TITLE: Renascence
AUTHOR: Susy Strom and Shaz
FANDOM: Pitch Black
PAIRING: Riddick/ofc
RATING: R for sexual depictions and some violence
DISCLAIMER: The Characters of Pitch Black are copyright to USA Films. There is no infringment intended by the use of them in this story. I claim none of those characters.
SUMMARY: A Sequel to Interim by Susy Strom. Set after Pitch Black
Chapter 4: Revealing Truth
Offering a smug smile to his silent wife, Jeremy stretched, stripped
and ambled over to their bed. Bet followed him with her eyes, willing
him to hurry. There are some things in life that don't bear thinking
about, and the fact that she was kneeling on the rug holding a mouthful
of her husband's semen was one of them. She had to ignore the taste
until she could get rid of it.
Funny. In the old "swallow or spit" debates, Bet had always come down
firmly on the side of "swallow." In the cold light of day ingesting
a man's ejaculate might seem off-putting, if not down right revolting,
but when caught up in the moment it seemed an integral part of the experience.
She enjoyed it; she enjoyed everything about it. Of course, that was
before Jeremy turned what was once a pleasure into a stomach-churning
ordeal.
With mounting impatience, Bet ticked off the steps in Jeremy's bedtime
routine. Take sleeping pill. Set alarm. Lay watch in tray on nightstand.
Flick specks of cat fur off the comforter. Fluff pillow. Double-check
alarm. Lie down on his left side; head resting on his bent arm. Sleep.
At least he was predictable. Within moments, his familiar early slumber
wheezing filled the air.
Bet rose unsteadily to her feet. Resisting the urge to run, she forced
herself to walk quietly to the bathroom, where she spat into the toilet.
She gargled and then repeatedly rinsed her mouth with fresh swigs of
mouthwash.
Straightening up, Bet studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Riddick had called her a whore. She looked the part, with her smudged
lipstick and revealing red dress. She tugged furiously on the zipper,
not caring that she tore the dress as she peeled it off. Kicking the
dress aside, she yanked the rubies from her throat and tossed them onto
the floor.
"A whore in a red dress who sold herself out for a jeweled collar."
Riddick's condemnation rang in her ears.
"But I didn't," Bet whispered to herself. "I didn't, and he wouldn't
give me the chance to explain." Her anger flared, then turned inward.
After what Riddick had been through to get back to her, after the spectacle
she and Jeremy presented, how could she blame him? Behind his anger,
behind his searing denunciation of her seeming betrayal, Bet had heard
a pain in his voice that cut her to the quick. He hurt. She hurt. The
only member of this unnatural triad who felt no pain was drooling onto
his pillow in the next room.
Jeremy. Bet swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. Whether
real or imaginary, his stink filled her nostrils. She felt polluted.
Filthy. As if she were excreting slime from all her pores. Stumbling
in her haste, Bet rushed into the shower stall. She opened all four
showerheads, setting the temperature as hot as she could tolerate, and
directed the water to blast the center of the huge stall. There she
stood, twisting and turning in the spray, scouring every centimeter
of her body with a soapy loofa.
A familiar voice interrupted her ablutions. "You got somethin' against
backs? First you try to take the skin off mine, now you're trying to
erase yours."
Bet whirled around to face Riddick. He leaned cross-armed against the
wall, a sly grin creasing his face. From his pose and demeanor, he looked
a man completely at ease, hardly the angry and betrayed survivor she'd
remembered.
Bet's eyes narrowed. Why did Riddick suddenly look so damned cheerful?
Where was the fury, the contempt he'd heaped on her head just hours
before?
"What's going on, Riddick? Why the smile?" A chilling thought occurred
to her. "You haven't already killed Jeremy, have you?"
He shook his head. "Fuckhead was sleeping like a baby last I saw him,
but hey, the night's young."
"Then what? You despise me, remember? I'm the whore who sold you out.
Isn't that what you believe? So why are you standing there grinning
at me?"
"Bet." Riddick uncrossed his arms and took a step toward her. She hurled
the loofa at his face. He batted it aside. "Bet," he repeated, his voice
infuriatingly mild and reasonable. "I'm not angry at you any more."
Bet took a moment to turn off each showerhead before she faced Riddick
again. "Excuse me," she said, resisting the urge to raise her voice.
"My poor little head is spinning and I'm having trouble keeping up.
Today is the day when all the men in my life decided to rewrite the
rules. Jeremy now wants me to be a good girl in public, but a bad girl
in private, just as long as I always do what I'm told. And you, a few
hours ago you hated me. You hated me because I was doing exactly
what you told me to do. And now, for some reason, you've decided that
all is forgiven." Bet threw her hands in the air. "I give up! What do
you want, Riddick? Do you expect me to drop to my knees in gratitude?"
"Nah, 'spect you've been on your knees enough for one night."
It took a full minute for the meaning of that comment to sink in. Riddick
witnessed the scene between Jeremy and her? Bet flushed with embarrassment.
That was more than enough to explain his change of heart. Her mortification
gave way to rage. He saw how Jeremy humiliated and used her, and he
could joke about it?
Bet slapped Riddick so hard across the face that she feared she'd dislodged
his protective goggles. Her fury spent, she stared aghast at his unflinching
countenance. A wave of nausea swept over her and she sat heavily on
the built-in shower bench, dropping her head between her knees.
"Not gonna faint, are you?"
"No, I'm not going to faint. I'm trying not to puke."
"Let me know when it's safe to get closer, 'cause this is my only pair
of boots."
"Prick," Bet muttered under her breath. She'd shocked herself by striking
Riddick, but the shock proved cathartic as she felt her anger begin
to dissipate.
"Me, or your husband?" Riddick asked, crouching down next to her.
"Both of you." She lifted her head and saw that his grin had returned.
Bet found that she could barely keep up the pretence of being angry,
and when she denounced him, her voice lacked conviction. "You can both
go to hell."
"Been there, babe," he said lightly, but Bet recoiled as the words hit
home. "Now it's Villiers' turn. Wanna tell me a single reason why I
shouldn't punch his ticket and send him on a one way trip to hell?"
Instead of answering, Bet leaned toward Riddick and wrapped her fingers
around his skull. She drew his head to her mouth, closing her eyes as
she pressed her lips against his crown. God, she thought, brushing her
lips against the stubble. There it was again, after all this time. Real
and not just a memory.
Tears seeped out between her lashes. Riddick had survived an unimaginable
hell and Bet suspected that he hadn't emerged from it unscathed. Still,
he found his way back to her and seemed determined to keep his promise.
Fate had granted them a rare second chance and she'd be damned if she
allowed herself to piss it away in a tangle of misunderstandings and
bruised egos.
Riddick gently detached himself from her hands. "C'mon. Tell me. Why
don't you want me to kill Villiers?"
"Thank you for asking." Bet brushed away the tears and smiled, grateful
that he was finally willing to hear her out. "When I believed that you
were dead, that I'd have to deal with Jeremy by myself, I considered
my options. I thought about killing him myself."
Riddick remained silent, but his furrowed brow conveyed his doubts.
Bet nodded, acknowledging his skepticism. "I know. I can't do it. There
are moments when I swear I could cheerfully eviscerate Jeremy, but when
it comes right down to it, I don't have what it takes to plan and execute
a cold-blooded murder."
Riddick shrugged. "I'm here. I'll do it. What's the problem?"
"No! I don't want Jeremy dead any more! And it's not because I'm such
a noble soul that I don't want to want to strike back at him. I *want*
to hurt him."
She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. "A smart man told me something
once. Different circumstances but the principle is the same. He said,
'Dead is forever.' Kill Jeremy and he'll have one very bad moment, but
then he'll be past his pain. That's too easy. I want him to live with
it for a long time. What could be crueler, or more just, than to take
everything he values away from him? His power, position, wealth, and
even his freedom."
Bet had Riddick's full attention now, she could tell from the tilt of
his head and the set of his mouth.
"The idea came to me after I talked to a very kind young man who hinted
that he wanted to help me with my Jeremy problem." Riddick's brows lifted
again, but Bet ignored the implied question.
"After what happened to my attorney and to you, there's no way I'd drag
anybody else into this mess, but he got me thinking. Jeremy gets a pass
on all the crimes he's committed in the name of the Company. Nobody
takes on the Company and survives. But he might be vulnerable for a
crime that has nothing to do with them. A crime where the negative publicity
would be so damaging that the Company would have no choice but to repudiate
him. A crime like arranging the arson murder of a prominent attorney
and his family. So that's my plan: find evidence that Jeremy commissioned
the murders and turn it over to the authorities."
"Fuckhead loses everything and gets a one-way ticket to Slam." A decidedly
unpleasant expression crossed Riddick's face. "Where he'll find a reception
that'll make him wish he'd gone to hell instead. Least I can do for
my old buddy Villiers."
"Does that mean you're in?" Bet asked, adopting her best tough-chick
voice.
If Riddick were amused he possessed the grace, or at least the smarts,
not to show it. "Yeah. Count me in," he said, and he stuck out his hand
to seal the deal.
They shook on it, but instead of relinquishing her hand, Riddick wrapped
his fingers around Bet's wrist and pulled her to her feet. From the
way he touched her face, his fingers skimming over her brow, her cheeks,
her mouth, Bet suspected that Riddick too was surprised that they were
finally together.
Sinewy arms enfolded her and Bet leaned against Riddick's chest. She
sighed happily, until she noticed the dark patch under her head where
her dripping hair soaked his shirt. She drew away from him.
"I'm making you wet," she said, apologetic.
"Hmmm," Riddick grinned. "Thought that was supposed to be my line."
Sliding his hands over her hips, he walked her backwards until her shoulders
bumped the tile wall.
"As arrogant as ever," Bet murmured, shaking her head.
Riddick turned his head and glanced around the ridiculously large stall.
"Four shower heads? What the fuck do you people do in here?"
"The builder called it a 'party shower.'"
Riddick smirked. "You often entertain guests in the shower?"
"Nope. You're my first."
"Really? Not even that 'very kind young man' you mentioned?"
"God, no!" Bet laughed, both at the notion of entertaining Mark
in the shower and the idea of Riddick playing the jealous lover.
His hands, which been making her tactile reacquaintance since he backed
her into the wall, suddenly stilled. Riddick stepped back and sucked
in a ragged breath. "You wanna fuck?" he asked.
That had to be the least elegant but most enticing proposition Bet had
ever heard, especially since she could guess what lay behind it. Riddick
wasn't going to push if her encounter with Jeremy had soured her on
sex. Thoughtfulness crudely expressed, but genuine. A genuine emotion,
nothing like the ghastly games she and Jeremy had played since her return.
Not the same thing at all.
"God, yes!" Within an instant, Riddick was upon her, his body pinioning
hers to the wall. As his hands found her breasts, and his knee nudged
apart her thighs, Bet gasped. "Oh shit! Jeremy!"
"Ain't invited," Riddick rumbled in her ear, his thumbs brushing over
her nipples. She wriggled sideways away from him.
"What if he hears? What if we get caught?"
"I don't mind getting caught," he shrugged. "I'm kinda getting used
to it."
Bet groaned. Why did he have to remind her of that? "Fat lotta good
that'll do you if he catches you with your pants around your ankles."
His shoulders shook with laughter. "Babe, even if he catches us in flagrante
delicto, with my feet bound and my hands tied behind my back, I could
still take him out."
"Wait," Bet said, raising both hands in the air. "Wait just a minute."
Riddick looked puzzled, but stood stock-still.
"I'm getting the loveliest visuals," she explained.
Riddick growled deep in his throat, a sound that raised the hairs on
the back of Bet's neck and arms. She drew her brows together and offered
up her best imitation of his snarl. "I can do that too," she said, with
an unrepentant smile.
Riddick nodded. "How 'bout you show me what else you can do?"
She tilted her head to one side. "How about you lose some of those clothes?
Fair is fair."
"First lesson." Riddick said, capturing her face between his hands.
"Life ain't fair."
He kissed her for the first time since they'd been wrenched apart months
ago. After a while, as Riddick sucked her lower lip into his mouth,
Bet acknowledged the truth of his words. Life wasn't fair. Justice didn't
necessarily triumph, but that was no reason not to try to make things
right, not to try to make things equitable. When she slipped her hands
under his shirt and began to push it up his torso, it was only this
adherence to high-minded principle that guided her actions.
Riddick must have sensed this too, for he relented enough to break off
the kiss and pull the shirt over his head. Bet fell greedily upon him.
Closing her eyes to better focus on her sense of touch, she rubbed her
face against his chest and ran her fingers across his shoulders and
down his arms.
"What? What is that?" She opened her eyes and touched the bands
encircling each of his shoulders. Riddick turned around and showed her
the harness, sheath, and knife hanging between his shoulder blades.
"Emergency weapon," he said simply.
She nodded. "And that?" Bet pointed to larger knife strapped to his
left forearm.
Beaming like a proud papa, Riddick slid the knife from its black cloth
sheath and held it up for her inspection. "Tanto blade. Clay tempered
carbon steel." He extolled its virtues, the syllables rolling lovingly
off his tongue. "Nine inches from end to end. Very sharp. Very thick.
Very strong."
Bet gulped. Holy shit! Was she actually getting turned on by Riddick's
description of his knife?
"Could punch through metal with this."
For an instant, Bet visualized Riddick doing just that, his arm driving
the blade through a sheet of metal, steel and muscle pounding a hole
in a seemingly impenetrable surface. Her belly twitched. I'm going to
hell, she thought.
"It's beautiful." She reached out one tentative finger and stroked the
rubber hilt, then gently touched the blade. "But why is the blade black?
Is it dirty?"
Riddick bristled. Might just as well ask a mother why her baby smells,
Bet realized too late. At her stricken expression, Riddick grew magnanimous.
"A blackened blade doesn't show in the dark."
That made sense. Bet closed her eyes for a second and imagined the scene.
Ebonized steel slashing silently through the night, dispensing death
with only a ripple of the air to signal its fatal passage.
Yes, she conceded. Most definitely going to hell. Bet opened her eyes
to meet Riddick's knowing smile. His smile lingered as he wiped the
blade on his pants and slipped the knife back into its sheath. He reached
for her. Sighing, Bet traced her fingers over the sheath and along the
nylon straps that tethered it to his arm. Hell-bound. So be it. At least
she'd be in good company.
Chapter 5: Criminal Minds
They ended up where they had started - Bet on the bench and Riddick
crouched next to her. They were both breathing hard, and slick with
sweat.
"I think," Bet said, catching her breath, "we both need another shower."
"Isn't that how this whole thing got started?"
She laughed. "These things can be used for activities other than sex,
you know." She stood up. "Besides, I'm exhausted, and I'll have to get
up at 6." She offered her hand to Riddick, to help him stand up. He
looked at it, then her, with a wry expression, then stood up without
her assistance.
"What's happenin' at six?"
"Jeremy is leaving on a business trip for four days. Hilda is gone,
too, so we'll have the house to ourselves once he's gone." She yawned.
"Do you want to stay here for the night?"
"Already have," he smirked.
"I mean to sleep. We have three guestrooms. You could use one of them."
He snorted in derision. "Yeah, I'll just sleep here, where one of your
fifty servants could walk in on me."
"The caterers will go once they've finished cleaning up, and I told
you, Hilda is visiting her sister this week."
"Who the hell is 'Hilda'?"
"Our housekeeper. She's a very nice lady."
"Who could turn into a very nice problem if she comes back early."
"Wouldn't you want to spend as much time as possible away from
Jeremy?"
He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. "In that case, yeah,
I could use some shut eye."
"Well, I'm going to at least rinse off first." She reached past him
and turned on one of the showerheads, letting the water run down over
her body and upturned face, washing away the sweat of their exertions.
She smoothed her hair back from her face and opened her eyes to see
Riddick, standing quietly in the back of the shower, just looking at
her through the goggles.
She looked at him quizzically and he replied with one word. "Beautiful."
She blushed and ducked her head. He took a step forward and caught her
chin, bringing her eyes into line with his, hidden behind the smoked
lenses of the goggles. "Don't. Don't doubt yourself. Don't let him do
that to you."
"I won't," Bet promised him. He started to say something else, then
changed his mind. "So where's this guestroom?"
* * * * * * *
Bet left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Riddick locked
it, and turned out the lights. The moonlight streaming in though the
curtained windows was bright enough for him to see by, and he took the
goggles off gratefully. The damned things were steamed up. 'Course,
he wasn't complaining, seeing how it was they got that way!
He pulled the overstuffed chair away from the window and moved it to
the same wall the door was in. Very few people looked to the left or
right when they entered a room. He'd be out of their line of sight -
even if it was only for those first few crritical seconds. Turning the
chair so that it faced the door, he sat down and made himself comfortable.
He was tired, but his mind was turning over too quickly for him to sleep.
The events of the last five months were finally starting to catch up
to him.
That morning with Bet, after Johns had captured them both, Riddick told
Bet not to worry about him. That he'd been caught before, and would
get away again. He'd meant it, too. That's why he had promised Bet he'd
come back. Hell, he'd already gotten away from Johns once before. He
figured he'd be loose in a few days, a week at most. But he hadn't counted
on the extreme measures Johns had taken to ensure that he stayed captured.
He'd apparently put the fear of himself into the man, 'cause Lawrence
went a little overboard on the restraints. Johns had gotten smarter,
too - he'd snatched the goggles in the waiting room, just after Bet
had been taken away. Riddick had been incapacitated, unable to walk.
Best as he could tell through the pain, it took Johns plus two other
men to drag him to the ship and get his hundred kilos into the cryo-tube.
They'd strapped him in tight, then the blue-eyed devil forced the bit
in his mouth, before blindfolding him. That was when he started to think
that might not get away so easily this time. And if they made it all
the way back to Slam, he was well and truly fucked. Dr. Snyder would
ensure his brain was destroyed before they ever removed any restraints.
At first, he had welcomed the crash - it was his ticket out of hell.
He laughed bitterly at the memory of that feeling. The sense of relief
had rapidly degenerated into a fight for survival.
And then there was Fry. Damn, there was a piece! Hard, tough, competent.
The kind of woman he'd thought he liked. He'd respected Fry from the
moment she'd taken charge. He'd given her his trust, and she'd given
her life to keep it. He still didn't know how to deal with that. That
was why Bet's apparent defection had hit him so hard. She was the only
other person he'd cared about, trusted, for as long as he could remember,
and in a way, he felt as if, by keeping his promise to her, he'd make
Fry's death worth something. The thought that he'd lost Bet had cut
him so deep, he didn't really have words for it. Then to find he'd accused
her wrongly, well, he wasn't exactly used to dealing with too many emotions.
Fear, anger, hate, that was about the extent of it.
He shook his head and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Time enough to
deal with this shit when everything was over. He still needed to figure
out a way to put Jeremy Villiers away. The lawyer and his family had
died in a fire. Jeremy was too fastidious to have done the job himself.
He would have hired someone, and he was probably stupid enough to have
kept records of it, to gloat over. Riddick needed to find the arsonist,
and get him to talk, to the right people. Irrefutable proof of murder,
made public before the Company could stop it, might just be enough to
get Jeremy convicted. The lawyer, his wife, and his daughter had all
died. Three convictions of first degree murder would get Jeremy life
in a prison, far away from the luxuries he was accustomed to.
So he had to find an arsonist, scare the truth out of him, and link
him to Villiers. Computer files and the papers on the nightstand would
be a good start. Looked like he was going to be busy for a while. Not
to mention, he fully intended to take advantage of four days alone with
Bet. He'd better get some sleep while he could. He fell asleep with
a smile on his face, for the first time he could remember.
* * * * * * *
The next morning Bet came to him just as the sun was rising. He wrapped
her in his arms and inhaled the sweet scent of her. She pulled back
for a moment. "You're still wet! We should get you some dry clothes."
His short laughter rumbled deeply. "You got somethin' in my size?"
She smiled as she ran her hands over his broad chest. "No, I don't."
"It'll dry," he said, nuzzling her ear.
"It'll dry faster with you out of it," she said playfully with a lustful
gleam in her eyes. He had the long sleeves of the brown shirt pushed
up, and she let her fingers wander over his hard arms, caressing the
knife in its sheath on his left arm while she squeezed his right biceps.
Now it was his turn to pull back. "Later. We've got some work to do,
first." He kissed her, deeply, then released her mouth. "I'll make it
up to you."
"I'll hold you to that!"
"I'm quakin' in my boots. Really. I am." He maintained a completely
straight face during this little exchange, which made her laugh. He
stepped out of the room, stopping to glance down the hallway before
making his way to the master bedroom. Bet followed along behind, admiring
the view.
"Do you want to start with the papers on his nightstand?" she asked.
"Nah. Already gone through those. Nothin' there. That reminds me. I
need to get up on the roof sometime."
"Why?"
"To fix the skylight."
Bet looked up at the aperture in question as they entered the room,
confusion apparent on her face. "Since when are you interested in home
repair?"
"I'm not. Right now, I'm interested in this, instead."
By the time she looked back down, Riddick was already at the safe.
"We're not going to be able to get into it. I don't know the combination."
"I know." He set his feet firmly, got a good grip on the safe, and pulled.
Grunting with the effort, he moved it away from the wall. Without turning
around, he asked her "Did you have the safe put in when you were having
the house built?"
"Yes, we did."
"Okay then, it was probably provided by the company that did the rest
of your security. Go to one of the security panels and see if it belongs
to," he read the label on the side of the safe, "McKinney Security Company."
Bet went to the master panel next to the bed and checked.
"Yes! It does."
"Do you have a password for your alarm, in case it goes off accidentally?"
"Yes, it's Buckingham."
He shook his head. "Always the pet. Here's what I need you to do. Call
the company and explain that you put a present for your husband in the
safe, and now you can't remember the combination. You don’t want to
ask him, 'cause the present's a surprise."
"And they'll just tell me the combination?" Doubt filled her voice.
"They should. Just act blonde and bimbo-ey."
She put her hands on her hips. "Look, I resent that implication…"
He sighed. "Look, girl. You *know* I don't think you're stupid! Clueless
where it counts, yeah," she glared at him, "but I can change that. And
I like the blonde hair. But they sure as hell ain't gonna tell *me*
the combo!" Pitching his tone an octave or two beneath his already low
speaking voice, he rumbled "Give me the combination to Jeremy Villiers'
safe." A pause while he looked at her. "I don't see it workin'. How
'bout you?"
She conceded the point, albeit reluctantly, and dialed the phone, reading
the number off of the security alarm panel. He could only hear her half
of the conversation, of course, but it sounded like it was going well.
"I know, I feel so silly, but I've got to get his present out before
he finds it! Mm hmm. Mm hmm. Yes, it's Buckingham. Uh huh. 11-38-42.
Thank you so much!" She looked at him in triumph as she hung up the
phone. "That was easy!"
"Toldja." He had already started dialing the combination. There was
a soft click, then he pulled back on the bar and the safe opened. Papers
and computer disks filled a large portion of the interior volume. Riddick
took the papers and handed them to Bet, then grabbed the disks himself.
"Put those on the bed. We'll take a look at them later. The disks are
more likely to have what we need. Where's his computer?"
"In his office. It's locked."
"Not for long. Show me where it is." Bet led the way out of the bedroom
and down a hallway to a door. Riddick tried the knob and found that
it was, indeed, locked. Bet gave him an 'I told you so' look. He shrugged
and crouched down in front of the door. Good - crappy construction.
He took his multi-tool from a pocket, opened the screwdriver, and started
taking out the screws that held the door knob on.
"I'm starting to like your builder, but you should be pissed."
"Why?"
"He did a half-assed job. The skylight was only held on by four screws…"
"You came in through the skylight?" He raised his eyebrows at the disbelief
in her voice as she finally made the connection.
"Got alarms on the windows. Too many people to come in through a door.
I am somewhat conspicuous."
"Gee, I hadn't noticed."
He shot her a look, then got back to work. "These screws should be on
the inside of the room. That way people like me can't do things like
this." The first screw was out, and he put it in a thigh pocket on his
pants before turning his attention to the other one.
"What would you have done if they were on the right side?"
" Could pick the lock - the locks on interior doors are pathetic. Just
think it's easier to take the damn things off. Taken the door off of
its hinges if possible, but anyone stupid enough to hang a door like
that'd probably be stupid enough to put the screws in wrong, too. If
I had to, break the door and put in a new one later, so the homeowners
wouldn't know. But that's a pain in the ass." The second screw removed,
the knob came off in his hand. He pushed the other half of the knob
out of the door, and gave it a gentle push. It swung open. He gestured
for Bet to enter first.
"Fixing skylights, hanging doors. I didn't think you would turn out
to be so useful around the house." Bet was the one grinning now. "I'm
getting quite an education today." She reached the edge of Jeremy's
desk, then stopped to let him go ahead.
Moving behind the desk, he replied "You're better than the fucks I used
to teach this stuff to."
"You've taught this to other people?"
"Nothin' to do in a cell but share stories." He sat down in Jeremy's
chair, which creaked alarmingly but held his weight. He looked down
at the computer and gave a small look of disgust. "He is really starting
to annoy me."
"What now?" asked Bet, coming around the desk to stand behind him.
"Computer's locked, too. If he was goin' to go through all the trouble
of makin' me work, he could've at least done a good job of it. This
amateur shit is startin' to piss me off." He took a breath and released
it. " Actually, it's a good sign for us. Probably figures no one could
get past his 'precautions', so he's more likely to have kept the evidence."
Reaching into that same large pocket he put the screws in, he took out
a key ring that held some unusual looking keys. Flipping through them,
he chose one and inserted it into the hole on the front of the computer
and turned it. "Industry-standard keys. They're all the same." The computer
turned on as Riddick returned the key ring to his pocket.
"That's some outfit you've got. Complete with all the accessories."
"Yeah, just what the well-dressed burglar is wearin' this season." While
the computer was booting up, he started going through the disks. All
of them were neatly labeled. "He some kinda neat freak?"
"It's one of his ways of asserting his control over everything," Bet
said as she pulled a chair up to sit next to Riddick. The computer came
up with a password protected screen. She looked at Riddick expectantly.
"Most people use something easily remembered, and they tend to use that
same word over and over. Would he use Buckingham?"
Bet laughed in surprise. "God no!"
"Didn't think so. So you chose the safe word for the alarm, huh? How'dja
manage that?"
"He wasn't home when the alarm was installed. I was."
"You chose the most predictable word. Something to think about."
"Sure, but how many people know my cat's name?"
"That was damn near the first thing I learned here" he chided. "Okay,
maybe his birthday, or your anniversary." He looked around the screen,
then opened a pull down menu. "Hmm." Satisfaction was evident in his
tone.
"What now? Something good?"
"One of those programs that gives you help, in case you forget your
password." He opened the window to reveal the clue. A single word -
Napoleon. "Ain't that a bust of Napoleon downstairs?"
"Yes. Jeremy had the designer put it in. I think it's vulgar. It looks
like what it is, a statue of a little man who wanted to dominate the
world. I put my grandmother's gardening hat on it, just to ruin that
image. Jeremy hates the hat, but I told Clare I thought it added just
the right touch of whimsy, and she agreed, so he lets it stay."
Riddick closed the window, looked at Bet and shrugged, then typed 'Napoleon'.
'Incorrect password' appeared on the screen.
'Bonaparte'.
'Incorrect password.'
"Know any major dates in Napoleon's life?"
"No, but I can look them up."
"Go do that. I'll keep tryin'." Bet went over to the book shelf and
started looking through the encyclopedias.
'Josephine.' 'Incorrect password.' 'Emperor.' 'Incorrect password.'
'France.' 'Incorrect password.'
Bet came back with an open book. "You got through everything else so
quickly, I wasn't expecting this to take so long."
He snorted. "Only been sixty seconds. Find it?"
She nodded. "He became emperor in 1804."
'1804.' 'Incorrect password.'
Bet made an exasperated sigh. "Let me see what other dates…"
"Give me his birthday."
"All it says is 1769."
'1769.' 'Welcome Mr. Villiers.'
"So it was his birthday," Bet said, leaning forward in interest
as she put down the book.
"Pets and birthdays, almost always."
"Okay, so we're in. What do we do now?"
" *I* start goin' through these files, and you go through those papers.
Look for anything about lawyers, fire, heat, stuff like that. Look for
the words 'problems' or 'solutions', too. Letter, invoices, receipts,
anything that could possibly identify who the arsonist is, or tie him
to the little shithead." They both got to work.
* * * * * *
An hour passed before Riddick breathed "Gotcha, muthafucker."
Bet looked up from where she had made herself comfortable on the floor.
"You found it?"
"Yeah. The e-mails he sent to the guy he hired to do the job, including
the guy's handle and address."
"So we know his screen name. How do we track down his real name from
that?"
"Don't need to. I'll set up a meeting with him, and then persuade him
to have a little talk with me when he arrives."
"What are you going to do then?"
"Well, we need to get word out. Was thinkin' to video the arsonist's
confession and…"
"What if he doesn't confess?"
"I'm VERY fuckin' persuasive." He brought the full weight of his stare
onto Bet, telling her with body and soul and mind that here was someone
who was NOT to be fucked with. She froze for a moment, then laughed
nervously.
"I guess you are. So, what then?"
"I'm gonna send copies of the disc to the news. Bust the story wide
open before the Company damage control can stop it."
Bet looked thoughtful. She was quiet for a moment, then spoke. "I have
a better idea. Clare Hannigan is a close friend. She's the wife of the
CEO."
"The fuckin' CEO." He shook his head in disbelief. "How is it everyone
I hate so god-damned much is either related to you, or a friend?"
"Clare is a wonderful person!" Bet said, indignation evident in her
voice. "Her husband respects and listens to her. If I bring her the
evidence, she'll bring it to him. Clare already doesn't like Jeremy,
she just doesn't have any proof to back up her dislike. And he's competition
for Mr. Hannigan. If he had some evidence that Jeremy had committed
crimes, serious crimes that threatened the Company, he'd see to it that
Jeremy's climb up the ladder turned into a fall."
'No fucking doubt he would', Riddick thought to himself. He was quiet
for a few moments. "If we get the top brass of the Company involved,
they'll sacrifice him to protect their own asses. That means the Company
will go unscathed."
"I'm willing for that to happen."
Head down, he thought long and hard. He hated the Company for all that
it had done to him, but the damage Jeremy Villiers had done had been
personal. More than anyone else, he was responsible for the hell Riddick
had gone though in Slam City. As much as he hated to admit it, the chances
of taking on the whole Company and winning were infinitesimal. The chances
of making Villiers take a fall were pretty damn good, if he went along
with Bet's idea. He looked up at Bet. So much for that stereotype of
the 'dumb blonde'.
"It's a plan."
Chapter 6: Fruits of Their Labor
"You don't wanna slice a mango like that," said Bet, shaking her in
amusement. "Wanna slice it like you mean business." She grinned. "Hand
over the fruit knife, Riddick. Let me show you how it's done."
Eyebrows raised, he complied.
Bet plucked the mutilated piece of fruit from his left hand, held it
up for inspection, and sighed. "Should have told me you were a mango
virgin."
Minutes earlier, when Bet first set the bowl of fruit on the bed, Riddick
studied it, his head tilted to one side. Decision made, he zeroed in
on his choice. His hand passed over the kiwi and the pomegranate and
seized the mango. Before Bet could call out a warning, Riddick raised
it to his mouth and took a bite. A second later, he spat out a circle
of the indigestible peel and began pulling strings of fiber from his
teeth. Bet thought he would toss the mango aside and try something else,
but she underestimated Riddick's tenacity. A battle ensued: man vs.
mango, and Riddick would no more concede defeat in this altercation
than he would in any other.
He jabbed the knife into the heart of the mango, then frowned as its
tip wedged in the hairy core. The expression on Riddick's face as he
extracted the knife boded ill for the fruit. He placed the mango on
a plate and stabilized it with his left hand. Bet's eyes widened with
alarm when he laid the blade across the center of the mango and pressed,
resorting to muscle to split it in two. As she expected, the knife slipped,
the plate cracked and the brutalized fruit squished out between Riddick's
fingers. Enough was enough.
Bet moved the mango and the broken plate to the nightstand. She sat
up, cross-legged, in front of Riddick, selected another mango from the
bowl and held it up before his eyes.
"This holds the most tenacious pit known to man. Try to remove it by
force, and you'll mangle the fruit beyond recognition." Bet glanced
pointedly at the nightstand.
She put the mango on another plate. "You must avoid the pit. And this
is very important: slice, don't poke."
Placing the blade just to the right of
the pit's presumed position, Bet cut straight through from one side
to the other. The lesson wasn't over. Holding the piece of mango in
one hand, she scored it with the knife, severing the tooth-defying fibers
and cutting a checkerboard pattern into its flesh. When she pressed
up from the bottom, rows of perfectly shaped cubes of mango bristled
up from the inverted peel.
Bet offered Riddick the fruit. "You got that?" she asked, with an innocent
smile. "Because if you need me to show you one more time, there's still
the other half of the…"
Bet shrieked as Riddick sprang, knocking both fruit and knife out of
her hand. She landed flat on her back, Riddick's face hovering just
centimeters above hers.
"Did you call me a virgin?" he demanded.
Eyes wide and guileless, Bet remonstrated. "Not a virgin, Riddick, a
mango virgin. And there's absolutely no shame in that. I should
think you'd be secure enough in your masculinity to confess when you're
confounded by tropical fruit. Man enough to admit that you need help
wielding cutlery."
His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but for the first time
since she met him, Riddick seemed at a loss for words.
He's not used to being teased, Bet realized. That's hardly surprising.
Prison provided little opportunity for the kind of playful bantering
she grew up with. Bet frowned, her mischievous mood evaporating. Jeremy
couldn't tolerate teasing either, as she discovered shortly after their
wedding, when her jesting provoked his first blow-up. God. She shuddered.
There was a sobering memory.
"Don't." Riddick's fingers brushed the hair back from her brow. "Don't
be afraid of me."
She met his eyes. "I wasn't thinking about you."
He nodded, and then a grin spread across his face. "Whadda ya mean?
Lying here naked, underneath me, and you're thinking about somebody
else?"
"You're right," Bet agreed. "I can't imagine what got into me."
"Lemme tell you what's gonna get into you."
"Talk's cheap, big guy. And I would have pegged you for a man of action,
not words."
"Would you?" Riddick rocked back on his heels, a speculative gleam in
his eyes.
Bet had drawn the curtains against the afternoon sun. A bright needle
of sunlight slanted down from the overhead shaft, an exclamation point
against gentle, filtered light that bathed the room and allowed Riddick
to set aside his goggles. Bet liked him best this way. The luminous
beauty of his shined eyes startled her afresh every time he turned them
upon her. Moreover, if the eyes are the windows to the soul, she cherished
every chance to look behind the black shades that shielded him from
scrutiny as much as they protected him from the painful light. Without
the goggles to hide his eyes, Riddick would reveal more of himself to
her. Or so she thought.
His long silence unnerved Bet. Her challenge was brazen enough to goad
him into action. If it weren't, she'd miscalculated the level of audacity
required to provoke Riddick into a response. By now she fully expected
to be captured, pinned and mounted, at his mercy as absolutely as any
butterfly netted by a collector. Instead, Riddick sat back and studied
her, his expression serene, his eyes unreadable, an enigmatic smile
touching his lips.
Bet held her breath as he reached over her head for the fallen mango
half and the knife. He held the hilt between thumb and forefinger, wrinkling
his brow in distaste. "Gotta be the most fuckin' pathetic excuse for
a knife I've ever seen."
It was Bet's turn to take offense. "That happens to be an early-Victorian
fruit knife," she said proudly. "Five inches from end to end. Mother-of-pearl
handle. Acid etched floral-embossed silver blade. Very old. Very fragile.
A triumph of beauty over function."
"Rich folk!" Riddick shook his head. "Let's see if this man of action
learned anything from your demonstration."
He overcame his aversion to Victorian cutlery well enough to apply the
antique knife to the mango, deftly slicing and scoring the fruit. After
inverting the peel, he detached a segment, speared it with the tip of
the blade, and lifted it to his mouth. He rolled the fruit on his tongue,
savoring the flavor. "Yeah. I like it," he concluded, impaling another
chunk of mango with the knife. Balancing the slippery fruit on the knifepoint,
Riddick brought it to Bet's mouth. She lifted her head and carefully
closed her lips over the fruit, sliding it off the blade.
"It's my favorite," she said, licking the juice from her lower lip.
"Is it?" Riddick slipped the blade beneath another mango cube, but instead
of piercing the severed fruit with the knife, he pinched it between
thumb and finger and brought it to his mouth. He sucked the juice from
his fingers, then broke off another piece and held it out to Bet. Wrapping
her lips around his fingertips, she pulled the mango into her mouth.
She smiled. "If it weren't before, it is now."
Cupping the peel in his hand, Riddick scraped a half dozen or so morsels
free and spilled them across Bet's breasts.
"Looks like I made a mess," Riddick said.
"Damn!" Bet sighed. "And the housekeeper's gone. You know what that
means."
"Gotta clean it up myself?"
Bet sat up on her elbows and shook her head. "I'm afraid so."
With exquisite slowness, Riddick bent forward, his eyes shimmering in
the dim light. The tip of his tongue sketched a circle around a fragment
of fruit. Barely grazing her skin, his lips closed around the cube,
drawing it in. He moved on. Bet shivered as Riddick's tongue delicately
flicked a morsel into his mouth. She wrapped her hands around his skull,
savoring the rasp of stubble against skin as his head zigzagged from
breast to breast. Both tempo and pressure increased. Riddick's open
mouth enveloped a mango cube and he sucked it in. Scraping his chin
over a nipple, he seized another chunk of fruit, greedily licking the
spot clean. He nibbled and lapped at her breasts, dragging bristles
across the inflamed nerve endings.
"Not fair!" Bet groaned, arching her back into his mouth.
That protest caught Riddick's attention. He lifted his head. "What?"
"It's not fair," Bet complained. "I'm so predictable. So damned easy.
Whisker burn gets me every blessed time."
Laughing, he lowered his head, rubbing the shaved crown across both
breasts, reducing Bet to jelly. Riddick leaned forward, his voice rumbling
in her ear. "Covered this already, remember? Lesson number one, life
ain't fair." His mouth swooped down and latched onto a nipple, dragging
the tip between his teeth. She gasped and he sought her ear again. "Rule
number two, never reveal your weaknesses."
"Not even to a lover?" Bet asked, drawing away so she could look into
his eyes.
Riddick hesitated, clearly taken aback by the question. Finally he answered.
"Not to anybody."
"Why not?" Bet laid a hand on his cheek. "I'd never use anything you
told me against you. I'd never hurt you."
"You can't promise that," Riddick said, shaking his head. "Nobody can
promise that."
"I can." Bet's confidence was absolute. Hurting Riddick would require
an act of will beyond both her capacity and intent; the very idea was
unimaginable.
Riddick was disinclined to argue the point, although his expression
revealed his misgivings.
"I mean it," Bet insisted.
Riddick said nothing. A look of sadness flitted across his face, a contortion
of his features that passed so swiftly that Bet couldn't be sure if
it were real or a projection of her own anxieties over his protracted
silence. For an instant, Bet hoped that she'd breached his reserve.
That he'd open up and reveal something to her, but Riddick took his
own advice to heart, and remained as taciturn as ever. After a moment,
the tension in his face relaxed and he turned his eyes on her.
"I know you mean it," he said gently.
That had to be good enough. Bet smiled, then went cross-eyed staring
at his chin as Riddick dropped his head to kiss her. "Hold on." She
halted his mouth's descent, pressing her fingertips against his jaw.
Squinting, she plucked a thready blob of mango from his chin stubble.
Riddick seized her wrist, holding it fast while he licked the fruit
from her thumb. Reverting to his original plan, Riddick kissed Bet.
Instead of zeroing in on her lips, however, his mouth took the long
route, nibbling a path from wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, shoulder
to throat, and throat to lips.
As his tongue teased apart her lips, Bet shifted and groaned. Whisker
burn reduced her to blithering ecstasy? Well, yes, but truth be told,
everything Riddick did rendered Bet mindless with lust. Never mind that
it had been only half an hour since she last wrapped her arms around
his neck, screaming with pleasure as she climaxed. The erection bumping
into her belly signaled that Riddick, too, was ready for another round.
Bet slipped her hand between their bodies and found his engorged penis.
"You must have the refractory period of an eighteen year old," she exclaimed
in wonder.
"Really?" He lifted his brows. "You fuck many eighteen year olds? That
'very kind young man' perhaps?"
Bet frowned and playfully punched his shoulder. "Just remembering my
misspent youth."
"Oh yeah," he smirked. "I bet you were a real bad ass."
"You have no idea." Bet narrowed her eyes and tried to look dangerous.
Riddick nodded. "Left the cap off the toothpaste. Forgot to floss. I
can picture the whole ugly scene."
Bet shoved indignantly against his chest. "For all you know, I could
have been a holy terror."
"Yeah," he said, sitting back on his heels again. "All the tell-tale
signs are there." Riddick shook his head, smiling to himself, as his
hands stroked her breasts and stomach.
" C'm here." Riddick placed her feet on his shoulders, slipped his hands
under Bet's hips and pulled her onto his thighs. Bet wriggled helpfully,
anticipating penetration.
"Later, babe," he promised. To Bet's surprise, Riddick wrapped his hands
around her ass and pulled her up his chest. First feet, then calves,
and then thighs slid over his shoulders. Only the V of her legs catching
below his chin prevented Bet from riding up and over. Riddick sat up
on his knees. Folding his left arm around her waist, he pinned Bet upside
down against his chest.
*I'm practically standing on my head,* Bet realized, stunned. Before
she could wonder exactly what Riddick had in mind, he showed her. With
his free right hand, he picked up the mango slice and held it over her
crotch. As his fist closed, juice and pulp spurted out between his fingers
and dribbled down over her entire vulva.
"Shit!" he growled. "Made another mess."
"Lord - have - mercy." Bet gasped, as Riddick lowered his mouth and
licked the fruit juice from her inner thigh.
Riddick paused and lifted his eyes to her face. "Rule number three,"
he grinned. "No mercy."
"Not even for a lover?"
"Especially not for a lover."
Bet closed her eyes and shook her head, laughing. "You're a hard man,
Riddick."
"Well, yeah. But like I said, we'll get to that later."
Bet gasped as Riddick's mouth, full and warm, moved over her labia,
sucking at bits of the pulverized mango. His tongue delved into the
folds, pursuing every last drop of the sticky fruit juice.
Bet opened like a flower beneath Riddick's ministrations, a bud swelling
until it erupted into bloom, petals unfurling one by one in the heat
of the sun. Riddick used his entire face as an instrument of pleasure.
He nuzzled and licked, his nose massaging her clit while his tongue
probed the mouth of her vagina. He dragged his chin across her skin,
then soothed the abraded flesh with a wet, wide tongue.
Arching her back, Bet rotated her pelvis against his face. She shuddered,
basking in bliss when he began to suck on her clit. Riddick's right
hand fondled a breast, his fingers ungentle, exactly the touch she liked
best. Slow, deep breaths gave way to uneven panting, as an orgasm danced
tantalizingly within reach, then slipped away. Riddick twisted a nipple
between thumb and forefinger, just the stimulation Bet needed to push
her over the edge. She shrieked and burst into tears as she came, a
personal quirk that Riddick no longer found alarming.
He lifted his head, his face glistening with a combination of mango
juice and her own lubricants. "Never went down on a 'scion' before,"
he grinned, unlocking his arm from her waist and sliding her back onto
the bed.
"Bastard," Bet cringed at the reference to Jeremy's horrific speech,
but felt too spent to do more than lift a hand in protest. Eyelids heavy,
her body as limp and helpless as a ragdoll, Bet gazed up at Riddick.
His smile never faltered. He looked suspiciously alert, suspiciously
intent.
"It's later," he said simply.
Oh my God. Bet lifted her head to check for evidence of his intentions.
Her eyes widened when they fell upon his still rampant erection. "I
don't suppose it will do any good to tell you that I've lost all sensation
in my lower body. I doubt that I'll even feel it."
Riddick shook his head, thunderstruck by the very suggestion. "First
you call me a virgin," he marveled, grabbing Bet and flipping her face
down onto the mattress. He sprawled atop Bet's back and grumbled into
her ear. "Then you tell me that you won't feel it --." He shoved her
legs apart. "When I do --." His cock found the opening to her vagina.
"This." Bet gasped as he rammed into her.
Fatigue fled and her benumbed nerves awoke, shocked into sentience by
the undeniable presence of Riddick's penis. "Lord have mercy," Bet whispered
again.
"Lord might, but don't look for any mercy from me," Riddick muttered,
underscoring his point with a pounding thrust. "Rule number three, remember?"
Riddick's rules. "Believe me," Bet said, torn between conflicting urges
to giggle and to groan. "I am deeply, deeply grateful for this opportunity
to study under you."
A noise, a familiar scrambling sound interrupted as something clawed
it's way up the side of the bed.
"What the --?"
Bet clutched at Riddick's hand as he reached for the handle of his knife.
"Sweetheart," she said pleasantly, "if you gut my cat, I'll have to
kill you." Sure enough, within seconds, a pair of brown ears and a furry
tan and white face peered over the edge of the bed. Buckingham's claws
dug into the sheets as he triumphantly hauled his body over the top.
"Hi baby," Bet cooed. "Mama's big, brave boy made it all the
way to the top this time."
Riddick looked from Bet to Buckingham, clearly nonplussed by both the
babytalk and the cat's girth. "Never saw a cat too fat to jump on a
bed before."
"Buckingham isn't fat," Bet said. "He's - he's athletically challenged."
Tail held high, Buckingham sauntered across the bed and plopped down
possessively next to Bet's head, his gaze fixed on Riddick. Man and
beast locked eyes. After a minute, an exasperated Bet shook her head.
"Give it up, Riddick. You'll never stare down a cat. And besides, weren't
we doing something?"
Riddick began to thrust again, the movements tentative, half-hearted.
Buckingham sat up, his head cocked to one side as his ice blue eyes
focused on Riddick, fascinated by the exercise. Riddick froze. "Cat's
a freakin' voyeur," he said. "That's it. Private party, pal." He slipped
a hand beneath Buckingham's belly, lifted the ten-kilo behemoth, and
dropped him over the side of the bed.
"I should warn you. The last time Jeremy pissed off the cat, Buckingham
peed on his slippers."
"What!" Riddick leaned over the side of the bed, checking on the boots
he'd kicked off near the door. The boots looked dry, but Buckingham
was no where to be seen. "How come Villiers puts up with him?" he asked,
his eyes scanning the room for the fugitive cat.
Bet smiled. "Buckingham was a gift from Clare. Just after Jeremy and
I got married we had dinner at the Hannigans. Her cat had a litter of
kittens. I fell in love with Buckingham and she let me take him home.
Jeremy hates him, but he has to put up with Buckingham because he's
a gift from the CEO's wife." She faltered. "I left Buckingham with her
when I ran away from Jeremy." She fell silent.
Riddick swept her hair aside and kissed Bet's neck. "Think he'll climb
back up here as soon as things get good?"
"Nope. I'm sure he's back under the bed. He'll need to build up his
strength again before he attempts another assault on the summit."
"Hmmm. Speaking of an assault on the summit --." His penis twitched
inside her, and Riddick slowly drew it almost all the way out before
slamming back into her. His lips caressed Bet's shoulders while his
right hand slid down the length of her arm. Twining his fingers through
hers, he held her fast. His left hand claimed hers in a similar fashion,
but Bet bent her elbow and pulled his hand to her mouth. Her lips seized
his thumb, sucking it in and out of her mouth, matching measure for
measure the rhythm of his thrusts.
God, she felt hot! Riddick lay so heavily atop Bet that not only did
she share his body heat, but also the sweat of their exertions, trapped
between their bodies, pooled until it trickled down her sides and soaked
the sheets. Hot and slick, their bodies glided together on a sea of
sweat as he pounded into her.
So hot and so deep. In this position every plunge of his penis battered
her womb and drove her hips into the mattress. Instead of shrinking
from the bruising sensation, Bet gloried in it, grunting as she arched
her pelvis to meet each thumping thrust. There was nothing gentle or
sentimental about this. It wasn't making love; it was fucking, an act
driven by the most primitive biological imperatives. Feral. Almost brutal.
An image flashed before Bet's eyes. When she was a child, her cat Lucy
escaped one night into the back yard. Bet tracked her down, and found
her purebred princess writhing in ecstasy beneath a rangy tomcat, immobilized
by his jaw's deathgrip on the back of her neck. Intending to rescue
her baby from the thuggish interloper, Bet turned the hose on him. Lucy
turned on Bet, hissing in frustration.
Poor Lucy! Bet hadn't understood the bliss that came with being seized
and mounted by the alpha male, pinned helplessly beneath him while he
exercised his natural prerogatives. Bet was every bit as much the pampered
princess as Lucy, and Riddick would make a convincing tomcat, streetwise,
battle-scarred, possessed of a swaggering virility.
Bet twisted her right hand from Riddick's grip and brushed aside her
sweat-drenched hair, exposing her neck and shoulders. She arched her
neck in an invitation no vampire would fail to understand. Riddick licked
a line from her shoulders to her ear. Frustrated, Bet sank her teeth
deep into the pad of Riddick's thumb. He took the hint and bit the back
of her neck, gently at first, then harder as she moaned and pressed
against his mouth. A growl, low and bestial, erupted from Riddick's
throat as his teeth ground into her skin. It hurt, a stinging pain that
brought tears to Bet's eyes, but which only fed her sense of urgency.
She writhed beneath him, held fast by his teeth and her need, unwilling
and unable to escape until he was finished with her.
Riddick panted against her skin, his thrusts increasingly hard and fast.
A buzzing sound filled her ears and Bet blinked, trying in vain to clear
the spots from her field of vision. Her hands convulsed in Riddick's
fists and she opened her mouth in a soundless scream as an orgasm rolled
over her, consuming her. Bet trembled so violently that Riddick, his
own climax come, flipped her over and touched her tear-streaked face.
"Shit, Bet, you okay?"
Bet nodded, too dazed and breathless to speak. Riddick turned her head
to one side and fingered the bite mark he'd left on her neck. "Should
put some ice on that before it bruises." He fished a half-melted cube
from the ice bucket on the nightstand and rubbed it over the contusion.
"What got into you?" he demanded, smiling.
Bet arched her brows, grinning. Riddick groaned and shook his head,
realizing his mistake.
"Just the kind of question I'd expect from a virgin," Bet giggled, finding
her voice.
Riddick flopped on his back next to Bet; his reply lost as the sound
of Buckingham's painful clambering again filled the air. After a long
minute, the cat's head bobbed up and down at the edge of the bed, as
Buckingham struggled to hoist his body over the top.
Riddick sighed, leaned over and pulled Buckingham to safety. "Owe you
one, pal."
Buckingham reciprocated the gesture, ambling to Riddick's side and nudging
Riddick's hand with his head. "What's he doing?"
"That means 'Pet me, stupid'," Bet explained. "Apparently Buckingham
has decided that you're worthy of his favor."
"Great," Riddick groaned, less than thrilled by the honor Buckingham
bestowed upon him. "Why'd you call him Buckingham? Thought cats were
supposed to be named Fluffy or Spot."
Bet smiled broadly. "Jeremy is such a snob! He likes to pretend that
he's descended from a long line of bluebloods, even though his father
and grandfather were cooks. So I gave the kitten a name that appealed
to all of Jeremy's social climbing, name-dropping instincts. Way back
in the seventeenth century, George Villiers became the first Duke of
Buckingham. People who know English history recognize the association
between the Villiers family and the dukes of Buckingham. Jeremy likes
to give the impression that he's descended from a noble family, so he
always casually mentions how Buckingham got his name."
Riddick frowned. "Got to be more to the story than that."
"Well, yes," Bet conceded. "In addition to being a snob, Jeremy is also
very homophobic. And I may have neglected to tell him that George Villiers
rose to power and became a duke because he was the king's lover."
"Homophobic, huh?" Riddick shook his head, smiling bitterly. "Jeremy's
gonna love Slam --. Take back what I said before. You are bad."
Buckingham found the strength to leap on Riddick's stomach, circling
around in search of a comfortable position before deciding to wedge
himself between Riddick and Bet. He stretched out, his tail waving in
Riddick's face. Bet picked up the cat and moved him to her other side.
"Pressing your luck, kiddo," she warned him, glancing with alarm at
Riddick's expression.
One male taken care of, Bet turned her attention to the other. She snuggled
against Riddick's chest, then wrinkled her nose. "You stink."
"Yeah? You ain't exactly a bunch of roses yourself." Riddick said, kissing
her forehead.
"Guess we're both going to need another shower, huh?" Bet rubbed her
palm over his sweat-slicked stomach.
A laugh rumbled in his chest. "The vicious cycle begins again."