“I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
“Why don’t we step inside and conclude our transaction,” she says, a sudden primness in her now-cool voice, though she does something with her eyebrow and a tilt of her head that sends blood flowing away from my brain.
“Sounds good. What would you like for breakfast?”
She laughs, softly. A good deep, throaty laugh.
Goddamn it, Quent. Focus!
“Does that line ever work?”
“Sure, it’s working on you right now.”
“Maybe,” she says.
I open the door and gesture for her to enter, not least so she can’t shoot me in the back as I walk in. I like the view, too. I’m studying the delicious sweeping curves of her narrow back and dancer’s legs to check for the telltale bulge of a concealed weapon.
Honest.
Hang back, Quent. Watch.
She carries the attaché to the bed and opens it. Yes, it’s terribly cliché, but it’s not actually full of money. I’m not being paid enough for this to actually fill up a briefcase. She opens it and withdraws a computer, and I stand behind her and watch with one eye on the computer and one eye on her. She’s watching me in the reflection on the laptop’s screen. Clever.
There’s something else in the briefcase.
Silk rope. Bright red, knotted together like a bundle of clothesline. Interesting. Very interesting.
“I never did get your name.”
Stepping aside, she gives me a coy smile and adjusts her cute little glasses. “Lily.”
“Alright, Lily.”
I tilt the laptop screen back and brace myself, waiting for her to attack my exposed flank. Instead she clasps her hands behind her back and looks innocent, a primly suppressed smile twitching on her lush lips. I look over the numbers and nod. The bank transfer is complete, but it’s the agreed-upon amount.
“What’s this about a bonus?” I say as I stand.
Her little smile twists into a lopsided smirk that belongs on a lingerie catalog cover.
“I would be the bonus, Mr. Mulqueen.”
Before I can protest or question, she reaches up and undoes the top button on her sweater. Deciding that I’m in for a show, I step back and watch as she pops the buttons down the front of the fuzzy cardigan and peels it back, exposing a magnificent set of breasts lovingly cupped in a black silk bra that only makes her pale skin paler. She casts the sweater to the floor while I move the briefcase and computer to the table.
My instincts are itching at the back of my neck, trying to figure out what’s off here, but much of the blood devoted to the rational centers of my brain is currently rushing south as she makes a show out of slipping off those spiked heels, in a practiced motion that leaves them neatly placed together at the foot of the bed.
A shake of her hips and her slacks fall to the floor, too, leaving her in a stringy black thong that’s barely more than a couple of lines and a triangle covering her *. She puts on quite a show, even hiding the best parts.
I drink in the sight of her sinuous, curvaceous body and she does a spin in place, flexing her legs and ass and rather conveniently showing me that she’s not hiding any weapons. I mean, there aren’t many places she could be keeping them. She moves fast and puts her hands on my chest, spreads open my jacket, and I shrug it off, let it fall to the floor. I can feel her nails on my skin even through the silk of my shirt. She gives my tie a little tug and runs her fingers over the grip of the pistol in my shoulder holster.
“What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?”
“I feel naked without it.”
“That’s a shame,” she purrs, and artfully sinks to her knees in front of me.
A flood of excitement rushes through me, and as she opens my belt and pants and tugs down my boxers, my cock rushes up hard and ready to meet her. I crane my neck down and shudder as she takes the shaft in her silky hand and ducks close, almost puts her lips on the head, and pulls back, a flood of hot breath sending a jolt up my spine as she strokes, and cups my balls in her other hand. She smiles lunges forward, and her lips part over the head of my cock, her eyes flicking up to meet my gaze as they press hard around my shaft.
I groan as she takes me deeper and deeper, slowly, and doesn’t stop. I watch in amazement as my cock slides all the way into her mouth, into her tight, hot throat, and her tongue glides out along the bottom of my shaft and tickles my balls before she draws back and takes a deep breath, wipes a little spit from her mouth, and grins at me.
Without a word she takes my cock in her mouth more slowly, moving her lips forward and back and sucking the last third while she works my shaft with her hands.
Her fingers slide under my balls, and I jerk when she tickles them with her nails.
“You poor boy, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Been busy.”