Soul Stripper (19 page)

He chuckled in a sexy way. “Only if I get to taste you, too.”

I sat up from the table and he lay down, taking my spot. I straddled his face, my glistening sex hovering above his lips. He opened his mouth, licking my length. I lowered myself onto his tongue and it entered me, in long strokes. Falling onto my hands, I allowed my mouth to come into contact with him. Drew was a large man. And even though I had a big mouth, the size that stood at attention before me was enough to make even me a little nervous. I positioned my hand around the base of his shaft and wrapped my lips around his head. I took as much of him as I could.

He grunted, grabbing my ass and squeezing, continuing to pleasure me. My sex tensed, and as his tongue moved expertly around, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I came on his face. The spasms began, and my cries were muffled by his dick still in my mouth. This seemed to turn him on more, and his cock twitched against my tongue.

“I want to be inside of you. Now.” He kissed my sex once more before I climbed off of him, turning around. His lips glistened with my juices, and I couldn’t resist bending down to kiss him. Using a hand, I guided him toward my entrance. Both of us were wet with our own fluids and saliva and he entered me slick and easily.

He rolled his hips as I pumped myself up and down on top of him. Positioning my hands behind my body, I arched my back to allow even deeper access. His hands lifted to cup my breasts, his thumbs circling over the nipples.

“My God, Monica. You are so beautiful.” He cupped my face and pulled me down for a kiss. My breasts pressed against his pecs, his warm skin glistening with perspiration.

“Drew.” I moaned his name with our lips entwined. The realization dawned that I was finally able to be with Drew. Nothing stood between us. Adrienne was out of the picture. I had no soul-stealing powers.

Wills
. I was still with Wills. My body froze, and Drew immediately noticed the change in my body language. “Wills,” I whispered to Drew. “Oh, fuck, Wills.” I started to pull away, but Drew held my body close.

His eyes, which had been glazed, flashed with momentary anger. “Monica, wait,” he growled. He was still inside of me, and I could feel the panic rising in my throat. He held me in place over him. “You two are exclusive?”

I shook my head. “No, not exactly. But I doubt he’d be okay with this.”

Drew flipped me over so that I was again on my back on the kitchen table. He propped himself over me on both elbows. His erection, still raging strong, pressed against my belly. He ran a hand over my hair to smooth away any frizziness. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—ever since that first day that you walked into my café and created your own crazy, diabetes-inducing caramel mocha latte.”

I shook my head and closed my eyes. Trying to break the spell. Break the contact between us. “I can’t do this to you. I can’t promise you anything beyond tonight. And I really don’t want to hurt Wills either—”

He covered my mouth with his thumb. “I don’t want to worry about those things right now. You want me, too. You do, right?”

I swallowed and let the silence answer for me.

“Then I’m not letting you get out of this because you have a sort of quasi-boyfriend excuse waiting in the wings.”

I lay there shocked for a moment. “You arrogant son of a bitch.” I tried to get up, but his body weight against me kept me pinned to the table. “Let me up!” I punched at his chest.

His eyes lowered, a smirk still tickling his lips. “No.” It was almost a grunt.

“I’ll scream.”

The slightest hint of a smile tugged the corners of his lips. “You might.” He kissed me ferociously, still not letting me up. He stopped the kiss, pulling his face back to look at me. I panted from below him. “Admit it. You want this.”

My breasts heaved, and I was even wetter between my legs than moments ago. “Of course I want this.”

He kissed my neck, biting the soft flesh just below my ear. “Then let’s finish it.” He pushed his erection against my sex, entering just the tip.

A grunt escaped my lips and the anticipation was dizzying.

He kissed the other side of my neck. “Even if it’s just for tonight.” He pushed into me a little deeper, his hip connecting with my clit, sending electricity coursing through my body. I cried out again, louder.

He stared at me, his green eyes piercing like emeralds. “Say yes, Monica. Tell me you want me. If you say no—if you can honestly tell me you don’t want this—I’ll stop. I’ll put my clothes back on and I’ll never try to seduce you again. Ever.” A pause. “So—do you want this?”

“Yes.” My voice was barely a whisper.

He chuckled. “Yes?”

I whimpered. “Yes, please, Drew.”

He kissed me. “Say it again. Louder.”

“Yes,” I cried out, the frustration of my impending orgasm getting to me.

He slammed his cock into me hard, pounding with a burst of energy. I screamed out in absolute bliss, grabbing him behind the neck and pulling his face down to mine. I drank in his kiss. He leaned back on his knees and threw my legs over his shoulders. With two fingers, he put pressure on my clit, circling it with skill. The waves of orgasm rolled over my body, each one hitting like a lightning bolt.

He was growing harder inside of me, close to finishing any second. His body tensed, and as he came inside of me, his body collapsed onto mine.

I saw a flash. It was happening. I was stealing his life. I screamed, trying to push him off of me. I tried to stop it. It wasn’t supposed to happen—I had no powers. How can I be stealing his soul? He grabbed me around the shoulders, mistaking my screams for cries of lust. And there it was—for just a brief second, I saw his future. I saw the life I had taken from him. He was old—a much, much older man. He clutched his heart, fell to the ground. And there beside him was an equally older woman catching him in her arms as he fell. If I wasn’t mistaken—I could have sworn that that older woman looked a lot like me.

W
e both lay there in a sweaty pile for a few minutes. My body trembled at the sight of myself as an old lady. I shook the thought from my head. The chances of that flash-forward showing
me
were slim to none. Someone once told me that though coincidences were strange, the world would be a stranger place if there were none at all.

How much of his soul had I taken? Did I have my powers back? I had felt a small tingle of dormant power yesterday, but I never thought for a moment that sex with a good soul would have brought them back. I could feel my hand trembling. I sat up and looked down at my toenails. A little test. That’s what I needed. I looked at Drew. He was running his fingers up and down my back, his eyes closed in postcoital bliss.

I focused on my toes, put all my energy and thoughts into changing the polish.
Red,
I thought.
Turn red, turn red, turn red . . .
There was a tingle of magic in my feet. My big toe’s nail turned red. The rest of my toes remained neutral.
At least it’s something.
Furthermore, I don’t think I could have stolen all that much of Drew’s soul if all I got was a lousy uneven polish job out of the surge of power. I exhaled a sigh. It was a small comfort, but at the moment, I’d take it. I lay back down and rolled onto my side toward Drew. His face was relaxed, and he opened one eye to look at me—the other remaining closed like some sort of reversed wink. “You all right over there?”

I kissed him lightly on the lips. “Never better.” I rolled off of the table. “But this is not exactly the most comfortable accommodations I have.” I could feel the indentations on my back where the table had left marks. I slipped my pajama pants back on and found my shirt at the other end of the table.

“Awww.” Drew sat up and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward him before I could get the shirt over my head. “No clothes yet.” The words ran together as he kissed me.

I gave him a playful push. “I have company coming soon,” I said, and put my shirt back on.

His face darkened. “Wills,” he said grimly.

“No.” I ran my hand through his light hair. “Not Wills.”

Relief washed over him and he hopped up, putting his jeans on. He bent down and gathered the pictures that had scattered across my kitchen floor. The image of Damien and Adrienne kissing rested by my foot, and I crouched down, taking a closer look as I picked it up. There was something odd about the photo. Damien’s eyes—they were open. Looking around during a kiss? Damien didn’t seem the type to blink at the thought of participating in an affair. So what was he watching out for?

“You really didn’t take these?” Drew held a hand out.

I shook my head. “No. I definitely did not.”

I stood up, face to face with Drew, and handed the photo over. He took it with a sigh and tapped the stack of pictures against the palm of his hand. “So, will I see you at the café tomorrow?”

I nodded. The guilt sat heavily in my stomach. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After I let Drew out and locked the deadbolts behind him, I slipped into the bathroom. Water flowed from the faucet, and I splashed the stream over my face. I looked into the mirror, and my forehead still glistened with the mark of Julian’s kiss. It was becoming a comfort to see. I leaned in closer to get a better look at my face. A few fine lines were forming around my eyes. The slightest evidence of life’s wear and tear on my body. I tried to imagine what those lines would look like deepened, with creases around my mouth and blanketing my forehead. After a few centuries of always being beautiful, would I even be capable of letting that go?

My mind switched over to Drew’s face. He had smile lines. Creases at the corners of his eyes. His teeth were by no means perfect . . . but he was beautiful with a personality that radiated warmth and integrity. I pulled on my pink, fuzzy robe and walked into the kitchen. For Drew, I could grow old. He wouldn’t see wrinkles and sagging breasts; he would see me.

Oh Hell, did I really just think that? I might have just vomited in my mouth a little.

“You and me both.”

I screamed, wrapping the robe even tighter around my body. The smell of peppermint hit the back of my throat immediately. Jules sat at my table, a glass of red wine in his hand and a second sitting in front of the chair across from him. He swirled the scarlet liquid, and it clung to the edges of the glass like thin blood.

“Don’t
do
that!” I shrieked at him.

His mouth tilted, but his eyes stayed on his glass. “Wine?” he asked without looking at me.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, and sat down across from him. My forehead tingled and that guilt at the pit of my stomach deepened even more with an added flavor of embarrassment. I could feel the flush rise from the top of my breasts up around my neck and cheeks. I cleared my throat before speaking. “So, when did you get here?”

He took a slow sip, savoring the flavor of the cabernet, swishing it around his mouth in a thoughtful way. “I’ve been here for—a while.”

I nodded. I didn’t need to read his thoughts to know what he saw. Or heard.

“I waited outside. In the future, if you wish to keep your indiscretions private, might I suggest the bedroom. Or at least a sock on the door.” His lip curled back.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Our eyes caught for a moment and he held my gaze.
My mind is blank, my mind is blank, my mind is blank,
I kept thinking over and over.

He exhaled and set the wineglass back down on the table. “Okay, Monica. You win. No mind reading tonight, I promise.” He leaned back in the chair and took a less calculated sip of wine.

I raised my glass in the air and tilted my head to the side. “Well, I’ll drink to that.” I mustered up a little more courage before asking him the question that plagued me. “So, what was the crime scene like?”

“It was . . . informative.”

I sighed. “That was pretty much the elusive answer I had expected from you.”

We sat in quiet, sipping our wine for a few moments longer. I looked up, making eye contact with Jules. He broke the silence. “What would you like for dinner?”

I shrugged. “Want to order a pizza?”

His mouth twitched at the corners. “I had something a little more creative in mind.”

“Oh?” My head tilted. Lately, it seemed, food was the fastest way to get my attention. Food and sex. Though the latter was nothing new.

He stood, taking our empty wineglasses to the sink. “I’ll whip up some dinner. Why don’t you disinfect the table?”

I didn’t even realize I had enough ingredients in my fridge to make mac and cheese—let alone the gourmet broiled chicken and vegetables in a béchamel sauce that Julian had magically “whipped” up.

I cut into the meat, so tender it barely needed a knife to separate. Julian didn’t eat much, just sort of shifted his food around. A few bites here and there, he chewed without taking his eyes off me. It took all my energy not to moan as I swirled the asparagus around the cream sauce and slid it into my mouth.

Jules’s eyebrow arched in amusement. “Good?”

He knew the answer already. Just goes to show that even angels enjoy validation. “Very. Thank you.”

I swallowed another bite and took a sip of wine, the alcohol starting to take effect. “You know what would make this meal even better?”

“What’s that?”

“If you would tell me what you discovered at the crime scene.”

He sighed ever so slightly. “I can’t.”

“Why
not?
You’re the one who wanted me to get involved in the first place. I thought we could compare notes.”

His arms crossed over his chest. “Notes, huh? And what exactly did
you
discover today?”

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get my observations if I don’t get yours.”

He stayed in his same position, an intense heat simmering between us. “I could just read your mind.”

I smiled and leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. Sticking my knife into the last piece of chicken, I pointed it at him. “I don’t think so. You made a promise—no mind reading tonight.” Triumphantly, I ate the last piece, chewing happily.

His mouth opened to say something but hung slack-jawed, no words coming out. Finally, he said, “A promise is a promise.”

I used a piece of bread to mop up the remaining sauce on my plate, and when I met Julian’s gaze—those eyes burning into me—I put the bread down, feeling suddenly hedonistic.

He laughed quietly. “Would you like
my
plate?”

I hesitated. Part of me wanted more. The other part felt as though he was mocking me with the question. “No, thank you. I would much prefer to hear about any evidence found at the crime scene.”

He sighed and gathered the plates. “I can’t tell you, Monica. I’m not allowed. Lucien made it clear that I could not share any information.”

“Since when do you abide by a demon’s rules!?” My voice grew shrill. The only reason I agreed to this whole investigation was because I thought Jules would be helping me the whole time.

“I have a few loopholes when the time is right.”

“Of course you do,” I huffed. Angels. Tricky little fuckers.

 

Later that night, we curled up on the couch and watched
How to Steal a Million.
Julian rubbed my feet, gently kneading my muscles. I dozed off somewhere around the time Audrey Hepburn was dressing up like a maid. When I woke up, light was peeking through my curtains. At some point during the night Jules must have wrapped me in a cocoon of blankets and moved me to my bed. The left side of the bed was rumpled and messed as well—indicating that he probably slept beside me. See? Deductive reasoning. I could totally do this detective thing.

I slipped into the bathroom still in my groggy morning haze and splashed some water on my face. After brushing my teeth, I followed my nose to the kitchen. It smelled like pancakes. And bacon. Oh Hell, that smelled good.

“Don’t curse. There’s an angel present.” Jules was standing over my stove, spatula in hand.

“Stop reading my mind,” I grumbled, knowing that my pleas were a lost cause.

I could feel Jules’s smirk even though he wasn’t facing me. “You had a whole night off. Today you’re free game.” I made a noise that sounded something like a
humph
and poured myself a cup of coffee, our bodies so close to each other that my shoulder was brushing his bicep. “Lucky for you,” Jules continued, “I’m off duty for at least the next eight hours.” He leaned over and tweaked the tip of my nose with his finger.

I forced myself to take a step away from him. Letting the hot coffee warm my hands, I remembered last night with Drew. How I saw the flash of his future—his future with me in it. Jules was eyeing me from the stove.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” I widened my eyes innocently.

“Don’t play coy, Monica. You don’t wear it well.”

I sighed. “It just—I didn’t want to talk about the events of last night. Especially with you.”

“You have your powers back?” His eyes glistened.

I thought for a moment. “Sort of. Not entirely. Watch.” I set the mug down and closed my eyes, willing my body to shift out of my robe and into today’s clothes. I felt the tingle sensation—a feeling not unlike someone running their finger along the length of my spine. When I opened my eyes, Julian was staring at me, mouth agape. His eyes were about eight inches south of my face, and when I looked down at my body, the robe was gone. In its place were panties and no bra. “Oh Hell!” I grabbed Julian’s white button-down shirt that was thrown over the back of a chair and wrapped it over myself. When I looked up, Julian was still standing over the stove, spatula in hand, staring at where I had been.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. My eyes dropped to his jeans. Lust. His pants were definitely tight around the crotch. I looked away, my face burning. He turned, still flustered, and looked at me. His mouth opened, then shut again as if searching for the right words. A few stutters came out, and I interrupted his nonsensical sentence.

“Julian, I never pegged you as the guy to get flustered over a little nudity. But, for the record, that wasn’t what I was trying to shift into.”

He nodded. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen a naked woman.” He turned back to the pancakes.

Sadness washed over me. Seeing me with Drew must have been torture for him. “Jules, about last night . . .”

“In terms of your powers,” he interrupted, “I will tell Lucien when I see him today. Other than from him and me, I think this should stay a hidden fact. Let the murderer think you’re still helpless. It will give us the edge if he does make his move. I don’t even want you telling George and Kayce.”

“I still think we should talk . . .”

A knock at the door cut me off midsentence. Jules smiled, the grin slicing across his face. Eyes still sad, the smile all a ruse. “You should put your robe back on.” He leaned in and put a hand on my waist, his mouth coming dangerously close to mine. “That shirt is rather sheer. I can still see”—he exhaled a deep breath—“almost everything.” He pushed himself away and put a plate filled with M&M’s pancakes on the kitchen counter. “That’s probably Kayce,” he said. “I’ll get the door.”