by Kasia Fox
Tentatively, Tessa moved down the side of the breast, reaching for the nipple with her tongue. It was bigger than her own. She licked the nipple, flicking her tongue over its increasing hardness. Then she sucked on it, enjoying the thickness of it in her mouth. First she sucked softly and then harder as Berkley moans got louder.
The heat between her legs flamed. She didn’t want to let go of this painful desire and yet she needed release. Her hips began to rock. She clamped her legs around Berkley’s thigh and ground her swollen pussy against it. Berkley pushed her back. Tessa gazed at her through lowered lids, her vision and mind blurred in the drunken stupor of sex and booze.
“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? I knew you were watching me that night.”
“Mmhm.”
They kissed again, their tongues lashing out at each other with real urgency.
“That was a very slutty thing of you to do, to watch your dad’s girlfriend touching herself like that.”
“Please.”
“Please what?”
Tessa wasn’t sure what she was asking for, other than release for the steadily mounting agony of her desire. “Touch me,” was all she could manage.
“Where?”
Tessa put her hands between her legs.
“Spread. I want to see your pussy.”
Tessa obeyed, spreading her lips with the middle and index finger of the same hand.
“Oh, that’s a pretty little thing, isn’t it? Now put your fingers in there and fuck yourself with them.”
Tessa slid two fingers inside herself. She was so wet they slipped in and out.
“Good girl. Now let me taste. Let me get a sample so I can see if I want to go there myself.”
Tessa held up two glistening fingers. Smirking, Berkley lowered her mouth to them. Her full lips incased Tessa’s fingers, her tongue working over them as if to get the fullest essence.
“Mm. You taste good. But you better earn it first.”
Misunderstanding, Tessa reached between Berkley’s legs and felt a wetness almost as great as her own. The shudder and exhalation the woman released seemed involuntarily. She pulled away. “Don’t touch me unless I tell you. Now clean those fingers off in your mouth, dirty girl.”
Obediently, Tessa licked Berkley’s juices from her fingers. No one had ever toyed with Tessa’s desire in this way, keyed her up until she felt like she might explode. She felt like she would do whatever Berkley asked of her in this moment. As if she’d read her mind, Berkley produced the silver dildo she’d used on herself the time Tessa had spied on her in Her Special Place. Berkley told her to put the dildo inside of her.
“How?” she asked, holding the instrument.
“Slowly.”
Under Berkley’s watchful eye, Tessa guided the dildo inside herself inch by agonizing inch. The cool metal felt unnatural but delicious. As she thrust the dildo in, her pace quickened as her pleasure mounted.
“Slower!” Berkley commanded and when Tessa didn’t – couldn’t – obey, Berkley wrenched the toy from her hands and cast it to the floor.
“I make you come. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to make you come until you admit that you’re a slut.”
Slut was an ugly word and Tessa didn’t want to say it out loud. Seizing her ankles, Berkley tugged Tessa until her legs were dangling off the foot of the bed. Then she knelt right at the crux of Tessa’s thighs. She could feel Berkley’s breath on the most sensitive part of her. She whimpered.
“Say it. Say I’m a slut and I want this.”
“I’m a slut. I want this.”
“Good girl.”
Magic words spoken, Berkley thrust her fingers between Tessa’s lips and inside her. Berkley put her mouth and tongue on Tessa’s clit. It was like she was French kissing her pussy as her fingers traveled in and out of her. Pleasure ripped a seam straight through Tessa. The orgasm took control of her body. She shuddered and gasped and strained for more, more, more until all that was left was her heaving chest and a dampness between her legs.
Berkley rose. She grabbed a towel from the side table and, in a businesslike manner, wiped her hands. Tessa sat up on her elbows. “Don’t you want me to…”
“No, darling. I’ve got all I need.” Her voice was cool, professional, as she retrieved her blue satin robe from the floor and dressed in it.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you performed very well. My followers will be over the moon. Usually Her Special Place is more of a solo show,” she said in the same tone.
“But –”
Tessa looked from Berkley to the huge monitor, which was black. The camera was black. She’d checked it when she came in. Berkley went to the monitor. She picked at it and her hand came away with a small piece of black electrical tape revealing a green glowing light on the camera. She pressed a button on the side of the screen and Tessa saw them standing in front of the bed, comments from viewers scrolling by on one side.
“No!” Tessa screamed. She dove out of view of the lens, crawling around on her hands and knees to collect her towel as Berkley laughed.
“Why get dressed now? Show’s over. I’ll archive it for those who missed out. Tonight’s show is going to be quite popular.”
Every desire Tessa had felt moments ago was washed away by a wave of regret, shame and rage. She rushed at the camera, tearing it from its mounting and hurling out the door to the hallway way.
“Why? Why would you do this? When Ron finds out he’ll kill you.”
“I hope he’ll be mad enough to try. That’s the goal. But by then I’ll be long gone by then, darling.”
“Why?” Tessa repeated. “Why did you do this?”
“Because for the past seven years, Ronnie has gone on living his life like I am of no consequence to him. He’s taken other women into our bed. Treated me like a prostitute. No respect. No consideration. No….” She stopped suddenly. Waited. When she proceeded her voice sounded strangled. “…Love.” Slowly, through gritted teeth, she said, “You came along at the perfect time. Ronnie surprised me by actually caring about you. You, Tessa, might be the only person he’s ever loved. I’m sorry you had to be collateral damage, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.”
“Take that video down. Please. I’ll go back to North Dakota and you’ll never see me again, I promise. Don’t do this to me.”
“I will not stop until I’ve put Ron Doucette in an early grave. He’s taken enough from the world. It’s time for payback.”
As much as she wanted to punch Berkley in the face, Tessa knew this was the last time she’d ever see her. This was her last chance to ask her the question to which she really wanted an answer.
“Did Ron kill someone?” Tessa asked. “Tell me. You owe it to me.”
“Who knows? He’s certainly capable. If I were you, the question I’d be asking myself is why is he so interested in having a daughter all of a sudden?” She clucked and tilted her head in faux sympathy. “Turns out your mommy was right about him. He’s a bad man.”
“Don’t talk about my mom.” Tessa clutched the towel to her body, trembling with rage.
“Run along now, Tessa.” Berkley sighed. “People from the flatlands bore me.”
Tessa stepped over the broken camera equipment and ran down the hallway. Once she made it to her room she crammed everything she’d brought with her into her knapsack. The only sign that she’d ever been there was the pale pink dress Berkley had bought her, crumpled at the bottom of the closet.
34.
Leaving Spanish Palms required a code. Tessa stared at the keypad attached to a walking gate that led out onto the avenue. What sort of community required a password to leave? Panic overtook her; she was trapped in this twisted suburbia with a killer father, an ex-lover who hated her and a sociopathic redhead with a lust for vengeance. Headlights swept the asphalt in front of her as a car rounded the corner. She waited for the car to stop, for someone t
o tell her that she didn’t belong. Instead the front gates ground open and the car passed through. Darting onto the street, Tessa ran behind the car until she cleared the gates. She didn’t stop running, not even when Spanish Palms was behind her. Out on the sidewalk that ran along the avenue, dark maws between streetlights felt like they swallowed her whole. She could disappear into their shadows and never be found. Her chest burned. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed a long, empty stretch of pavement. A street bike ripped by, traveling in the opposite direction.
No one was chasing her. Berkley got everything she needed and now she was finished with Tessa. She’d pushed Cal too far and he didn’t care about her anymore. Soon Ron would think his only daughter was a whore for having sex with his girlfriend. Even if she found out he was innocent, he’d want nothing to do with her. Tessa slowed to a walk. Miles away, Las Vegas Boulevard stretched out north to south. From a distance its colorful lights and gleaming buildings didn’t overwhelm her. The strip looked like somewhere fun, a place she’d seen on television once, or in a dream. For an hour she walked deeper into the valley and the lights of the boulevard still seemed unreachable. Closer up was a casino, smaller and less impressive than the resorts lining the strip but bigger than anything in Minot. Its sign blazed: The Orleans. Tessa crossed the road and threaded through the cars in the parking lot until she passed through its front doors.
The place was styled in a Mardi Gras theme. Inside its customers looked less like revelers and more like a bus tour from an old folks’ home and scuzzy men avoiding going home to their disappointed wives. Slot machines trilled and beeped. Cigarette smoke hung in the air. Lights blinked over restaurants. The wildly patterned purple and gold carpet made her head ache. She needed to rest; her thoughts needed to be clear tomorrow. At the front desk, she handed over her emergency credit card and received a key card in return. When Tessa got up to the room she collapsed into bed in the clothes she was wearing.
Her sleep was broken and she awoke at sunrise, parched and disoriented. Before she opened her eyes, hot shame surged through her. A fresh morning in Vegas, a fresh batch of regrets. Even though she was exhausted and her head ached from last night’s champagne, more sleep proved impossible. Tessa stared up at the crack of light from between the hotel curtains striping the ceiling. She listened to the faint sounds of morning traffic on the street below. Eventually, lying in bed was more intolerable that facing reality. She went to the window and opened the curtains. The sun rising up from the eastern valley, beautiful and orange gold, as if this day promised not a single worry.
By now, her dad would know about the video. Berkley would be gone. Cal would be getting up, working out. Tessa dug her phone out from her backpack. There were so many missed calls and unread texts, she wanted to drown the phone in the toilet bowl. Fingers trembling, she clicked through.
From Dev: There are weird people around our building.
and
I’m freaking out! I swear there is someone watching outside our building.
and
When are you coming home, Tessie?
and
What is even happening right now! Your phone is off. Callmecallmecallmecallme
From Cal: Saw you last night. Where’d you go?
and
Let’s talk. I’m sorry I didn’t come get you
Voicemails from Ron: “It makes me sick what she did to you. I hope you’re okay.”
and
“It’s safe to come back here, Tessa. Berkley’s fled town but I’m going to find her. And when I do, Tessa, you better believe I’m going to kill her.”
Dev answered so quickly he’d probably been sleeping with his phone next to his pillow. “The only acceptable reason for you not calling me is that you were in a sex-induced fugue state.”
“That’s closer to the truth than you realize and not at all as fun as it sounds.”
“Tell me more.” He cleared the sleep from his throat.
“Later. You’ll need a dose of antibiotics after hearing it.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Tonight. Will you pick me up at the airport? My flight gets in at midnight.”
“Of course!”
“Thanks. I have to go now,” Tessa said.
“That’s it? You don’t want to know—”
“Can we talk about it tonight?”
“Sure. Yeah.” He paused. “Are you okay?”
“I will be once I get out of this city. I swear Las Vegas messes with your brain.”
“Be safe.”
She promised she would. After Dev hung up, Tessa turned her phone off. She went downstairs and paced the casino like a morning mall walker, formulating a plan and sipping a coffee that strengthened anxiety’s grip on her. At eight a.m. she could wait no longer. Using the phone in the hotel room, Tessa dialed the detective’s phone number from the homemade card the woman outside Peaches had given her. No answer. She called again. And again.
On the fifth try, a man picked up after the first ring. Tessa asked if this was Michael Gilot. He said he was. She got as far as introducing herself and saying that she’d gotten his number from Deb Furnish before Detective Gilot cut her off.
“I’m gonna have to stop you right there, hon, because I’m about to head out on the links right now. If you have any new information I’ll direct you to Metro’s historical crimes unit –”
“My father is Ron Doucette. My mom was Lily –”
“Is this Mary-Therese?” The tired formality of his tone was replaced by surprise.
“I go by Tessa now.”
“Wow, that makes me feel old.” There was the chink of club hitting golf ball in the background. “I’ve been wondering if I’d ever hear from you or your mom.”
“You won’t hear from my mom. She died.”
There was a long pause before Gilot offered his condolences. Then he said, “Listen, you think you can get to TPC Summerlin in time for an early lunch?”
Tessa didn’t know what that was, but she said yes.
Turned out, TPC Summlerin was a fancy golf course in a fancy suburb on the west side of Las Vegas. The golf course felt like a different universe from the smoky casino where Tessa had just passed restless hours pacing hideous carpet. At the club, the sky was an even blue, the grass a uniform green. Even the golfers looked perfect – neat clothing, styled hair, white teeth. Tessa entered the restaurant uncertainly, looking around the room, shifting the weight of her heavy backpack on her shoulders. Neither Tessa nor the detective had offered a physical description. She was about to take out her phone and call him when a man in his sixties rose from the table full of his peers and approached her.
The detective was a tall black man with a dark complexion and close-cropped grey hair. He was at least a foot taller than Tessa. When he reached down to shake her hand, he smiled.
“Thought I might not recognize you but you look just like your mother. No mistaking you’re Lily’s daughter.” He extended a hand. “Mike Gilot.”
Gilot led her to a table apart from the other patrons at the restaurant. When the waitress arrived, she greeted the detective by name and asked if he wanted an iced tea. He nodded. Tessa said she’d have the same. At the detective’s urging – “You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?” – she impulse-ordered a Greek wrap, which just proved the disorder of her mind. Wraps always disappointed. Why have a wrap when you could eat bread?
The waitress left, Tessa said, “So you’re retired now, huh.”
“Five years.”
“Looks like you’re enjoying it.”
“When old cases don’t come back to haunt me.”
“Did you have a lot of unsolved cases?”
Gilot assessed Tessa, as if he were trying to figure out if this was a jab. “If you really want to know, I don’t consider Tyson Furnish’s death unsolved. I consider it untried.”
“Meaning?”
“I thought you were here to give me information.”
�
�Yes, but I don’t know the whole story myself.”
“Why not ask your father?”
“When I asked the most basic question, he lied.”
“He’s good at that.” The waitress returned with their iced teas. Detective Gilot tore open two packets of artificial sweetener and dumped them in his drink, stirring with the teaspoon on the table. When the waitress left, Gilot said, “So Ron doesn’t know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“We’re not close. Until a few days ago, I didn’t know who my father was.”
At this bit of information, Gilot said, “Huh.”
“He got me here under false pretenses,” Tessa went on. “If she knows I’m in Vegas, my mom is rolling over in her grave.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.” Though Gilot spoke carefully, his condolences lacked genuine feeling. He cleared his throat. “Tell me. Had you heard from your dad at all while your mother was alive?”
“He says he tried. But no.” Tessa drank her tea. It was icy and too bitter.
“And after she died, he just contacted you out of the blue? What did he want?”
“He didn’t contact me. He had a friend, some guy, tell me he was dead. Implied that I was in the will, that it was his last wish for me to be at the funeral. Then when I got here – surprise.”
The story seemed to puzzle Gilot. “Why would he want you here?”
“He doesn’t travel. That’s what he told me. Doesn’t like being far from his business.”
“Sure.” He nodded. “And when your mom passed, she didn’t leave you any letters that you know of? To be opened in the untimely event of my death’ type of thing?”
“No.”
“No package of any kind? Or said she’d tucked something away for safekeeping? For your protection or insurance or –”
“No. For what it’s worth, Ron asked me all these questions too.”