The Lady Smut Book of Dark Desires (An Anthology) Read online

  Jenny didn't know what to say to that.

  "Can you take time off from the school?"

  "No."

  "Well, I'll take time off then."

  "Leave in the middle of the semester?"

  "Yeah."

  "You can't do that."

  "I'm not going to leave you alone with her at night. It's not safe."

  The emotion gave an edge to the soothing rumble of his voice. It got her going, and she turned to straddle him, pulling his shirt up, her hands exploring the firm pale muscles of his ripped torso.

  "Your farmer's tan is sexy to me," she said, gasping. He wasn't slow to respond. Her shirt was already up, his hands flaring out over her bra cups, making her nipples stiffen and harden, making her sit up suddenly and hold on to him when she immediately wanted to melt again. She pushed herself more insistently into his hands, rubbing against them while his mouth captured hers, his lips soft, tongue sensuous but demanding. She was undoing his pants while responding to his kiss with her own naughty tongue and feeling the shape of him under his boxers, teasing him with her fingertips. He undid her jeans and pushed them down her hips so they were lower on her ass and cupped her two suddenly naked cheeks with his big hands, making her feel a spurt of wetness down below. She was torn, arching her back, aiming her ass further into his hands, and stretching to get breasts up towards his mouth, cups down so that her pert nipples could feel him sucking on her, gently biting her suddenly hot skin.

  Just then the Skype noise signaled the professor's incoming call. Startled, Jenny moved off Turner's lap and scooted out of range of the computer screen. Turner merely pulled his shirt down.

  "Professor Frey! Thank you for your time. Anthony said you knew what our little design is."

  "Yes," said the man on the screen. Jenny adjusted herself and edged over a foot to see a bobble headed bald man with a prissy little mustache in a coat and tie purse his lips on the screen. "It's a map," the art expert explained. "A map of hell."

  Chapter 11

  "Perhaps you've heard of Alphonso de Spina?" Professor Frey continued.

  They shook their heads.

  "Alphonso de Spina finished his greatest creation in 1467: an illuminated grimoire of all the demons in hell," Professor Frey prompted.

  "Sorry. I haven't heard of him," Turner said.

  "He was exceptionally capricious in his writings." Turner shot a look at Jenny. Capricious, eh?

  "It's apparent that he stole from everybody," Professor Frey continued. "And not very well, but there are indications he stole an exceptional amount from someone he notes in his writings as the monk from Aquitaine."

  "Very mysterious," Jenny piped up. Turner introduced her and the professor gave her a tiny nod in return, his lips crimping up again.

  "It may not actually be that mysterious. It's possible that by the time he sat down to write of his meeting with the monk he simply forgot the man's name."

  Professor Frey gave a small cough into his fist.

  "This monk from Aquitaine created a grimoire of all the demons in hell about fifteen years before Alphonso de Spina. It was later lost, so all we have are de Spina's writings and notes concerning what the manuscript looked like.

  "De Spina says the grimoire was rather vague but that, in a letter, the monk claimed he had actually visited hell and had escaped in a hurry. He apologized for his recollection being so hazy.

  "He said at first he did not believe the monk, but that the monk gave a detailed description of everything he saw and had such a sincere and honest way of relating his story, soon all the monks were convinced, with de Spina remaining the only skeptic among them."

  "So what does this have to do with our coin?" Turner interrupted.

  "Professor said it's not a coin," Jenny reminded him.

  "Suck up," he whispered.

  Professor Frey cleared his throat. "De Spina said the monk described entering through a cleft and going down a long vestibule into an underground maze, the center of which was a large square where Satan held court."

  "Oh."

  "As demons were leaving hell, de Spina relates, they apparently walked the long vestibule, loudly boasting of the wicked deeds they would do upon their return to earth before disappearing in a noxious vapor."

  "Vestibule?" Turner asked.

  "Yes."

  "You mean a foyer or something?"

  "It's a long hall between the entrance of a grand building and its interior." Professor Frey was exacting, Jenny thought, but clearly Turner was wearing down his patience.

  "So it's not a coin from Diyu," Turner muttered.

  "What's Diyu?" Jenny asked.

  "It's the Chinese concept of hell. Which is an underground maze."

  "You said it wasn't Chinese." Jenny looked uncertainly between Professor Frey and Turner.

  "It's not," Professor Frey said. "There are also writings in Sanskrit, backed up by Sumerian cuneiform tablets that mention the entryway to hell in the form of a cleft with the rest of it being an underground maze."

  "So…the Chinese picked up the same concept and ran with it?" Turner asked.

  "Exactly. However, they never minted representations of Diyu in any coin form that I am aware of. Yet de Spina later claimed the monk from Aquitaine carried with him a token of his visit to hell—he showed de Spina the token. It was small and round. It is a representation of the maze, and a cleft."

  "Sound familiar?" Jenny suspected the professor had a very dry sense of humor underneath his uptight European manner.

  "So what happened to this token?" Turner challenged.

  "De Spina asked the monk if he could have it but the monk said no, it was a parting gift from a demon. De Spina is recorded by another monk as saying that it was an actual portal to hell, and if the gateway were ever opened, the owner would suffer visitations from demons."

  "Suffer how?" she asked.

  "I'm afraid de Spina did not record an answer to that question."

  "Why if it was such a dangerous token would someone keep it?" Jenny asked.

  "My dear child, I haven't a clue."

  "Perhaps as a constant reminder that hell awaited sinners?" Turner offered.

  "Perhaps. Apparently de Spina stole the token from the monk or the monk changed his mind and in the end gave it to him. It was found amongst his things after he died."

  "Thank you so much Professor." Jenny said. "I think we've solved our mystery."

  "If you have such a token, I suggest you look into verifying its provenance. It could be quite valuable."

  "You've been such an amazing help," Jenny said again.

  "My pleasure. If that is all, I will leave now for my Schubert symphony which is starting in less than an hour."

  "Certainly," Turner said. "We owe you one." Then he signed off.

  "You miss it?" he asked Jenny.

  "Miss what?"

  "Playing in the big leagues? Doing research like this?" She pursed her lips, "No."

  "That was so entirely convincing the way you said it."

  "I enjoy how cozy the school is where I teach. I've got my own little classroom, I know all my students." She thought of the way the morning sun hit the windows of her room, her big solid desk, all the photos of the girls on the wall. "I care about them. I think the work I'm doing with them is meaningful."

  "So you don't miss this."

  "Well, I miss research." Looking at the old books Turner had hauled out from his book shelves that were open on the table before them. "Definitely."

  "You know, Bellingham is hiring in the econ department."

  "I don't know if I could get a teaching job with the way I left. And my evaluations were lousy."

  "Never say never. There's always spousal hire."

  "Great. We'll get married and I can ask Jennifer to be my bridesmaid. I can't see myself committing to a long term relationship. Not now. Not like this." She peeked at him to see how he took the news.

  "Okay. So back to work."

  "After Brett I can't
. Don't you see? If we can't defeat her, I couldn't allow us to be together. Not if she's still in me. Not if you might get hurt."

  "Until then…should we be pumping you full of caffeine? It's getting late, you know."

  Jenny shook her head. "Now that we know what the design is, sort of—now what?"

  Turner thought, his fist up to his cheek. Jenny paced.

  "Something about this symbol helps Jennifer," she insisted.

  "Having sex with someone wearing the symbol allows for a sort of infection to occur." He looked out the window. "The infection being Jennifer. You were infected by Johannes. Brett was infected by you."

  "And you?"

  He shrugged. "I'm fine. But I haven't had sex with Jennifer while the symbol was present."

  She cocked her head. "How would you know?"

  "Well, you—she was always wearing that ponytail up high." He mimed a water spout coming out of the top of his head. "I spent a lot of time looking at the back of your neck. And I know you weren't wearing a necklace. Anywhere."

  She felt very self-aware, but not self-conscious. She promised him things with the smile she gave.

  "Okay, so if we do something so the symbol's not present on me or with me, then she can't infect anybody else."

  "I'd bet the farm that if she can't infect anybody else, she'd go away."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. Because where's the fun in that? I am starving."

  They decided to go out to eat and got shoes, keys, wallets.

  Back in his beat up Volvo, she smelled the pines and caught glimpses of the gorgeous bay. Behind them a snow capped mountain presided benevolently over the smaller pine covered hills.

  "Look, it's not just a map of hell, it's a portal to and from hell," Turner said, driving with one finger, his hands resting on his thighs. "That's where she goes back to when you're awake. That's where she's coming from every night when you got to sleep. She's using the tattoo to come through the vestibule thingy of hell and into you."

  She imagined Jennifer pimp walking through a line of demons in the vestibule, boasting of the decadent things she'd do with Jenny's body that night, high fiving the other demons and then diving through the noxious fumes.

  He stopped in front of a café. "Well?"

  "Cute." She took in the little bakery attached to the café on one end, and the bar on the other. "Very cute."

  "Thought you'd like it. And I need a beer."

  Of course the waitress was young, gorgeous and a former student of his. Jenny tried not to be too happy when he couldn't remember her name even as the woman beamed at him like a puppy eager to please.

  "The national park is just over to the east a little, if you like hiking," he said.

  "Turner, you don't need to audition. If we get this thing resolved with Jennifer, you can plan our future together to your heart's content."

  His face lit up for a moment, then clouded over. They drank in silence.

  "I need to get the symbol off me," she said, "Just cut it off."

  "That's one possibility," he said. "Though a lot of nerves run through your neck. You'd want to be careful. But just destroying the symbol might not work. What you really need to do is…you need to close the gates of hell."

  "Yeah, right. That's impossible," she said.

  He looked up at her.

  "What?"

  "No it's not." He gripped her hands and pulling her across the table, gave her a full kiss on the mouth. "It's not, Jenny. Look—" He held her face, his own turning red with excitement.

  "We change the tattoo."

  Chapter 12

  In the end they drove an hour and a half south along the Puget Sound to Seattle. Jenny fed Turner fries from their abandoned dinner along the way. He said he knew of a place the students recommended highly and eventually they pulled into the parking lot for Scully Tattoos. Getting out of the car, their forms were dyed deep blue by the neon sign that was as long as the shop itself and even more brightly lit. Soon they were in the back, and Jenny was invited to stretch out on the retro red leather and chrome chair while Scully himself finished up with another client.

  "I like your chair," she said, stroking the red leather arms.

  "Old barber's chair," Scully said. He had a worn, pale Irish face with a love patch below his lip and an expression that said he'd seen a lot of freaky things in his time.

  Soon she was straddling the tilted chair and leaning over to rest on her arms as Scully took a dentist's lamp and placed it so the light illuminated the back of her neck clearly.

  "Across that wedge there, that's what you want?" He asked. He started putting on rubber gloves, and digging through a deep tray for his grip, the ink cup holder, and the needles.

  Four minutes later, he said "You're done." His bifocals were put away, and he was wiping at the back of her neck with a sterile pad, tossing the bloodied pad in a bio canister.

  "Don't I get a lollipop now or something," she said. "That hurt a lot more than I was led to expect."

  "Sensitive skin," Scully said, putting his tools of the trade back on the tray and turning to face her again. "You can pay at the front desk."

  "Thanks, Mr. Scully," she said

  "Pleasure." He ducked his head and left the room, leaving them alone.

  "You were very brave," Turner smiled, holding her hand between his own.

  "What's it look like?" she asked. He took a photo, and she was slightly disappointed to see that there was just a short, thick blue-back bar across the notch in the round shape.

  "Is that all?" she said. "It felt like it hurt a lot more than that.

  "How does it feel?"

  "Hot. Like it's burning."

  He looked at the back of her neck. "It's uh, smoking," he said.

  Scully came back in. "Still here, hun?"

  "It hurts," she said, twisting a little in the seat. "Stings."

  Scully looked at it. "Her tattoo is fading," he said.

  "What?" Turner said, whipping around to bend her neck down and examine the image.

  "See, originally the bar I made between this point and that one matched. Now it's darker than everything else."

  They both stood there bent over, staring at her neck. Jenny didn't notice Scully, she only had eyes for Turner. When he was seriously thinking hard, the Grecian general's face came out. She wanted to kiss that face.

  "I'll be damned," Turner said.

  Scully shrugged. He wanted to see it again, and rubbed it. "It's permanent. I don't understand what would cause it. We're not in any special light or anything."

  Jenny listened to the two men talk over skin acids and other peculiarities Scully had encountered after thirty years in the biz. The back of her neck felt like someone had poured a drop of acid upon it. It burned and the itchy agony she endured was fierce.

  "Little lady, feel free to stay in here until you're feeling okay," Scully said.

  "Thanks." She smiled.

  "Not at all. You want some ice?"

  She shook her head. "No thanks.""Well, we got business, Saturday night and all." With that Scully went off.

  "I like this chair," she said again once he was gone. She stretched out on her side.

  Turner nodded, frowning.

  "I don't think you understood me. I like this chair," she said, running her hand along the red leather.

  Turner's head came up. He got up, locked the door, and came back.

  "It's a nice chair," he agreed.

  She sat upright, her legs on either side of the chair and bounced a little, testing. It was bolted solid into the floor, with only some faint creaking protest.

  "You're…sure you're not Jennifer?" he said as she got up and pushed him back in the chair. "Because…she could be pretty aggressive sometimes."

  "Is this aggressive?" she asked, unbuttoning his jeans.

  "In the nicest possible way," he said, his hands coming down to her neck.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "It burns," she said, holding his dick an
d sucking on it, then letting it slide out of her mouth, wet and dark pink. "And I need a major distraction."

  "I'm here for you," he said. She stood up, shucked her jeans and got back on him.

  "I noticed that," she said, starting to stroke the wet, slick core of her sex over his cock.

  "Prove you're not Jennifer," he said. She impaled herself on him and began to rock. "Prove it," he repeated between grunts.

  "How?" she asked, rolling up her shirt and placing his hands where she wanted them. He scooped them into her bra and she closed her eyes with a shiver.

  "Tell me how you feel about me."

  She didn't know what to say. She was feeling lots, but the words suddenly got stuck somewhere between her throat and tongue, her mind wiped clean.

  "Cat got your tongue?

  She nodded.

  "Well, we can work on that," he said. She put her hands on his shoulders and rode him, taking pains to roll forward with a controlled motion of her hips and then up and hard down again. She bent down as he shifted his grip to her naked ass, and she licked her way up his salty chest, her teeth scoring over his nipple. She saw his head arch back, the veins throbbing in his throat, which was turning a pinkish color with his arousal.

  "I love you," she said. She said it like it was the answer to the bend of his neck, like it was the flavor of his skin, and somehow they felt different to each other in that instant, their hold on each other more snug, more alive, the heat between their skin going up another notch.

  "And?"

  "And what?" She began picking up speed, riding him cowgirl style. The buildup of her orgasm caught her by surprise. She pressed her knees down into the leather and her rocking became more urgent.

  "What else do you say?"

  "I don't know. What?" She felt fretful. Her neck no longer burned but she was burning up below, and that patient expression on his face left her wanting…she didn't know what, she was aching, she was…

  "You say, what are you making me for breakfast Sunday morning?"

  "What are you making me. For. Breakfast." Her words came out in little gasps.

  "Whatever you want."

  "Shut up," she gasped. "Oh, god, oh my god." Her hand came down and felt his face, her eyes closed. She felt him sucking her fingers and then he was up, taking her with him, sitting on the highest point of the chair. He pulled her down on him, then pulled her up and down again, hard. And again. Harder.