by Jewel Geffen
What would a man see, looking at her? She couldn't help but wonder. What did her husband see? What had Jordan Bishop seen?
She cultivated a rather sexless appearance, for the most part. You had to, if you were woman who wanted to be taken seriously in her profession. Subtle make-up, restrained dress, simple hairstyle. She liked to think, however, that at least some measure of her femininity showed through despite it all.
She liked to think that Jordan had seen her as a woman, and not just a lawyer.
That was a foolish thing to think, she knew that. He hadn't come to Schiller, Schiller and Mason looking for sex or romance. He just wanted to help his sister stay out of prison – hardly an effective aphrodisiac.
Natalie undid the first few buttons of her blouse, studied her bust in the mirror. The pale curve of her small breasts showed in the opening. A hint of the lace bra, a shadow of cleavage, a little something to catch the eye...
She thought what it might have been like if she'd stepped into that conference room looking like this. It wouldn't be outrageous by any means, he wouldn't have even registered it as strange, most likely. But he might have noticed her in a different way. She imagined what it would feel like to have those dark eyes on her, seeing her as a sexual woman, and she felt a little shudder of excitement.
“You're being silly, Natalie,” she murmured, so quietly that it was scarcely audible, even to herself.
She wasn't getting what she needed, that was it. She had been shutting off the physical side of herself for too long, and it was starting to affect her. How long had it been now since she'd had sex? A few weeks, she thought, though it had been a good deal longer since she'd had anything better than the most perfunctory of quickies.
Maybe it was time to fix that.
She undid a few more buttons, letting the blouse slip off her shoulder just a little. She looked at the smooth shape of her shoulder, skin like pale cream under the thin black strap of her bra. Maybe, she thought, she should try and apologize to her husband.
Maybe it wasn't so bad, anyway. He had a hobby, so what? Lots of people played video games these days. And so what if she supported him? Lots of her co-workers – albeit male ones, usually – supported their spouses, and even would have opposed them going to work.
She could afford to cut him some slack. It might help smooth things over between them, could even put them back on the road to some kind of normal relationship. She would stop waiting for him to change, and she would take the first step, be the one to reach out.
It wasn't a possession in which she felt entirely comfortable. Despite everything, she still harbored the idea that this sort of thing was a man's job. Perhaps that was unfair of her.
Natalie took a deep breath and let her blouse fall to the kitchen floor. She slipped her charcoal gray pencil skirt down and kicked it off.
For a moment she stood there, admiring herself in the mirror. Clad in nothing but her bra and panties, garter belt and stockings, she thought that she looked pretty good. Don't sell yourself short, girl, she thought, trying to psyche herself up, you're a knockout.
She turned around, admiring the shape of her bottom in the lacy black panties. It had a nice curve to it; it looked full and plump on her slender figure. Was it true what people said about black men? That they liked white women with nice bottoms?
She shook her head, as if trying to physically dislodge the thought. No, she wasn't going to think about him right now. She had to keep her mind focused on the task at hand.
She stood up straight and ran her hands slowly down the smooth skin of her sides and hips, trying to smooth away her nervousness. And why should she be nervous? She'd been married to this man for half a decade. There was nothing to be nervous about.
The image of a certain other person's penetrating dark eyes flashed through her head, and she felt a little quiver down there.
Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she crossed the house. It made her feel strangely powerful, wearing them and very little else. Like she'd accessed some kind of powerful sexual energy.
She walked right up to the door of her husband's office and she rapped smartly on it with her knuckles. She waited a moment. “Todd?”
No response.
“Todd, could I come in?”
Nothing.
She stood there for a long moment, biting her lower lip and holding herself uncertainly. She wasn't going to stand here waiting until she lost her nerve. She grasped the doorknob and gave it a twist. Not locked, anyway. She wasn't going to walk in on him jerking off to lesbian porn again, at least.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“I told you I need more heals, my DPS isn't high enough to take on three Gorgons without some...” he trailed off as he watched her step into the room, her eyes locked on his own.
She tried to summon up a measure of that assurance and sense of control which Jordan had exerted upon her earlier that day. She tried to project an air of total confidence as she walked slowly towards him.
“Uh, Sylvaneth, I think I have to log off, actually. Something, uh, something's come up.”
Natalie grinned at the unintended double entendre. Something was indeed coming up; she could see the bulge of his erection showing through the loose material of his pajama pants. Not a big bulge, but something. She came around his desk, never once taking her eyes off him.
Todd clawed his headphones off, gaping up at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. “Uh... hi,” he said.
“I just feel really bad about earlier,” she purred, rested on the edge of his desk and letting her eyes slowly fall from his face to his crotch, “I'm sorry about forgetting your card. I know it was important to you.”
Her husband gulped, “Uh, actually, it turned out okay. I, um, maybe have overreacted a bit.”
“Well... I thought maybe I could make it up to you a little bit.”
“Oh?” he said, his voice slightly choked.
She sank to her knees in front of his desk chair and put her hands on his thighs, moving them slowly back and forth. “I've been thinking... maybe you could use a little personal attention.”
She felt a bit silly, acting like this, like she was playacting some kind of movie seductress. It seemed to be working for Todd, though, he was gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were going white.
She brushed her hands against the little tent he'd made in his pants. “Hm... nice and hard. Maybe... I could use my mouth? I know how much you like that...” She caressed the little ivory button holding his fly shut.
“Oh my God,” he said, his back tensing in anticipation.
She grinned, and undid the button.
“Oh my God,” he said again, a little more hoarsely.
She reached in and wrapped her fingers around the hard length of his cock. It was about average length, just under five inches. It had been a long time since she'd given him a blow job. Tonight, though, she was going to make an exception. She was going to make a gesture. In the back of her head, she couldn't help but picture her lips wrapping around the head of a thick black nine inch dick, and of hearing Jordan Bishop's low groan as he sank his manhood into her mouth...
“Oh God!” Todd whimpered, twisting and writhing in his chair as she gave a single stroke, her hand still inside his pants. He quivered and shook, jerking spasmodically. A moment later he moaned weakly and slumped back.
She stared at him in disbelief. There was a little wet spot showing through on the front of his pajamas. Had he just...?
“Wow, honey, thanks... Man, that was great. Phew!” He chuckled with satisfaction. “Very nice.”
He had cum. She'd barely even touched him, and he'd gone off like a fizzing bottle rocket. She hadn't even started. Certainly hadn't gotten to get anything for herself. She'd been expecting that they would, you know, have sex.
From the look of sleepy contentment on her husband's face, however, that didn't look to be very much in the cards for tonight, however.
&
nbsp; “Uh... you're welcome,” she said, stunned.
“Man...” he sighed, “that was great. I'm just going to wrap up here real quick, then I'll log off and come to bed, alright? Been a long day, I could use some sleep.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling dazed. She was still keyed up, still yearning, still feeling like she needed something. It didn't look like she was going to get it from Todd, though. Not tonight, and probably not any other night.
He kissed her gently on the cheek, grinned, and slipped his headphones back on. “Sylvaneth? You still on?”
She left the room in a daze, climbing the stairs to her bedroom on the second floor and flopping down on the mattress with a groan. Todd had been sleeping in a separate bedroom for almost a year now. He'd woken her up too often coming back from gaming sessions at three or four in the morning, and she'd insisted they stop sleeping together, as it was interfering with her ability to get a good night's rest for work.
Natalie stared up at the ceiling, feeling bitter and sad.
She couldn't do this. At least, she couldn't do it forever. She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. She needed a man. And she didn't know if she could wait much longer.
Chapter Six
Natalie tilted the rear-view mirror and glanced nervously once more at her reflection. She was wearing more makeup than was usual for her. It hadn't been a decision she'd consciously made, but it was inescapably true. And equally inescapable was that fact that she had done it for him.
Jordan Bishop was waiting for her. Her work docket was cleared at the moment, with the Armstrong case swept off her plate by Jack. She hadn't even bothered showing up at the office today. Jordan had left a voicemail on her phone saying that he'd meet her here, at this dingy-looking downtown eatery.
She undid the top button of her blouse, then buttoned it back up again, then unbuttoned it once more. She wanted to present herself as professional, but she wanted him to notice her too. She had to figure out just the right balance. God, she hadn't felt like this since high school...
Not a date, she kept telling herself, it's not a date. This was just about business. If it had been a date, it would have been a very different sort than she was used to.
She had never been in this part of the city before. It made her more than a little nervous, to be entirely honest. Ethnic music blared from every window, ebony-skinned men and women lounging on their stoops and watching the traffic go by. They all seemed to be either smiling broadly, showing off white teeth and laughing at some private joke Natalie told herself couldn't have anything to do with her own presence among them, or else wearing dark expressions of what appeared to be intense and real anger. Nothing in between, all emotion turned to one extreme or the other.
“What the hell am I doing here?” she asked herself under her breath.
Natalie had never spent any time in this sort of neighborhood. She didn't have anything against black people, of course. She was an enlightened, modern woman. She wasn't racist by any stretch, she was sure of that. The fact was, however, that all this was well outside of her sphere of experience. She felt adrift here, unstable.
It was a far cry from the pristine and affluent world of law offices and courtrooms, that was for sure. She was out of her depth. She felt suddenly very self-conscious about her shining new car, then chastised herself for entertaining the thought.
Tap! Tap!
She jumped, almost letting out a scream and only just managing to contain the outburst. She put a hand to her heart and looked over. Jordan himself was leaning against the side of her car, his knuckles raised to rap on the glass, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He'd forgone the suit from the other day in favor of a simpler outfit. Dark jeans and a well-worn but comfortable looking hoodie unzipped in the front to reveal a tight white shirt that seemed to show off every detail of the sculpted muscles of his chest.
Natalie rolled down the window. “Jesus, where'd you come from?”
He nodded across the street. “I was just coming along.”
She frowned. “And you figured you'd knock on the window of the first car you saw?”
Jordan chuckled slightly. “Not exactly. Car like yours sticks out a bit around here.”
“Yeah... um... about that....”
“Don't worry,” he said, “nobody's going to touch it. They know you're with me.”
She felt a strange little thrill run through her like a tingle of electricity. You're with me. She knew she shouldn't read anything into that. It would be stupid, childish and naive. There was no hidden meaning, no subtle invitation. Just a statement of fact.
“You have breakfast already?”
“Not really,” she said, reasoning that the little single-serve packet of granola she'd eaten in the car didn't count.
He cocked his head to one side, “Come on then, place is right up here. We'll get some foot and talk.”
“Okay,” she said, grabbing her briefcase and opening the door. Stay professional, Nat, stay professional.
She locked the car door behind her, of course, and despite his assurance she couldn't help but feel nervous about leaving it here. She'd spoken to other lawyers who'd had less expensive cars ripped off in nicer neighborhoods than this one.
Jordan led her up a narrow and slightly rickety staircase into a nondescript doorway. There was a small handmade sign reading The Eats. She gave it a dubious look as they went in, but didn't say a word.
The restaurant inside was small but neat. It had a strangely cozy feel. A single old couple sat at a corner table, the men man hidden behind his newspaper and the woman knitting, her needles clacking softly.
“I figured this would be a good place to discuss things,” he said, “nice and quiet. And the food's good.”
“I'll take your word for it.”
He pulled a chair out and ushered her into it, then sat across from her. A young black woman with her hair wrapped in a white bandanna poured them both coffee. “Just the usual, Millie,” he said, hardly looking up.
“Comin' up, Bishop,” she said.
“You're a regular, then?” Natalie asked, watching the waitress disappear back into the kitchen.
“Something like that,” he grinned. “My uncle owns the place.”
“Ah.”
He set his hands on the table, the fingers interlaced. “Okay,” he said, “talk to me. What are you going to do?”
Natalie gulped. Getting right to it then, eh? What had she been expecting? That they would just make small talk while he complimented her makeup and let his eyes stray to the open buttons on her blouse? This was business. She set her briefcase in her lap, tapping her fingertips on the patent leather. “I'm still reviewing the case, but it doesn't look good.”
He nodded, running his tongue across the front of his teeth, looking like he wanted to speak but was reserving himself. She'd come to recognize that as a sign that someone ought to be taken seriously. A serious man knew when to hold back.
“Your sister's in a bad spot. Possession like this is a serious crime, and she was caught dead-to-rights. If it had been a smaller quantity, or a different drug – marijuana, maybe – we might have had more to work with. She doesn't have any history of drug-related crime, so that will work in our favor.”
“My sister's never done drugs,” he said, shaking his head slightly, “not once.”
“Are you sure about that?” she asked. “Absolutely sure? A trial can bring out all sorts of ugly secrets, you know. In my experience, the darker the secret, the more likely it is that it was hidden from the family. You might learn some things about your sister that you don't like during this process.”
“I'm sure,” he said, not upset, but not budging one bit.
“Mind if I ask why?”
“Because I asked her,” he said, “and I'd know if she was lying.”
He held her for a long moment in his gaze, their eyes locked together. She felt that same sensation of being swept off her feet as before, and k
new that it would be pointless to question him further on this. He had that look of his, brimming with confidence and self-assurance, which would brook no argument.
She only hoped he was right, and that they weren't going to be blindsided by new evidence at the worst possible moment. Something like that could break a case. Being a lawyer meant preparing for the worst outcome, and having an argument ready to hold against it. Getting caught flat-footed was a death sentence.
“Honestly,” she said, “the best we can hope for is some kind of deal. Plead guilty and hope for a light sentence.”
“It wasn't her dope. She had no idea it was there.”
“They're not going to buy that,” she explained, trying to remain patient and calm, without giving any ground. “If we step into the courtroom and offer that as our defense, your sister is going to get destroyed, I guarantee it. This is a tough spot she's in. Innocent or guilty, she's going to be facing hard time for it, that's just the way it is.”
“What if there was another way?” he said.
She spread her hands. “I'm all ears.”
Jordan leaned forward, his eyes focused and intense, and he made the suggestion then that would set her on the path which would lead her, inexorably, into a whirlwind of danger and intrigue the likes of which she could not have imagined possible.
“We need the person who actually owns the drugs to come forward. We need to find her boyfriend, guy named Melvin Quinn, and we need to make him confess.”
Chapter Seven
“Make him confess?” she parroted nervously back. She didn't like the sound of this much. Chasing down a drug-dealing gang member in order to make him do anything sounded to her like the sort of activity best left to the police.
“What other choice do we have?” he asked, blowing across his steaming coffee and taking a sip. “Like you said, the way things stand now, my sister doesn't have a chance. If we get the guy, and get him to talk, we have a bargaining chip.”