ones like us. I’d just been a little leery about letting him in. Figuratively and literally.

Another squirt of body wash ran down my back, and Jacob’s hands followed, working the slickness over my skin, his palms gliding over my spine and ribs, working up a lather. He pushed his soapy fingers into my ass again, and he sucked his breath in hard as he did it.

I got my feet planted and tried not to hurry him. I thought he’d probably wanted to just throw me down and fuck me for so long that he needed to savor the moment now. It felt amazing to be wanted like that. I wiped a trace of soap from my chest and grabbed my own cock, stroking it slowly.

Something pressed against my ass that was definitely not a finger. I let my breath out and rocked back, hungry for the moment that its girth would fill me up. Jacob murmured a stream of encouragement, “Oh, God, oh yeah...” that turned into a more primal, wordless sound as he pushed in. A shallow thrust, and another, and then he pressed in -- deep.

I let my breath out as he clasped me against him, his cock buried to the root. It hurt, and it was awesome. Eventually I’d adjust to having a boyfriend who was hung like that, but for now it was practically like getting my cherry popped all over again.

A whimpery noise escaped me, and Jacob’s slick hands raked over my chest, finding a nipple and tweaking it hard. He pulled out and pushed in again, and my cock felt deliciously, painfully stiff. I had to stop stroking it and just hold myself up as Jacob started to move, my ass just barely stretching around him.

“Uhnn, God,” I finally said, my forehead mashed against the shower wall as his thrusts turned into a steady pounding, and his fingertips left stinging trails behind as he struggled to grip me but couldn’t quite do it because of slipperiness of the soap. Jacob made an inarticulate noise in reply and finally got one arm around my waist, the other hand groping my balls and cock.

I pressed my palms flat against the shower wall and pushed back, slamming onto his cock as hard as the slippery, sloppy shower would allow. The sound of his wet balls slapping against my ass rang loud in the hard-walled enclosure, and I could hear them even over the steady hiss and patter of the water. His arm was so tight around my middle I could hardly breathe, and his hand pulled my cock in time with every hard, tight thrust.

It got so intense that I stopped caring if we’d fall. I gave up trying to hold onto anything and stopped pushing back at Jacob. I let him take over and hold us both up. He fucked me so hard he started lifting me off the floor of the tub, and the pulse in my cock thrummed in time with the rhythm of his thrusts.

My come shot out in a brief arc that was battered away in the spray of the shower. I moaned out loud, water filling my eyes and mouth as my head lolled back, and there was a moment that seemed to extend as Jacob held me there, both of my feet off the shower floor, another spurt of mine shooting its way into the stream.

Jacob grunted and slammed me onto him again, and once more, and then the sensation of heat welled inside my ass, and everything turned slick.

His giant cock was still inside me. He eased me back down and pushed into my ass a few more times. His strokes were slick with come, just a few more gentle thrusts before he softened. He let go of my waist and ran his hands down my back again, muttering things to himself that were pretty much lost to the sound of the shower. Mostly my name.

He pressed his chest to my back and I sagged into the shower wall. His lips slid on the back of my neck, wet kisses, and he cupped his hand protectively over my spent cock.

***

Jacob was still asleep when I woke up again, mid-morning the next day. He had this way of lying diagonally on the bed so that when I got up and looked back at him, I wondered how the hell I’d even fit in there. I crept from the bedroom and eased the door shut behind me, hoping to buy him a little more well-earned sleep.

Channel eight was its usual non-self. I watched it carefully at first, sneaking small glances to see if there were any faces there, any grasping hands. But there weren’t; it was just dirty, gray snow. The single Auracel I’d taken had worn off. It was such a small dose it hadn’t even left me with its characteristic behind-the-eye hangover. My tongue felt a little wooly from the cold medicine, but aside from that, I was clear.

I stared at my set and thought about the television in the hotel room. Most of the actual television components had probably been gutted, since it didn’t even really function as a TV. Maybe it was all just a prop, a screen and a DVD player slapped onto the front to camouflage a big hunk of equipment that generated heat and a little electronic hum. Or maybe parts of it were actually once a TV, in another life.

If I could get my hands on one of those, I could stop getting stressed out about Jackie the Hooker, the baby in the basement, and the hovering, greedy spirit of the Criss Cross Killer. I could figure out what those dials and knobs meant and totally fine-tune it. I could blow off my appointments at The Clinic and not have to worry about running out of Auracel. If the device was portable, I could take it to crime scenes and amp up the spirits that were faint, or reluctant, or just plain old.

Who was I kidding? It was unlikely I’d use it for work; I just wanted to come home to a little peace.

Crash was the only person I could think of to help me figure out what that souped-up television was, so that I could get one for myself. My heart didn’t palpitate at the mere thought of him anymore, and I was glad. It didn’t seem like Jacob would decide I was a little too uptight for his taste and go back to someone who knew a few more tricks in bed, not after all we’d been through. And I was faithful, too, if only in my waking life. If Jacob was gonna go out for that metaphorical pack of smokes, I suspected he’d have done it by now.

The hardwood floor creaked. I looked up and Jacob was standing in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching me watch channel eight. I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to say something, but he just gave me a slow, wolfish smile.

I wondered if the invitation to move in together was still on the table. Not that I was ready to give it any serious consideration just yet, but it was comforting to know that Jacob would take things to the next level if I was game. I’d have to have my own room -- white, of course. But then he could get his dining room table back.

I bet Jacob had a piece of furniture that’d be just right for one of those kick-ass, anti-ghost TVs.

End