The Corrupt Trilogy

by Penelope L'Amoreaux

  A low thudding started behind Simon’s left eye. He hadn’t had migraines since he was a teenager. Since he’d caught Roger making out with Jessica. The soft throb promised a lot of pain later. Fuck. Everything about this promised pain later.

  “Okay. On one condition,” he added.

  “Guilty people don’t get to make conditions, Mr. Stills.” Johnson sounded so damned smug, Simon’s fist itched to connect with the agent’s face. Hard.

  “It’s fucking Simon, you asshole, and I do get to make a condition, if you want those big ass fish in your frying pan.” The vehemence in his voice startled the agent, who jerked up and leaned back, suddenly prey caught inside of a car with a very perturbed predator.

  The agent’s hands went up, calming and defensive. “Okay, what condition?”

  Simon forced himself to stare down the agent. His eyelids lowered, his gaze intensified, and he put everything he had into the look to make the other man feel small. It worked. When Special Agent Mike was properly folding in on himself, his hands awkwardly dancing to find a place to ‘casually’ rest, Simon made his request. “If I need backup, I get it.”

  The agent giggled, high and uncomfortable. “We just need some evidence of bribery. Any kind of corruption.”

  “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. This goes beyond a little bribery or graft, Mike. Walter Taylor and his Big Fish buddies do what they need to in order to make the things they want to happen, happen. Do you get me? They will do whatever they need to. If they suspect me, and they probably will, I won’t be in jail. I’ll be another corpse floating in the Potomac River.”

  “You’re trying to freak me out,” Mike insisted. “You shouldn’t think so little of a Federal Agent.”

  “Backup, or I’m out. You can try to pin on me whatever you think you have, throw me in jail, whatever.”

  “Fine, fine,” Mike didn’t sound convinced. “You can have backup if you need it. Here’s my number,” he handed Simon a card. “I obviously have your number--” he tried to smile, to look tough and regain some of his footing as he opened the SUV door. “Call me when you’ve made contact and think we can get something on Walter. Something big, mind you, or we’ll ship your ass to a small cell, no questions asked,” he added.

  Simon turned the key in the ignition and his engine roared to life. “Got it.”

  As he went to shut the door, Agent Mike Johnston paused. “And Mr. Stills? Don’t run. We can and we will find you.” He slammed the door shut. He probably thought he was some kind of cool ass maverick. Just sealed what he thought was the best deal of his career.

  Well joke’s on you, pal. Because he clearly didn’t know about Simon’s fallout with Walter, or the fact that Walter was his father. He didn’t know about Simon’s real connection to Roger and Dallas, either. If so, he could have used that as leverage as well.

  Simon unbuttoned the top few buttons of his dress shirt, then massaged his temples with his fingers. The low throbbing was already beginning to blossom. Things couldn’t get much worse.

  His phone buzzed. He looked at it-- Jessica.

  Don’t what happened with tonight, but I’m tired. Calling it a night. Glad to have run into you, sorry we missed a chance to catch up.

  He waited, hoping for more. Another date offer, pancakes, come over to my house and fuck my brains out please, but nothing came.

  Simon slammed his palm against the wheel of his SUV. Everything felt as if it was slipping through his fingers. His mind recalled the image of the red hair flowing between them.

  Hell. No.

  He gunned the gas and peeled out on to the road. Jessica was the one thing that might not be in flames in his life right now. As he sped toward her, his desire grew even as his fear did. If his life was burning, the last thing he should do was bring her into it.

  He was too far gone to make the better choice for her. Fuck, he was selfish.

  Chapter Four

  Jessica looked pissed off when she opened the door. She’d meant it about turning in for the night-- she was already in pajamas. Cute pajamas, blue with little stars on them. The top button was half out of its button-hole. Simon wanted to reach up and slip it out fully, exposing more of her cleavage.

  “This is totally inappropriate, Simon. You asked me out, you stood me up, you don’t get to show up at my door after and assume things are going to be okay.” She was fiery. He loved that she was such a cliché redhead. Her body was knock-out beautiful, the cotton of the pj’s hugging each curve. She’d inflamed him for so many years.

  He smiled, hoping against hope that charm could still win the day. “I was held up by the FBI.”

  She laughed, hard and mocking. “Sure you were.”

  “I was, and I’d love to tell you about why I’m late over dinner.”

  “No. I was dressed for dinner. Now I’m not. You missed the chance. It was… it was good seeing you again, Simon, but it’s time for you to leave.”

  Damn, she was stubborn. And not wrong. Stupid Agent Mike was accumulating a pretty large debt with Simon. If he’d made Simon miss out on the chance of a lifetime--

  Wait. Hell no. Simon wasn’t wishy washy, he wasn’t a pushover, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this slip by without fighting for it. For her.

  “Please,” he murmured, moving a little closer to her. He lowered his shoulders, relaxed his arms, hoping she could feel his apology and desire. “I know I’ve fucked up. Let me get you take out. If you’ve already eaten, let me get us some dessert. I want to talk to you. Catch up.” His voice was thick and husky.

  She blushed, the crimson stealing up quickly from her half-buttoned top. She didn’t back away from him. Like before, it was as if there was a magnet between the two of them, a primordial force yanking them together.

  “You’re being so persistent for having just run into each other, Simon.” She bit her lip after, her eyes dragging down his chest. He was glad he’d foregone the tie and left his shirt open a little. He worked out, martial arts and running, and knew he had a great body. Though seeing his brothers, he wondered how much was working out and how much was just good genetics.

  “Well--” she hesitated and he risked another half-step closer, almost bringing him into her doorway. Jesus, he was burning for her. Say yes, say yes, fucking say yes--

  She moved aside, opening her arm to invite him in. “I did already eat, but I have leftovers and ice cream.”

  All he wanted was to devour her. All in good time. His tension leached out and he stepped inside.

  Simon knew the drill. He pretended to look around in earnest, enjoying her blush as she thought he was studying her home, trying to glean some knowledge about her. He hadn’t been inside of her house before, of course. Though he’d thought about it. But as fucked up as Simon knew his obsession with protecting Jessica was, there were lines to be drawn. It was one thing to follow her to, well, make sure she wasn’t being followed. It was another thing to enter her home. Mostly.

  He had looked through the windows with binoculars. She was the kind of woman who liked a lot of natural light. He knew this because she often began her day by going throughout her whole apartment drawing open the blinds. It meant he was able to see a lot.

  Once, she’d forgotten to close them again before changing. The temptation to watch her undress had been enormous. But at the heart of it, he was not just in lust with Jessica, he was in love with her. He’d put down the binoculars and drove off, his heart pounding and his erection painful at just the idea of her naked.

  “You have a lovely home,” he remarked casually. It was true, in any case. Her apartment wasn’t large, but she made it feel open. White walls and carpets and fun dashes of color in the accents.

  “Thanks.” She moved into the kitchen and he followed. “Thai okay?”

  “Only if it’s spicy.”

  She laughed, relaxed again. He was forgiven. “I remember that about you! We used to drive Roger crazy ordering the spiciest things on the menu!”

&
nbsp; The reminder of Roger stung. They had done that, and been able to share, while Roger had to eat his own mild food. Still, he was here. He was the one in her kitchen. Roger was long gone, married and a memory made fresh by scandal. That wasn’t enough for history to repeat itself.

  Ugh. The jealousy over something that had happened so long ago and was obviously no longer an issue rubbed Simon wrong. He was better than this petty shit.

  She handed him a plate. He could see the large slices of Thai red pepper and yes, she still liked it hot. His mouth was watering and it had nothing to do with the food.

  They sat at the table. The ease of conversation disappeared. Suddenly it was awkward and he was fifteen again, with a pretty girl and not knowing what to talk about. The silence hung until finally she broke it.

  “So… FBI, huh?”

  This was the part he’d debated about for hours in the car. Things were easier when she was just someone he protected from a distance. But if he was going to do this, really do this, he’d need to give her some of the truth. Just not all of it. Definitely not the nasty bits. The FBI intervention only made the need for a little truth more obvious.

  “Sure. They are asking me to do some consulting.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Yeah, but couldn’t it have waited? Until normal business hours or something?”

  He shoved a forkful of food in his mouth, relishing the instant sting it produced. “Probably, but they’re pushy.”

  “So what do they need you to consult on? What do you do, exactly?”

  “I’m a freelancer. Usually public relations and media. I work for clients to establish a certain image for politicians, primarily. The FBI is having me consult on some political research.”

  “...research?”

  “That’s what I’ll call it, but you know better. Can’t say more, of course.”

  She smiled. “Sure,” she drug the word out, heavy on the sarcasm. “And that’s why you were late. FBI asking you to consult on top secret politician mission stuff.”

  He nodded, still eating. “You got it.”

  She sighed. “Things were never simple with you, Simon. But if you’re in contact with Roger, does it have something to do with him?”

  He winked, not wanting her to be concerned. Concerned was all she should be. Hell, she should be running now. He needed to redirect, mostly so he wouldn’t be thinking about how his selfishness was such a bad idea. “What do you do?” He already knew, of course.

  “Not a lot, if I’m honest. I’m so glad I can speak to you openly about it. Roger’s father set Amanda, my daughter, and I up with a lot of money. I used it to take care of her and go to school but, well, I’ve never been sure of what I wanted to do. Currently I’ve been working on a spy novel.”

  He almost choked. “You don’t say.”

  She nodded, happy to be talking about it. “Yeah! In fact, maybe you can persuade your FBI friends to help me with some spy details! They aren’t actually that forthcoming with those details.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Probably for a reason. We don’t want to know what they do to train people for espionage, and we definitely don’t want to know what they’re being used for.”

  Her laugh, tinkling and full, warmed him more than the peppers. “You sound like a conspiracy theorist. Like the whole system is full of corruption!”

  He joined her laughter. It was nice to be relaxed with her. It was nice to be with her.

  It would be really nice to be in her. He shouldn’t be doing this at all. Since he was, he really should be taking it slow. But Simon wasn’t that kind of guy, apparently. Instead of being cautious and careful, he was going to put it all out there. Use every move. His life was already fucked, could rejection really be that much worse?

  Plus, and maybe this was ego, but he didn’t care-- he didn’t get rejected.

  He scooted his chair close to hers. Their thighs touched and he watched as goosebumps appeared on Jessica’s pale, freckled arms, but she didn’t pull away. Good.

  “I’ve hated Roger for stealing you from me for over eighteen years,” he admitted. He sounded bitter, but he was also feeling desperate for her. “I wanted you, Jess, like nothing I’d wanted in my life.”

  Startled, she turned a brilliant shade of red. “I knew you had a crush on me back then, but I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know that I’ve never been satisfied in dating, never stayed in a relationship in all of this time because of how I felt about you. How I feel about you.” He placed his hand on her knee. He felt her shudder.

  “Nostalgia is dangerous, Simon,” she muttered. She was still red, but her eyes were hooded, the sexiest bedroom eyes he’d ever seen. “You didn’t know me then. Not really. You know nothing about me now.”

  His hand stayed in the same place but he gripped a little, possession in his fingertips. “Let me know you, then. Don’t say no. Because you need to know I am barely keeping my hand here. I want to touch every inch of you. I want to taste you. I want to show you how dangerous and demanding nostalgia really can be.”

  Her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted, her breathing rapid. He paused, waiting. The silence was a noose and he could feel the ‘no’ coming. Fuck. He’d pushed too far, too fast. She could probably taste his need and desperation. How could he explain that this wasn’t about banging some chick from his past to make a point? How could he explain that to be inside of her would be ecstasy for him, a completion so deep and fulfilling he could die and be okay?

  “Jessica--”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “This is a terrible idea, but yes.”

  Chapter Five

  And then he was on her, lurching out of his seat so quickly the wooden chair toppled onto her tiled floor. His fingers wrapped into her hair. It was every bit as soft and silky in his hands as he’d imagined. Tightening his grip enough that she gasped, he crushed his mouth to hers.

  In this case, his desperation worked in his favor. Jessica didn’t just want spice in her food; she reacted to his domination wildly. His fervent, controlling kiss was the catalyst for her and she wound herself around him, hands and fingernails tearing desperately at his back.

  They stood together, needing to be closer, needing the tight press of breasts to chest. Without breaking their kiss, their hands sought buttons and cloth, practically ripping the clothing off of their bodies.

  Slow down. He didn’t want to. He wanted to plunge into her right then. But if he wanted to keep her, he needed to prove himself. Show her she wasn’t just a sentimental fuck.

  His hands gripped her wrists, bringing them in front of her. He used his belt, yanking it from the pants that had fallen to the floor, and looped it around her hands, binding her. He pulled it tight, a thrill running through him when she groaned in appreciation.

  Running his hands over her soft waist and hips, he reached back and grabbed her supple ass, lifting her on to the table. Jessica squealed in delight as he helped lay her back, her hips riding the edge. He spread her legs, though she fought to squeeze them shut.

  “No, let me look at you.”

  She relaxed, bit by bit, her legs spreading open and revealing a fiery thatch of hair above the most beautiful pink he’d seen. She was wet for him, her hips rocking in earnest, begging for his physical attention.

  “Stay here. Just like this.”

  “What happens if I don’t?” she giggled.

  He lightly slapped the inside of her thigh, marveling at how her pale skin turned pink with the lightest smack. Spanking her would be fucking delightful, but that wasn’t in the plan. Yet. “Stay.”

  She whimpered as she watched him walk around to the front of her. His erection was tented tightly against his boxer briefs, and her eyes grew large at the size of it hovering near her mouth. He waited, letting her think she knew what was going to happen. Then Simon stooped and grabbed his shirt. It wasn’t as good as a blindfold, but you used what you had available, right?

 
He pulled it over her eyes, tightening it at the back. It was awkward but did the job--he was sure she couldn’t see anything. “You okay?” He whispered.

  She grinned and licked her lips at him. Fuck. He could have come just from that.

  Little wench. He smiled, deciding she did deserve a little torture for her sassiness. Simon walked over to the freezer. He knew she was curious when she heard it’s motor kick into gear as he opened it.

  He pulled out the ice cream. Thank God, she ate the real shit. Decadent, full cream and whole milk ice cream, the way nature intended. It was what he’d need for his devious plan.

  His cock aching now, he moved back between her legs. His plate had stayed on the table, though if she’d moved while he was up it would have tumbled to shatter on the floor.

  Time to show her how serious he was. He’d make this memorable. Jessica liked things hot, after all.

  Simon took a chili off of the plate and popped it in his mouth. He rolled it around for just a moment, immediately feeling the sting. He took it out and prepared to show Jessica what happened to sassy girls.

  He knelt between her open legs, inhaling the sweet perfume of her. His tongue swiped her, slow and languid. She moaned, her hips arching up to meet his mouth. Stiffening his tongue, he began to trace elegant designs on her lips and clit. She gasped.

  Then the heat hit.

  “Oh, fuck me!” Jessica shouted, her hips bucking, trying to escape his punishing tongue. Simon was quick, though, and strong, and he had his arms pinning her legs and core. He continued his torturous swirls as she shouted and cried.

  She was also moaning, her mewling pushing through the curses. She called him every name she could think of while he laved her.

  I thought I had a foul mouth.

  When he knew the heat was moving past uncomfortable into scorching, he grabbed the ice cream and used his fingers to scoop it out. He smeared it on her burning pussy.

  “Shhh, relax,” he murmured. “The milk fats nullify the capsaicin. Give it a second.”