Operation G-Spot

by Jodi Lynn Copeland

  She dealt with touchy situations on a daily basis. Had her life threatened at least twice a year by the family and friends of a victim whose supposed killer she helped walk free. Her knees had never knocked together with panic until now.

  With a trembling hand, she pushed the doorbell and waited. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. He wasn’t home. Good. No, not good. She didn’t get intimidated, time to remember that. Just in case Simon was hard of hearing, on top of old, bald, and short, she pressed the doorbell again. Another ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

  Screw this. She had better things to do than lean on his doorbell.

  She started toward the elevator, disappointment churning her insides. A husky masculine voice stopped her dead. “Did you need something?”

  A shiver snaked through her with the sexy timbre. She slowly turned—if the body matched the voice…It didn’t.

  Simon leaned out of his doorway, revealing himself from the neck up. He wasn’t her grandfather’s age or bald, but closer to her own thirty-one. But he was short, in an average way that matched his looks. Damn, she was such a narrow-minded bitch. If he was any guy but Simon, she wouldn’t even look his way twice. But this was Simon, and she was going to move past her pettiness. Kicking off the heels couldn’t hurt.

  Ah, much better. He had a good inch on her now. Not tall by any means, but at least he wouldn’t be eyes to breasts with her when standing.

  Frowning, he emerged from the doorway to reveal baggy gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that had seen better days. “Did you need something?” he repeated.

  What Fiona needed was to remember her mission and stop judging the man by his appearance. She was catching him off guard. If he’d expected her, he would have dressed differently, shaved the scruff off his face, and done something with his unruly brown hair, like comb it for what looked like might be the first time in a week.

  Taking comfort in the thought, she moved back to his door, grabbed the sides of her raincoat, and parted them. Simon’s breath dragged in on a hiss. His gaze raked over her naked body, his pupils dilating in an instant. The front of his sweatpants tented.

  Fiona purred her relief. The rest of him might be average, but that tent suggested he was packing King Simon’s twin brother. Her entire body quivered as she gave voice to her fantasies with two little words. “Fuck me.”

  2

  Jonah closed his eyes. Opened them again and blinked. Either he was having the most lifelike wet dream of his life, or Fiona was standing naked in his doorway asking him to screw her. “Excuse me?”

  “Fuck me,” she repeated, her voice breathy, her nipples so hard that if he bent down, they were liable to gouge out his eyes. Might be a good thing. If he couldn’t see, he wouldn’t know she was built like the proverbial brick shithouse.

  He’d thought he’d done a good job with Sorrina’s proportions, but it appeared he would be adjusting the curviness of her hips and narrowing out her waist a bit. His gaze slid lower, and a megadose of lust punched him in the gut. Neatly trimmed black pubic hair curled in a triangle over her mound, glistening with wetness he only had to inhale to deduce were the juices of arousal dripping from her sex.

  Jonah forced his attention to her eyes. He’d thought they were green through the telescope. They were closer to hazel. Another change needed. Shit, before he was through, he’d be lucky if his fans recognized Sorrina. At least he’d gotten her breasts right. Generous C cups topped with long brown nipples.

  Accepting this wasn’t a wet dream, that she really was standing nude in his hallway, he looked away. Fantasizing about her from afar was bad enough. If he laid a hand on her, he would never forgive himself. Lisa would never forgive him.

  Thoughts of his late fiancée knotted his gut. Anger that he could want to sleep with Fiona so badly, knowing she was the enemy, pushed through him.

  “You obviously have me confused with someone else.” He snapped the words out and turned to go back inside.

  “No confusion. I want you, Simon.”

  He swiveled back. “How do you know my name?”

  Smiling in a dangerously carnal way that made him think her daddy might just be Gotti, or at least a relative of the dead Mafia boss, she held out a padded yellow envelope he’d managed to miss during the bodily perusal—something about her lush tits and damp pussy giving him tunnel vision. “This came to my apartment by mistake.”

  Jonah grabbed the envelope and glanced at the label, saw it was from his editor. He turned the package over, surprised to find it sealed. “You didn’t open it?”

  Her smile disappeared. She thrust her hands to her hips, pushing her breasts out in the process. “Mail is a very private thing.”

  What a prude. He smiled at how contradictory the thought was from the woman he regularly watched masturbate. He caught himself then, and glared. “So are your tits and pussy, but you don’t seem to have a problem flashing them at a stranger.” He moved into his apartment and started to close the door.

  Fiona stuck her foot in the way, eyeing him through the three-inch space that remained. “Is that a no to the fuck?”

  He shouldn’t have looked down. Up until that point, he hadn’t realized she was barefoot. Hadn’t noticed that each of her toenails was painted a different color. Odd-as-hell quirk that would never fit Sorrina’s character. Or the cutthroat lawyer image he had of Fiona. It made her seem human, like she didn’t belong in a mold. It made him want to jerk her inside and suck on each one of her sexy toes. Hell.

  The sound of the elevator pinging as it reached the top floor made the decision for him. Jonah jerked her inside and slammed the door closed. The doorbell rang a handful of seconds later, followed by his mother asking if he was home. He’d asked her to stop by with her carpet cleaner. Last week’s wad shot had managed to hit the floor, as well as the curtains and windowpane. He wanted the stain gone. Every time he looked at it, he thought of Fiona riding that big black vibrator and got hard.

  “Honey? It’s Mom.”

  The door jiggled and he swore. He’d given his mother a key so that she could check in on the place when he’d been on a signing tour last year, and she obviously still had it. Urging Fiona toward his bedroom, he pushed her inside. A siren’s smile curved her mouth as she glanced at his bed. She raised a black eyebrow suggestively.

  Jonah groaned. He’d forgotten about the blatantly hard state of his cock. At her hot look, it reminded him with a pulsing throb. “Not a word,” he hissed. “I’ll be right back.”

  He darted into the bathroom and stripped. After wetting the annoyingly thick and curly hair he’d never been able to comb into submission, he shrugged into his robe, then opened the bathroom door and made his way back out to the main room. His mom sat on the couch, jotting a note on a pad of paper on the coffee table. “Hey, Ma.”

  She stopped writing to look up at him. Her dark blond hair had long since gone gray, but her eyes were still the same warm shade of ash as his own, and few wrinkles appeared when she smiled. “There you are. I left the cleaner by the door.” She tsked. “I wish you could remember what the stain’s from. I couldn’t fit all the cleaning solutions into the car with the size of the unit, so I grabbed the ones I thought might work the best.”

  Cum stain, Ma, from blowing it while watching my neighbor fuck herself. By the way, she’s probably naked in my bed right now. Jonah smirked. He could imagine her first stunned and then elated expression to that admission. “Just got out of the shower.”

  “Did I see a girl come in?” She glanced toward the hallway that led to the master bedroom, two other bedrooms, and two full baths. More rooms than he’d ever need, but then he’d bought the place with Lisa and the kids they would have in mind.

  His amusement died with the reminder of his late fiancée. She’d been killed by a drunk driver almost four years ago. It was time to move on. His mother had been telling him so for months, illustrated now by her hopeful look.

  Jonah shrugged. “If you did, she must be hiding somewhere in th
e apartment. Like I said, I was in the shower when you got here. Alone.”

  She let out an elongated sigh meant to make him feel guilty enough to start dating again. “It was probably wishful thinking, but I thought I heard a female voice coming from the bedroom.”

  He dismissed the words with a wave of his hand. “Thanks for dropping the cleaner by. I’ll walk you to the door.”

  She eyed him down hard. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Jonah?”

  “No. Okay, yeah. The next issue of Hell Bent is overdue.” That much wasn’t a lie. After whipping out two-thirds of the text following last week’s telescope session, he’d gone to bed. He hadn’t been able to form a damned sentence since. It was Fiona’s fault. She was on a cold snap. Hadn’t had a guy at her place in a couple weeks, and, unless she did it in the early morning hours, she hadn’t even paid her mac daddy of a vibrator a visit in days.

  Maybe she’d broken it, and now she was horny but without time to go window-shopping for her fuck du jour. It would explain why she was here. Waiting in his bedroom. If her actions so far were a sign, she was probably on his bed, with her thighs spread and her fingers jammed in her pussy. His shaft twitched and he just managed to stop his moan.

  He tuned back in to his mother to hear her saying, “What a shame.”

  She’d never made a secret of not loving his work—it was too extreme for her taste. At the same time, she was proud of his success, so he took her words as the teasing she meant. “Use that tone of voice around my fans and you’re liable to get horse whipped.”

  “I believe that bunch would have the whips to do it.” She laughed.

  Jonah joined her in sound but not feeling. All he could think of was the woman in his room with a whip in her hand. Sorrina owned one, used it to kill more than a few of her victims. She used it for sensual acts just as often, turning it on her lovers until they were mindless with their need. He’d spent many a night waiting for Fiona to pull out one of her own.

  His cock throbbed savagely with the imagined thwack of a whip across his ass. Despite what he wrote, he’d never been into hard-core sex. Fiona might be able to convince him to give it a try. Not that he’d ever let her get that close. After tonight and one speedy screw to get his creative juices flowing again, he wouldn’t even be watching her through his telescope.

  His body taut with anticipation, he walked his mother to the door. She opened it, then turned back to kiss his cheek. She pulled back, eyes shining with something akin to amusement. “If that girl who’s not in your bedroom decides to stay the night, you might want to remind her that her shoes are in the hall.”

  Fiona had considered displaying herself in a number of poses: naked on Simon’s bed, draped over his dresser with the raincoat concealing strategic parts, cuddled up beneath his sheets just in case he was into that sort of thing. She’d settled on leaving the raincoat on and standing right where he’d left her.

  If this guy was her Simon—with a name like Simon King, how could he not be?—she wouldn’t need to convince him to sleep with her. He would want to be the one calling the shots, to do the dominating. And she would let him, at least until they were both naked; a woman could only pretend to be submissive for so long.

  The bedroom door opened a couple minutes later, and there stood Simon. And he wasn’t average anymore.

  Fiona’s mouth watered at the sight of his bare, leanly muscled torso. Dark brown hair curled along his chest, tapering into a treasure trail that arrowed to more dark brown hair and some mighty impressive family jewels. Atop those jewels and sprouting from the nest of hair was the most luscious cock she’d ever laid eyes on. The head dark purple and pearling with precum, she didn’t need to ask to know he was ready to accept her offer. She also didn’t bother to curb her elated smile. “Like to play fair, I see.”

  “Too bad I can’t say the same about everyone.”

  The coolness of his voice had her taking a step back. “I can still leave.”

  “I wasn’t talking about your choice of seduction.”

  Then what was he talking about?

  She didn’t get the question out before his hands were on her, gripping her forearms hard, moving her backward until her legs hit the bed. They fell onto the mattress together with him on top. He didn’t waste time with kisses or strokes but stripped the raincoat from her body and grabbed a condom from the top drawer of the nightstand. Rolling it on, he settled between her thighs, nudging the plump head of his cock into her opening and then pushing deep without any thought to foreplay.

  Fiona cried out with the entry, not from pain but dizzying pleasure. She’d already been so wet for him, had been building up the wetness for years. She noticed the way he’d scented her out in the hallway, the lingering glance at her damp crotch. He’d known she was ready for immediate impact.

  Simon scooped her thighs up, gripping her legs and bending them back so that her feet circled his head. Sucking a big toe between his lips, he pulled his hips back and thrust hard inside of her. Her pussy clenched with the commanding way he entered her, gushed with moisture when he rimmed her toe with his tongue. He lapped at the pad, applying pressure in just the right spot to have her blood simmering. His hips rolled back again, giving another hard thrust. This time he didn’t stop at one, but set a fast, urgent tempo that matched the suddenly mad sucking of his mouth.

  She curled her fingers into the sheets, gaining leverage so that she could give as good as she got. Panting with the heat blistering through her and the crazy beat of her heart, she arched up, meeting him halfway, glorying in the feel of his balls slapping against her ass and the constant suckling of her big toe.

  Dear God. She’d always balked at the idea of having her toes sucked, thought it sounded comparable to having a dog stick its cold, wet nose up her ass. Simon made the act feel so heady she couldn’t stop from squealing.

  He’d called her a stranger out in the hall. He didn’t fuck like they were strangers but a man who knew her more intimately than she knew herself. In a way only her Simon would. She tested him: “Don’t be afraid to use a little force. I can take it.”

  His eyes met hers. They were the color of smoke. And the man knew exactly how to make her go up in flames. He opened his mouth, her toe slipping out. “I know what you like, Fiona. I know everything about you.”

  Her creepiness alarm should have gone off with the words, the fact that he knew her name. But Simon chose that moment to give her the added force she craved. Pulling from her sex, he moved off the side of the bed, hauling her with him. He turned her to face the bed, not bothering to give her the time to brace herself before he rammed into her dripping sex from behind, shoving himself deep while his hands roughly gripped her breasts and pinched her nipples.

  Her pussy pulsated with each fierce tug at her nipples, clenching tight and releasing with each demanding plunge of his dick. With King Simon, climax always came fast and hard. With Simon King, it was no different.

  Tension spiked through her body and had her fingernails clawing into the bedsheets. Delicious pressure balled in her belly, working its way fast to her throbbing core. Her heart gripped tight in her chest. Breathing became a thing of fiction. At the cost of dying from lack of air, she managed to scream out her triumph as her cunt exploded with cream. “I’m coming, Simon! I’m really coming!”

  He didn’t announce his orgasm, but he came seconds after her. The rush of his climax filled the condom and further warmed her insides through the latex. He stood against her a few seconds, retaining his hold on her breasts while he slowed his breathing with long, steadying inhales. Then with a grunt, he pulled out of her and turned her around so that she faced him.

  His expression neutral, Simon grabbed her raincoat from the floor and held it out. “Thanks for bringing the package by and for the fuck. I have to work now.”

  Maybe Fiona should feel put out by his quick dismissal, but at the moment she couldn’t do anything more than grin. “Anytime. King Simon.”

  3


  Fiona: O. O. O. O. O.

  Liz: Have an orgasm by any chance, Fi?

  Fiona: Not an orgasm. The orgasm.

  Kristi: King Simon’s outdone himself again?

  Fiona: No, but his human twin has.

  Liz: No way! You found Simon?

  Kristi: Oh, Fiona, honey, that is so awesome.

  Fiona: He lives next door. Well, not right next door. But in my apartment complex.

  Kristi: So, is he a beefcake?

  Liz: Or a stripper? Some of us go for the stripper types, but only if they come in packages of two.

  Kristi: Hey, I’m the bad-humor girl here. And be nice to the guys. Sunday’s coming, you know.

  Liz: Trust me, I know. You tell us all about the weekly ménage session every Sunday shortly after it happens. I end up horny and having to make a trip to Dusty’s bar to get some action.

  Fiona: Order. Order in the court! I started the chat; that gives me the floor.

  Kristi: Sorry, Fi. Didn’t mean to interrupt. So, what’s this guy like? Does he have a name?

  Fiona: It really is Simon. Simon King. Ironic, eh?

  And he’s…Well, honestly he’s not that tall or good-looking. Not that he’s bad-looking. He’s pretty average from the neck up.

  Liz: But hung like an elephant from the waist down?

  Fiona: With a Capital H.

  Kristi: Ooh…no teeny weenies, gotta love that.

  Tell me you’re seeing him again.

  Fiona: I don’t know. I was convinced I would when I left his apartment, but now something he said is bothering me. He called me by my name without my telling it to him and said he knows all about me.

  Liz: Duh. They ran that exposé on you in the “People” section of the Lansing State Journal a few months ago, remember?

  Fiona: Actually, I hadn’t. Phew. For a minute there I thought he was a stalker. Worried me a little.