“Dom,” she whispers.
“Are you touching them now, sweetheart?”
“Maybe?” she says, uncertainly.
My smile broadens as my cock stiffens further. I run my hand down the front of my trousers.
“While I’m playing with your arse, I’ll pull back and kiss the side of your breast. Underneath, where you’re really sensitive. I’ll lick my way over the curve and around a nipple. I’ll tease you for a bit, while my hands spread your cheeks below and a finger runs through your crease.”
She moans. I can picture her in her office. She’s probably shifted to the sofa in the corner and lying down. One hand on the cell phone to her ear, the other alternating between her sensitive breasts and her hot little pussy. Rubbing through her black pants. She’ll be wet.
“Undo your trousers,” I say. “Tell me when you’ve done it.”
“Dom,” she says.
“Sweetheart, it’s just you and me. The door’s closed and I’m horny. I want you. I want to lick your pussy, feast on your cunt. I want to slip two fingers inside and make you moan.”
She does moan then. It’s loud down the phone line. “Are your pants undone?” I ask, rubbing my hand over my crotch.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Slip your fingers inside and tell me what you find.”
“I’m wet,” she murmurs, almost too low for me to hear.
“And horny,” I add.
“So horny.” She’s always horny when she’s pregnant. Hell, she’s always horny when she’s not, but when she’s pregnant, I can usually persuade her to do naughty things at inappropriate times.
I undo my belt buckle and pull the zip down on my trousers. I can hear her breathing heavily. My cock springs out at the sound of my wife getting off on my voice.
“I’ll move on from your breasts, licking and kissing and nibbling over your stomach,” I say, stroking a hand up and down my aching dick. “I’ll kneel down before you, worshipping your body, and spread your folds.”
“What then?” she whispers, it’s almost a beg.
“I’ll have to stroke myself while I take a look at your perfection.”
“Are you stroking yourself now?”
“Hell yes, sweetheart. I’m imagining your sweet pussy weeping for me, begging for my tongue.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll blow against your clit. It’ll be hot. Throbbing.”
“Yes.”
“My mouth will be watering. I so want to taste you, Genevieve. Can I taste you?”
“Yes. Oh, Yes!”
I squeeze my cock at the base hard, delaying my release. Maybe Gen isn’t the only one extra horny when she’s pregnant. My wife is beautiful but when she’s pregnant, she’s irresistible.
“I can’t wait any longer,” I say in a rough voice. “I have to lean in and bury my nose in your curls. Rub my face all over your pussy. Inhale you.”
“Please,” she moans.
“Are your fingers busy, Genevieve?”
“Yes.”
“On your clit, or inside your pussy?”
“Both.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Make it three.”
She only moans.
“I’ll lay my tongue flat on your centre,” I say, stroking faster, rubbing a thumb across the tip of my cock. Pre-come smears across the broad head and I glance down, imagining Genevieve watching me now. “I’m so turned on,” I say in a guttural voice.
“Me too. Me too.”
She’s close. I’m close. Christ! I wish I was in her office instead of mine.
“You’ll taste divine,” I rasp. “Nectar from the gods. And I’ll shudder.” I shudder now. So close.
“Dom,” she begs.
“Soon, sweetheart. Thrust your fingers inside and rub a thumb over your clit and imagine it’s me, my tongue circling the little nub, teasing it, licking it, and then sucking it deep between my lips, pulling hard.”
She comes. I hear her startled cry of release, my name a soft whisper on her tongue, and I’m lost. Like I’ve been lost to this woman the moment I saw her outside the lift in my lobby. The moment she looked at me, cheeks flushed pink, and then spoke nonsensical words about coffee.
“Christ!” I say as I climax. “Genevieve,” I add, as I stroke myself to completion. “Christ,” I add, as I come down, my breaths harsh, hers just as loud down the phone.
For a moment we both say nothing, just float in the bubble that is us.
“So,” I finally manage, once my heart rate is more regular. ‘That’s the plan for tonight. Sound good?”
She giggles. “Dominic,” she says in mock-chastisement.
“I think we should have four more children after this one,” I add, grabbing some tissues off my desk and cleaning myself up. I get up and head toward the attached bathroom, my cell phone connected by Bluetooth to my earbud, making it easy to wash my hands and straighten up.
“Four?” She sounds surprised.
“Yes, four. That should take us through the next decade, and then I’ll have to think of something else.”
“Something else?”
“To keep you horny,” I explain, towelling my hands dry. I stare at myself in the mirror. The face of an inordinately happy man stares back. I smile.
“I’ll always be horny for you,” Genevieve whispers and my heart expands even more, if at all possible.
“I love you, sweetheart,” I murmur.
“I love you too, Dom,” she whispers back, sounding happy. And relaxed. And beautiful.
“Tonight,” I promise.
“Tonight,” she says.
A knock sounds on my door as I step out of the bathroom.
“I can’t wait,” I add, pressing a button on the earpiece to close the line as Finn walks into the room.
Close call. But I’m sure he’s had phone-sex before, so I just grin.
Chapter 5
You’re Safe
Finn
“Hey,” I say, as I shut the door behind me. Dom only shuts the door to his office when he’s got a high profile client in here or on the line, or when he’s talking dirty to Gen.
I’m guessing the latter. He’s too damn smug right now for it to have been a case.
“Did I interrupt?” I ask.
“Perfect timing,” he says, still smiling.
I smile back, because long ago Drew and I decided we’d pretend that only ADK-type legal things happened behind Dom’s closed door.
Denial is a beautiful thing.
"How was your weekend?" he asks, moving to his desk and taking a seat.
I sit in the chair opposite, making myself comfortable. My weekend? I stall. My weekend was long. And lonely.
I left Momoko on Saturday morning, my phone number locked into her cell. I haven't heard from her since and it's driving me crazy.
I've never been crazy for a woman before.
"My weekend was fine. Yours?"
"The Wiggles at the Aotea Centre and Auckland Zoo."
"Is Samantha old enough for the zoo?" I ask.
"You're always old enough for the zoo," Dom replies equably.
"But she won't remember a thing," I protest. Sam's two and barely talking. Unlike her irrepressible older brother.
"It's all about the journey, Finn. Not the destination. You'll see," he adds, sounding confident. "When little Drakes are running around, all you'll want is for them to be happy."
I frown. Unsure if little Drakes will feature on my horizon anytime soon.
"I think you need a wife first," I offer.
"Wife. Girlfriend." He shrugs his shoulders, looking too damn pleased with himself. "It'll happen."
I suck in a breath. It's now or never. Dom's actually making it easy for me. But that's Dom. He sees everything.
Not that coming in for a chat on a Monday is unusual, but he's sensed something. Maybe it's not something new. Maybe he's seen how unhappy I've been. I don't want to know. I'll just take th
e hand of friendship he's offering.
"How do you know?" I say. "When a woman is interested?"
Yeah, my oration skills leave a lot to be desired lately.
"She doesn't say no when you kiss her," Dom says drily.
"Not that interested," I say with a wave of my hand. "Interested interested."
"Oh, interested interested. Why didn't you say?" he teases.
I roll my eyes at him.
"Who is it?" he asks.
"No one," I immediately reply.
"Ah, an elicit liaison. How intriguing."
"Not really," I hedge. It's the most intriguing thing to have happened to me in my life.
"Did she say no when you kissed her?" Dom asks.
"Of course not."
"Then you're off to a positive start.”
I frown at him. And then man up.
"I spent Friday night with her, left Saturday morning, and haven't heard from her since," I admit. Then wince. I'm sure I saw a movie about this once. It didn't end well.
"Ah," Dom says. "Was she enthusiastic?"
"Extremely."
"How many enthusiastics?"
I hold up three fingers and grin like a Cheshire Cat. Dom stifles a laugh.
"Give her time, Finn. It's only been what? Fifty hours since you saw her last. She's recovering. I should think you are too. You are knocking on forty."
"Speak for yourself, old man. Kids age you."
"Kids keep you young."
"Whatever."
"Yes, an argument that never fails in litigation."
I smile at him. He smiles back.
And then he sobers.
"Honestly?" he says.
"Yeah?"
"You like her? Really like her?"
"Yeah," I say, swallowing.
"Then chase her. Make her yours. It's what I did. And look how that turned out?" His grin is infectious. I can't help smiling back.
All right. I'll do it. I'll chase her. How bad could it be?
I almost laugh. But I'm too excited to stop grinning.
And a little scared shitless, as well. Because Momoko is Koki Tanaka's little sister. And he's batshit crazy dangerous.
I spend a few more moments with Dom, shooting the breeze, then attack my appointments. It's with a brighter outlook on life that I leave the office at six-thirty and head home to my empty house.
I'm still a little excited, truth be told. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. About her.
I'm sure my clients noticed.
And the prospect of a cold, dark home doesn't faze me. Because tomorrow I'm going to swing by Momoko's shop. Maybe I'll buy her some flowers.
I'm chuckling to myself as I roll my car in under my garage door. The soft hum of the Lexus reverberating off the walls. Everything makes me smile. Even the sound of my 5.0 litre, 467 horsepower RC F.
It's not until I'm out of the car, approaching the internal door to the house, that I notice.
Someone's been in here.
My toolbox hasn't been pushed over or anything as obvious as that. But it has been moved. I know this, because I bumped into it this morning, rounding the hood of the car. I then took the time to place it on the bench, beside the back door.
But now it's on the floor again. Pushed up against the bench, as though shoved there in a hurry. Had it fallen from its perch, it would have spilled open; the latch doesn't work and it's top heavy.
I stare at it for a long moment, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Everything else looks in order. The back door bolted shut.
But I swear someone has been in here.
My eyes dart around, but nothing else seems out of place. I begin to wonder if I might have made a mistake.
Shaking my head, I push through the internal door and walk toward the kitchen.
Nothing's out of place here that I can see. Not that I remember clearly where everything was when I left this morning. Unlike the toolbox, I didn't pause to shift anything on my way out of the house.
I put my keys on their hook and throw my briefcase on the centre island bench, then peer inside the fridge for inspiration.
A creepy feeling rushes down my spine and I whirl away from the miserable contents of my refrigerator and stare out across the room.
This is ridiculous.
But I pause for a carving knife from the block by the sink before I head toward the dining room.
Everything looks in order here. Dust motes float on the air in the fading light through the window. Nothing makes a sound; you could hear a mouse fart, it's so quiet.
I roll my shoulders and walk into the lounge, the knife out before me like a shield. I grip it almost too tightly.
The lounge is empty; I'm strangely disappointed. My palm is sweating where it holds the handle on the knife. I flex my fingers, scanning the room for any changes.
The TV remote is on the floor, but I could have left it there last night. Sports mags are scattered over the coffee table; I never stack them. The cushions on the couch are scrunched up, as though I just got up and didn't fluff them
An intruder would look under cushions, wouldn't they?
I let out a slow breath of air, glad Momoko can't see me now; afraid of shadows.
By the time I make it my bedroom, I think I might be imagining things. But this time, there's no mistaking I've had a home invasion.
Someone has taken a dump on the middle of my bed. I scrunch my nose up, surprised I didn't smell it before I made it into here. But I cleaned the main bathroom across the hall on the weekend and the bleach is still permeating the air out there.
I stare at the pile of shit just sitting there and then I start to laugh.
Who does this kind of thing?
I check the rest of the bedrooms, leaving the clean-up in the master until later - I've already decided to roll the duvet and bedding up and chuck the whole thing - and everything appears in order.
But not so when I make it to my home office.
It's been trashed. The laptop. The stereo. The wall mounted TV. The filing cabinet is on the floor, scratch marks indicate where they've broken the locks on the drawers. Folders are scattered everywhere. Ink from broken fountain pens has been splattered across the walls.
My diploma has been torn out of its frame and ripped into shreds, then set alight in an ashtray.
I'm dumbfounded. Silent. The knife forgotten at my side.
I walk over to the desk - the only piece of furniture still standing - and stare at the lettering carved into the leather insert on top.
It's in hanzi or maybe kanji. In my current state, I can't tell the difference.
For a horrible moment, I think this message is from Koki.
But then sanity returns and I get out my cell phone. It takes a few minutes to determine the characters are Chinese.
It takes longer to translate them.
If you walk on snow, you cannot hide your footprints.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? It sounds like a proverb. Another quick search on the Internet shows it’s one meant to convey harmony. I scan the destruction of my office and snort. There is nothing harmonious about what has been done here.
Instead I see this as a threat.
Is Momoko the snow? Are they trying to tell me not to walk on the snow? That they’ll find me? And then what?
This is a message from the Triads, I’m sure. I knew those CCTV cameras would come back to haunt me. Just not from the avenue I had thought.
The 14K Triads know I helped Momoko escape them. Maybe they see themselves as the snow, and I’m leaving my dirty, interfering footprints in them.
Why do they want her?
I shake my head. I’m getting nowhere with this. And although I’ve been vandalised, there is nothing in this room worth taking. All my confidential case files are at the office. These idiots have just gone through the last seven years’ worth of tax returns.
Still, I should report this. But if they know I was there on High Street, and
they could only know that through the CCTV system used by the police, maybe staying quiet for now would be wisest.
I’ll sound Momoko out tomorrow, see if she reacts to a couple of hints.
And I’ll visit Nick at ASI. It probably wouldn’t hurt to get some home security. If the woman I’m after is being chased by the Triads, I’d better start covering our arses.
It doesn’t occur to me to drop this. Drop her. I can’t. She’s in my crosshairs now, my finger hovering over the trigger.
And perhaps that analogy sums up everything.
For now, though, I’m beat. And there’s a certain deposit on my bedspread that needs dealing with.
By the time I’ve finished throwing out my linens, remaking the bed, and tidying up the office - not to mention scrubbing the fucking ink off the walls - I’m knackered.
I don’t even eat dinner, but fall into bed, having checked the locks and windows about a dozen times, and sleep fitfully. When the morning sun blasts through a crack in my curtains and nails me in the eyes, and birds are singing in the trees outside my bedroom window like fucking banshees, I’m a wreck.
I wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. And I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t just tuck tail and run. But once I’m showered, bombarded with caffeine, and walking out to the car, I feel a million miles better.
Momoko’s giggles filter through my mind. Followed up by how spectacular she looked in that silk dress trading punches with a Triad.
The house disappears in the rearview mirror as I drive down the street, excitement at the day ahead setting my stomach fluttering with anticipation. One last glance at my bungalow and I push it from my mind. Push the entire night from my mind and look toward the day’s horizon.
But just as I turn the corner, losing sight of my home, I see them. I’m being followed.
It takes a while to determine I am. Remuera is busy this time of day. But the black SUV continues to follow me as I take shortcuts down side streets and weave back toward my house and then the office on Queen Street.
It’s definitely following me. No sane person would take this route into the city.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I make Shore Road, unsure what to do about this. My gut tells me to go to the police. My head tells me the police, at least those with access to the CCTV system, can’t be trusted. My heart just pounds away inside my chest like a fucking drumbeat.
Sweet Seduction Sayonara Page 5