PsyCop: GhosTV Part 4

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"You break a sweat lifting a coffee cup."

"Okay, okay, I get it."

"Athletic? I must've told you a dozen times today how you well and truly rock my world, and you go fishing around for the one compliment you'd never get in a million years." I heard a slurp of c.o.ke in a straw, and the muttering of the word, "Athletic...." The light turned and the car behind me beeped. I gave him a "yeah, whatever" all-purpose wave and rolled forward. "So what do you think it would take? I mean, for me to, I dunno, maybe bulk up a little."

"Protein and weight training. But I just watched you scarf down half a pound of beef, so I'm guessing your protein is adequate." We had protein drinks in the fridge. They tasted like the can. But maybe if I held my nose.... "You mean like, uh, barbells and...stuff?"

"Most guys your age-how old are you, forty?"

"Thirty-nine."

"They'd kill to have your bod-not an ounce of fat on you and a full head of hair with hardly any grays."

What? I had gray hair? Since when?

"I'm all for physical fitness, but I think you're pretty much stuck with your basic body type. What the heck's gotten into you, anyway, that now you suddenly need to be athletic?"

"I just thought that Jacob might like-"

"Jacob's ga-ga over you as it is."

"Well, I don't know about-"

"I do," Crash said. "He's smitten. l.u.s.t-addled. Head over heels." I replied with a long, gusty sigh at the thought of going through all the

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trouble of diet and exercise only to end up as beanpole-like as ever, and Crash said, "Besides, I can't believe you're being this shallow.

The body's only a sh.e.l.l."

I considered that logic. "Then why should it matter if I have a good haircut or not?"

"Go f.u.c.k yourself, then...and think of me while you're doing it." He made a wet kissy-noise and hung up.

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Chapter 4.

PsychicSelfDefense by Muriel S. Sullivan ended up being a lot more interesting than I would've imagined. I suspected the author was visual, like me, so I could relate to the way she talked about things.

My visual representation of protective skins might have looked more like condoms and body bags than hers, but even though she wrote about rings of mystic fire and halos of purifying white light, I could still sc.r.a.pe together some sort of internal reference.

The book had been written in the sixties, so it was definitely weird.

Muriel's instructions would be making perfect sense, but then she'd tell you to grab an iron spike, invoke Thor, force the negative energy into the spike and drive it into the ground. Granted, as Marvel Comics superheroes go, Thor is pretty cool. But I've never seen an iron spike just lying around waiting to be planted.

Despite the weirdness, the book must've really been holding my attention, because I didn't hear Jacob come in until he spoke.

"Did you do something different with your hair?" I jumped, and the book fluttered out of my hands like a living thing, pages fanned open, hovering in mid-air while I grabbed at it, and then tumbling to the floor, shut.

I touched my hair. It felt funny. Hair paste. "Yeah, uh, Crash gave me a trim."

Jacob turned on the overhead light. I hadn't even noticed the room

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getting dim. He hooked a finger through the knot of his tie and loosened it as he approached, all the while nailing me to my seat with his most intense dark-eyed stare. Silk hissed on cotton as he whisked off his tie, and then he leaned over me, eyes level with mine. "Take off your clothes."

He said it, and then he didn't even give me a chance to do it myself.

He yanked my T-shirt over my head and threw it on top of the book, then went at the fly of my jeans like he'd rip it right out if it didn't cooperate. I undid the b.u.t.tons on his tailored dress shirt, then Jacob pulled it off and threw it on the floor beside mine. His undershirt followed. Then it was just him, and me, and everything we were wearing from the waist down-which didn't stay in place for long.

All the while we stripped, Jacob didn't say a word. He just stared. He dug the hair...maybe.

Or maybe he was wishing I was more athletic.

"Let's try something," I suggested, before I'd even fully formed an idea.

He nodded, all ears.

"Something more, uh, active."

He gave me a dirty smile. "What did you have in mind?" Something that would make me seem like I wasn't out of shape- though nothing I could picture seemed to fit that bill. "Well, we could...." I trailed off and hoped that, in his enthusiasm, Jacob would come up with something.

He pulled me against him chest to chest, moved to stroke my hair back and then changed his mind at the last second, as if he was afraid he'd wreck it by touching it. "You want to f.u.c.k me?" Um. Oh.

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He looked pretty jazzed, so I made myself nod as if that was exactly what I'd been getting at. It's not that I didn't think Jacob's a.s.s was a d.a.m.n fine a.s.s, but with our bodies-him ma.s.sive, me gangly-I felt like a greyhound attempting to mount a mastiff whenever we changed things up.

"Let's do it in the bathroom," he said. "In the mirror." Oh G.o.d. Not only did I have to do the deed, I had to see myself in action. I'd be lucky if I could even get it up.

At least we kept the primo lube in there-the silicone that lets you hump for hours, even underwater. Hopefully he wouldn't notice if I kept my eyes shut.

I followed him in and he turned on me suddenly, and nuzzled my jaw.

"Tell me what to do."

I tried to think athletic, but absolutely nothing came to mind, so I said, "Kiss my neck." I'm notoriously weak-willed when it comes to my neck. Maybe I'd get into the spirit of things more quickly if he was working on my...yeah.

Jacob's mouth was a thing of beauty. I slipped my arms around his shoulders and pressed myself against his body- big and warm, solid, hairy where I liked it, smooth along his back, inside his thighs. I slipped a hand alongside his b.a.l.l.s to remind myself how silky smooth he felt down there in the crease of his thigh, and hot and moist, the heat of the day. He moaned against my neck, and I felt a most definite stirring.

I could do it. No problem. I could be very...athletic. All I needed was the proper motivation.

"Touch my nipples. Not hard, not yet. But make me feel it." Jacob mumbled against my neck and slid his hands up my ribs. He took both nipples at the same time, one in each hand, and rolled

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them between thumb and forefinger. My c.o.c.k twitched, and he made another pleased sound along the spit-wet skin beside my Adam's apple.

"No hickeys, mister. You're in deep s.h.i.t if you mark me up." A rumbly laugh. A gentle bite. My c.o.c.k rose and made a right angle to the rest of my body. I let the head glide over his hip, and he made another satisfied sound against my throat.

Bossing Jacob around, I could get used to it. For the evening, anyway.

"Enough of that. Kneel. Hands behind your back." He pulled away and paused to look at me for a moment, then smiled to himself as he complied. Or maybe it was my hair he'd been admir-ing. Same difference. Maybe.

He knelt on the tiny rubber-backed square of machine-washable carpet. It wasn't exactly the most padded thing in the house, but it would do.

I grabbed him by the head and let my fingertips rake along the sides of his scalp. I liked his hair a touch longer, the way it was now. It gave me something to hold onto while I said, "Kiss my c.o.c.k." Jacob leaned in, keeping his hands obediently clasped behind his back. His arms were thick and strong, with defined parts that I didn't even know the names of, since my knowledge of anatomy stops after biceps and triceps-and a golden tan from mowing our ragged strip of lawn in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, a determined scowl, and a sultry sheen of sweat.

His beard tickled my shaft. Small kisses. Brushes of lips teased my c.o.c.k, fluttering along the underside, the base. My knees felt a bit weak. I leaned against the sink. "Lick it."

Hot and wet, like he'd been dying to taste me. I closed my eyes and

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felt his head advance and retreat while his tongue slid up and down to wet my d.i.c.k.

I could come like that. If he started to suck me, and I looked down and saw him kneeling there, submissive and naked, I would totally shoot my load.

Not very athletic.

So what was it he said to me that got me off when he was being the bossy one? Oh yeah. I grabbed his hair harder and stilled his head so he knew to stop and listen. "Get up. Show me that hole." When he stood up again, his c.o.c.k was thick and hard. He was wearing his "I wanna pound you through the mattress" expression, but it was taut now with his effort to keep it all in check and do only what I told him. His thighs flexed and released as if he was spring-loaded, and the tiniest slip would send him flying into action. But for now, he could wait.

He knocked yesterday's newspaper, folded to the Lifestyle section, to the floor, then eased his chest onto the counter beside the sink.

He walked his legs out. More muscles I couldn't name, or maybe tendons-and the sweet, rounded rise of his a.s.s, which was mostly muscle, too-all of it spread out before me. All of it mine to do whatever I pleased with it.

I ran my hands over him, down his back, over his a.s.s, to the backs of his thighs. His skin flicked in response. Everywhere, he was rock hard.

"I need it," he mumbled into his forearms. "Do it." The fact that he could hardly bring himself to tell me to f.u.c.k him sent a thrill zinging down to my groin. I licked my finger and trailed it down his hot, moist crack. He exhaled carefully against the countertop.

I figured I should probably say something about that being "my" hole

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and how I was gonna "own" it, but it sounded too fake, even in my thoughts. I bent over him instead, and laid a slow, wet kiss along the spot where his tailbone ended, and the curve of his spine turned into a.s.s crack. He moaned.

I tongued him, farther down, and farther down still, rich and salty and end-of-the-day musky, and my c.o.c.k started to throb in antic.i.p.a-tion of going there too and knowing what that hot, wet hole would feel like clenching all around it.

"Sweet a.s.s." I let the words play over my spit, and Jacob shivered all over. I licked him, right on the pucker, hard, and pressed a wet fingertip in.

"Oh G.o.d."

I closed my mouth over his hole and pressed my tongue in where my finger had been. I was high on the scent of maleness, and s.e.x.