by Heidi Lowe
Her chest was pressed to Layke's back as she continued peppering her neck with kisses. She reached around and worked down the zipper of Layke's pants. Sucking at her neck, she tugged the pants down and they fell around Layke's ankles, revealing a flowery thong and perfectly rounded butt. She ran her hands over the soft, smooth cheeks, appreciatively. Then she gave one a light slap, making Layke jump a little out of shock.
“You're trembling like a leaf, detective. This isn't going to be much fun if you're nervous,” she whispered, kissing and chewing on Layke's earlobe.
“Just get it over with,” Layke breathed.
“Na-uh, that's not how this works. I'm going to take my time, make you feel every inch of me when I'm inside you. I'm going to do something to you that you didn't think fingers were capable of doing. And when I'm done, I'm going to do it all over again. And you won't know what's happening to your body.”
She got rid of the final item of clothing that stood between her and the island paradise between Layke's thighs, then she bent her forward over the workbench. She wet the index and middle fingers on her right hand with her mouth, then slowly, carefully entered her from behind.
Layke's body jerked, and she gripped the sides of the workbench for support. Willa's fingers cruised deeper, glided and slammed, finding her rhythm. The moaning didn't start immediately, it never did. And Willa suspected that Layke tried to conceal hers as best she could, so as not to give Willa any more power in knowing that she was capable of making her feel so good. But once Willa found that spot, that elusive rough spot that so many sought but most missed, there was no repressing those moans.
“Oh, God! Oh, fuck!”
Again and again, as she drifted in and out, velocity and pressure increasing, stabbing at her g-spot, Layke's body jerking wildly against the workstation, the moans, the cursing, the squeezing of the bench continued, became more intense.
“When was the last time someone made you feel this good, huh, detective?” Willa whispered against her neck.
“Oh, God! Right there.” She wasn't listening, she was lost in the throes of passion, frenzied like a mad woman.
Willa gave a smoky laugh, her free hand pressed against Layke's back, keeping her in place. This was precisely how she predicted it would go. When it came to pleasing women sexually, she could have written a guide on it. She knew her way around the female anatomy like the back of her hand, and she knew what would happen when she hit that elusive spot. She could get her to do anything now.
“Wow, you really needed this, didn't you? You really needed to be bent over a table and pounded by a filthy, dangerous criminal. How about you say my name so everyone knows who's doing this to you?”
“Go to hell,” Layke breathed, barely able to form the words through her savage moaning.
“I want you to say my name, detective. I want to hear it, loud and clear.” She thrust harder, forcing louder, more fervent murmurs from Layke's lips.
Layke said nothing for awhile, her wetness, the sound of the workstation creaking, and her groaning were the only sounds in the room. Until finally she burst out, “Willa.” It came just as she came, her body shuddering violently.
“Good girl,” Willa said, amused. She slowed her thrusts down but didn't stop.
“W–what are you doing?” Layke questioned warily, still gasping for breath.
“What I promised. I'm not finished with you yet, detective.” And for the second time that evening she changed gears, going from a mild first to a spirited fifth, sending Layke back into a state of delirium, this time even more aggressive than the first.
“Oh fuck,” Layke cried, eventually expiring a second time, within minutes of the first orgasm.
Willa held her steady with her free hand as Layke's body grew limp, her knees weak.
“I've got you,” she whispered. She dropped kisses onto the back of her neck once more, then on her ear. “I've got you.”
It took a couple of minutes for Layke's dizziness to fade and for her to catch her breath again. Willa didn't let go of her the whole time, and her fingers were still buried deep inside that warm, moist hole. Her mouth made its way to Layke's, kissing her at the side, sloppily.
“The kiss wasn't a part of the deal,” Layke said, but let herself be kissed.
“Don't you think I earned it?” Willa laughed. “I bet you didn't think your body was capable of doing that, did you? Climaxing two times in a row. Hell, I bet no one's even gotten close to your g-spot before. That's what you get for dating men.”
“You're so full of crap!” They kissed again.
“And you, missy, have a very dirty mouth. You swear like a truck driver when you're being screwed.” Willa chuckled.
“Why didn't you stop the first time?”
“Because I never want you to forget any of this. Once is forgettable, but twice, no chance. And now, whenever you lay with anyone who isn't me, when your fiance wants to get frisky with you, all you're going to be thinking about is me, remembering tonight, what I did. And he's never going to be enough for you.”
“You have a really high opinion of yourself. Everyone's forgettable with time.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I won't forget you in a hurry. I don't think I've ever made a woman cum that hard before, or curse so much. And let's face it, Layke, this was win-win for you. Because we both know you wanted this as much as I did.”
Layke didn't speak. Willa took her silence as confirmation.
“Would you like me to come out now?” Willa said moments later.
“If you don't mind.”
When she slid her fingers out, they were glistening with Layke's juice. Layke turned around to face her, naked from the waist down, and watched as she slowly licked the sap off, eyes filled with glee.
“Mmm,” Willa moaned, licking her lips. “Now that's the good stuff. Guess I'll have to save that for next time.”
“There won't be a next time,” Layke insisted.
“Haven't you realized by now, detective, that I always get what I want? It sort of goes with the surname.” Willa bent down and picked up the thong from the floor.
“Can I have my panties back, please?”
Willa shook her head. “I think I'll hold on to these for now.” She slipped them into the pocket of her jeans. “As a memento of our time together.”
Layke reluctantly climbed into her trousers without her stolen panties, cutting Willa evil looks as they dressed themselves again.
As she started off towards the ladder to leave, she stopped. “If you'd lost, would you really have confessed to everything?”
“If I'd lost, yes. But I wasn't going to lose.” The conceited expression on Willa's face was telling.
“How could you be so sure?” Layke narrowed her eyes.
“The only way anyone can be sure they'll win. I cheated. It's a little trick I picked up in college. I was always going to get twenty-one.”
“Bitch!” Layke mumbled, turned on her heel and descended the ladder.
TEN
Being tricked had never felt so good. And feeling this good had never felt so wrong. Three days had passed since the night at the restaurant, and Layke's body still tingled with the memory of Willa's touch, her penetrative, confident strides and thrusts. Her breath still caught in her throat when she thought about it, about her total loss of control over her own body and its response to what was happening to it. She face-palmed even now, days later, thinking about her potty mouth.
“I've never cursed during sex!” she would say over and over to herself, and her cheeks would fill with color. At the time she'd been too delirious to be embarrassed; but now, it was cringeworthy.
“What did I miss?” She had just strolled into the office for a late morning start. Corman, Velazquez, Bishop and a couple of others were already there, all wearing grim looks.
“We got company,” Velazquez said when Layke sat down at her desk.
“The Feds,” Corman explained, seeing Layke's questioning expression.
“What the hell do they want?” Layke demanded.
“What do you think? The di Blasio case.” Velazquez threw her pen down in anger. “They're talking to the deputy chief right now.”
“Bodies keep turning up and we're no closer to pinning this on anyone than we were at the start,” Bishop said, shaking his head. “No results...” He pointed to the sign on the wall of their office, right beneath the clock. In block capitals it read NO RESULTS = FEDS TAKE OVER. Just their friendly, daily reminder to work their asses off if they didn't want to be sidelined. It was every detective's worst nightmare, and now it was happening. Layke couldn't help but feel partly responsible. Perhaps if she hadn't insisted on tracking Willa they would have found something useful from one of the other di Blasios.
“They can't just take it, though, right?” She shouldn't have asked, because she already knew the answer. The FBI could and would do whatever they wanted, and step on whomever they pleased in the process.
“'Fraid so. International gangs and gun-smuggling are way above our pay grade,” Corman said gloomily. Then he shrugged and added, “You win some, you lose some.”
“We just need more time. That's it.” There was a lack of passion in Layke's words, however. Indeed, the case was huge – the type of case that made a name for a green detective like herself. But if cracking it came at the expense of her integrity, then she was content to let go. Because the di Blasio case, and the di Blasios themselves, were trouble. She'd already crossed the point of no return; when you sleep with someone you're supposed to be investigating, there's no coming back from that. But the worst part about the whole sorry affair wasn't that it happened, it was that she didn't even regret it. She didn't regret making the bet, losing the bet, bending over that workbench, and giving Willa access to her most precious possession. And she certainly didn't regret any of the two glorious orgasms she'd had at her hand. In fact, if her body could have handled it, she would have stayed for two more, but as it was, even crawling back down the ladder she was lightheaded, drained of energy, and remained so as she drove home.
“Maybe it's for the best,” she said, doing a complete 180, and receiving stunned looks from her coworkers. No one liked to lose a case to the FBI, but she would have rather lost the case than her job. And although she'd vowed never to give in to Willa again, that was easier said than done. The only way to ensure she didn't succumb was to keep her distance. No more tailing – which she was awful at anyway – and no more waiting around, watching and admiring, staring and desiring.
“You sure changed your tune,” Corman said. “You were all over this case before.”
She shrugged. “You said it yourself, it's above our pay grade. And I'm tired of getting no results. Let them have it if they want it. It's not as if we don't have plenty of other work.”
Moments later, the group watched the two FBI agents, serious-looking men in black suits with black expressions, leave the building. Deputy Chief Owen plodded into the room with their team sergeant.
“All right, from now on the FBI will be handling the arms robbery and all things connected to it, including the warehouse hit and the Cubans,” he said. Layke had to stifle a laugh. At his delivery, at his general lack of finesse. He never had been able to give bad news; she wondered how he'd gotten to his position without that skill. All cops had to be able to deliver bad news well, they were trained for it. But her father, she couldn't remember a time he'd ever been good at it. At five, when she came home from school and found her pet rabbit gone, he'd told her straight that because she'd left the pen in the backyard open, it had gotten out and someone ran over it. When she burst into tears, thinking herself a killer, he'd simply patted her on the shoulder awkwardly and told her that everyone and everything dies in the end.
“They're better equipped, have more man power and man hours to devote to this. They're sending some guys over to collect our findings,” the sergeant elaborated. “Sorry, guys.”
Grumbles of discontent at the confirmation abounded. Layke joined in even though she was relieved. Relieved that she would be far from Willa, and thus far from temptation.
Nothing got Layke more pumped for work than forty-five minutes on the rowing machine, following half an hour on the treadmill. She preferred working out in the twilight hours, when the gym was quiet, and mostly empty save for the odd straggler who had nothing better to do.
She could feel the burn in her thighs, the strain on her arms as she powered through her second set of ten-minute sessions before a one-minute cooling off period. Sweat coursed down her chest, her sports bra was damp with perspiration. She was a woman on a mission, coming up to her final thirty seconds of the second round. She dropped the grip, sucked in as much air as her lungs would allow, and rested for a minute.
Her head was down when she saw someone dangling a towel in front of her. When she looked up, she nearly choked on her saliva. She ripped out her headphones, Willa's smiling, smug face peering down at her, towel in hand.
“What are you doing here?” Layke could barely get the words out. Now her heart wasn't beating rapidly because of her workout but because of this unexpected visit.
“Why do people normally come to the gym, detective? To workout.”
“So you expect me to believe that you being here, at five in the morning, at my gym, when it's practically deserted, is because, what, you were in the neighborhood?”
“Nope. I came here precisely because it's five in the morning, it's your gym, and it's practically deserted. Here, let me get that for you. You're all wet and sweaty.” She went to wipe the sweat from Layke's glistening chest.
Layke snatched the towel from her. “I can do it myself.”
Willa shrugged, gave a little laugh, then set herself up on the rowing machine beside Layke. She began to row at a leisurely pace, the dial on the lowest setting. It was obvious she wasn't really there for a proper workout, no matter how dressed for the occasion she was. Layke didn't miss the opportunity to admire the perfectly toned, ripped abs and thighs, naturally bronzed, delectable in a black sports bra and matching shorts.
She turned away quickly, feeling betrayed by her eyes, and shortly after by her body. This wasn't the time or place – or person – to be craving; and seeing her smugness, which was becoming synonymous with Willa, Layke was certain she'd come there just to tease her.
I bet she knows what she's doing to me, what she's already done to me, Layke thought. I bet she does this sort of thing all the time, then sits back and watches women fall apart, wanting her, needing her. Well, need was such a strong word, and though she wasn't quite there yet, if Willa kept this up, Layke feared the aching feeling between her thighs – that almost painful yearning – would never go away until it was satiated by the very cause of it. A slave to her desires.
Layke commenced her third round of rowing, every now and then shooting a cautious, distrusting look Willa's way, being met with a cheeky little smile.
For a moment the whirring of the two machines working in sync was the only sound heard in the huge, empty space. In every corner of the gym the machines lay quiet, unmanned. Layke's energetic breathing was mixed in with the whirring.
“Mmm, I remember that sound,” Willa said over the whir. “I've actually been thinking a lot about it. Brings a smile to my face.”
It took Layke a second to realize that she wasn't talking about the machine sound but Layke's heavy breathing. Her cheeks lit up with color.
“Don't you have anything better to do than stalk me?” she said through her strain.
“It wasn't so long ago I said something similar to you. You haven't been doing much of that lately, though. I can't shake the feeling that now that you got what you wanted from me, you're done with me.” She stopped rowing, feigned a sad puppy-dog expression, laid a hand over her heart. “That really hurts my feelings, detective. I feel used.”
“You feel used? This coming from the woman who tricked me into... who won a bet based on cheating at cards.”
> “Oh, come on, you had to know I would cheat.” Willa twisted around to watch her. “And you had to know I would get what I wanted in the end. I always do, remember?”
“Right, the surname,” Layke said bitterly. “Well, your luck's about to run out, because I'm not on your case anymore. Now you'll have the Feds for company.”
Layke thought she saw a flicker of something, panic maybe, cross Willa's face. If not that then uncertainty. So there was something that scared the mighty Willa di Blasio after all: not the detective badge, but the FBI one. Those guys were ruthless.
“And I was really enjoying your company, detective. That's too bad. Still, you know where I live, I know where you workout... Who's to say we have to stop seeing each other?”
“When I said there wouldn't be a next time, I meant it. We won't be seeing each other in any capacity again, Miss di Blasio.”
“I'm not so sure. You see, I had a lot of fun the other night, and I know you did.” She laughed a dirty laugh that made Layke blush again. “I'm certain you did. So why should we stop having fun, detective?”
“I wish you'd stop saying detective like that, you make it sound dirty.” She also wished Willa would stop looking at her like that, with those smoldering, cat-like eyes, coaxing her to come to bed, drifting unapologetically over her body, focusing on her heaving chest. She already felt hot and sticky and uncomfortable – she didn't need it multiplied.
“It only sounds dirty to a dirty mind, detective,” Willa said, putting sexy emphasis on the word. “What dirty thoughts are on your mind? Do tell.” She folded her arms, leaned forward in rabid anticipation.
Layke couldn't go on. It was all too much for her. She dropped the machine grip, and the whirring cut out abruptly. She caught her breath then stood up, Willa's eyes on her the whole time. “I don't want to see you in this gym again,” she said sternly.
Willa stood up to face her, only a couple of inches separating them. “You can't stop me from coming here.”
“You want to bet? Try me. I could get an injunction out on you, keep you a hundred meters from me at all times.”