Chapter Five – Jack #2
His breath changed into sharp gasps. “No one’s ever done this to me before,” he protested.
Was that real or fake? Did it matter? I pushed my tongue against his rim until I fit its tip inside.
“Oh, oh,” he started, and didn’t stop. The tormented sounds he made were music to my ears.
His hips rocked, begging me to go deeper, and I rocked back, pushing my thumbs in to take my tongue’s place, gently stretching him.
“What is it that you want, stranger?”
The way his hips were throbbing and his breath was catching, I knew exactly what he wanted—I only wanted to hear him say it. “Don’t call me stranger, Jack—just, fuck me, please.”
“As long as I get my bite.”
“Yes—anything,” he panted. He would’ve sold me his grandmother if I’d asked.
As it was—I took my hands away from him and stood, making sure he could hear me getting undressed, my boots scuffing, my belt buckle’s clank as I opened it, then its thump as it hit the floor, and the noise of my zipper opening up, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper.
“Is this what you wanted?” I played the head of my condomed cock down the cleft of his ass, where my spit had left him wet for me.
“Please,” he begged me.
“Just because you’re not a stranger anymore doesn’t mean I’ll go easy,” I warned, set myself, took his hips, and pushed myself in—he took me eagerly, hot and tight.
“Your ass was made for this.” I leaned over his back so I could whisper in his ear.
“Made for me.” He moaned as I went on. “Take your cock with your other hand and stroke it.”
“But,” he began.
“Do as I say.” It was hard not to let a hint of the whammy through. I knew he wanted to give away control—and I wanted to take it. One hand obediently sank between his legs, as I put one foot on my couch to go more deeply. He groaned as I stretched him wide, and started pulling at himself.
I crouched over him, kissing his back and neck—I could only reach his lips when I was hilt deep inside of him, catching his head with one hand, twisting him to me.
Our hips moved as one as our tongues twined and the way we were panting fell into synch.
I broke off first. “I want to come for you, Zach. I want to push you to the edge, and make you take me over.”
We were rocking, so tight and hard, thunder crashing around us, the only glow my distant computer screen.
“Tell me when you’re ready—when you can’t hold it anymore—that’s when I want to bite you.
” I reached around and beneath him, taking control of his cock while he went back to holding onto the couch with both hands, bracing as he moaned.
I could feel him tensing again, his body winding up, his ass starting to grab as his cock stiffened.
“Jack!” he warned. “Bite me!”
I waited until the last possible moment as he lost himself, his cum slippery in my hand. I shoved my cock up inside him, pulsing, as my fangs ripped down and I bit him.
Hard, but not savagely.
The shout of his orgasm became a strangled scream—I couldn’t always stop it from hurting—and blood, glorious blood welled out.
I didn’t waste a drop. My fangs receded and I milked the holes I had made with my lips and tongue while my hard cock still speared him and the last of his load leaked out.
He cried out again, gasping, but stock still in the manner of prey.
I rose up behind him, feeling full in a way I hadn’t since I’d last bled Paco, feeling dual waves of life and blood hitting me hard.
I slid out of him, panting, tossing the condom aside, and he fell down to my couch, clamping his hand to his neck, with a stunned look in his eyes, verging on hurt, as he opened his mouth to say something.
“Sorry, Zach,” I cut him off. “Forget.”
Whatever questions he’d been about to ask were erased, even as the wounds I’d made on his neck sealed up. He was still out of breath—but he was young. He wouldn’t even realize he was a pint low. “Christ—Jack—fucking you is like doing whippets.”
I reached down for my jeans. “Yeah? How so?”
“I feel high and I can’t remember the last three minutes.”
I grinned at him, jumping my jeans up. “That’s a shame. They were pretty good.”
“Did—you?” he asked, suddenly concerned.
He wanted to please me. I found it charming. “Oh yeah. You could drown a small child in the condom I tossed.”
“Eww,” he said and snickered.
“You asked.”
“I—I wish I remembered. I remember blowing my load in your mouth though—Jesus, that was hot,” he told himself as I walked into my bedroom.
I returned with a clean shirt and then used my old one to swipe up the mess on my couch. “You got a little over excited. Don’t worry. You’ll get another chance.” I leaned in and kissed him.
“Yeah?” he asked, the very image of hope.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But—I’m going on a trip tonight.” At which point in time Sugar chose to meow from the kitchen—where she’d gone to hide once the ‘thunder’ started up. I turned off my computer and returned to Zach. “Hey—I know this is sudden—but can you feed my cat while I’m gone?”
He blinked, the fog my whammy had put around him finally fading. “Uh, sure? But how long will you be?”
“Don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” He sounded incredulous.
I leered at him. “I’m dark and mysterious, Zach.”
He laughed. “Like a vampire?”
I gave him a toothy smile. “Precisely.”
It took another twenty minutes to get him out the door—I told him I’d put my house key under the mat for him—and then I rushed to wash my face and brush my teeth again.
No time for a full shower, despite the fact that I knew Angela would smell Zach on me—I needed to make a detour before seeing her again.
My car wound its way back to Bella’s house like it was pulled there, and I wondered if it was, as if the blood I’d taken from Zach had somehow known why I had needed it.
Not that that changed how I got it, of course.
My hand wrung the steering wheel at the thought.
I’d practically gotten true consent from him, but that wasn’t the same as actual consent, and I knew that the ethical hair I was splitting was fine.
I parked a few houses down from Bella’s place again—I’d feel bad about whammying Zach later, when I had time.
Now that it’d been a few days since Bella’s murder, I felt safer about breaking back in—and so had other people, apparently. We were a little far from the Strip for squatters, and this neighborhood was too nice for anyone to steal copper—my bet was on bored teens.
Whoever they were, their interest in Bella’s things had left her home in even more disarray than the murder had—the crystal skulls were gone now, probably being retrofitted into crystal bongs.
Her clothing had been pulled out and strewn across the floor, same for her shoes and purses, the best of all of them stolen, I imagined.
Despite the chaos and the desecration I could still feel her here, riding the high Zach’s blood had given me. I sat down in her bedroom in the dark, reaching a hand out to touch her bloodstain.
“I need to know a little more, Bella. I know who did this—and I think why—but I need an angle.”
I had a feeling like the pressure changed, like when they seal you up on a plane and your ears start to pop.
Bella had been fond of all sorts of magic, and had appropriated from other cultures shamelessly—which was why the feathers on both a dreamcatcher and an African drum started to sway.
My eyes traveled the room in the half-dark, looking for what she wanted me to find—and saw a necklace, looped over the top of her bedside lamp, with its pendant shimmying in the breeze.
I knew what it was. I stood, walked over, and unlooped it, taking its pendant in my hand, even though it burned me lightly.
It was a silver planchette—the kind you used on Ouija boards.
The first night I’d met Bella, she’d brought me back here and she’d made me play.
The questions she asked seemed so pointless, and of course I assumed she was the one moving the planchette.
It wasn’t until I’d taken the damned thing and put it in my mouth, holding it between my teeth, and told her that the spirits wanted me to use it to draw on her naked that she laughed, and then agreed.
She’d stripped herself naked to lie on her living room floor, where I traced the planchette’s sharp point over her soft skin carefully, all the while my mouth burned.
Now that I held its chain, it swung from the far end, tugging me, like I was dowsing with it.
“All right,” I said, and went where it pulled me.
It took me into her hall closet, behind her water heater, where I found stacks of books hidden, as yet undisturbed.
I pulled out a few and found voluminous notes—strange words I didn’t recognize, alongside proportions in teaspoons and ounces that I did.
All of the books were like recipes. The planchette tugged me to reach over these, and pull out a square of red velvet, in which I found the Ouija game itself wrapped up, tucked beneath a bundle of sage.
I pulled it out and closed the closet door, then went to kneel in her living room, using the moonlight filtering in through her blinds for light. I opened the board and unstrung the planchette, setting it down in the center.
“Bella?” I asked. Nothing. Even the sensation of pressure had subsided. “Dammit.” I reached out for the marker and—as my fingers touched one side it spun off like I’d shoved it, to hover over ‘Yes.’ Good.
“You were pregnant,” I began, and the planchette spun around the word ‘Yes’ like a bee doing a dance.
“I already know who murdered you—and I promise they will pay.” At that the planchette went up on its nose, as if it wanted to pierce through the board.
“But I need to know whose baby it was, first.”
The planchette fell, then teetered back and forth like an indecisive coin, before zooming off on a path. I read the letters quickly. “Jonah?” and it went back to ‘Yes.’
I’d only heard his name once—from the prostitute I’d slept with, Amber, saying he was one of the big dogs of the Pack, so to speak. And as of yet, he wasn’t involved in anything with Angela, that I knew of.
“Did he know?”
The planchette crept across the board to ‘No.’ Whether the planchette was moving more slowly because Bella was sad for him, or ashamed she hadn’t told him, I couldn’t say.
It was, however, a start. Gray had been in prison a long time. Surely there were some members of his pack who’d grown used to his absence—and who wanted him to stay in there.
“Did you love him?”
Yes.
“Did he love you?”
Yes.
If she had the true love of a werewolf—why had she run from the Pack? As if reading my mind, the planchette began tapping more letters in quick succession. Dark clouds—bad cards—not safe.
So she’d run—for all the good it’d done her. I rocked back on my heels. “Thank you, Bella.”
The planchette wove back and forth like it was waving good-bye—and then it raced out three more words. I knew what she was spelling by the end of the first one.
Should have stayed.
“I know,” I whispered.
I reached for it before it could cause me anymore grief, and then strung it back on its chain as I stood.
I meant to return it, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a stinging reminder of my biggest mistake close at hand.
I looped the chain around my neck and dropped the planchette beneath the fabric of my shirt, so that I could feel it burn me.
I deserved it.