Hooked

by Polly Iyer

  How could one man be so lucky? On the way back into the salon, he passed the full-length mirror, stood sideways, and sucked in the slight paunch he’d noticed only recently. He made a note to cut down on desserts. Benny wasn’t one for abstinence, but he was vain enough to do what he needed to keep from looking his age.

  Reaching into the liquor cabinet, he withdrew a bottle of eighteen-year-old Macallan single malt scotch and poured two ounces into a tulip-shaped Baccarat glass. He inhaled the sweet aroma of oak and sherry before savoring the scotch’s distinct combination of flavors. Sipping slowly, he thought, Ah, the advantages of being filthy, stinking rich. The drink was an appetizer to the main course, and the entrée was now tapping on the door. A click of his remote control and the door popped opened.

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Cooper?”

  Every woman Benny hired knew that satisfying him was part of her job―an occasional freebie in exchange for the exorbitant money they earned at Upper Eighties. Melody entered the apartment looking every bit the model of her day job. Tall, willowy, buxom, and Bahama-tanned, due to an extra-long weekend cruising on a client’s yacht, she seemed relaxed and eager to please. An expensive designer suit fit her body as if she’d been blown into it, like insulation.

  “Yes, dear. I’d like to see every bit of you,” Benny said, plopping onto his down-feather mattress like a little kid at a sleepover. “And how many times have I told you to call me Benny in the privacy of my apartment?”

  Melody leaned over, scrunching her boobs so they bulged from her blouse. “Benny,” she whispered in his ear before slipping off her jacket and methodically hanging it on a waiting hanger.

  Benny hated clothes all over the place. It offended his neatness fetish, one of many fetishes he’d cultivated. He liked the word: fetish. It sounded kinky.

  He watched Melody lower herself onto the edge of the bed, freeing one button of her blouse at a time. Benny absorbed her intent gaze, the seductive come-on smile. If she wore a bra during the day, she knew to remove it before knocking on Benny’s door. He liked his women braless, especially when they had breasts the size and firmness of Melody’s.

  Benny slipped his hands inside her blouse and caressed the velvety skin as if he were a blind man seeing with the sensitive touch of his fingertips. She released the obligatory purrs when he pinched her nipples.

  “That feels so good,” Melody murmured. “Don’t stop.”

  Benny obliged. None of his women had implants. That was another of Benny’s no-nos. A woman jiggling fake tits in his face didn’t work for him, mainly because they didn’t jiggle. Breasts should be natural and bouncy, soft to the touch and responsive. Benny knew his requirements weren’t universal. Some men found more than a mouthful excessive. His wife was large-breasted, much larger than Melody’s full C cup, and Eileen’s were all hers.

  Melody stood and continued her striptease down to her lavender silk thong. When she kicked it aside, Benny stared at her all-over tan, including her shaved mound.

  “How was your weekend?” he asked.

  “As you’d expect. Mischa’s yacht is obscenely large, and the food was to die for. Cindi and I sunbathed nude on the deck with him. He doesn’t ask much for himself. Pretty traditional, actually; always a gentleman. He relished watching us together, which got him sizzling. Then he joined in. We knew what he wanted before accepting the assignment and agreed. Cindi’s quite a good partner.”

  “I’m sure you were both well paid.”

  Benny knew the client―a billionaire who couldn’t divorce his only wife without being screwed out of half his fortune. Benny arranged discrete trysts with a variety of beautiful, intelligent young women who knew how to revive an older man’s cock and make him feel young again, without the aid of a little blue pill.

  Benny handled these arrangements personally, mentioned the fees his ladies set and, if accepted, collected his percentage directly from the client. This relieved him of taking a cut from his women. That would make him a pimp—a word he found distasteful. He preferred to think of himself as…an agent.

  “That’s why hardly anyone leaves you, Benny. A couple of girls who did wound up with unscrupulous slugs who hooked them on drugs and pimped them out to lower paying clients. Before long, they were used up and on the streets, giving blow jobs to johns in cars for twenty a pop.”

  “I tried to tell them. Allura wanted back in, but I had to say no. No man wants a woman with track marks on her arms. It broke my heart. She was a beautiful woman.”

  “Gives me the shivers,” Melody said breathlessly.

  Benny figured she was feigning the tremors, but who cared when each heave put her magnificent assets into action.

  “And what about Serena?” Melody asked. “Dead. Fished out of the river. Who could have done such a thing?”

  Benny’s stomach took a dive. What if the cops asked his women? Should he tell them to shut up? No. That would look like he had something to hide. Better keep his mouth shut. He hoped he didn’t visibly show concern. Melody’s voice broke through his meandering thoughts. So did her hands, unzipping his fly.

  “Does Daddy want Mommy today? Or does he want Melody the wicked stepmother?”

  Her long, slim fingers slipped inside to stroke his cock with a feel-good, gentle touch. Unfortunately, it took longer these days to get off. It wasn’t age, he didn’t think. More like what used to turn him on didn’t work as fast anymore. He constantly needed more kink. His girls were patient and considered arousing him a challenge. They never acted bored. The money was too good.

  “Save the mommy routine for the fat man tonight. This time he wants baby sister to watch. Since you and Cindi got on so well, Colin asked if she’d grab a rattle and crawl all over him while you take him to Never-Never Land.”

  “Never-Never Land is a whole continent with that one. Good thing I work out. I’m always afraid he’s going to bounce on the wrong place and break something.” She sighed. “But for now?”

  “Make me happy, baby. Start with these.” He held up a pair of custom-made nipple clamps. “Then…you know what I like. You can finish with a massage.”

  Melody straddled him. He squished her breasts together and licked and sucked enough to get her hot, careful never to leave marks. Her satisfaction wasn’t a priority, but he wanted her to enjoy what she was doing so she’d be more enthused about pleasing him. After all, that was the whole point of getting laid, wasn’t it? Male satisfaction?

  “Yeah, how’s that?” he said, pretending to care.

  Leaning down, she murmured in his ear. “You’re the best, Benny.”

  Of course I am.

  He closed his eyes. She clamped one nipple at a time, holding the chain that connected them between her teeth while her hands teased his erogenous zones to heighten the pleasure.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said, as the pain shot through his chest and tweaked his dick. His fingers tightened on her nipples in concert with the exquisite pressure she exerted by moving her head, pulling him one way, then another. After tightening the clamps, she sat up. To Benny’s delight, she never allowed her gentle but prodding fingers to lose interest for more than a few seconds. His erection blossomed.

  “Who said women were the only ones to derive pleasure from these little torture toys?” Benny found the torque quite sensual. Once the nipples were numb, the pain subsided, but keeping the clamps on too long cut off blood circulation. The real erotic pain hit when they were removed and the blood rushed back.

  Then his cell phone rang.

  The hell with it.

  But what if it’s important?

  He motioned to Melody to get his phone. Letting go of her nipples, he latched onto the phone and checked the number. Rats! The woman wouldn’t call him if it weren’t important.

  “Hello. Oh my God,” he moaned, clapping his hand over his mouth. He waved at Melody to stop her glorious manipulations.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Cooper?”

  “No, I mean, I mean, yes, I’m fine
, Mrs. van Syke.”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, not at all. Is something wrong? Is Jenny okay?”

  “Um, here, she wants to speak to you.”

  “Daddy. I don’t feel well. I want to go home.”

  “Of course, honey.” An apologetic glance at Melody. She tightened the screw. “Oww, fuck! What are you doing?” Benny cried as Melody loosened the clamp.

  “What did you say, Daddy?”

  Shit! Benny rolled his eyes at Melody. “I said truck. Silvie will come get you in her pick-up truck. Mommy will be home in a little while, I’m sure. Silvie will give you something for your stomach, okay, Jenny baby?”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  “I’ll call you later. Daddy loves you.”

  He clicked off the phone. “Jesus, you almost tore off my nipple.”

  “I’m sorry, Benny. I thought I was loosening it. I have this directional problem.”

  “I’ll say.” Melody wiped the sweat from Benny’s forehead. “Left, loosen; right, tighten. It really isn’t hard to fathom.”

  “Gotcha.” Melody frowned apologetically. “Won’t happen again. Promise.”

  “Okay, okay. I need to make a call.” He called the maid at the house and told her to pick up Jennifer at the van Sykes’. “There’s children’s stomach medicine in Jen’s bathroom, Silvie. Give her a dose. My wife should be home soon.” He listened, agreed, and hung up.

  “Now, where were we, sweetheart?”

  “I’m afraid I was tearing off your nipple, Benny. Should I loosen the clamps now?”

  “Yeah, they’ve been on long enough, and amazingly, that extra twist aroused me more than ever. Should be a major high.”

  Melody slowly released the pressure, and the initial shock detonated stabs of glorious pain to Benny’s brain. He expelled an almost feral moan. The result turned arousal into a full-fledged, swollen hard-on. Melody applied an oral balm to reduce the soreness around his purplish nipples, slid down, and took him in her mouth, flicking her tongue over the head of his cock. One hand slid under his buttocks; the other massaged his testicles. The triple manipulation made Benny forget he was fifty years old. More like twenty again, heading for an outer galaxy in the heavens.

  Chapter Four

  Quid Pro Quo

  The hotel was booked solid due to a writers’ convention, which left Linc without a room. He needed to get his overnight bag from his car so he could shower and change. He trusted Tawny not to run a disappearing act on him. She said she wouldn’t, and she hadn’t lied so far. Maybe he was being conned, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt. She wouldn’t be hard to find if she skipped.

  “I’ll be here,” she said. “There’s no warrant for my arrest, is there?”

  “No. We thought we’d try the quid pro quo approach first.”

  “You mean I screw over Benny Cooper so the IRS doesn’t screw me over, is that it?”

  She sure had a way of nailing it. “Something like that.”

  “Then if Cooper gets off, he gets his shot at me.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  She scoffed and pulled a bra and panties from the dresser drawer. “I know how these things work, Detective Walsh. I’m the pro in quid pro quo, remember?”

  “Take your shower. If you don’t mind, I’ll take one after.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Are you moving in with me?”

  The thought stabbed Linc in the gut. “Just for tonight. No rooms in the inn. I checked. I could pull the cop thing, but I’d rather keep a low profile.” He pointed to the other room. “Sofa bed. I’ll even take you out to dinner to explain what we want you to do.”

  “Then your office can pay for the night’s hotel charge. I don’t do anything for free. Remember that too.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  She pulled her wet dress over her head and stood naked in front of him. It was the second time she’d done that, and each time the sight of her magnificent body had the same effect. He watched her gaze lower to the swelling inside his wet pants.

  “Seems like you’re the one with the hard bargain, Walsh.” Then she turned and strolled into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. “Key card’s on the dresser.”

  Fuck! Fuck! He left the room and hustled down the long corridor to the elevators. His rain-soaked pants clung to his legs like packing tape. Goddamn uncomfortable. What was wrong with him? The woman was a hooker, and he was a sex crime investigator. That’s supposed to be like oil and water, but it felt more like accelerant and match. Get hold of yourself. Take a Valium or whatever you can find to make stubborn dicks behave.

  Ignoring the stares, he stopped in the bar and ordered a double vodka. He’d anesthetize himself. That would keep everything in place. He always called the shots when it came to women. This one had him tied in knots. All he could think of was getting her in bed. Maybe he should call the captain. No, he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  The drink relaxed him and the walk to the car helped. Exercise. That’s what he needed. And a cold shower and another drink. And a five-fucking-mile run.

  * * * * *

  Tawny turned on water in the tub as hot as she could stand. The wet dress had served its purpose, but by the time she shed it she was shivering in the air-conditioned room. She poured the tiny bottle of hotel bubble bath into the gushing surge and stepped in. Frothy foam surrounded her. Total immersion, that’d relax her. She slid down into the water until she was completely submerged, a feeling akin to being ensconced in a warm, toasty blanket. Lack of air forced her to the surface. She took a deep breath and let it out with a weary sigh.

  Why was she so tense? Aside from the fact the government wanted a piece of her, like everyone else, what had her on edge? She knew what, but she couldn’t admit it.

  All the years she’d been in the life, she’d never been attracted to anyone enough to get involved. They were business clients, contributors to her retirement so when the time came she’d never have to do anything she didn’t want to. Even her regulars, men she knew well, never tempted her. Oh, some tried. A few even offered marriage―after they divorced their wives. Many weren’t married, but there were obvious reasons that kept them from being good bets. Not that she expected to play out the hand.

  She loved her independence. Loved taking off when she wanted to, scouring ruins in Italy and Greece. Enjoyed vacationing with exciting men. They wanted her because they couldn’t have her, and that made it fun. She did what they wanted in return. Most of that was fun too. But it was always business.

  So what was happening with Lincoln Walsh? She turned him on, that was a no-brainer. He had a bulge in his pants the size of a bus since he hit on her at the beach. But he had an unusual effect on her too. One she couldn’t control. Yeah, he was handsome. She’d been with plenty of handsome men. Rich too. As a cop, she figured Walsh made just enough to keep him in Italian shoes. To her, man and money were separate, and money alone had never roused her interest. It was a means to an end, and she didn’t need anyone to supply it for her. She’d done fine by herself. There was something about this one, though. Underneath his tough exterior hid a softness he’d detest if he knew he possessed it.

  She slipped under the water again.

  * * * * *

  The door to the bathroom was still ajar. Linc glanced in. Tawny’s long, sleek legs rested on the outside edge of the tub, piercing a surface of bubbles. He didn’t see her head, and nothing moved. Not the water. Not Tawny.

  Hot prickles of fear spiked every nerve ending. She wouldn’t. Throwing his bag down, he slammed the bathroom door back against the wall and rushed inside.

  “What?” she asked, emerging from under the suds. “What’s the matter?”

  He stopped short, his heart pounding. She was all right. “Nothing. Nothing’s the matter. Sorry. Sorry.” Embarrassed at his overreaction, he backed out of the bathroom and bee-lined to the balcony. He fastened his shaky hands to the railing to steady them and sucked in long breaths
of fresh air.

  The scene brought back another time, long ago. He didn’t have those flashbacks often, but when he did, it took everything out of him. Settling down, he watched the waves roll in, one after another. When he was a kid, Harry took him to the beach, and Linc found solace in the constant, hypnotizing undulation of the ocean, without understanding its perpetual locomotion. Harry told him if the ocean stopped moving, the planet would cease to exist.

  The ocean still moved, the rain had stopped, and the sun peeked hazily through a break in the clouds. Crazy weather. Crazy life.

  “You okay?”

  He hadn’t heard her approach and turned abruptly. She wore a pair of royal blue slacks and a tee shirt that must have been dyed to match her turquoise eyes. Barefoot, with a blue rubber band fastening her wet hair in a ponytail, she looked like an innocent, buffed clean and polished.

  He nodded.

  “You scared me to death. What did you think, that I slit my wrists? Or maybe you thought I drowned myself.”

  He shrugged, turning away so she wouldn’t see how the bathroom scene had affected him. Of all the examples, why did she have to bring up that one?

  “Nothing you have on me would make me do that,” she said. “I like myself too much.”

  He saw her try to make eye contact when he didn’t answer, and he connected briefly.

  “I’ve filled the tub. Go on. It’ll relax you. You’re wound in knots.”

  “I’ll just shower.”

  “The bath’s ready. Don’t waste water.”

  Their gazes met, and this time he smiled. “Thanks. I haven’t taken a bath in years. Always in too much of a hurry.” A white lie, but that was okay.

  “Don’t hurry now. We have all night.”

  He put the all night thought out of his mind and headed for the bathroom.

  * * * * *

  They settled on dinner at the hotel. The maître ’d ushered them to a table for two overlooking the ocean. The calmness of the setting sun conflicted with the tenseness radiating from Tawny like heat waves. The waiter took their order―Tawny a Perrier and a grilled vegetable plate; he ordered vodka on the rocks and a steak, medium rare.