by Christy Poff
"Yeah, I didn't want to stray too far from home."
They laughed.
A photographer shot their picture then asked for their names. Cameramen and reporters from the local news channels asked for interviews, their interest on the new line officers and chiefs. Once the commissioner took over, Dan helped Reed and Chelsea get away from the press.
"Whew, I'm glad that's over,” Reed said.
"When do you go on shift?” Dan asked him.
"Tomorrow afternoon."
"Lucky you. They want me in at four this afternoon."
"I'll see you at shift change then."
"You got it, pal,” Dan said as they shook hands. “Chelsea, as always, a pleasure."
"Congratulations, again,” she said.
Dan left them, heading for his car. Reed's crew caught up with them, adding more good wishes. All Reed wanted to do was leave with Chelsea but he held his impatience—not used to the emotions overtaking him. They started walking to their cars and stopped when a voice called him.
"Captain Carrington."
"Yes?"
"Chief Wickersham is looking for you."
"Thank you,” Reed said. “I'll see him in a few minutes."
"Yes, sir."
They watched the recruit walk back to the main building of the training facility then Reed turned to her.
"I'm sorry, Mistress, duty calls."
"It's okay. I've got to get to my meeting with a possible buyer."
"Big money?"
"Very big,” she said. “She's coming in from Manhattan and is rumored to be linked with Trump."
"Wow,” he said. Reed pulled her into a hug.
"What?” she asked. “Something's wrong—I can feel it."
"I realize my true self can handle this but at heart, I'm a firefighter making a lot less than the gorgeous owner of a Center City art gallery whose Corvette we're leaning on and who deals with big shots from New York. It makes me wonder something."
"What?"
"What if I didn't have all I do and I was just Joe Firefighter?"
"My God, Reed, what we have between us would be there no matter what. It wouldn't make any difference considering I had no idea when we met online or at the inn."
He relaxed.
"Thank you."
"For?"
"Being you."
"Believe it or not, you had my heart the day the alarm at the gallery went off,” she said.
"I think you had mine, too."
Reed hugged her again.
"You'd better get going. I doubt the chief likes to be kept waiting."
"True,” he agreed. “When should I expect you?"
"I close at five on Mondays so..."
"I'll have dinner waiting."
"You cook, too? What else have you kept from me?"
"I have several secrets."
"Outstanding,” she said, then kissed him before wiping her lipstick off his cheek.
He helped her into the ‘Vette, getting a great view of her breasts. Damn, I love cars low to the ground ... He watched her drive out of the lot and once she disappeared from sight, he went back into the Academy to see what Wickersham wanted.
How did I get so damned lucky?
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 5
Weeks passed. Chelsea and Reed successfully split their time between her Chestnut Street apartment and his mansion in Fairmount. Once he showed her the hidden playroom, they put it to good use.
They both fondly remembered their first night when she'd come over after closing the gallery.
Out of his dress uniform, Reed had changed into a t-shirt and running shorts.
"I think I'm overdressed,” she said.
"Never,” he assured her. “In fact, I think that one may end up being my favorite dress."
He went over to her after stirring something in a saucepan simmering on the stove.
"I'm glad you like it."
"You and black lace are meant for each other,” he told her, running his fingertips along the edge of the dress’ neckline. Off-the-shoulder in a peasant-style, the dress tightly hugged every sexy curve of her body and paired with black stilettos, Chelsea looked like a sexy goddess.
After dinner, he led her to his father's secret room, quickly stripped and presented his well toned body to her. He set the tone for their evening, Chelsea understanding Reed's need.
After restraining him and making sure he was very aroused, Chelsea used the flogger, his cock swelling more. Teasing him, she licked his slit, Reed holding his groan. She put her hand between his legs and while she went down on his cock, she cracked the flogger over his tight muscular ass.
"Feed me, slave."
She took every drop he had to give and when she knew he could no longer be sure whether he had or not, she slapped him again. His cock swelled, Chelsea taking him again. Reed held his emotions though it became increasingly harder.
Over the passing weeks since that night, his stamina improved. He pleased his mistress, obeying her every whim. Reed smiled because those memories stayed with him, especially now when she wore his favorite dress. He loved her in black lace and since he'd complimented her look in it, she wore it every chance she could.
"Mistress, tell me how to please you tonight,” he said.
"Fuck me senseless, Reed. I want you to tie me up and..."
"Then shall we go to our secret room?"
"By all means,” she said, this time leading him to their little corner of paradise.
He removed her dress, hanging it over the back of a chair. He lifted her onto a table, strapping her to it. Sliding a velvet pillow under her hips to lift them, he tied her feet to the table legs. He went to the cabinet pulling out one of her favorite toys—a mini-suede tipped flogger which she always had him use on her pussy and her nipples.
Diamond nipple rings replaced Eva's brand of golden rings. They planned to go to a place on South Street to get her belly stud put in and a tattoo for Reed's shoulder. Diamonds or gold—it made no difference since her nipples stayed aroused all the time.
Reed could not get over how strong their bond had become. Chelsea read his mind, sensing his feelings—sometimes even before he felt them. He knew the moments she wanted to be told what to do and no matter what he asked, she did it to please him.
"What are you thinking about?” she asked.
"I keep seeing our first night in our inner sanctum and you in that black lace dress."
"And you've given me so many sexy things in black lace, I feel like a gothic princess."
"It's made for you. I love the sheer lace dress you have especially when you wear nothing under it and I can see everything."
"Do you know what you do to me when you wear either black or red silk? Ooh, I feel like I'm on fire."
"Great thing to tell a fireman."
They laughed, his hand going to her neck to pull her closer.
"Speaking of which, are you sure you want to get our body work done so close to the station?"
"Sure, it's where most of the guys go."
"Ah,” she said, smiling.
She'd gotten to know the men on his shift and the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him or give them reason to taunt him. They decided to walk over to the shop after she closed the gallery at three and met him at the station.
"Usually Saturdays are extremely quiet,” she'd told him.
"Sounds good,” he said, before kissing her. “Have you decided what you're having done to me and where?"
"I want it on your shoulder and I had thoughts of a rose with..."
"Black lace?"
"How do you do that?” she asked.
"I can only do it with you—never with anyone else."
"Good, I don't share well."
"Neither do I which I told you from the get-go."
"I love being overly possessive."
"It's a good feeling,” he agreed. “Now, I've got two hours before I go in to work and I won't see you for eig
hteen. What do we want to do?"
"Tie me up and ravish me."
"With pleasure."
* * * *
Jocilynne Sommersby hated not getting her way. She'd finally found out who Reed What's-his-name was thanks to the news photos in the papers. It hit her how familiar his name was to her but she had yet to figure out why. Learning his name had at least given her something to do.
She kept looking at the photo, ruing the fact she knew the bitch in the pictures with him. Little Miss Black Sheep Strawbridge had always been shunned by Old Philadelphia society as had her family, distant relatives of the Strawbridges of Philadelphia. They'd been tolerated at affairs they had the gall to attend, Lynne hating Chelsea for even thinking she could be on an equal level with her.
Learning Chelsea knew Reed and they appeared to be close angered her. No way would she allow an outcast to be happy with a man Lynne had yet to conquer or finish with.
"Maybe when I'm done with him—not!"
The more she looked at the photos, the madder she became—first at him for walking out on her before she left him and second at her for having him.
"First I take care of you then him. The two of you deserve everything I intend to do to you."
She reached over and picked up an ad for Chelsea's on Chestnut. She read the hours the store operated, deciding to pay a visit to her nemesis on Saturday afternoon. By the time she got done with Chelsea, no one would know anything until Monday. Penny would swear to anything Lynne wanted her to—she'd done it all their lives. Besides, who'll believe some lowlife like a black sheep member of one of the city's elite families?
She remembered when she learned about the gallery and its one-name owner. She'd asked her father's security chief to find out what he could, telling him she wanted to know who she intended to give her money to.
"After all, Daddy always taught me to know who I give my money to,” she told him when asking him to investigate. She loved having her father's resources at her beck and call.
Checking the clock, she saw she'd better get on her way if she expected to carry out her plans now instead of putting them off another week. She dressed in a chic black jumpsuit with black flats and in her handbag, she placed a black ski mask because she needed some way to cover her blonde hair while disguising her face.
She went over her plan one more time making sure she had everything she needed—a long length of black cording, gloves, blackjack—and she wished she could take the aluminum baseball bat she'd originally envisioned using. That and her riding crop...
Jocilynne Sommersby grew up wanting for nothing. If someone had what she wanted, she had her father buy it for her. If he couldn't, she'd just steal whatever she desired and, no matter what, she got away with it. This continued through college and the present. She did the same with boys in high school and college and now men. She'd get away with what she planned like everything else—daddy's little girl.
After picking up her handbag, she left the family house on the Main Line and drove into Center City Philadelphia, parking her Porsche Boxster several blocks away from the gallery. She walked toward it, acting like a lazy tourist shopping on a Saturday afternoon.
She gazed at the artwork in the window of Chelsea's on Chestnut then went inside with a small group of German tourists, obvious from their accents and the cameras they carried. Immediately, she saw her target and, when Chelsea greeted the group, Lynne slipped off to the side, finding a supply closet to hide in.
Checking her watch, she smiled.
Ten minutes and counting.
* * * *
Chelsea spent a restless night alone in her apartment over her art gallery. This had become the norm once she exclusively spent every free moment of her life with Reed Carrington. She hated night shift but knew she'd have to endure it. This had always been a part of his professional life because he loved his job as a firefighter.
She got out of bed and showered then dressed. She chose a black pantsuit, the long jacket dropping to above her knees and more of a coat—one of her favorites. She opted for a red, black and white striped top, low-cut with thin straps yet still professional. One of her favorite outfits, it worked well for the ambiance she tried to create in the gallery as well as out on the street walking to the firehouse or with Reed. It would also be one of the best outfits to be wearing after she got her navel pierced because it wouldn't bother the sensitive area.
Chelsea went into the gallery, opening the door at ten. Her assistant came in for a few hours but Chelsea sent her home at two because the day turned out to be a slow one.
At quarter to three, a small group of tourists entered. She greeted them and by the time they left, she'd sold them two oil paintings. She checked the gallery for any stragglers having remembered a woman in black coming in with the group but found no one. She locked the door, put up the closed sign then went back to her desk to record the sales and tally the day's receipts.
After closing her ledger, she placed the American Express tickets in a lockbox she placed in the safe then reached for the phone to call Reed. Suddenly, she felt something going around her neck, tightening more each passing second. She grabbed at it, fighting for her life.
"Stop it and let it happen,” a strange voice ordered.
"I have ... nothing here...” Chelsea gasped, the thin cord tighter around her throat.
"Idiot! I don't want to rob you of anything but your life. With you out of the way, I can go after a man you don't deserve to have."
"Reed?"
"Yes, you twit. He's hot, you're not."
Chelsea couldn't think straight, the day racing across her mind like a racecar full out. She received a call from her doctor's office, elated because of the good news following her check-up. She saw the tourists buying the paintings. Now, she fought for her life because some maniac wanted the competition out of the way and she saw Reed, immediately realizing who was trying to choke the life out of her.
Unaware of where the sudden strength came from nor caring, Chelsea pushed back against the chair and her attacker, knocking the person off-balance enough to ease the tension on her neck. Chelsea hit the silent alarm under her desk and ran, her breathing erratic. Before she could get to the rear exit to escape, her attacker grabbed her, yanking her back into the gallery.
Chelsea tried to free herself but to no avail, her strength half that of the person holding her.
"Let go of me!"
"Hell, no,” the voice behind the ski mask said. “Not until I get what I want."
"What?” Chelsea asked, wincing in pain.
"I want Reed Carrington."
"So do I."
"You're not good enough for him."
"Then neither are you. He doesn't want a woman who does what you do to men."
"You can't handle men. It's why you never came out."
"I didn't want society life with your kind."
"By the time I'm done, you'll no longer have to worry."
"I never have,” Chelsea said, wondering where the conversation headed. “You only want Reed because he got the upper hand on you."
Her attacker's rage overtook her as she threw Chelsea across the room and into a wall. The wind knocked out of her, Chelsea slid down to the floor before falling over, her head feeling the chill of the hardwood floor.
No matter that she lay critically injured, her attacker came after Chelsea again, kicking her wherever she could, one kick hitting Chelsea's head. She felt something hard used on her, unable to figure out what her attacker used to hit her with. She lapsed in and out of consciousness praying for help. She heard sirens in the distance, her head spinning.
"You bitch! How did...” her attacker screamed. “You had to hit a silent alarm, didn't you?"
Chelsea felt the dull thud of another kick, her body numb. In a nearby reflection, she saw blood coming from places it shouldn't. She lapsed off, her last thoughts of Reed.
Please, God, keep him safe...
* * * *
Once she heard
sirens, Jocilynne Sommersby finished her assault on Chelsea Strawbridge with a few well-chosen strikes with the blackjack, leaving her victim to die. She ran to the front door of the gallery fighting the lock. She saw a police car turn the corner and ran to the back door. Unable to open it, she ran into the bathroom where she climbed out the window. Fortunately, she could put her feet on a dumpster before she jumped to the ground.
She quickly removed the ski mask and gloves, throwing them in the dumpster with the blackjack then nonchalantly walked away from the gallery. She made her way back to her car and quietly drove away but not before she saw four police cars, a medic unit and an ambulance parked on the street in front of the store.
Jocilynne scoffed.
"There shouldn't be too much left to save,” she told herself right before she turned up the radio to listen to one of her favorite songs.
"Now, to find Reed Carrington and pay him back."
* * * *
Police responding to a silent alarm at Chelsea's on Chestnut pulled up in front of the store and cautiously investigated the store front. Another car took the rear alley.
The officer at the front of the store radioed the dispatcher that he had nothing apparent from the front.
"Be advised, this came into the security company as the silent panic alarm."
"Affirmative."
He looked in the window seeing the disarray from an apparent struggle then what appeared to be feet.
"Is the contact on her way?"
"Can't reach her and there is no answer at the store."
"I've got signs of a struggle and possible victim. I'm breaking in the front door which is locked."
"Affirmative,” the dispatcher replied. “I'll advise the alarm company."
On-duty Detective Matt Nicholson, a seventeen-year veteran on the force, broke into the art gallery heading straight to where he thought he saw the victim's feet, gasping at what he found.
"Get me a medic unit for an assault victim ASAP. She's critical."
"Affirmative."
Another officer entered joining Nicholson.
"The guys around back couldn't find anything but an open bathroom window. They're checking the area around a dumpster directly underneath it."
"Dispatch,” Nicholson called, motioning to the other officer to stay with their female victim.