Long Black Cadillac Page 3

  “Hey, Remy. I need you to do me a favor. Go to Beau’s and get me the sirloin, medium rare, and all of the sides.” Remy would do anything for fifty bucks and a case of beer.

  “You got a yen for the moo-cow, cher?” Remy’s laugh just made him grin. Crazy fucker.

  “No, I’m entertaining, you shithead. And I can’t just leave right now.” That sounded almost like splintering wood.

  “Ah. I see. I’ll get ya fixed up, cher. You’ll see. Sweeten that there comp’ny right up.”

  “Thanks, Remy. I’ll have the usual reward waiting for you.” Hell, Remy he could usually just get away with nibbling on a little bit for pay. The man took to it like a drug.

  “You’re good to me, boss.” The phone line went dead, leaving him with his… company.

  Ready for action, Clay wandered back into the bedroom, bracing for whatever Vance had to throw at him. Literally or figuratively. Well, the good news was that Vance hadn’t managed to turn the bit of molding into a weapon and that those hands were still bound. The bad news was that Vance had torn into himself with one, the scent of blood strong and surprising, making Clay want to growl.

  “You’d best watch that bleeding, honey,” he said, trying to give Vance a chance to… what? Run? Hide? Fend him off, maybe.

  “Fuck.” Vance grabbed the piece of board, eyes rolling. “This looks much more effective with a slab of sharpened oak or something.”

  “You think? Gonna whack me?” Yeah, right. “I ordered you a steak.”

  He heard Vance’s stomach rumble. “That’s cheating.”

  “What’s cheating? All’s fair, honey.” Look at that man. He was so hungry, so ready. And Clay wanted. Badly.

  “What is with the ‘honey’ thing?” The growl was cute. Sexy.

  “Oh, we’ve been intimate, haven’t we?” That would make the growl worse. Clay would bet the farm on it. He wondered what the steak would get him.

  “You know, I could possibly ram this through you, if I worked hard enough.” Yeah, yeah. More growl, more passion. More blood, as Vance clenched his fists.

  “You might could. But I’m a lot fresher than you are. And I’m about to pounce on you.” That blood…. God, some of it dripped out of one rock-hard fist, sliding to the floor.

  “Promises, promises.” Vance bared his teeth, eyes flashing. “There’s going to be no pouncing.”

  “No? Then you need to stop bleeding, goddamn it.” His own teeth were a damned sight more impressive, so Clay bared them right back. Vance wanted to step back, Clay could see it, but to his credit, the stubborn fuck didn’t do it. No, Vance took the swing, drops of blood spraying against him.

  The board crashed against his shoulder like a bat swung by Babe Ruth, sending shockwaves up his body to burst in his brain, and Clay growled, knocking the piece of molding flying and grabbing Vance’s hand with almost numb fingers.

  “Fuck.” Vance tugged, pulling hard, fingers slick with blood.

  “Maybe after the steak.” Wrapping his other arm around Vance’s struggling form, Clay lifted the bound hands to his mouth, lapping at the blood.

  “Don’t.” Vance arched against his arm, lower body rubbing against him, pushing at him.

  “I can’t help it,” he murmured, sucking at the skin, trying to get every drop. His own hips started rolling, pushing right back, his cock hard in no time. Vance’s blood was an aphrodisiac.

  Vance groaned, pulse beating faster, nostrils flaring. “Let me go.”

  “You don’t want that, honey.” Clay didn’t want that either. He wanted more of that amazing fucking taste. Jesus. Vance tasted like no one he’d ever had. He slipped the knot loose, letting those sweet, bleeding hands free.

  “You… you don’t know me.”

  Right. Fuck, he knew the taste of this one, balls-deep. He knew Vance was hard as a rock, could smell the need.

  “I know what you need.” Clay slid one thigh between Vance’s, pushing up, pressing against that damned hard cock, giving the man something to ride.

  “Uhn. I… I don’t. Oh fuck.” Vance’s eyes went wide, hips moving, humping against him. “This isn’t fucking happening.”

  “Nope. All a dream.” A trail of bright red ran down Vance’s arm, and Clay lifted, licking it right up, moaning at the brightsharphot.

  “Don’t you fucking bite….” Those amazing muscles went tight as steel as his tongue moved, Vance shuddering. Wanting his bite with every fiber, that body yearning toward him.

  “Mmm-hmm.” He wasn’t going to bite. Was he? No. He’d already done that, and Vance needed some recovery time. Right. Which was why his teeth sank right in, like a hot knife through butter. Vance grunted, head slamming back into the wall with a dull thud as blood pulsed between Clay’s lips. That was…. God, it was like a drug. It coursed through his veins, making him feel almost alive. Jesus.

  Vance humped him like a dog, raw, rough sounds pouring from the man. Clay felt growl after growl slip from him, felt his own hips answer Vance’s, his jaw closing like a pit bull’s. Fuck, he needed that flavor. Needed it.

  Vance’s free hand landed on his hip, dragging him closer, slamming their bodies together. They rocked, feral noises coming from them, the smell of sex and blood all but overwhelming him. Goddamn, he was gonna explode. He smelled the proof of Vance’s need, even as Vance went still and the bastard’s teeth found the curve of his free arm, the sting zipping down his spine to his balls.

  “Shit!” His own mouth popped free, his head falling back at the sharp, sweet pain. “More.”

  That hot little mouth moved up toward his shoulder, teeth digging in, Vance tugging at him. Moaning, he let Vance have what he needed. Clay had drunk enough to feel giddy, had gotten what his body craved. Now he could just revel in the pleasure. Vance moaned around his flesh, the fabric of his shirt digging into his skin.

  “Honey. You need to come for me now. You gotta….” If Vance didn’t blow, Clay was gonna eat him right up. Slurp.

  He got this heavy-lidded look, feral and lost in sensation. Those hips bucked once, twice, Vance just grinding against his leg, coming like a ton of bricks. Moaning, Clay pushed Vance back to the bed and tore the man’s pants open, bending to lick the seed right off that spent cock, the lean hips. It was so much like blood. So fucking much.

  Vance moved for him like a natural, spread and sprawled, hips rocking up toward his mouth, completely fucking unafraid. The man was rising again, hardly even going soft, and Clay licked and sucked, his eyes closing, his cheeks hollowing. Jesus, that was good. Hot. Musky. Salty as the ocean.

  “I can’t…. Uhn….” Vance’s hands pushed through his hair and those bent knees cradled him.

  Oh, yes you can, he thought. You can do anything I want. Clay sucked even harder, his tongue working the underside of that thick prick, the taste exploding through him, making him want to bite so bad.

  Vance lifted up, staring down at him with those flashing fucking eyes. “You bite me, I’ll beat you bloody. You hear me? I’ll….” His teeth scraped Vance’s skin, and Vance arched, spreading wider for him.

  The man would come hard and fast. Still, he didn’t want to push it too far, did he? Clay nuzzled those heavy balls instead, mouthing them, licking hard enough to push them side to side.

  “Mmm.” The soft skin drew up, wrinkling against his tongue, against his lips.

  “Yeah.” Turning his head, Clay bit into the tender flesh covering the inside of Vance’s thigh, taking one long drink before backing off to lick the tiny wounds closed.

  “Fuck. Don’t. No fucking biting.”

  “I can’t help it.” That was true enough. He couldn’t. And Vance’s cock was harder than it had been two seconds ago, wasn’t it? Clay dropped back down on that hard flesh, lips sealing tight, pulling everything he could right out. Vance growled for him, entire body curling around his head and shoulders as bitter salt poured into him. Moaning, trying to nod, Clay sucked the man right down, licking him clean. Then he rose up on his knees, grabbing Van
ce’s hand and putting it on his crotch as he straddled those fine thighs.

  Rough, callused—that hand had stories to tell. Right now it was telling him that Vance knew about dicks and men and making him come. His hips snapped up, his belly went tight, and his head fell back. Fuck, yes. It wouldn’t take long. Wouldn’t take much. Vance’s other hand wrapped around his balls, tugging enough that he felt it. Then short nails scraped the line of skin right behind.

  “Fuck!” Jerking, swaying, Clay came so hard he all but shorted out, the feel of a tiny, damp bit of blood on that hand enough to make him scream like a hunting cat. He thought, distantly, that this would be the perfect opportunity for Vance to kill him.

  Amazing, how Vance never made a move to do it. Those hands only offered pleasure.

  “You—” Vance’s breath was hot on his throat. “This is deeply fucked.”

  “Uh-huh. Definitely.” He cupped Vance’s head with one hand, pulling the man close, letting that sharp chin rest on his shoulder.

  “Mmm….” Vance was tense for a second, maybe two, but then it was all quiet, melted, comfort. Which, of course, was when the knock came on the damned door.

  Clay mourned the loss when Vance sprang back, but he crawled off the bed and grabbed a pair of loose pants, leaving Vance to try and do up his fly. That would distract him a minute. So would the closed bedroom door.

  “You got the worst timing, Remy,” he said, opening the front door.

  “Ah, boss. I come with food, jes’ like you say.” Those black eyes just screamed trouble—and not the fun, spanky trouble that he was playing with in the bedroom.

  “Right. Steaks.” He could smell Remy; the man was wound up tighter than a pastor’s daughter on Sunday. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “Cher, I hear a bad man’s come to town. A badass hunter, yeah?”

  “No shit? Well, I’m pretty badass myself. I can handle it.” He took the bag, letting his fingers graze Remy’s wrist, feeling the pulse beat there. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, Clay. You jes’…. If you need me, huh?”

  Remy was a good guy, a friend in the best way, and a hell of a feed. Spicy and Cajun. “You know it, babe. I’ll call. Thanks for bringing supper. You want money, or you want to meet up later in the week?”

  “We can….” Remy blinked as Vance hit the door running, bare feet slapping on the floor.

  “Shit!” Clay took off like his ass was on fire, thanking God sundown had happened. No way was that bastard getting away from him when he’d bought steak.

  Vance was a quick bastard, but he obviously didn’t have the foggiest idea where they were or how to get anywhere in his strip of the bayou. Clay knew every fucking shortcut, and he knew if Vance took the trail he was on, he’d end up in gator central. And Clay could cut off fifty yards if he headed around the piece of land and went through the water. Not only that, but he’d taken Vance’s shoes himself. The swamp was hell on bare feet.

  He caught the little fucker just before a toothier predator did, sweeping Vance back along the edge of the swamp, sort of rocking the football hold. “Are you crazy?”

  “Is that a fucking rhetorical question?”

  “No. Am I gonna have to bash your head in to get you to stay put? I ordered you food! This is just rude as hell, man.” He shook Vance for good measure, tromping back to his house.

  “Rude?” Vance looked over at him. “You had me tied up. I’ve broken the top of your commode and tore part of your baseboard off to stab you with. And you’re hung up on me being rude?”

  “Well, all that other stuff ain’t about food.” Wasn’t the man from the South? That was a universal.

  “Oh, for….” He shook Vance a bit, the motherfucker groaning. “Blame it on blood loss. Fuckhead.”

  “Well, that’s why I got you steak.” He got back to the house, winking at Remy, who was still kind of standing there, blinking. But guarding the house. Good boy.

  “Boss?” Remy gave Clay a look.

  “I’m good. We’re just gonna have a little supper. You go on, now. I’ll see you later in the week, ’kay?” He winked, giving Remy a nod.

  “Sure. Sure, cher. You call.” What a good boy.

  “I will. Promise.”

  Poor Remy. He wandered off, leaving Clay to close the door and deposit Vance on the couch. “Sit. Eat. I’ll get something for your feet.”

  Vance groaned, reaching for the steak with shaky hands, the man’s stomach snarling. Good old Remy had gotten two steaks and all the fixings. One was medium rare. One was so rare it mooed. Bless his heart. Vance ate like a starving man, licking the blood from those fingers. Had Clay taken too much?

  Clay figured he’d eaten enough, so he pushed his steak on over too. “Go for it, honey.”

  “It’s good. Never had one so good.”

  “Yup. Tastes like heaven, huh?” He remembered that. Remembered how he’d needed the sweet, hot protein, the iron. So bad.

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Vance dug in, making sweet little noises, groaning, the sounds almost sexual.

  His cock took an interest, which was ridiculous, considering how hard he’d come earlier. “You want some bread? Baked potato?”

  “So long as it’s not pasta, I’ll eat anything.”

  “Well, this is more like bacon and chives.” He’d have to ask sometime, but Clay figured that discussion might ruin the feast.

  Vance nodded, slowing down now, lingering over the food, enjoying it. Clay watched happily, loving the way the man savored every last bite. He could eat, but he didn’t enjoy it anymore. Only the rush of hot blood made him happy.

  “I…. Goddamn it. The urge to say thank you is huge, and that doesn’t make sense.” Vance screwed up his face into a scowl.

  “Well, I’ll take what I can get.” Winking, Clay got up and stretched, then cleaned up the containers.

  “What’s going on here?” Vance was doing his best to glare; it just didn’t work, with the whole happy-full-sated thing going on.

  “Hmm? Oh, that whole symbiotic mumbo jumbo. Or, you know, we’re both horny.”

  “I’m not horny.”

  Uh-huh. Right. Vance exuded “do me.”

  “Well, I am. A lot.” Hell, he was getting that way again right now. Because “glaring not horny at all but smelling like sex” Vance was cute.

  “Horny and hungry, huh?” Vance shifted, adjusted himself. “What happens next?”

  “I don’t know.” Hot fucking. Whipped cream with blood. Who knew? They might get crazy.

  “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Want some company?” God knew he wanted to go too. Take me, you crazy little sumbitch! Take me!

  “You sure you won’t melt? Like the Wicked Witch of the West or somethin’.”

  “Ha-ha.” Clay took the decision out of Vance’s hands, hauling the man up and heading toward the bathroom. “Of course, there’s the top of the toilet deal to clean up….”

  “You’d better find a broom.” Shit, Vance was hot against him, even through the clothes.

  “Oh, if you cut your feet, I can take care of them.” Grinning, he hauled Vance even closer, letting his lips slide down that long neck.

  Vance went still. “Don’t you do it. I’ll kick your ass.”

  “Promise? Because so far I’ve been doing most of the kicking.” God, he loved how people struggled when they weren’t used to being picked up.

  “Fuck you.” Vance’s hands got hold of his hair, tugged his lips back from that tempting neck.

  “Maybe later.” Clay wasn’t opposed in principle. Really. He just didn’t usually catch.

  “Put me down, asshole.” Somebody was getting hard against his thigh.

  “Why? You’re not heavy, and this way I’m not sucking ceramics out of your feet.” That would be gross. Chunky blood.

  “You mean the rocks and the thorns are more appetizing?” Oh, right. Feet. He’d forgotten.

  “Shit. Here, sit on the commode, yeah?” He’d clean those feet up
, then the tub. Man, this whole captive thing took a lot of energy.

  “I’m fine.”

  Yes, and he didn’t sleep or get horny. Stubborn pit bull.

  “Well, humor me. Blood, you know? Makes the gators come to the doorstep. Makes me bitey.” So there. Now, he was sure he had rubbing alcohol.

  He scooped the chunks of ceramic into the trash, found a bottle of alcohol. Vance stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “Why don’t you just set me on fire?”

  “What? Why would I do that?” Hell, his ass and fire didn’t get along too well, anyway. He much preferred heat generated by friction.

  Vance’s eyes rolled. “I meant the burn, man. From the wood alcohol?”

  “Oh.” That had been a long damned time too. “Well, I could blow on it if you want me to.”

  “Just give me the fucking bottle.” The bottle was snatched from his hands, the stinky shit poured over those raw feet, blood running again. Vance, though? Never even flinched.

  The man really was something else. Clay had to admire that kind of freaky toughness. Really. He mopped up with a towel, patting Vance’s feet dry. “So was your momma a Rottie or a pit bull, honey?”

  “Was yours a bat or a mosquito?”

  Oh, quick comeback.

  “Mine was a fine Southern lady, if you would believe.” No doubt his momma would disapprove of what he was up to these days. She’s always hated anything that made a mess.

  “Well, mine is an evil old redneck drunk. You’d probably have something in common with her.”

  Man, someone was getting grumpy. Definitely time for more fucking.

  “You know, you’d unwind a lot more if you’d nap.” Scrubbing at Vance’s legs, he got them good and clean.

  “I don’t sleep much.” Vance spread, pants seams creaking.

  “You said. I bet you’ll sleep better with me around.” That needy noise had him leaning down to press his mouth to that seam.

  “No biting.” Fuck, the need just poured off Vance, making him want to turn Vance’s world upside down.

  “Nope. Not a bit.” His hands found button and zipper and worked them, lifting Vance right up to slide the pants off.

  Vance’s ass slid on the commode seat, the heavy cock filling against the tanned thighs.