by Beth Yarnall
“That sounds tedious.”
“It would be, but I think I have a program I can adapt and run to help me find him.”
She sighs. “Well, at least I now know why Martin didn’t file the motion to dismiss the charges. The DA stopped it. But how?”
“The money. I bet if we dig around enough we’ll find that Billits funded—either purposefully or accidentally—Martin’s disappearance.”
“That makes sense. No one would think to look for a tie between the two of them. After all, what could they have in common? Martin disappears and no one’s the wiser to their plot. Carla’s in jail. She didn’t say anything about their possible connection during her trial and, by nature, she’s not someone who would rock their carefully crafted boat. She was the perfect victim. They both got something out of her conviction—Billits covered his paying-for-prostitutes tracks—if that was what this is really about—and Martin got his chance to disappear.”
“You bring up good points. What is Billits’s motive for wanting Carla convicted? She’s a poor, illegal immigrant prostitute. How could she possibly hurt him? Anyone would believe him over her. He exposed himself to her by walking into that meeting between her and Martin. Why? All he had to do was not open that door. I can’t believe it was an accident unless Martin set him up. That I could believe. Maybe that was how the extortion started. And why did Martin want to disappear? There has to be more to it than a nosey wife.”
“Reminds me of that movie Strangers on a Train. Two unlikely people meet and plot murder for each other. But in this case it’s a plot to convict a young woman who lost her son.”
I snap my fingers. “That’s it. That’s exactly it. We’ve been trying to figure out the why of Martin going along with Billits and assuming it had to do with money, that Billits paid Martin to throw Carla’s trial. But what if it wasn’t? What if Billits did something for Martin in return and the money has nothing to do with any of this? I bet if we track down the source of the money it won’t have come from Billits.”
“I see where you’re going with this and it makes a lot more sense than trying to make it all about the money. The question then is what did Billits do for Martin and how do we figure out what it is?”
“We need to dig deeper into both Martin’s and Billits’s backgrounds. There’s a connection there. I can feel it.”
“Let me see what I can find out from the legal side of their lives. I can discreetly inquire about them from friends and from a couple of courthouse clerks I know and trust. They know all of the good dirt on the attorneys—who’s sleeping with who, who’s having an affair, who has a gambling problem and so on. It’s a regular hive of gossip and intrigue.”
“Be careful,” I tell her. “Billits went through a lot of trouble to get Carla convicted. He’s hiding something there. Something worth potentially destroying his career over. In fact, if you can keep it quiet that we’re working on Carla’s case that will give us more room to move around. I don’t want him tipped off before we have what we need on him.”
“I’ll talk to the Freedom Project director about not putting Carla’s case up on the website, but everyone in the office knows I’m working the case. There’s no way to contain that without tipping our hand.”
“Good point. Maybe we should engage in some disinformation of our own in that regard.”
“I like the way you think.” She smiles really big and something sharp and pointy stabs me in the chest. This woman is going to twist me up. I can already tell. And I’m going to like it.
“Maybe I can let it be known that Carla isn’t being cooperative,” she continues. “Which she isn’t. There’s more going on here than she’s telling us and I’m not entirely sure I believe her story about this mystery man walking in on her meeting. She leaked just enough information to get us curious, but not enough to really know what’s going on here and how, exactly, Billits fits into all of this.
“I can also spread it around that you’re hitting a brick wall where Martin is concerned, that you’re difficult to work with and I’m thinking of finding a new PI to take over the case.”
“Ouch.” I clutch at my heart. “But I like it. Dissension among the ranks. It’ll make it seem as though the case is stalled. We could maybe even throw in a public fight for a few key people to witness.”
“I like the way you think.” She places a hand on my chest and slides it up until she’s fisting my hair in her hand. “You’re very good at what you do.”
Her compliment catches me off guard. Very good isn’t how I’d describe my bumbling investigative skills. And then I realize she’s not talking about my PI work when she puts her other hand between my legs and cups me. I let out an inarticulate noise more out of shock than excitement although excitement quickly catches up, as I start to get hard against her palm. She pulls me down for a kiss. I like her aggressiveness and the way she takes charge. I’m all for letting her lead. Before I know it she’s got my pants open and is stroking me.
I’ve hardly moved since she started touching me, but all of a sudden its like I’ve been plugged in and I tear at her clothes. I want her naked. All the way bare this time, arching her back as I work over her. Or riding me, with her breasts bouncing around as she drives herself up and down, while I grip her hips. Or on her hands and knees, her ass thrust up in the air as take her from behind, watching my dick disappear inside her. She swipes her thumb in my pre-cum and I groan into her mouth.
I’m way too far ahead of her. I need her as hot—no hotter—for me than I am for her. I want her to beg me to fuck her just like she did last time. She’s got my dick in one hand and my balls in the other and I can’t seem to work her bra. The damn thing is stuck or… Fuck. Is she getting to her knees?
Oh, my god she is.
Baseball. My Aunt Nancy. Her hot breath over me. HTML. The feel of her mouth around me. Santa Claus. Her tongue swirling around my head. That TV show with the detective and the writer… I slide my hand into her hair, urging her to suck me deeper, harder. The sound she makes when she takes me into the back of her throat. Goddamn. Email I need to answer. My mom’s meatloaf. Her wet finger circles my asshole.
No, she’s not.
She pushes in, hooking her finger just right. My knees buckle and I have to grip the edge of the desk to stay upright. She strokes inside me and somehow takes me even deeper into her mouth. My fingers tense in her hair.
“Coming,” I manage to warn her a split second before I’m pouring into her mouth.
Trembling, I grip her head and the desk harder, groaning as I look down at the way her lips wrap around me. She looks up at me and winks as she slides her finger out of my ass and her mouth off my dick. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. As she stands I realize she’s still fully dressed. I have to rectify that. Her shirt is first, then her bra. She watches me with wide, expectant eyes. It’s time to put that bragging I did earlier to the test. I yank her skirt and underwear off her at the same time. Finally. She’s finally naked and I have to take a moment to drink her in.
She’s curvy, round in all the right places. I lick my lips trying to draw enough spit to say something, but there are no words in my head. Instead I lead her to one of the office chairs. Her gaze flickers to it nervously for a second before I push her down into it. Then I’m shucking my clothes as fast as I can get them off. It’s my turn to go to my knees in front of her. I part her thick thighs and get a look at her. She’s already wet, her little landing strip of hair glistens. I lick my lips again in expectation. I can feel her watching me, her arousal quickly melting like it did last night. I have to do something to get her back with me.
I grab one of the handles underneath the chair and pull, dropping the back of the chair down. She gasps and reaches out for the arms of the chair to keep from falling out of it. She’s laid out now. Her breasts fall to the sides. I push her knees farther apart. She lifts her head and I catch the gleam of excitement in her eyes.
“Suck me,” she demands.
There is nothing else for me to do but obey.
14
Lila
Nolan kneels between my spread thighs, gazing down at my pussy. He licks his lips again like he’s in for a treat. I hope he’s really good at this because I have yet to meet a man who truly is. Most of them do it out of a sense of obligation or else they have no idea how a woman’s anatomy really works. There’s lots of pointless licking and sucking in the wrong places, while thrusting their fingers. They moan like they’re enjoying it and I always know they’re faking it. They’re just hoping to get it over with as soon as possible so they can get to the part where I suck them off in return.
Nolan slides his palms up the inside of my thighs. His gaze is firmly fixed on my pussy and he looks like a man on a mission. I have to watch. Shoving my hand under my head to keep it up, I have the perfect view down my body. Great. My breasts have slid into my armpits. From this angle my stomach has more rolls than planes. My thighs spread across the chair’s seat making them look twice as wide. But Nolan doesn’t seem to notice any of that. He’s totally and completely focused between my legs where he’s using his fingers to separate my folds like this is a physical examination or something.
I squirm and his gaze flickers up to mine. Gauging my reaction, he strokes his thumb lightly across my clit. My internal muscles contract, making my hips flex slightly. He smiles as though he’s just discovered something extraordinary. I’m in trouble here I suddenly realize. This guy might actually know what he’s doing. Without taking his eyes off me he lowers his head. I’m sure he’s just going to dive in and go to town, but he doesn’t. He drops kisses up my inner thigh, beginning about half way up. First one leg then the other. He nuzzles between my thighs and my pussy. There’s nothing rushed about his movements. He watches my reactions, focusing on what makes me gasp. Teasing me, he takes his time, as though he’s just playing, he’s not really going to eat me out.
He licks and kisses the sides, building the sensations one on top of the other. His finger joins the fun, entering me partially before withdrawing in a steady rhythm. I’m swept away on a sea of pleasure and can’t keep my head up anymore. The anticipation grows the longer he takes to get to my clit. My legs tremble. I want to push his head down and ride his face. Fisting his hair, I try to urge him to get on with it, but he ignores me and continues the same slow torturous movements. I silently beg him to give me what I need.
Just when I think I’m going to die if he doesn’t do it, he flicks my clit with his tongue in a constant pulse. My back arches and my body tenses. The need to come rides me hard. It’s next level, but still not enough. I’m close. So close. I open my mouth to beg him. Before I can get the words out he does something with his fingers and his tongue strokes me so strong and steady I break. Screaming, I grip his hair harder and come all over his face. I grind up into him, trying to extend my orgasm.
He strokes two fingers into me in a come here movement. His tongue continues its assault. I’m practically ripping his hair out and the arm off the chair. Another wave of pleasure hits me harder than the last. I lose it all over again, crying out a second time. I lift my head to find him still watching me. I shake my head for him to stop. He doesn’t. I can’t take any more, but I don’t push him away. He keeps up with the same steady rhythm. Fingers and mouth. Watching, always watching. It’s like he’s taken a master class on getting me off. It builds again. Not as sharp, but just as high. I thrash in the chair, wanting to come and scared of it at the same time.
My voice is hoarse. I can hardly catch my breath. And still he keeps going. That same steady, pulsing beat. Unaltered. Unrelenting. Unending. His gaze dares me like it’s a competition. I want to close my eyes and shut him out, but I can’t look away. It’s too intense, this intimacy. I feel it taking me over, pulling me under. He’s doing this to me. He’s making me feel too much. I hate what he’s doing. Yet I can’t get enough. I need him to make me come. I need him right where he is. I need—
Jackknifing in the chair, I scream his name when I come. I push him away with my hands and feet. I can’t take it anymore. Finally. Relief. Sagging back in the chair, I go completely limp. It’s only then I can close my eyes. My whole body throbs in time with my pulse, the hardest beat between my legs. My nipples are hard, sensitive peaks. I’m hypersensitive and exhausted yet this is the most alive I’ve ever felt. I didn’t know it could be like this. I’ve had orgasms, but nothing like the ones he just gave me.
Feeling like I should say something to him, I open my eyes. He’s still on his knees at my feet, jerking on his dick with the hand he had inside me. It’s so wet I can hear a squelching noise as he strokes up and down. It’s my turn to watch him come. He stares at me like a man watching a porno. His roaming gaze is a touch my body responds to. With a low groan, he drops his head back and comes all over his hand. The cum runs down his fingers as he milks out the last drops. And still his eyes never leave me.
A smug, satisfied smile creases his face as he lifts his head. He knows he’s ruined me for all other men. I want to know how he learned that and yet I don’t. For some reason the thought of him working some other woman over like that bothers me more than I want to admit. He grabs his shirt and uses it to clean himself up. I still can’t move. Seeing him get himself off after getting me off has to be the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed.
He puts his hands on my knees and leverages himself up until he’s over me. He tugs me closer for an open mouthed kiss. There’s no shyness in him about tasting me after I’d had him in my mouth and he’d had his mouth on me. If anything it only makes the kiss hotter. It’s unabashed and direct, a claiming of sorts. My wet pussy slides against his stomach as I arch up to met him, fusing our torsos together. Our bodies reek of sex and carnality. The whole room smells like an orgy. I never want to leave.
Our hands tangle in each other’s hair, trying to draw ever closer. It doesn’t feel like we could ever be close enough. Our skin creates too much distance between us. I’m drained. Totally spent. But he still manages to stir something in me that could quickly get out of control. I want him inside me next time, I decide. I want him over me, then behind me.
As the kiss winds down, I’m shocked at the plans I’ve made for us. This wasn’t supposed to go that far. In my head it was a fling. I was sure I’d grow bored once the novelty had worn off. The thing is, I like the novelty. The novelty is at the core of it all. He’s awoken something in me I hadn’t realized existed. By the look he’s giving me I can tell he feels the same. It’s the dirty, the downright necessary-ness of what’s between us that sits at the heart of everything that’s happening.
And that’s not something that can be denied.
We can try and we probably will. I know I will because it scares me. He scares me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was a simple itch I scratched. A walk on the wild side. It was supposed to be like the men who watch those girls on screen. Not real. A fantasy. I was supposed to be a voyeur. Stepping outside of my world for just a moment, keeping one foot in as an anchor so I don’t get lost. But I’m already lost. I want him again. He’s awoken a thirst in me that only he can quench.
I want his hands and mouth on me. I want to be naked, rolling around in damp cum stained sheets with him. I want the scent of our sex to always fill my nostrils. I want to claw and scratch and scream and shout and break the bed. I want to yell for him to stop and not mean it. I want to be sore, so sore I can hardly walk and every time I sit down I replay how I got that way in my head to the point where I have to put my hands in my panties to assuage the never ending need for him.
As though hearing my thoughts, he lifts me out of the chair. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. I’ll go wherever he takes me as long as he fucks me again. And again. And again.
He takes us to the bathroom and starts the shower. A part of me doesn’t want to wash off. I want to stay sticky and sweaty. And another part of me wants to be clean just so we can get dirty all over again.
He lowers me to the floor. There’s something lost and panicked about the way he’s looking at me, like I might bolt and he won’t be able to stop me. I kiss him, not wanting to see the doubts he has about me. They’re the same doubts I have about myself. I’m not an all in kind of woman. I have too many outside things pulling at me. If I think about them they’ll ruin this moment and take away what will happen next just like they did that first night. I have to make sure I don’t think. I have to convince him not to let me think, to keep me in the physical because the mental is not a place I should be allowed to linger.
He breaks the kiss and draws me into the steamy shower. I’m immediately pulled against him. His mouth comes down on mine, but the tone is different. It’s slow and lazy. His touch is light and constant. He runs his hands all over me as though he’s learning the landscape. I’ve never been touched with this much care and interest. He wants to know me. I find myself wanting to know him in the same way. Mimicking his movements, I explore him. He’s hairier on his lower body than his upper body. He doesn’t have much chest hair, but the happy trail leading from his belly button to his cock is dense and so sexy I spend a long time running my fingers over it curiously.
“You’re not what I expected,” he whispers against my ear.
“What did you expect?”
“Honestly?”
I nod. He’s holding me so close no water can get between us.
“A cold bitch.”
I pull back to look at him.
“Sorry, but it’s true. You were very…bristly.” He laughs at the face I make. “You accused me of being a racist.”
“Everybody’s a racist.”
“I’m not going to respond to that while I’ve got you naked. I have too many plans.”
“What plans?”
“I like surprising you.” He grabs the bottle of shower gel and pours some into his hand. “Now, dirty girl, let me wash you.”