Part 8 (1/2)

She nodded. ”Exactly. Too little, too late. So now what happens is, every couple of months or so, he'll get tired of chasing bar b.i.t.c.hes around and decide to see what of Nora is up to. Remind me of his undying love.”

”Lucky you.”

”Lucky me.” She took a small hit off the bottle, again offered it to him. This time, he thought about it a second before declining.

”Aw, c'mon,” she persisted. A hint of the old deviltry was back in her eyes. ”Now that we know all about each other, you've got some catching up to do.”

”We're almost home,” he said, and the last word audibly caught in his throat; it had a barb of unexpected sadness on its tail that took him completely by surprise. Home. What a f.u.c.king joke. He thought about the d.i.n.ky little rattrap he was dragging her back to, felt suddenly ashamed.

He heard her breath catch and hold as she tracked his emotion. s.h.i.+t. He tried to think of some kind of clean segue to safer ground: a self-effacing quip, a droll observation, anything. Nope. His cupboard was bare. The silence ballooned between them. He could feel the heat of Nora's gaze, or maybe it was just the flush of his cheeks. He wished he could bring himself to look at her, but he couldn't just yet.

”So this guy,” he said, almost defensively. ”I get the impression he makes you nervous.”

”Don't worry about it,” she said flatly. ”I can take care of Vic.”

The silence welled back up, oppressive.

And that was when she broke the barrier between them. The barrier of distance. The barrier of flesh. She made a tiny animal noise that went right through him-a kind of sympathetic, nuzzling trill-and then her left hand came up to touch his hair, just his hair, tracing the curve of the back of his skull on the way back down his neck. The sensation was subtly yet potently electric, less like a vibrator than a Van de Graaff generator. It awakened a tickle at the base of his brain. A very deep itch.

A very, very deep itch.

Then she leaned across the s.p.a.ce between them, and he could practically feel the air molecules part as her exquisite face made its way to his throat, lightly kissed the pulse point just below the jawline. He felt his blood respond to the kiss, the proximity of her body, the touch of her hands as the first firmly cradled the back of his head and the second began moving softly across his chest.

Then her tongue slid up and around the bend of his jaw, flicked the lobe, softly entered his ear. He moaned as she leaned into it, body-press in hot conjunction with her tongue's wet, probing tip. His flesh began to stir. He s.h.i.+fted in his seat uncomfortably. She nuzzled him, withdrawing the tongue. With her right hand, she snaked inside the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt.

The road began to swim before him.

Nora grabbed the bottle in her right hand, took a deep pull of Comfort, swallowed hard, then tilted her mouth up into his. He tried to keep his eye on the road, but the pull of her kiss was too intense. He had to yank himself back just in time to catch the westward leaning of the mountain pa.s.s they drove.

She pulled away from his lips. Her breath was sweet.

He somehow negotiated the curve. Outside, the wind whistled and howled. She brought the bottle to her mouth again, came back up to kiss him.

When he opened his mouth to her, Southern Comfort and alchemy flowed from her lips. She had warmed and brewed it, imbued it with some of her magic. He could not help but swallow.

From then on, there was no turning back.

The first rush hit him like a velvet sledgehammer, knocking him back in his seat as his hands fought to grip the wheel. It became very hard to concentrate. The road before him wound wide to the left, then right, then back; it had become an endless wiggling string of convolutions, with steep cliffs that yawned panoramically at every twist and turn.

He felt suddenly like he was gliding on one of those Disneyland b.u.mper cars that ran on a jet stream of compressed air, floating almost magically above the world. It was hard to believe that there were actually tires under his can making contact with an actual world that would open up dramatically for him if he missteered, careening off into a worst-case scenario that he could picture only too clearly. The can firing off the edge of the cliff. The first full somersaulting scream. The moment of truth, as the roof caved in and the whole thing erupted in flames, rolling down and down and down in a consummate mangled meat-gristle epiphany of screams. . . .

No no no, he heard her say, as if she were in his head. No no no. His vision swam back in focus, and he recognized the topography ahead. He was driving just fine. He was driving just fine. He had driven this road a million times. It occurred to him that he had been drugged somehow, but he failed to see how the information helped. Then her tongue was back in his ear again, and he gave in to the sensation.

When it was time to turn, she helped him believe it could be done.

You're okay. She whispered the words in his ear. He was astounded by how powerful they sounded. You're doing fine. He saw the mountains give way, settle into flatlands and streetlights, the tight cl.u.s.ters of buildings and driveways and stoplights that signaled civilization. He turned the car right, went straight, turned right again. Lights streamed past, their colors glaring overhead: reds and yellows, lurid greens and ghostly blue-white hues, all garishly bright.

Somehow he found his building, pulled to a stop, parked. He practically had to crawl to the door, but it was okay; she took the keys and she let him in. And it was so great to be inside, surrounded by familiar smells as he ascended the stairs, made his way to sanctuary. At last the front door opened, closed magically behind him. He was home. He knew where everything was.

But his clothes were making him crazy. He just didn't understand how they worked anymore. He was so grateful when she helped him peel them off, litter them across the floor. Sometime between a second and a century later he collapsed onto the floor, writhing, unable to tell which were arms and which were legs, and how his limbs coordinated.

And Nora was there, sweet centering guiding force. When she ran her hands down his chest he felt the skittering universe suddenly calm, become manageable. She touched him again and his c.o.c.k swelled and slapped his belly impatiently. She kissed him, ran her tongue and teeth down the length of his torso, found his erection, and took it into her mouth.

He began to growl.

Not only because it felt so incredible, but because he could smell her now, and it was the most amazing, most absolutely all-encompa.s.sing scent he'd ever known. She changed positions, straddling him and lowering her hips to his face. She was hot, astonis.h.i.+ng, dripping with life. He snuffled at her as she started to moan, a deep guttural, rutting cry. Her hands gripped his hips, dug in, pulling him closer. His hands came up to peel her panties down . . .

. . . and then he was burying his tongue inside her, feeling it strain as he lapped at the folds, aching to reach deeper within. Her body lost control. He could feel it move around him, pressing down until the world disappeared and only her p.u.s.s.y remained, wet dark triangle framing the axis around which the universe madly swirled.

And her p.u.s.s.y unfolded, her p.u.s.s.y revealed, her p.u.s.s.y was the gateway to the center of the earth. It was like giving head to all creation. It made him feel like a G.o.d. She made noises he couldn't believe; he answered with a voice he'd never heard before.

Syd lost himself in wors.h.i.+p, gave himself over to her power.

And it went on all night long.

12.

Syd awoke from a dream of dying, to the sound of the front door's slam. No segue. No newsreel. No Warner Bros. cartoon. One second, he was screaming as he watched his slick red abdomen unzip and disgorge; the next, he was staring at the pool of warm drool collecting on his pillow.

”Hrnngg,” he intoned, wiping a stringer of saliva from his lips. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. The light in the room felt all wrong: the sky outside was slate-gray, its somber hue draping the walls and the sheets with long shadows that crawled.

He groaned. It was warm in the room; he was sweating under the covers. He stirred, stretched, and instantly regretted the move; it felt like every muscle and ligament in his body had been wrenched in the wrong direction. The smell of s.e.x was everywhere: in his nostrils, in his hair, all over the bedding. He was naked and caked with pasty, half-dried secretions. He was also more than a little disoriented; his brain felt spongy, sodden in his skull. Syd squinted at the clock. It read ten to six. Too early to be awake, that was for sure.

Then he heard the footsteps in the living room, coming toward him; and in the moment before she opened the door, it came back to him.

Nora . . .

”Hey,” she said, breezing into the room. ”Move over, you nasty man.” Winking as the door creaked shut behind her. She had changed clothes since last he'd seen her, but he barely had time to register the fact, because she started peeling them off upon walking in.

Peeling was something that she did extremely well. She was certainly built for it. Her body was both lean and deliciously curved, with a narrow waist and round, inviting hips; her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were small but full, with high dark nipples and just the right amount of sag. As she slid out of her jeans, it struck him with a kind of stunned remorse that this was the first time he remembered seeing her naked, despite all the obvious physical evidence to the contrary.

What the h.e.l.l had happened? He barely remembered driving home. He wasn't accustomed to blackouts, and it kind of flipped him out. On the other hand, he wasn't accustomed to doing shots, either, or getting his brains f.u.c.ked out by beautiful and mysterious strangers. He guessed it was possible that the two were connected somehow.

Then Nora was upon him, slithering up the length of the bed, wrapping herself tight around him. Any regrets or reservations wilted in the heat of her embrace, were completely vaporized by the long, penetrating kiss she pinned him with, the sultry spiced scent of her skin. The kiss was at once deep and urgent, timelessly luxurious: as her tongue went wild inside his mouth it sparked a fire in his brain that spread down his spine, sent shock waves of ecstasy reverberating through to his toes.

All in all, it was a great way to start off the morning. The only problem was, by the time they came up for air Syd realized they had been utterly swallowed by darkness. The dawn should long since have burned off the shadows. This had him confused, until Nora pointed out the moon rising outside the window. He looked at her, shocked.

”You let me sleep all day?”

”Well, we were up pretty late last night,” she countered, ”and besides, you were crashed.” Syd had to admit that that was true: the second part, at any rate. Nora cuddled into him, slid her hand down to wake his rousing c.o.c.k. ”Plus it gave me a chance to go get some things,” she added. ”I hope you don't mind.”

Syd nodded, not quite sure what that meant. ”Yeah, it's fine,” he said. ”I just . . .”

”Oh, s.h.i.+t,” she said suddenly, cutting him off. ”Before I forget . . .”

She let go of his p.e.n.i.s and jumped up, exiting the bedroom. Syd watched for a moment, perplexed. When she didn't come back he pulled himself creaking from the bed, followed on unsteady legs.