“You can reassign some of your—”
“The hell I will,” she cut him off. “Listen, I’ll be in at six tomorrow and look over the file.”
“Perfect,” Parker replied smoothly. “Let me know what you decide.”
They both knew she’d take the case, because that was what she did.
*
Trey fingered the business card she’d received two weeks earlier tucked into a cream-colored note card from a woman with whom she’d once had a brief but intense affair. The flowing script was concise and to the point.
Trey, darling, you’ll find what you’re looking for here. Trust me—you won’t be disappointed.
Love, J.
“Will I? And how would you know?” Trey murmured, as she dropped the card onto the table next to her briefcase and walked out the door.
Less than ten minutes later, she studied a simple brass plaque next to the stairwell leading down to the garden level of an elegant brownstone in Society Hill. Aurora. From the sidewalk, she could just make out a heavy, ornately carved wooden door with a small peephole.
After receiving the note from J., she’d made some discreet inquiries. Word of mouth had it that this club was members only—exclusive, elite, and catering to those with eclectic tastes. Fortunately, J. had also provided her a reference. They’d ended on good terms even though Trey had been forced to tell her that monogamy was not in her nature, nor was a serious relationship. She just didn’t have time. Tonight, though, she had all the time in the world.
She pressed the buzzer set into the carved wooden frame and put on her best cool-as-ice courtroom face. As she waited, unblinking, staring at the small hole in the door, she wondered what the eye on the other side gleaned from her appearance. Her butter-soft, midthigh, black leather skirt and three-inch heels wouldn’t be apparent through the aperture, although her nearly sheer black satin blouse might be. Shoulder-length dark hair, subtly cut to hold its casual style no matter the wind or weather. Light make-up, clear, pale complexion, hazel eyes gleaming even in the dim light. Piercing eyes—hard, unreadable eyes most of the time. Once in a while emotion surfaced—when the woman in her arms touched her heart as well as her body, fleetingly, unexpectedly. Rarely. When the stress of a particularly grueling case wore her down; when she was weary. But not tonight—tonight she was high on success; tonight she was in control. All she wanted was a diversion before the battle was joined again—a few moments when all that mattered was the pleasure.
The door opened, she made the necessary responses, and the immaculately tailored guardian of the gate allowed her entrance. She walked down the long, shadowed corridor toward the even darker room at the rear, feeling the rhythm of the music through the floor, aware of the answering beat of her heart. Her blood surged, stirring with the excitement of the unknown. What, or who, awaited her in the arena where titles and names and histories had no meaning? Where only the moment was real, and the reality you chose to create was all that existed. You were anyone you chose to be for as long as the spell lasted. All that was required was the right partner to join in the game.
After securing a drink and a place along the highly polished bar, Trey surveyed the room. Muted recessed lights, a requisite space for dancing, and some intriguing alcoves along the perimeter suggested this was not the type of club designed for simple socializing. Good choice, J. You do know me well. I’ll have to thank you properly one of these days.
A fleeting thought of just how she would do that fled as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she found something of more immediate interest. Blond, built, and at the moment encased in black leather pants and a black silk shirt open far enough to expose one small, firm breast nearly to the nipple. Trey’s senses rippled at the thought of how good that body would feel under her.
Sipping her drink, she took her time, letting the anticipation build. She watched the blonde watch the crowd, a lioness hunting. The first time their eyes met, there was only a momentary hesitation, a slight flicker of appreciation, before the insouciant gaze glided away. But the second time the blonde’s attention focused on Trey, it lingered, sweeping over her from head to toe, caressing her with almost tangible intensity. She felt herself swell, grow damp, throb. Oh yes—that sweet mindless panacea for loneliness and rage. So welcome—sensation replacing thought, desire replacing longing, lust replacing...
Trey set her glass down carefully and slipped into the crowd. She’d had enough. She was ready.
A moment later, Trey moved out of shadow to stand quite close to the austere blonde with, she could now see, the brilliant blue eyes. When their gazes met, the flare of desire was reciprocal. Trey smiled, then looked down to appreciate the expanse of skin laid bare by the partially open shirt, the trim fit of hips, the... Trey caught her breath, sucking her lower lip between her teeth to stifle the gasp as she focused on the leather-clad crotch. Casually, she lifted her eyes to search the handsome face and caught the faint grin before it was quickly extinguished. God, she’s an insolent thing, and so fucking hot. And she knows it. We’ll have to take care of that right now.
Not to be outdone, Trey angled her body to mask her movements and cupped the bulge so obvious now under the fly of the tight black pants. She squeezed the cock lightly in her palm, then rocked it once, twice; on the third time, the other woman gasped.
“I hope this isn’t just for show,” Trey whispered, stepping closer still. Her breasts pressed against the woman’s arm, and her skirt rode up high on her thighs as she loosely straddled one long, tight leg.
“Oh,” the woman murmured, covering the hand in her crotch with her own and pumping into it, “it works just fine.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Trey studied the sharp planes of the
woman’s face, caught the glint of arousal and something else—amusement?—in her eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Les.”
“Mmm, that’s nice. Neat and to the point.” Trey continued to thrust her hips gently as she slowly manipulated the cock beneath the hot leather. She knew damn well every movement was rubbing its base over Les’s clit, and she hoped to hell it was making Les as hot as she was getting from rocking on her leg.
“Careful,” Les warned softly, her breath a hot breeze in Trey’s ear, “you’ll make me come in my pants.”
“Mmm, no you don’t,” Trey murmured, easing off on her hand motion, but not letting go. “Too easy. I want to make this last.”
“What’s this, exactly?” Les moved her mouth over Trey’s neck in a series of slow kisses. Toying with Trey’s earlobe with her teeth, she slid her fingers beneath the edge of Trey’s skirt and smoothed her palm up the inside of her thigh. Her breath caught at the first touch of bare, silky skin but before she could reach the hot vee between Trey’s thighs, Trey grabbed her wrist to stop her explorations. “Off limits?”
“Not necessarily,” Trey replied, moving her hand from between Les’s legs and replacing it with her thigh. “Just my rules. Can you handle that?”
Les slipped her arms around Trey’s waist and brushed her lips against Trey’s cheek, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. ???What if I say no?” She moaned in surprise as Trey pushed hard against her crotch, driving the cock firmly down onto her clit. “Oh fuck...that’s good.”
“Is that a yes?” Trey ran her tongue over Les’s upper lip, then eased inside her mouth to stroke and explore. She caught Les’s tongue and sucked on it rhythmically, mirroring the motion with her thrusting hips until Les moaned again. “I’m sorry. Did I hear a yes?”
“Christ,” Les panted. “Yes.”
“I’m just a few blocks away,” Trey said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. The firm pressure of the phallus in Les’s pants rubbing against her clitoris through the thin layers of leather was almost too good to bear. She was hot and hard and wet. She wanted those fingers to move up her thigh to the heat between her legs, to stroke through the swollen folds, to slide into the wet, aching... She caught back a moan of her own. �
��Can you walk that far without this cock making you come?”
Les smiled, that half-smile of impudence and challenge. “I’ll manage if you stop jerking it off.”
Trey frowned. “Well—for a minute or two.”
“Then let’s not waste any more time.” Les took her hand. “I’m not made of stone.”
“Oh baby, I know,” Trey whispered as she led her into the night.
*
Silently, Trey drew Les across the darkened living room to her bedroom. A night-light glowed faintly in the adjoining bath, casting shadows in long fingers across the walls and illuminating the bed.
“Take your shirt off and lie down,” Trey said quietly, reaching beneath the coverlet to the drawer built into the platform bed. The soft clink of metal sounded in the air.
Les hesitated for one second. Her rules, remember. Then, a decision made, she released the few remaining buttons on her shirt and stripped it off. The muscles in her chest and arms were tight with anticipation.
“On your back,” Trey added, not looking at her.
Wordlessly, Les complied, not resisting as the soft leather cuffs closed around her ankles and wrists. Even when her arms and legs were spread almost to the point of discomfort, she did not speak. To speak would break the spell and shatter the acknowledgment of her willingness to be taken. Incongruously, her cock thrust up against the restraint of her leather pants, an impotent sign of her power reduced to servitude. Her clit pounded beneath it, stimulated both by its presence and her inability to use it.
Trey stood beside the bed, slowly disrobing. “Are you hard for me yet?”
“You know the answer,” Les rasped.
“Mmm. I like to hear you tell me.” She watched in fascination as Les twisted subtly against the restraints—not from pain, but from insistent desire. Les was breathing faster now—a thin mist of sweat glistened on her breasts and belly, and her hips thrust upward, the bulge of constrained phallus clearly evident. Trey climbed onto the bed, naked, the first trickle of arousal sheening her thighs. “Are you?”
“Like a stone.” Les’s eyes followed the sway of Trey’s full breasts and her throat tightened with want. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”
Trey straddled Les’s slim hips, hovering just above the leather-covered cock. “How bad do you want to fuck me?”
“Bad—so fucking bad,” Les moaned, trying to push her hips up into Trey’s wetness.
“I’ll bet you do.” Trey leaned forward and settled onto Les’s stomach, arching her back as her clitoris encountered hot skin for the first time. Oh God. Careful. Careful. Gritting her teeth against the instant surge of pleasure, she dangled her breasts just out of reach of Les’s searching lips. Les’s swift intake of breath, an almost hungry, desperate sound, made her clitoris twitch, and again, she fought back a warning twinge of arousal. I will not come. Not until...oh yes, that’s so nice...not until I’m ready.
Trey lowered her head to take one tight, hard nipple into her mouth. As she bit down, she settled firmly onto the ridge of leather over Les’s cock, sliding slowly along its length. Her moan melted into Les’s, their bodies jerking as one.
“Oh man,” Les gasped. “That’ll make me come.” The muscles in her neck stood out beneath satin skin as she arched higher, trying to get more of her breast into Trey’s mouth. “Please,” she cried sharply as Trey pulled on her nipple with her teeth, then abruptly released it to the cool night air.
“Not yet,” Trey directed thickly, struggling to ignore the urgent tingling in her clitoris where it dragged over the prominence in Les’s pants. “I’ll...tell you when.”
“Soon,” Les implored. The pressure on and in her clit was approaching the boiling point as Trey kept up the steady slide. “I won’t last.”
Pinching Les’s nipple with one hand, Trey lifted her hips, reached down with her other hand, and worked Les’s zipper down. “Now how much do you want to fuck me?”
“More than I want to breathe.” Les was close to weeping. “Please take it out. Please touch it. Please let me fuck you. Oh God...please.”
Trey slipped her fingers inside Les’s fly and grasped the pliable cock, warm with Les’s body heat. She pulled it free until it projected upward between the spread folds of Les’s fly. Gripping the shaft, she rubbed the head between her own soaked lips.
Les watched Trey fist her cock and whimpered.
“Ah—yes, baby,” Trey groaned as she slid the smooth head over and around the exposed tip of her clitoris. Her eyes closed against her will as she began to thrust rhythmically against it. She wanted to come badly, had wanted to from the first moment she’d seen the outline of the cock nestled against Les’s belly. She wanted to ride Les until they were both coming, uncertain—uncaring—of who fucked whom. “Oh yes.”
Les panted in the near darkness, a prisoner of the relentless motion mercilessly working her clit to the bursting point. “I’m...gonna...comeyou’remakingmecome...”
“Don’t.” Trey forced her eyes open and bent her head to watch as she slowly slid the long cock into herself. As she took it in, swallowed it deep inside, the intense pressure filled her pelvis and her muscles spasmed rapidly around it. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, that’s so nice, baby.”
Trey leaned forward, lacing her fingers through Les’s above the cuffs, one nipple level with Les’s lips. “Suck it,” she gasped as she rocked her hips up and down the shaft, pushing and pulling her clit along its length. She was very close to coming already, but oh, how she wanted it to last. She hadn’t counted on Les being able to move.
“Oh—sweet God!” Trey cried in surprise as Les jerked her hips, burying the cock just a little deeper. “Don’t... Wait—”
“Can’t,” Les grunted, increasing the tempo of her thrusts. “Gotta come...now.”
No, not until I say. Not until I... Oh yes. There. There... Just like that. Trey was lost, the swirling ribbons of release escaping her control as her hips flailed, her body erupting. The orgasm raced down her legs, streaked through her spine, and burst into a rainbow of color behind her eyes. “Oh noooo...”
“Oh yeah.” Les surrendered with a deep groan of her own, and for a moment all was motion and sound as they fought their way to peace.
Sighing, Trey collapsed onto Les’s chest, her face pressed to Les’s neck, her body trembling around the cock inside her. She managed to raise one hand and release the snaps on the arm restraints. “You pack quite a punch,” she whispered in Les’s ear, feeling herself contract around the cock in a small series of aftershocks.
“Yeah.” Les stroked Trey’s back, holding her close. “And you fuck like a girl.”
“Perfectly,” they said in unison.
Ride
J.C. Chen
There’s a bar on the outskirts of town that I like to frequent. If this were Texas you’d call it a saloon, but here in Jersey—a land with no quaintness or jargon—a bar is a bar is a bar. Hell, a 7-Eleven could pass for a bar if you happen to be driving through Secaucus on a Saturday night.
It’s not a big place. There’s a jukebox next to the entrance that plays Springsteen, Bon Jovi, and other assorted Jersey classics. It’s playing “Born to Run” when I walk in and it will play “Born to Run” at least a half dozen more times before I leave. The bar itself is a circular wooden island in the middle of the room. The bartenders are nice to look at but impossible to get the attention of. They serve two beers on tap: lukewarm Miller Lite and some overpriced local swill that passes for lager. They do have about fifty different bottled beers on the menu, including some impressive Belgian lambics, but when you look around the room, most of the women have Coors longnecks in their hands.
I like to hang out at the back of the bar, near the ratty pool table where the butches like to posture with their pool sticks while overdone femmes fawn and hang all over them. Nobody actually plays pool, since the felt’s all torn up and the even-numbered balls have been missing since the early nineties. But those butches sure look extra butchy twirling those cue
s like some dyke Tom Cruise out of The Color of Money. It’s a predominantly bridge-and-tunnel clientele, but the kind of B&T that can’t quite get their acts together to actually make it over the bridges or through the tunnels to Manhattan, where the real action lies.
On good days, this place is packed with fine women who don’t take no for an answer. On bad days, like today, the place is teeming with floozies who don’t give no as an answer.
In short, good day or bad, this is the best place to get laid this side of the Hudson.
I’m just about to call it a night when I see her standing across the room, her eyes telegraphing an invitation and a threat. There’s an empty stool next to her and already I can see the floozies circling. Silly girls. Don’t they realize what they’re courting? Surely they must know that to be taken into her space, to be enveloped by the energy that is rippling outward from her like tremors from a fault line, is to surrender to danger wrapped in a cloak of sexual electricity. And even as my mind fumbles around that thought, my body draws ever closer to her.
I’m not sure exactly when it happens—probably soon after we make eye contact—but there’s a distinctive sensation, like a tightening in my chest, when I know I’m doomed. She inclines her head slightly and I drop eagerly, wordlessly, into the seat next to her. Most of the other girls begin to disperse at this point. Although a few of them stay around, whether out of curiosity or spite, I’m not sure.
She lets me buy her a fancy German beer although I sense that she is more amused than flattered by my gallantry. I love the way she holds her bottle: so dangerously loose that it might drop and shatter, yet elegantly indifferent, as if that would be someone else’s problem. Her fingers are long and slender, her skin tanned and smooth. She’s taller than I am with the long, lean frame of a distance runner. Her shoulder-length hair is an unremarkable shade of brown but her eyes—a mercurial hazel that shades continuously from dark amber to vivid green—more than compensate as her most arresting feature.
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