PsyCop 2: Criss Cross (3 page)

I’m sure Jacob would be able give me every last detail, the location of every scattered body part. I hoped he wouldn’t.

“Even so,” I said, “it fucks with your mind to watch ‘em fry.”

I felt Jacob’s breath, warm, on my cheek. He kissed me, a chaste brush of his lips, and my heartbeat sped. “It was lethal injection,” he said, turning toward the bed. He sighed. “But, yeah. It was no picnic.”

The little flutter I’d taken for pleasure felt more like panic as Jacob pulled away from me. Faces in the river, dark house, and Lisa unreachable in Santa Barbara. I slipped around him and got into bed, pulling him down beside me. He didn’t respond as quickly and eagerly as usual, but he seemed willing enough.

I pulled Jacob close to me, arms around his neck, and pressed my mouth against his. He’s got full lips, normally set in a slightly knowing grin; nothing arrogant, just an I-got-the-joke-five-minutes-ago type of look. He worked his way out of his suitcoat as I clung to him, running my tongue back and forth over his lower lip. His jacket slid from the bed to the floor and he settled himself against me. I ran my hands down his back, which was hot through the fabric of his shirt everywhere it’d been covered by the coat. I could feel the cut of his muscles, even on his back, and even through that shirt. Jacob works out -- religiously, I’d learned since he’d been staying with me. And aside from pumping iron, the man takes a run after work if police business doesn’t keep him late.
A run
.

Jacob broke our kiss and narrowed his eyes. “Why are you smiling?”

I realized he’d probably still been thinking about the execution, and promptly attempted to look serious even though I was totally busted. “You make me happy. That’s all.”

Jacob scowled harder. “I don’t trust you when you smile.”

I pressed myself more firmly into his chest, and wished my psychic powers could also make our clothes disappear. “Really,” I said, loosening his tie. “I had a lousy day too, and I’m glad to see you.”

“You had a lousy day...fishing?”

Boy, nothing got past him. “Let’s not talk about it,” I said, stripping his shirt off, then pulling my ratty sweatshirt over my head. I knew the perfect thing to take Jacob’s mind off the crap day we’d each had. But of course I’d forgotten the condoms -- again -- so I’d just have to make do. Not that I’ve ever known anyone to complain about getting a blowjob.

I pushed Jacob onto his back and got to work on his belt. His expression grew less pensive as he watched me unzip his fly and start tracing the muscles on his abs with my tongue. Maybe he even grinned a little, too. Or at least he’d stopped scowling. I ditched the rest of my clothes fast, then finished stripping Jacob a little more respectfully. He wears expensive tailored suits that don’t appreciate being torn off and wadded up on the floor. The Seconal -- not exactly a modern sleeping pill, actually a barbiturate that used to be a party drug in the 70s -- had made me mellow, more apt to finesse his clothes off than tear at them.

Once I’d undressed him I ran my palms down Jacob’s thighs, feeling the swell of hard muscle beneath the skin. He lay back and watched me taking him in, and he definitely looked less stressed than he had when he’d gotten home.

I settled myself between his legs with my feet sticking off the bottom of the bed and I kissed him on the stomach again, but now Jacob’s cock was brushing against my chest and I let that contact happen, almost as if it were accidental, and felt him swell against me.

I slid my hands over Jacob’s hips and held onto them as I worked my mouth lower. His skin was pleasantly salty; the hair on his thighs was soft against my cheek. My mouth found its way to the base of Jacob’s cock and he let out a low groan. His hands covered mine, and our fingers meshed together. He squeezed my fingers encouragingly.

I ran my tongue higher, licking along the underside of his cock while it rose up to meet my mouth. It’s a big, wide cock, but it looks right on him. And there’s something dirty about trying to cram it into my mouth and going to work the next day with an aching jaw that really gets me off.

“Mmm, yeah.”

Speaking of dirty: Jacob’s a talker. And keeping my mouth full of cock has the added bonus of me not having to answer him. Not that the words aren’t sexy as hell -- I just worry that I’ll sound like an idiot if I’m the one saying them.

“Uhn, that’s right, Vic. Yeah...sweet mouth.”

My cock gave a throb into the bedspread, but I couldn’t grab it since Jacob had my hands tight. The thought of that made me even harder. I got his cockhead into my mouth, the slick salt of precome wetting the back of my tongue.

Jacob gave a sharp gasp and squeezed my fingers.

I felt the girth of him with my lips and slid back, wetting Jacob’s cock so it’d slide a little easier.

“God, Vic. Yeah.”

I bore down on it on that first good stroke, taking him into my throat. I could appreciate why Seconal was so popular if it made me that relaxed and still let me get hard.

Jacob moaned louder.

I was digging the thought of a big slab of cockmeat invading my throat -- probably that was the residual high of the Auracel talking -- so I took Jacob hard and fast. Lots of suction, lots of speed. His hands clenched at my fingers and his body arched up off the bed.

“Oh God! Oh my God!”

He was loud enough for the downstairs neighbors to hear and I loved it, humping myself into the bunched-up covers while Jacobs’ cries grew wordless and louder still. He yanked my arms, dragging me onto his cock, battering the back of my throat with its stiffness. I sucked hard and let him guide me, no, slam himself into me.

And suddenly he was still, a choked yell escaping him that was more like a long, hard breath, too intense even for sound. Hot bitterness surged over the back of my tongue and my gag reflex was gone in a haze of prescription meds, and I welcomed Jacob’s shot, let the come warm me and fill me up. His fingers had gone slack, and I jerked my hands away and grabbed my own cock, fisting it with quick, efficient strokes.

I wanted to just let it rip, but there was the ghost of a dead newborn in the laundry room, and I only had one change of sheets left. At the last moment I clapped my other hand over the tip, catching my own load as it shot.

I looked up and Jacob was watching with heavy-lidded eyes and definitely grinning now. I leaned over him to get a tissue from the bedside table and wiped my wet hand with it.

“You should’ve come on me,” he said. I don’t know how he can look me in the eye and just say that. Even with the drugs, it wasn’t anything I could speak out loud. “You’d look hot, really hot.”

I didn’t feel like talking about the real reason why I hadn’t, so I threw the tissue into the wastebasket and snuggled up beside him instead.

Even though it was three in the morning and Jacob had to be exhausted, he didn’t let it go. “Do it next time, okay? I want to see it, shooting all over my chest.”

I sighed.

“Okay?”

I rolled over, pulled a pillow against my face and spoke into it. “I have this hangup about the laundry room,” I said. Good thing the pillow was there. It sounded even dumber aloud than it had in my head. No wonder I worried about talking dirty; talking in general seemed to escape me.

Jacob pressed himself into my back. His body was much warmer than mine, tacky with sweat, and his chest hair tickled against my shoulder blades. “Okay,” he said, and kissed the nape of my neck.

***

I woke to a slender ray of sunshine streaming through the miniblinds and nailing me directly in the eye. A sharp twinge of pain flared behind my eyeball, somewhere in my brain. “Fuck.”

I sat up and looked at the clock. Eight thirty-eight, and my shift started at nine. Not good. I vaulted over Jacob while the pain, apparently fueled by my movement, flared again. I staggered a little as I went into the kitchen and retrieved my cell phone from my jacket pocket. I’d be late, and I was in no shape to drive. I hit memory dial seven, the last programmed number on my phone. Roger Burke.

“Burke here.”

I squeezed my eyelids together. Couldn’t he just answer with his last name like every other cop? I chalked up my annoyance about the word “here” to my Auracel hangover. “Hi, Roger. It’s Vic.”

“Oh, hi, Vic!” He was way too happy for a Wednesday. “What’s up?”

“Listen, I uh....” I realized I probably should have rehearsed the way I was going to say it. Damn. And then I remembered his phone message from the day before. “I wanted to take you up on your offer and get a ride from you today.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Sure, no problem.”

As I searched for a way to end the conversation without explaining any further why I couldn’t just drive myself like a regular person, I realized I heard the ambient noise of the Fifth Precinct behind him -- the peculiar phone ring and the sound of male laughter as the uniformed cops joked around the water cooler. Christ. Roger was at
work
already and he’d leave to come back and get me? I shook my head. “Gimme, like half an hour,” I said, and hung up.

I figured I should at least take a shower so I didn’t smell like sex. I washed a couple of aspirin down with a slug of orange juice from the carton and turned the shower on. The room filled with steam. I got under the scalding spray and the pain in my head seemed to lessen a little as my capillaries all opened up.

The shower curtain rustled as Jacob slid in behind me. His chest pressed into my back and he wrapped his arms around my middle. “Morning,” he purred.

My cock stirred a little at the feel of a big, hot body behind me, but the pain in my head was more insistent than my groin was. “Hey,” I said, and clapped my soapy hands over his to keep them north of the border.

He seemed to pick up on my body language, the way he picks up on everything; he massaged my shoulders, not my cock, as the hot water tumbled over me. “I’m looking at a condo on the lake today,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“To make sure it’s clean?”

“Clean is good,” he said, and his soapy hands slid down my back, grazed my ass, then slipped back up to work the knots out of my shoulders again. His voice was light and teasing, and I wondered if he was angling to move in together -- for real, and not just a temporary, stopgap arrangement.

Jacob nuzzled my wet hair aside and dragged his lips along the back of my neck. My cock started swelling. “Roger’s picking me up,” I said.

Jacob’s lips lingered for a moment, then his hands gave my shoulders a squeeze and he pulled away, reaching for the shampoo. “I could’ve given you a ride.”.

I felt guilty for not having asked him, but it was just far too gay to have my boyfriend dropping me off at the precinct. “It’s your day off.” I turned to face him, since it felt too weaselly to lie with my back to him. He seemed fine, concentrating on soaping up his hair.

I rinsed off and slipped out of the shower, and found a week-old towel in the hamper. I left the clean one for Jacob. He climbed out a minute later, water beaded on his olive skin, muscles rippling...with red scratches criss-crossing his thighs.

“What’s that?”

He glanced down. “Don’t you remember your own handiwork?”

I squinted at the marks. They looked almost as if they’d been made deliberately, like Xs. “Um. No.”

He grinned and dried himself off lazily, flexing for me all the while. “Right before you jerked off last night, you got a little rough.”

I did? I stared at his thighs. They were just scratches. But still. It really didn’t seem like something I’d do, even buzzed. I considered kissing them as some sort of penance, but if I knelt down in front of him on the bathroom floor I’d be asking for a big naked porno scene for Roger to stumble into. I shuddered at the thought.

Which was weird. Roger wasn’t bad looking, and a threesome should have been interesting fantasy fodder. I watched Jacob watching me as he dried off. Maybe I was falling in love. I shrugged and finger-combed my hair, dropped my towel on the floor, and went to find a clean shirt.