Taggart deserves his own species designation, Jo thinks. He is his own special beast, the wild Taggart in the wilds of Eureka, home of quite a few ‘special’ beasts.
She has mated with the wild Taggart, found it moderately entertaining, and then realized that it was going to be her life. Dealing with Taggart’s quirks. Being moderately entertained. Wondering if the game was still on after he finished.
Somehow, it didn’t seem like a lifelong gig.
Taggart cried and cried, too, which makes it so awkward every time something goes feral on her and Carter. Because he seems unable to get over it as a rule, and Jo can’t stop things from going feral.
She knows. She tried. The results involved fur and possibly feathers growing out of her ass, and worst of all, photographs that Carter has kept as blackmail material the next time he has something in his ass.
Plus more crying. God, so much crying.
“He cries like Mikey Vartan at a Ben Affleck movie,” Zoe said once after an encounter. “That’s so sad.”
“Yeah, he’s squishy now,” Jo agreed.
Carter has sent Jo on vacation mostly on the grounds that maybe if Jo isn’t around, Taggart will dry up some, or feel less guilty when the boys get him liquored up and find him a woman. Jo has actually given Carter a C-note if prostitutes need to be involved.
And now Jo is here. A shitty bar slash dance club somewhere in Los Angeles, with a drink that cost her ten dollars and is still a fucking well drink.
Taggart better have fucked several prostitutes by the time Jo gets home or she might just kick him in the balls to get him over it. She wants to be friends — she still likes him, and still appreciates his crazy — but she’ll give it up if she has to.
And the crowd here is hardly the pick of any litter, but paying cover at another bar to deal with LA people sounds like a bad plan. Jo will stay with shitty bar with a dance floor that management clearly wishes would fill with hot girls, but won’t because the bar is crap.
Or maybe not. A girl walks into the bar and the bartender turns away from his half-assed wiping of glasses to holler, “Elvis is IN THE BUILDING, Pablo!” at one of the runners, who nods and actually starts running as the girl — who’s maybe twenty-four, twenty-five? Not much younger than Jo, and hot.
“Nice pants,” Jo says. The girl pauses, turns to scope Jo out, and shrugs.
“I like leather. It doesn’t show crud and blood and shit,” she says. “What are you, new?”
“On vacation,” Jo says uncomfortably. There’s something in the woman’s dark glare that is contemptuous and a little inviting, like she’s deciding whether to ignore Jo or do something. Like make a pass.
“Tourist girl, huh?” the girl says. “Well, good for you. I’m Faith.”
“Jo,” Jo replies. Faith nods and takes a bottle of Newcastle from the bartender. “Leather pants and good taste in beer. Already you have topped my ex in three ways.”
“What’s the third way?” Faith asks, before tilting her head back and the beer with it.
“You’re not currently crying your fucking eyes out,” Jo informs her, and has the distinct pleasure of watching Faith choke on her beer and then wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, still half-laughing. “What?”
“You did that on purpose, new girl,” Faith says. “I think I like you, but we’ll fuckin’ see how you stack up.”
“Stack up?” Jo asks, thinking this woman’s giving her shit and wondering how little miss Faith would handle the freakjobs of Eureka.
“Elvis is in the building, bitch,” Faith says, handing her beer to Jo after another long swig and offing the sheer little blouse she’d had over a skintight tank top made to contain and showcase tits. “Watch. Learn. Show me what you’re working with.”
Jo leans against the bar, picks up Faith’s blouse, and wipes the top of the beer with it, super obvious like. Faith snorts, and swaggers out onto that empty dance floor, walking right up to the DJ booth and pounding on the glass.
And then she steps two steps back and waits a moment.
Some raunchy pop hit — something Zoe wouldn’t even pretend to like — comes blasting over the speakers, and Jo waits a moment.
And then Faith starts to dance.
By the first chorus, Jo understands why Elvis is in the building. By the bridge, Jo notes at least six other women have materialized from nowhere, joined by about ten shuffling guys, radiating from the center of the floor where Faith is dancing.
“Motherfucker,” Jo says, turning to the bartender for a minute. He hands her a Newcastle, she hands him five bucks, and dry-mouthed, she takes a swig.
“You got it,” he replies with a laugh. “What the hell you waiting for? Get out there.”
“She ain’t gonna wait too long, senorita,” he says. “Either get your ass on the floor or give it up.”
Jo realizes that she has successfully picked up a hot woman who can move her hips, tits, arms, and head at the same time in a way that screams flexible sex.
If she is willing to dance to fuckin’ Fergie.
Faith tilts back, suddenly almost in a backbend.
Jo puts the beer down, hands the bartender the shirt, takes a deep breath, and strides forward.
Shit shit FUCK shit, everything in her head is Taggart about mating dances and feathers in Jo’s ass, but leather pants. Swirling. Flexible.
What the hell is Jo waiting for? She’s ex-Special Forces, she can put together a machine gun in six point four seconds, and her tits are nothing to sneeze at.
“Hey,” says Faith as Jo adjusts herself to Faith’s radiating center of gravity.
“Hey,” says Jo, sliding one hand over Faith’s hip like she’s good at this dancing with women shit.
She throws her head to one side in opposition to her shoulder and hip and shudders when Faith turns around and slides up against her.
Faith’s ass knows exactly where to swirl, and Jo finds herself matching rhythm, even if she’s not sure about her shoulders or anything except how to touch properly.
Which is to say, touch the way Jo likes, and lean over and say, “Nice ass, kiddo.”
“Nice tits, tourist,” Faith replies.
This is when Jo realizes she is going to take Faith anywhere Faith wants to go.
She slides around Faith, puts an arm around her waist and dances up on her with drunken awkwardness.
“They’re even better from this side,” Jo says in Faith’s ear.
“Fuck yeah,” Faith agrees.
It’s two hours of dancing — and Faith is fucking serious about her moves, even abandoning Jo for ten or fifteen minutes at a time when Jo’s done with the dancing and drinking another beer, watching. But Jo finally conquers, sliding up against Faith during a Pussycat Dolls song and whispering, “come with me right now and I will fuck you into next week.”
“Sounds good,” Faith says, turning around and licking Jo on the cheek. “Let’s blow this joint.”
Okay, Jo is now five times more turned on that she meant to be because this is the tame part of the night.
They stumble out into the LA night with Faith’s arm around Jo’s waist, both laughing because they’ve got a bit of a buzz.
“So where’s your hotel? I wanna give some strangers a thrill,” Faith says, all bullshit bravado.
“Oh, I so forget,” Jo says. “I’m such a GIRL when I’m drinking. Most of the time I’m totally butch, big guns, blow up the bad guys, hardcore. Right now…”
“Right now you’re hot,” Faith says, seizing Jo’s face and dragging her in for a long, long kiss, beer-stained tongues tangling against each other. Faith smells like sweat, leather, and sweat and Jo’s forgotten that Eureka is all top-secret and she’s not supposed to be a supercop in the mundane world.
“Do they have taxis in this town?” Jo asks, one arm around Jo and the other out. “We need a taxi.”
And magically, the taxi appears and Jo chokes out her hotel and the driver snorts and Faith says, “fuck you, cabbie” in her hot Boston accent and then Faith starts kissing Jo again because what else are they going to do in the cab?
By the time they reach Jo’s hotel, Jo’s shirt is covered in sweat and spit and is obscene by association. It’s great. Instead of taking the elevator, they run up three flights of stairs, hand in hand and Jo slams her keycard into the door.
Fucking Marriott, taking three times to let the door work, but they’re in.
They’re in and Faith just offs her top, pulls it over her head and drops it and Jo’s undoing her jeans and kicking off her shoes.
“So fucking hot,” Faith says because by the time they’re to the king-sized bed paid for by the Eureka PD and Nathan Stark, they’re both in their panties and bras and nothing else. “You’re not a vampire, right?”
“What? No,” Jo says. “No. Once I had feathers, but that was a different…holy God, you have the best damn tits, girl.”
Faith smirks and cups them, thumbing the darkish nipples and licking her lips. “Want ’em?” she asks coyly.
“Hell yes,” Jo says as Faith climbs on the bed and brings them Jo-ward. They’re warm and heavy and bouncy and Jo is enjoying touching them way too much, especially with her teeth.
“Nice muscles,” Faith says after a while, sliding her hands over Jo’s arms and going for the bra. “I like a girl with muscles…”
She says muscles like Popeye and Jo laughs and turns them over, so she’s holding Faith down and straddling her, rubbing her crotch against Faith’s like a…well, a horny woman with a hot person to rub against.
Metaphor is not Jo’s thing.
“Mmm, here, kitty kitty kitty kitty,” Faith says, reaching up and pulling Jo down for a biting kiss before undoing her bra deftly and finding a breast to love on.
Jo whimpers and pushes against Faith where they’re separated by only their sweaty and slightly nasty panties.
“I’m about ready to pop,” Faith murmurs after a good minute of feverish dry humping. “What about you?”
“Yeah, that’s about right,” Jo agrees.
“Good,” Faith says, flipping them over like a mini-ninja and offing her panties while Jo blinks. Girl is strong. “Now let’s see, I think someone needs to lose those damn bikinis…”
She slips down, hooks her fingers in elastic and then Jo is as naked as Faith and fucking god, so so wet.
There’s a pause, a semi-awkward pause because they’re both naked and wet and ready to pounce but aren’t sure who goes first or what happens and Jo feels swollen and slutty and ready for whatever happens next.
“How you feelin?” she asks Faith.
“Pretty good,” Faith says. “You?”
“Like I’m gonna scream if you don’t get back here right now,” Jo says, beckoning with one finger. “Come here, babe.”
Faith slides against her, one leg between Jo’s and the other around Jo’s left thigh, ready to ride or give a ride and she surges against Jo’s mouth, tongue pushing deep.
And those breasts are swaying loose and Jo has to squeeze one before trailing her hand to Faith’s ass to touch some more.
Nice. Nice. And then when Faith grinds against Jo wetly, NICE.
Faith’s on fire, and Jo’s got one hand on her ass and the other on her back, supporting her as she grinds against Jo’s raised up thigh, moaning and cursing.
“Fuck yeah…gonna do you so good…like that, yeah, just like that…” and Jo’s dug her nails into Faith’s ass, watching her dance for Jo again, watching her fuck herself for Jo’s pleasure.
And Jo’s liking it, so much that she finally rewards Faith with a finger against the clit, rubbing with abandon and Faith moans and says thank you, fucking thank you, feels so good and it does, that slick hotness on Jo’s skin, the ache in her nipples and her pussy and the dry feeling in her mouth…
Faith bucks and writhes when she comes, oil-slick and shivering, moaning in some language not English and Jo’s about starving for more, more, more.
“Come on, babe,” Jo says as Faith falls against her, kissing her neck and mewling. The air’s heavy with sex and it needs to be now, hard and fast NOW. “So I know you can take it…you know how to dish it out?”
Faith slides down and sucks one of Jo’s nipples into her mouth while her hand probes down, down, down.
A fingertip slips inside Jo, just to the first knuckle, and then back out. Faith raises her head, and brings her fingertip to her mouth.
“Yup,” Faith says.
She’s got her mouth on Jo’s pussy in about thirty seconds and if Jo thought Faith was loud, she was wrong. Not compared to Jo.
Jo is wailing and there aren’t words, because there is tongue there, licking there and she’s all juicy-wet and it smells good here and oh fuck, more tongue, rough feeling on her lips there and her whole body’s got that half-coming feel and she can’t think or control it because she’s all tingling and tongue there, prodding at her hole there and tasting her like she’s delicious and no more words, because tongue is there, licking and sucking and teasing her.
She’s not even sure when it counts as coming and when it counts as something else, because after a while, Jo’s just too busy holding onto the sheets or she’d fall off the bed, and maybe off the world.
That’s how good it is. Tongue there, dizzy now, yes yes yes very very good and then Jo arches up and hits the pillow with a thud.
“Jesus, you come like an avalanche,” Faith says, sliding up next to her. “Ain’t nobody licked your pussy before?”
“Few times,” Jo says, not going to be outdone in the cool department. “They don’t do the swirly or the sucky thing. And my head usually goes stupid when it happens.”
“Plus I’m real good at eating pussy,” Faith says cheerfully, kissing Jo on the earlobe.
“True,” Jo agrees. “Wanna take a nap in my big nice bed and then do it again?”
“Sure,” Faith says, yawning.
“All right,” Jo says, settling into the bed. “You don’t think I’m a pussy because I’m sleepy, right?”
“No, fuck,” Faith says. “We were drinking and dancing and my jaw’s all sore. You take a lot of fucking.”
“I also intend to do a lot of fucking, so…” and Jo yawns before she can finish her smart comment. “Anyway. Off the blanket so we can not freeze from air conditioned nipples, okay?”
Faith agrees, but still lays right against Jo with the sheet and blanket on them.
It feels nice.
This feels very nice, and if it’s not the encounter Jo was expecting from her trip to LA, it’s not like a woman who’s used to Eureka can’t be flexible.
Especially with a tongue like that, damn.
Jo yawns again, and Faith’s asleep, so Jo just relaxes and she’s out before she can do any more thinking.
Again. Feels nice.