by Linda Verji
Pretty soon she was lost in the sheer wonder of his kiss. She ceased struggling and let him take the lead in their dance. Parry, thrust. Suckle, nip. "Mm mm."
So steeped was she in passion, she didn't even notice when he relaxed his hold on her arms or moved his hands to the hem of her tee. It was only when she felt a cool current sweep over her naked breasts and stiff nipples that she realized what he was doing. She should've resisted but between his soft nibbles on her mouth, quick flip of the tee over her head then quick return to their kisses, her marbles were scrambled. She didn't even protest when he turned his attention to her shorts. In fact she lowered her legs from his thighs, even lifted up so he could pull them out from under her.
Then she was naked. Exposed.
She could feel every brush of air against her skin as she stared at his silhouette kneeling between her legs. Her nerves knotted in near painful anticipation, she held her breath and for his next move. It was well worth the wait.
He lowered himself back over her and his lips met hers again. With soft, gentle kisses, he coaxed her back into relaxation. She wound her fingers into his hair and cupped the back of his head as they kissed enjoying his taste and the confident, expert sweeps of his tongue. After suckling on her lips one last time, he separated their mouths. But it was only so he could kiss his way down her body.
A kiss on the side of her lips.
A nip on her jaw.
A lick down the line her throat.
"Aaah," she sighed as his tongue flicked over the sensitive skin between her collarbones. Her grip on the back of his head tightened when he kissed a path down to the valley between her breasts. She arched upwards in delight when he blew on one nipple, then the other. But it was when his tongue circled one swollen areole that she almost jumped out of her skin.
Heat. Fire. Flames. It felt like something inside her would burn, break, shatter if he didn't stop teasing her. Her gasp sounded in the silent night and fingers curled into his hair in unconscious pleading when he took her nipple into his mouth.
Suckling, laving, nipping.
If there was a heaven, Misha had discovered its location - under Danny. His hand rose up to cup her other breast. He squeezed it and rolled the nipple as his mouth wreaked havoc on the other one. Her whole being flowered in arousal. The trembling shivering ache in her belly rose and heightened with each expert suckle of his mouth and caress of his hand.
She moaned in protest when his lips released her breast; tried to keep him there with her hand. But Danny was just as determined. Untangling her fingers from his hair, he kissed his way lower down her body. The tantalizing trail of kisses swept past her torso, her lower abdomen to her shaved mound.
Was he going to…
"Yessss." Her lungs emptied in a sharp gasp and her toes curled when he touched his lips to her labia. "Aiiish."
Her thighs splayed open for him giving him space to fit his big body between them. Another kiss, right there. Aaah. When he set his hands on the back of her knees, she had no choice but to follow his mute instructions and drape her knees over his shoulders.
Oh. Oh. Oh. Misha's eyes widened and her mouth opened in a silent scream as he set his lips to work. Tantalizing laps on her lower lips, long pointed licks to force them apart, then deliberate rasping of his tongue up the cleft to her clitoris.
"Mm… uh… uh… shit…" Her cries rent the air at the sweet punishment Danny was giving her body. Licking, kissing, stroking. He traced every contour of her pussy, lapped up her freely running juices as if she was the sweetest of honeys, then forced her to give him more. Misha closed her eyes, cupping, stroking and squeezing her breasts in time to the teasing of his tongue.
She wanted to die of this painful pleasure.
No, she wanted to live and experience it forever.
But it was when he released one of her thighs so he could use his hands that her pleasure peaked. A gasp of pure ecstasy ripped through her when he pushed a finger into the tight ring.
"Oh, de- Oooh my… ah… ah… Dann- ye-" she whimpered, shifted on the bed, gripped the sheets hard as his touch rippled through her. What the hell was this man doing to her? He pushed in again. Her walls sucked the thick digit in hungrily, while her clitoris thrummed excitedly at the continued licking of his tongue.
This was too much.
It wasn't enough.
Misha grabbed the back of his head with both hands and spread her thighs wider, forcing herself harder against his mouth. He didn't disappoint. The pressure of his tongue on her clitoris increased as he added the second finger.
"Shiiit," she shrieked as her orgasm tore through with a force that had her bucking upwards. It felt like her whole world had split into several bright stars. They floated in front of her closed eyes as she rode the heights of her release.
Yet Danny didn't stop.
His tongue teased her swollen nub while his fingers kept pumping in and out of her, drawing each morsel of pleasure out for her to enjoy. It was only when her pussy finally stopped spasming that he rose from between her thighs.
She was still trembling with the residual effects of her orgasm when he settled back on the bed and drew her to lie half over him. Pressing a soft tender kiss on her lips, Danny asked, "You okay?"
Was she okay? She didn't know. Every inch of her felt well-pleasured, well-used. Yet, she wasn't exhausted. Unable to answer, she buried her head in his shoulders, shut her eyes and savored the feeling of being protected in the warm, strong shelter of his arms.
But even as her body rested, her mind whirled in thought. Freed from the mad desire that had held her captive up until a few minutes ago, her fears were back in their full glory. The real implication of what they had done - what she'd let him do to her - pushed its way into her consciousness, washing her mind with confused emotion.
How could she have let them get so far? Had she lost every shred of common sense? Yet she couldn't deny how good it'd felt to let go and let him pleasure her. The passion he'd awakened in her was far beyond anything she'd ever experienced and they hadn't even made love yet. In fact, she could feel his still swollen hardness pressing into her upper thigh through his sweats. Did he expect her to finish what she'd started?
"It's okay," Danny murmured against her forehead almost as if he could hear her chaotic thoughts. "Go to sleep."
Silence settled between them, but it was as uneasy as the still rapid beating of her heart. She wanted to get out of his bed and go to her own so she could think more clearly, figure out what this meant for their relationship. But his hold around her waist was as firm as his hold on her heart. She couldn't move even if she wanted to.
Surely, she hadn't doomed him? Surely, she could still salvage this situation. They hadn't gone the whole way, had they? If she had another talk with him and they agreed that this was a mistake, couldn't they go back to what they were? Just friends.
Yes. Tomorrow. They'd have another talk. She'd make it clear what their relationship was. And she'd never get into his bed again. Too much temptation. Somehow, someway, despite the worry plaguing her, she drifted off into sleep.
In the morning when she woke up, he'd already left for work.
CHAPTER 21
In the light of day, having 'The Talk' with Danny seemed even more necessary and urgent. Now that she thought about it, he'd been excessively touchy-feely since the day she'd moved in. But could she blame him? After all she'd condoned it, even unconsciously encouraged it.
She was the one who'd begged him to spend every night in her bed and she was the one who'd surrendered to his demand for a kiss. Granted, she'd enjoyed all the teasing along with the undercurrent of desire that seemed to color their every interaction. But it was over now. Whatever was going on between them was over. Kaput. Done. No more.
When Danny came home tonight, they would have a serious sit-down, make ground rules and re-establish their boundaries. They were friends - just friends. She'd encourage him to start dating again - even if the thought of him with ano
ther woman was enough to make her want to get hit by a car again. But this was for the best. This was for him.
Yes. The talk. This evening.
Now that her evening plans were settled, she could conduct her morning business. First business of the day was Bradley Wilde. She spent her morning trying to get in touch with the younger Wilde. At first he sent her straight to voice-mail, but Misha hadn’t been raised a quitter and she had lots of cards under her sleeves. She turned to the one person he couldn't ignore. His girlfriend, Jodie.
"… I don't know," Jodie said, when Misha told her that she wanted to interview Bradley. "He doesn't want to talk to the press."
"Did you see last night's news and today's papers?" Misha asked. "They're not playing games. Every network seems determined to make the whole family look guilty, even though we both know that they're the victims here."
"But it will blow over soon, won't it?" There was an almost pleading note in Jodie's voice as she asked, "These stories always do, don't they?"
"Not this time. The Wildes are too high profile," Misha explained. "They'll keep running the story whether they have the correct information of not, whether Bradley talks to them or not. But if Bradley has a friend like me, he can gain control over the narrative. Set them straight."
"I suppose you're right," Jodie acknowledged. "But what if you go and twist his words?"
"I won't," Misha assured.
Jodie sighed. "Let me see what I can do."
Twenty minutes later, Misha's phone buzzed. She smiled when she saw the name on the screen and answered, "Bradley, great to hear from you."
"An hour." He cut to the chase. "Get to my office in an hour and I'll give you your interview."
One hour? Shoot, she hadn't even showered yet. She took a quick shower, dressed up in a blue knee-length dress, a green coat and green pumps to match, then called a cab, all in twenty-five minutes. The cabbie announced his arrival just as she was dismissing Sarah for the day. Twenty minutes later he dropped her off in front of the building that held the prosecutors' offices. Misha walked into the reception with ten minutes to spare.
The dark-haired, olive-skinned receptionist looked up from the muffin she was eating and quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin. " Can I help you?"
"Misha Alexander. I have an appointment with ADA Wilde." She gave her appointment time.
"A moment please." The receptionist tapped on her computer keyboard a few times, glanced at the screen, nodded then picked up the phone. "Mr. Wilde, Misha Alexander is here to see you." A few nods, yeses and an okay later, the woman ended the call. She turned back to Misha. "He's waiting for you. Third office to the right. You'll see the plaque with his name on the door."
"Thank you." Following the receptionist's instructions, Misha walked down the long hallway and stopped at the third door. Sure enough there was a plaque announcing its owner. She knocked once then pushed the door open.
Going by the wide white-toothed smile and brief hug Bradley welcomed her with it was hard to believe that he'd been reluctant to talk to her. "Misha, good to see you."
"Good to see you too," Misha returned the blond man's smile. In her heels she had a significant height advantage over Bradley. However, she doubted that Bradley had ever suffered because of his height - or lack thereof. His wallet more than made up for it.
The man was money personified; from the expensive, pale grey business suit that clad his pudgy body to the Cuban cigars lying atop his large mahogany desk. Clearly being a civil servant hadn't curbed Bradley's taste for the good things.
"I'm sorry for ignoring your calls," he apologized as he returned to his desk and waved her to a chair. "But you know how it is."
"No, I understand." Misha lowered herself to the seat and set her purse on the floor. "I can't blame you for trying to protect yourself from the prying public. In fact I'm the one who should be apologizing for pushing so hard."
"Tch. What's an interview between friends?" Bradley waved away her apology. "To be honest, I'm surprised you're here. I heard you were recuperating from an accident or something."
"Bradley Wilde! Shame on you. You knew I was sick and didn't come to visit me?"
"I'm sorry. But you know we've been dealing with this…" Bradley let the words hang as he sighed and drooped in his chair, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders
It was enough to spark genuine compassion in Misha. "This must be really hard on you and the family. I'm sorry you have to deal with this. I hope your bosses here aren't making it hard for you because of it."
Bradley may have been the offspring of the Wicked Witch of New York, but he'd always struck Misha as an okay sort of guy, even if a bit pompous.
"No." Bradley gave a sad smile. "At least not yet. I've got a meeting with the DA later, so one never knows."
"You were the victim of an unscrupulous man," Misha consoled. "I doubt he can fault you for that."
"We'll see." Bradley shrugged. "For now, I just want to get the press off my back. Can you believe they're saying my mother killed him?" He shook his head, disbelief shining in his eyes. "Ridiculous. My mother wouldn't hurt a fly."
Clearly they didn't know the same Katherine.
Taking the mention of Katherine as her cue to start the interview, Misha extracted her phone from her purse, set the gadget on Bradley's desk and pressed the record button. "Why don't you tell me how you got involved with this Eric?"
Bradley glanced at the phone, but didn't protest its presence. Instead he said, "I first met Eric about six months ago. Back then he was just the guy Lauren asked me to recommend to Mother-"
"Sorry," Misha interrupted, her pulse jumping at the unexpected information. "Lauren asked you to recommend Eric?"
"Yes." Bradley nodded. His intelligent eyes softened a bit at the mention of Lauren. "Lauren and Eric were classmates at Allerton. Eric was looking for a job and she wasn't in any position to get him one at the gallery. I couldn't hire him either, so Lauren asked me to talk to Mother. On my recommendation, Mother hired him."
"Did you interact with him afterwards?" Misha carefully studied Bradley looking for signs of a lie.
But his eyes were completely honest as he lifted his shoulders and shrugged. "Did I even have the time? Between work and Jodie I'm rarely home. In fact up until his death, I'd forgotten that Eric Ingram existed."
Misha started in surprised. "But I thought he was blackmailing you."
"I didn't know it was him." Bradley lowered his eyes. "I actually thought it was someone in this office. I only figured out that it was Eric when the police started questioning us."
"Okay, let's talk about this blackmail." Misha asked slowly, "What did he have on you?"
Bradley stared at his manicured fingers for a while in silence. When he finally looked up, his expression was guarded. "Can we go off-record for this one?"
That was easy enough. After all it wasn't like she was actually writing an article. But if she wanted to keep him under the illusion that this was a real interview then she needed to kick up a semblance of a fuss. "Bradley, you know they'll speculate anyway. Wouldn't you rather they knew the truth?"
He shook his head vigorously. "If it was just me, then maybe. If I lose my job I have other options. But in this case the truth could hurt other people, another family and I… I can't-"
Another family? Hello! Juicy. Misha gave a mock-sigh of frustration. "I think going off-record is a bad idea. But if that's what you want…" She turned the recorder off.
Bradley was quiet for a long while, before he said gruffly, "I was sleeping with a married woman."
Misha blinked hard.
"I know. I know," he rushed on before she could say anything. He nervously smoothed down his already neat hair. "It was a stupid, irresponsible, indefensible mistake. But I did it and I can't take it back."
"Eric found out," she stated the obvious.
Bradley wrinkled his forehead. "I don't know how. About two weeks before his death, I received pictures show
ing Camille and I… uh… engaging in…"
"In bed together?" Misha finished for him with an amused raise of her eyebrows.
"Ah - yes." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "The pictures also came with a note telling me to leave twenty-five thousand dollars under one of the beds in an on-call room at Amity Hospital."
"You could've gone to the police," Misha pointed out.
"And risk him revealing everything?" Bradley gave her a horrified look. "Can you imagine Jodie finding out? How devastated she'd be. Or Camille's husband? Camille would lose her children, her family."
Misha snorted as she thought, You should've thought of that before you started sleeping with married women.
She realized she'd said the words aloud when Bradley gave her a pained look. "I know. You don't have to rub it in."
"I'm sorry, Bradley." Sounding suitably sympathetic she said, "But you know this doesn't make you any less of a suspect. If anything, it makes you more of one. You've made your political ambitions clear more than once, and Eric revealing the affair could've harmed that."
"But I couldn't have done it. I spent the night at Jodie's. And correction; those are my father's political ambitions for me - not mine. You think this is the life I want?" He waved around the room. The office was okay in Misha's opinion, but judging by Bradley's repulsed expression it was obvious he didn't feel the same way.
He said, "There are so many other places - so many better places I could be. I'm only an ADA because my father is holding my trust-fund hostage. But as soon as I turn thirty his control lapses. Then it’s bye-bye law, criminals and all this nonsense." He gave a derisive laugh. "Trust me, I wouldn't kill for this job."
Well, when he put it like that… but something still niggled at Misha. Her eyes narrowed in thought, she asked, "If you don't have your trust-fund, then how did you pay Eric?"
She doubted being a prosecutor paid enough for Bradley to come up with twenty-five thousand within a week. Bradley shrugged. "Mother gave it to me."