by KT Morrison
“Please,” she whispered.
He was on the verge of losing his resolve to. She could see it in his face, tell from the sweat on his skin, his breaths. He dipped his head again, tempting her to kiss him. She fell for it, moving to pull his lips to hers but he pulled away just as he entered her a little more deeply this time.
She put both her hands up on his chest, felt the tremble in his muscle as he struggled to be delicate with her. He quivered at her touch.
“Fuck me,” she said, sliding her hands from his chest along his sides to squeeze at his waist, to pull him, urge him into her deeper. “I don’t want it gentle.”
She felt the heat from his body as he lowered himself, pushed deeper, came to touch her now, his hard belly against her soft flesh.
“Oh, God,” she whispered into his ear. He went deeper and she squealed out. It drove him, he withdrew and gave a deep thrust and she pushed her hips against it wanting him to shove it in as deeply as it would go.
They heard a crumple from the hood, a hollow metallic complaint. Her eyes went wide and she saw his do the same. They stopped moving. She pulled her lips in and bit them, but a smile crept across her face gradually, pulling them up over her teeth. She raised her eyebrows up very high and put her arms around the back of Omar’s neck, said, “Uh-oh.”
“Put your legs around me,” he said. She pulled herself off the car with her arms, hugging herself to him, then brought her legs around his waist and squeezed herself against him with one foot wrapped around the other ankle.
“Oh, shit,” she whimpered, feeling his cock pulled deeply inside her now. He pushed himself off the hood with his hands while she clung to him. He cupped his hands under her cheeks to support her and they turned sideways to get a look at the hood of the Ferrari. It didn’t look damaged. He bent a little trying to see if the light reflected differently off the smooth red metal, gave away any sign of a dent or a dip they’d put in it.
“It’s fine,” he said, looking back at her.
She lifted her head to regard the car and he watched her. She inhaled then licked her lips and spit on the hood of the Ferrari. She could feel him laughing, his stomach shaking as he did, his cock sliding deeper into her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his face frowning, puzzled.
“Fucking terrorist, yeah?” She put her lips over his again and pulled him closer to her, her arms tightening around his neck.
He broke away, looked in her eyes, their foreheads touching, he said, “You’re crazy, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” she said, completely convinced. They were both laughing now.
Omar hugged her closer to him, trying to get out of his pants that were around his ankles. He had to lean himself back against a concrete pillar. Kate bit at his neck while she felt him kick his legs out of the pants. It felt so good, his struggle making his cock move in and out of her in unexpected ways.
“Unh, that feels so good,” she told him.
He got his legs free and walked her a few steps across the garage floor until she felt her back press up against the cold aluminum siding and instantly he was driving into her. She thrust her head back in ecstasy so hard she hit it on the metal and saw stars briefly. She put a hand up on her head and clutched it, “Ah, shit,” she said, rubbing where she’d knocked it. Omar continued to drive deeply into her. She was braced against the solid metal wall and each aggressive thrust he gave her buried that huge thing inside her, felt like her organs were being displaced, “Oh, my God, fuck me, that’s it,” she growled into his ear. He gave it to her harder and her nails raked across his back. She yelped out with each painful thrust, her voice echoing off the high metal walls like a chamber hall. “Fuck me!” she repeated.
He stopped, purposely trying to drive her mad. He kissed at her neck and his big hands went over her breasts. She put her hands over his wrists and she fucked him. He kept himself rigid for her and she bucked against him, feeling that huge cock grind against all her perfect spots. “Oh, God,” she said, “don’t move, I’m going to come.” He arched back and she felt him flex himself inside her, felt it swell even larger. His arms came back too, and he had her pinned to the wall with just his hips and his manhood.
“Oh, Omar,” she said and she put her palms up against his open hands. She bounced on him, swivelling and tilting and she felt it coming. She wrapped her hands around his thumbs, squeezed them tightly, used them like handles to lever her hips against him. Even his thumbs were big. His thumb was as big as her husband’s manhood she thought. That ruined it. She pushed that thought away, felt her orgasm moving from her, getting fainter.
“No,” she gasped. She let his thumbs go and her hands lashed out to the sides looking for purchase, something to brace against so she could get that pleasure back, get herself over the edge. Her right hand found a metal utility box and she gripped it.
Her ears flooded with an enormous and shocking hydraulic sound. She opened her eyes and saw a car above them to the left coming down very slowly between two massive blue painted beams. Omar laughed. She’d pressed a button on the box and it operated some sort of hoist the car was on.
It was gone, that orgasm fading away just leaving her with the pounding in her ears and in her chest. The car came down next to them almost to the ground and Omar pressed the button to stop it. He walked with her still attached to his hips, his cock still buried in her, and came to the side of the car. It was some sort of Mercedes with big wheels, and it sat on these yellow arms that held it by the undercarriage. The yellow arms were attached to the two metal beams that ran up into the roof, that held the hydraulics. He sat her on a yellow arm and she steadied herself with a hand on the car’s tire.
He kissed her and she whimpered as he slowly slid himself out of her. He lifted her down so her feet were on the floor and then turned her around so the yellow arm was across her hips. She bent herself over it, exposed herself to him.
She felt pressure between her legs back there, then surprise at his big blunt end pushing into her anus. She gasped out. He spread her, sunk himself halfway up inside her, and her head came right back, her eyes rolling up with it. He was gentle with her, but he was so wet from fucking her, he was sliding in and out of her fairly easily. She heard him groan out now behind her, loving her tightness on him. She let herself fall forward, let her head hang down and surrendered herself to his invasion. She felt him moving in and out of her, stretching her back there, felt the different kind of pleasure. She looked down at her bare feet, held together, her knees slightly bent. She looked at the chipped polish on her toes, heard the rattle of a chain draped over the arm next to her clinking in harmony with his groans and thrusts. She started too, joined in with squeaky little yelps every time he pushed it into her. She put her hands out to steady herself, brace herself against his thrusts as she felt them get a little more forceful. They rested on a motor set in a stand in front of her, her fingers moving over the rough dirty edges trying to get a grip. Her other hand rested on the stand her fingers went around the handle of a long heavy ratchet.
Only three days ago there was a quite distinct possibility—it wasn’t impossible—she could have taken this ratchet and smashed him over the head with it. Kept smashing his head and face until he was dead. Now here she was bent over a hoist in his garage taking his huge cock up her bottom and loving it. She was going to come from it.
She squeezed the hard metal things under her fingers, felt herself getting closer. Her squeaks got higher and louder, his grunts coming quicker. The chain’s rattle was a constant now, the links jangling and beating against her knee.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she cried out as she felt it come back to her, bigger now than even the first time. She cried out with his thrusts as she came, pulled so hard with her hands she moved the engine closer to her. Her eyes rolled back again, and she let out a long low animal sound as she rode out the enormous pleasure washing over her. She felt his cock slide right out of her and he dropped it on her back, felt it bounce there, the
n he thrust it between her soft cheeks.
A thick manly finger went up inside her and she cried out, her eyes were shocked open, wide and staring. A whole new wave crashed over her, threatening to pull her out to sea and drown her, make her disappear forever, her body never to be found. She yelled out louder than before, she wanted him to know his effect, wanted him to know the incredible victory he’d just won.
“Oh, God, Omar, Omar,” she said, and still he slid that big thing between her jiggling cheeks and still that big finger worked its magic inside her. She let go with her hands and her body fell forward, she was draped across the metal bar looking at her dirty feet, feeling the grit on her soles. Finally he stopped, she heard him roar out, felt him splash his seed across her back hot and wet, felt it land in her hair, and run down her back and across her neck, saw it dripping from the points of her shoulders. He collapsed on her, she felt his warm heavy weight on her back. He lifted her from the hoist and he lowered her to the concrete floor and lay next to her, shoulder to shoulder.
She lay on the floor, sore between her legs, looked at the grease on her hands, the black smears on her flesh. She felt his semen on her, in her hair, felt the grit on her back, on her feet. She felt so alive and so dirty. She could feel the pulse in her neck, could feel the blood pumping life through her, the warm night breeze coming in through the open bay. She watched Omar laying next to her, heaving for breath, his beautiful body shining with sweat.
2
Mitch would give anything to know where she was, to know what she was doing right now. He just wanted to hear from her at the very least, he wanted to know she was safe. What had he done to her to deserve this?
He was looking off the edge of the apartment balcony, standing in the indigo light of nighttime, moonlit London. Cars hissed along Bedford’s Walk, quiet rubber sounds trailing in the wake of wandering headlights. Laughter drifted up as a group of well-heeled pedestrians walked under the oak tree canopy, tipsy, and exuberant. Other happy lives so close to him but they seemed so very far away, out of reach, he was a million miles from them.
Kate was his little girl and she was breaking his heart. When he stood on the altar and he’d taken her hand and said, I do, it was the greatest day in his life. A companion was all he wanted. The rest of his life could fuck right off. He’d give it all up to be with her. But what had become of her? She wasn’t the same person any more. Not his bad little Kate whom he’d tamed, got on the tracks, groomed and perfumed, not now. That girl would never leave him without saying a word, let him suffer like this. Didn’t he give her everything that she’d wanted? He picked her up and saved her from that struggle, blessed her life with his own successes. Beyond those surface things, those trappings, his feelings for her went to his soul. She’d proven herself so many times, proven to him that they were meant to be.
He’d love to go down onto that street, walk with that group, disappear with them around the corner headed off to some pub or some club. Have fun, be normal. Feel the fresh air, the company of strangers. Get away from his problems. He needed her now more than ever. He had real disasters on the horizon, things she didn’t even know about. He needed her next to him. He could go out but he might miss her call. Might miss her walking in that door.
Mitch went back into the apartment, slid the glass door behind him, choked out the sounds of other people’s lives. Shut himself in to the theatre of his own personal tragedy. Props arranged around the stage: two empty whisky bottles, an open laptop urgently awaiting a sign of life, paperwork strewn about, notes from his lawyers, his briefcase upended into the corner of the messy couch, papers folded and crumpled, cigarettes in an ashtray…
Kate had been so grateful, so devoted to him. And it wasn’t his money. He knew it wasn’t his money. It was his love. No one would believe that if he told them. One look at her… She enjoyed—really enjoyed—the money, but she wasn’t a gold digger. She was crafty he’d discovered, but her craft dealt with physical pleasures not with financial rewards. She could always trick some bloke into buying her something. But she’d found a bloke with money whom she could trick into letting her explore herself with other men. A man who had grown, ashamedly, to enjoy it. How could she do this to him—leave her perfect man? What more could he fucking do for her?
Kate needed help. That was what it came down to. She was the same Kate she always was but she’d got herself in trouble. She’d lost her way. It was his own damn fault. He broke her with his ridiculous blackmail game. He had to save her.
It was possible that she hadn’t left him. It was possible that she was trying to save him. She was doing her own part to protect their family of two. She might not have left him at all, she could be out doing something terrible in an effort to save Mitch.
There were no options left. He righted his briefcase, dumped it so that it was empty then put it on the coffee table. He fished out a tiny, worn leather notebook from a pocket on the topside of the case. He flicked through it, found the number he was looking for and dialled it into his personal iPhone.
He hated to do it, but he needed help.
*
Maureen Mehrotra was sitting on the bed in the Chelsea Suite at the Baglioni wearing a blindfold and nothing else. The room was very quiet and she’d become aware of her own breathing. She wanted to get up and blow her nose but she knew he was going to come through that door any minute. She wanted to be seen sitting on the bed like this. She’d spent a little time perfecting the pose in the mirror and she didn’t want him to miss it.
He would come in to the room through the door from the hall and the light would fall across her in the darkened room and light up her brown skin. She was on her knees in the centre of the king size bed and she had mussed the sheets artfully so she wouldn’t seem plopped on to the striped, flat duvet. The second she heard the door she would arch her back and thrust out her chest, put her shoulders back. For now she had let herself relax, slump, get lost in the darkness of the blindfold. She could hear her heart beating now. Louder than her breathing. Pounding from anticipation and something else. Worry.
Derek had assured her on the phone that this investigation or whatever it was, was just a misunderstanding. That Mitch and he would deal with it and they would be back up and running in ten days tops. He said she should just enjoy her time off. The rest of the staff was in the dark. Even more than she. At least she got the benefit of talking to Derek; the benefit of his encouraging words. She couldn’t even put her friends at ease. Had to keep this news to herself. If she even believed it. That was the problem. She couldn’t shake the image of him running down those stairs in the atrium of the building. She and Mitch had been in the elevator together, watching him. He looked scared.
She’d come to the Baglioni dressed the part. Wearing her best suit, her best knock-off bag over her shoulder. She’d picked up the key at the counter from the concierge. Her heart pounding, thinking they’d ping her for what she was. The mistress of some wealthy man, some poor, misguided secretary taking it from her boss while he stepped out on his wife. That’s what she was. She hated it, but she knew Derek loved her. She knew this was for real.
Then she’d explored the room. Felt what it would be like to be Derek’s wife. Felt his luxury. She walked the black, marble tile floor, touched the soft fabrics, closed the velvet drapes, got herself a glass of water in a crystal glass, dumped it out into a hammered copper sink. She took her clothes off in the high-ceilinged room that felt like it belonged in a palace. It made her feel so special, so prized, so valuable. And when she stood and looked at her bare body in the tall standing mirror she’d never felt so sexual in her whole life. She had a beautiful, successful man who would go to these lengths just to touch her, kiss her, make love to her.
She heard the door click and she straightened. She sniffed one last time before her lover entered the room, cleared her throat quietly. She arched her back and thrust her bare breasts forward for him. Her blindfold lit up and while she couldn’t see, she was aware of the l
ight washing warmly over her naked skin, could tell that he had entered the room, his shadow crossing the fabric around her eyes, then the light was gone. He shut the door quietly.
Her nipples tightened with exhilaration. The thought that he might witness that, that he was watching her arousal spread got her more excited and she started to tremble. Was he watching her dark brown nipples harden, stretch from her body? Did it arouse him? Did he like to see the effect he had on her?
She could tell that he had moved close to her. The sound dampened on her right side. She waited to be touched.
His breath was warm on her neck and she lifted her chin, turned her head up for him. She felt his light kisses along the long tendons of her neck. She wanted to speak, wanted to hear his voice, but she knew he didn’t like that.
His hands touched her, made her jump as they went over her shoulders and down the outside of her arms. They went across her middle and she felt her belly tremble. He explored her thighs, touching down to her knees. She tilted her hips, spread her legs slightly, ached for him to touch her there but he didn’t. He was gone. Walking around the bed maybe.
She turned her head, tried to peek under the edge of the blindfold, but she couldn’t see a thing. She felt him then, kneeling on the bed behind her. She turned her head, gave him her profile, hoped that he would take her lips with his.
His hands caressed her rump. They were warm and smooth and they went over the tops of her curved bottom around her hips and then under to the soft flesh of her cheeks. His right hand came in between and she moaned for him. Let him know that she wanted it. His fingers felt so good working through her, she could feel that she was wet, could hear the soft damp sounds as his fingers folded through her hot sex.
“Oh, Derek,” she whispered.
“Have you seen my brother,” he whispered to her.