Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

could rip the bag out of her hands.
    “Hey, where you going so fast?” he said.
    “Where’s Tim?” she asked.
    Dark eyes jittered. Along with the rank odor of fresh layers of sweat over old, Socks had a feral, jungle smell. It came off him in a wave that made every survival instinct Cherelle had scream at her to get away, get away now!
    But she couldn’t. Not unless she gave up her purse, and with it a few more precious pieces of gold. Tim’s gold, given to her to shut her up.
    “He’ll be along,” Socks said roughly. “Had some business to take care of, you know? Man business.”
    Now she recognized the smell beneath the sweat. Blood. She looked at the broad male hands that were gripping the straps of her new backpack/purse. No blood under the nails or in the creases of his knuckles. But there were smudges halfway up his arm, like he had rubbed an itch with bloody fingers. Or bloody gloves.
    “Man business?” she asked, forcing herself to relax. Or at least to look like it. “You telling me he’s out getting laid?”
    “You told him not to come back.” Socks smiled. “He ain’t.”
    Her stomach sank. Socks was way too certain about Tim staying away. “So you didn’t get the armband back.”
    “What’s the big fuss? You got lots of gold. You got me. Way I figure it, this is your lucky day all around. Where is it?”
    Cherelle knew he meant the gold, just as she knew she would probably have to have sex with him in order to get away without a beating. Seemed like no matter how hard she worked, she always ended up under some sweating, grunting, stupid son of a bitch just to survive. Sure as hell he would ruin her new clothes before he was done.
    “It’s in a safe place,” she said in a low, husky voice. Then she smiled and leaned closer to the man she would rather have knifed. “You sure Tim won’t be coming back?”
    “Yeah, and don’t point the finger at me ‘cuz he’s gone,” Socks said, looking at the lime green button straining between Cherelle’s breasts. “You’re the one who’s so bitchy.”
    She forced a sigh that shifted her cleavage.
    His breathing hitched. Her body made it hard for him to keep his mind on what he really wanted—the gold. Especially when he could see her nipples clear as headlamps beneath the pale silk. How was a man supposed to think when a braless woman with a good pair of tits shoved them under his nose? He swallowed hard and forced himself to concentrate on something besides finally getting a little of the great ass that Tim had spent so much time bragging about.
    “So where is it?” Socks asked hoarsely.
    “In my pants, sugah pie, just like always.”
    He dragged his glance down to her crotch. It was covered by thin, pale silk that barely concealed what lay beneath. He saw the cushy dark shadow that told him she wasn’t wearing enough underwear to get in a man’s way. He pushed one hand between her thighs and dug in. Hard. “You got a great pussy, but even you can’t put all the gold in there.”
    She looked over his thick shoulders to where Miranda stood in the door, watching them with a cynical smile and eyes that were glazed by vodka. As Cherelle undid the button between her breasts, she envied Miranda her drunken haze.
    Reality sucked.
    “Oh, were you talking about gold?” Cherelle asked, tilting her pelvis toward Socks as though she just loved having him grope her like a steel gorilla. Take a good feel, asshole. It will be your first and last. “Like I said, it’s in a safe place.”
    Socks grunted. “How safe?”
    “All the locks and alarms and guards the Golden Fleece can provide, that’s how safe.”
    The sexy purr of her voice and the female heat surrounding his hand made it real hard for Socks to concentrate. Then her nimble fingers had somehow undone his fly and slipped inside to stroke him. Blood rushed from his brain to his crotch. He shook his head like a dog coming out of water.
    “Whoa. We got—” The words became a sucked-in rasp of air as she ran her fingernails around him, digging lightly into each dip and crease. “Business,” he finished in a strangled voice.
    “Sugah, I’ve got the only business that matters right here in my little ol’ hand.”
    Socks gave up trying to think. A hand job was his idea of foreplay. Then, when he was really ready, he would yank off her fancy green pants and hammer in.
    Cherelle measured his surrender in the glaze of his eyes and the quickness of his breathing. She judged her