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Palmer Ch. 01

By: hal_tee



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 1: Politics

It had been quiet for a couple of weeks and Palmer was itching for action. When Donny Webster called him into his office, he knew he'd got it. Webster was Vice Squad.

It was a misnomer to call it an office. It was more of a cubbyhole and lately it had been a permanent home for the tall, thin Vice boss. 

As usual, the small desk looked like a combat zone, but then Webster fit that image. His permanent five o'clock shadow provided a contrast to his baldhead and the thin, yellow shirt looked like it had been slept in.

Palmer grinned. Knowing Webster, it probably had been.

The Vice boss stared at the wavy haired, twenty-five year old, then pulled off his rimless glasses and rubbed his faded eyes. "Grab a seat," he growled, picking a remnant of his lunch from his teeth. 

Palmer moved a pile of files from one of the two battered chairs and gingerly sat down. He glanced around. A dirty mug stood on top of the files on the desk, half full of steaming coffee. 

Webster squinted as he looked at him. "Got any eye drops?" he asked.

Palmer laughed. "No, Chief. I don't have a cleaner to recommend, either."

The fifty-year-old Vice boss gave a sneer as he slipped his rimless glasses back on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "Everyone's a joker round here," he mumbled, lifting his feet onto the desk, one at a time.

He pushed a file across to Palmer. "I got something here for you to get your dick into. Got quite a bit of detail, but nothing ties up. Not yet. I need you to get involved and make a case out of it."

Palmer nodded. Webster had been in Vice for the best part of sixteen years. He'd learnt a lot from him. It was a compliment for the weary boss to hand over a case. Not that he'd confess that to Palmer.

Webster slurped from the mug. "I got other things on my plate. Need a safe pair of hands, Palmer. Don't let me down."

"I won't, Chief," the young detective told him, running a hand through his wavy, black hair. How it had retained its colour after three years in Vice was beyond him. "But that's not much to go on."

Webster's eyes stared at him over the top of his glasses. "Read the freakin' file," he growled.

Palmer nodded. He knew that was the best he'd get. His boss was a man of few words.

"I'll give you Wilson and Goodwin," he continued. "That's all I can spare. You need to get on it straight away. Do your homework and we'll talk again in the morning."

He seemed to think for a second, so Palmer waited. 

"You still here?" Webster snapped, looking up.

***

It was noon when the redhead made her way through Covent Garden towards Halide Towers. Her small shudder coincided with the chimes of Big Ben striking twelve.

It wasn't the wind that made her quiver. Or the English cold. It was the fact she was behind schedule. Being late for a meeting with Dominic DeVere was not a good idea. 

Shrugging off the feeling, she entered the upmarket apartment complex and headed across the plush lobby to the private elevators at the far side. The security guard smiled as he stood to leisurely attention. 

"Afternoon, Denzil," she purred in that breathy way of hers.

"Only just, Miss Lopez," he grinned, glancing at his watch. "How are you today?"

"Great, Denzil," she responded, allowing him to open the elevator door for her. "Just great."

Sending the elevator on its way, the black guard reached for the phone on his desk. "Miss Lopez is on her way up." He watched her shapely legs as she sashayed into the elevator. She'd been his masturbatory fantasy from the moment he'd met her, how many months ago now?

The journey to the fifteenth floor took seconds, the elevator opening on a small reception area as plush as the lobby she'd just left. Roxanne Lopez glanced out of the glass window at the London skyline, ignoring the security cameras she knew were trained on her every move.

Her high heels echoed on the expensive, wooden floorboards, only softening when she reached the lush, grey rug beside the small reception desk. 

The tall, slim, Frenchwoman operating the desk made the pretence of a smile. "Bonjour, Miss Lopez. You arrrr expected," she softly greeted, in that delicious French accent. She pressed a button under the desk and the door to their left unlocked with a soft click.

"Thank you, Amélie," Roxanne smiled, before turning to the door. She could never work out whether it was her that the Frenchwoman disliked, or women in general.

Inside, she made her way up the circular stairway towards the penthouse above, the clicking of her heels registering every step. 

Through the door at the top, the large room was everything she remembered it to be. Rare plants from across the world were perfectly placed throughout, complimenting the art deco furniture. Any one of the various pieces of sculpture was worth a fortune in its own right. 

It was a design that perfectly fit the owner.

***

It was just turning noon as Erin DeVere telephoned her husband. As invariably busy as he was, it was touch and go whether he'd be around to accept his wife's call. 

In many ways, theirs was a curious union, borne not out of love, but out of need - for power, success, respectability, and of course, sex. Though in fairness, sex was not something either of them went short of for too long. 

They both had a steady stream of lovers – with the other's knowledge, of course.

What had started as a business arrangement had been cemented by their marriage. That had been Dominic's idea, of course. Ever since they'd met in America, the powerful and influential man had been very persuasive. When she was forced to flee the States because of that whole Alexander Mishin debacle, Dominic had offered her a place of refuge. And what Dominic wanted, he got.

His business tentacles spread far and wide, and his need to provide his important contacts with free access to the most beautiful women in the world was where Erin stepped in. Her modelling agency was perfect, and Dominic's way of ensuring permanency was to marry her.

It was an arrangement that suited them both. Erin made sure that Dominic got what he wanted, when he needed it. As for her, she was set up for life.

Using his money, she'd built the small modelling agency into one of the biggest and most famous in the world. Yes, technically her husband owned Erin's Models. But it was Erin's remarkable business acumen that had driven it to the heady heights of respect it earned today. 

Not only had it proven immensely successful in producing some of the world's leading supermodels, it had provided Dominic with the beautiful 'escorts' he needed when courting some of Europe and America's most powerful people.

DeVere's contacts represented some powerful business and political interests, with companies and organizations spanning over a dozen countries. Each contact had been carefully cultivated with the idea of extending DeVere's own influence. His business empire had been expanded in most of those countries, with the seeds he had sown over the years beginning to bear fruit.

Oiling the wheels was essential. And who better to help do so than Vogue's latest cover girl, or the face of Clinique? The modelling firm had provided a perfect business opportunity for Erin, and perfect cover for the 'services' her husband provided. 

As her husband's business interests grew, so did his need for beautiful women. Erin had proven in both America and now in England that she was quite adept at conditioning new models, but soon he would look to extend his sphere of interest to the entertainment world, too. For a number of contacts, fucking a famous singer or actress would hold a similar appeal to a model.

A man's weakness could always be found in his pants.

That wasn't the extent of Dominic DeVere's influence. He paid out substantial sums to some carefully chosen members of the press, police, and even a couple of judges. Who knew when he might need them? The keen eyed entrepreneur didn't believe in leaving things to chance.

The women he chose, the women Erin cultivated, were always fairly unknown. Hungry for success. The big time. There were only a few rules.

What they were asked to do stayed between each of them and the DeVere's. Once they had the first foot up the ladder, there was no turning back. They provided 'services' until Erin and her husband let them go. There was no refusing any 'mission'.  

But then, in modelling as well as any form of the entertainment industry, women were often forced to perform sexual favours to get ahead. This way, there was a guarantee at the end of it, not a vain hope.

For succumbing to the DeVere's wishes, they got all the perks. A modelling contract. The best assignments. Potential for supermodel status if they had what it takes. Better standard of living. And of course, money.

Even better, they got to live their lives how you wanted, date who they wanted and marry who you wanted. Providing they obeyed 'the call' whenever it came. For those in the DeVere's inner circle, it was a great deal.

Roxanne, Brooke and Savannah were the threesome currently most in favour. There were others, yes, but when Erin needed to rely on the very highest of quality, she invariably used one of those three young women. But now, she may have discovered a fourth. 

As if with some sixth sense as to the motive for her contact, this time the grey haired man was free to take her call.

"I think I may have found another girl," she purred, running a hand through her strawberry blonde hair.

"Really?" Even down the phone line, Erin could sense the eagerness in his voice. "Tell me more…"

"Well, darling, I'll know better shortly, when I've met her. But I'm looking at her photographs now. I have a feeling about this one."

Erin could almost hear her husband's satisfied grin. "And your feelings are so rarely wrong, my dear."

She smiled to herself. That was so true. She'd discovered several young women who'd gone on to grace catwalks all over the world. As well as a few special others, who'd been enticed into her husband's service. This girl could eventually become another Alicia Stiles!

And of course, it wasn't just Dominic's clients who benefited. She was well aware of her husband's predilection for young women. He fucked her girls, too. Insisted on it. But then, so did she.

***

Dominic DeVere smiled at the redhead as he replaced the phone. If Erin had found him another Roxanne Lopez, he'd be a happy man.

She had the ability to send his pulse racing whenever he saw her. Today, the wavy, red hair had been tousled by the wind and it gave her an even more exotic look. It framed her perfect face, the soft green eyes that continually gleamed and the full, red lips that always met their promise.

Beneath the green, Sue Wong dress, her body was perfection. The material clung to every curve, enhancing her slender, long-legged, narrow-waisted figure. And those breasts. As firm and as perfect as any hot-blooded male's fantasy.

"Well?" he heard her ask. Her hands now lay on her hips as she raised an eyebrow, enjoying his appreciative stare.

DeVere smiled, raising his hand to form a circle between thumb and forefinger. "You are perfect," he commented, running a hand through his grey hair. He was continually teased about his crew cut but somehow it suited him. 

She nodded, as if the compliment was her right. 

"Perfect?" she repeated, her slim fingers flicking open the top button of her dress. When she opened the second, his eyes were drawn to the tanned cleavage peeking at him. Whatever preference a man had, large or small, it always changed with one sight of Roxanne's majestic orbs. 

"How perfect?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

He laughed. A soft laugh, a lion's purr. Her beauty and intelligence was only matched by her ability to tease. And God, she did that so well.

"Eleven out of ten," he responded, picking up his drink from the glass table in front of him and throwing back the remaining contents. The bourbon burned his throat and matched the growing feeling in his loins.

"Dominic," she laughed, "You are always so full of compliments. I love you for it."

"For my compliments?" he asked. "And for what I've done for you? The lifestyle you lead?"

She nodded, her hand on his shoulder as she skirted round him. Her laugh was soft, sensuous. "Absolutely, Dominic. You've been very good to me."

He leaned back on the large couch, his hand reaching up to grip hers. "And in return?"

The redhead eased her way around in front of him, dropping to her knees between his legs. "Oh, I think you have nothing to complain about…"

As she spoke, her slender fingers unbuttoned the top three buttons of his expensive shirt. Slipping her hand inside, she caressed the hairs on his chest before softly pinching a nipple. "Do you?" she asked.

DeVere gave a moan of satisfaction and reached out to run his fingers along her satin-sheathed thigh. But with a teasing giggle, she leapt up and swung away, crossing to the large window. Turning back, she half expected him to be behind her.

Instead, his alert, grey eyes looked troubled.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, instinctively knowing there was something to discuss. 

Damn! She was always so perceptive. "What makes you think there's something on my mind?" he asked, standing up and refilling their glasses.

"I know you only too well," she smiled, accepting the drink.

He clinked his glass against hers. "Cheers," he toasted, waiting for a moment before answering the question. 

His eyes smiled at her as he took a large Havana cigar from the top drawer of the drinks cabinet. As he unwrapped the cellophane, Roxanne stood up and sashayed across to him. 

She gave him a soft kiss on his lips as she took the cigar. Snipping the end, she lit and twirled it in her fingers so that it burned evenly. Taking a slow draw, she blew the smoke out and handed the cigar back to him.

"Thank you, my dear," he murmured, his low voice reflecting his mood. 

Her concerned eyes watched his reaction. "Tell me now. What's wrong?"

DeVere smiled, sitting back down on the empty couch. "You've done everything I wanted, Roxanne. But good things come to an end."

"What?"

Her question hung in the air, both sets of eyes colliding, as if attempting to see the thoughts rotating in each other's head. It was Roxanne who broke the silence.

"What?" This time, the tone in her voice demanded an immediate answer.

"Your relationship with George."

"George? End? Why?"

"He's the Prime Minister elect," DeVere muttered. "Brown's midterm resignation gives us the opportunity to install him as PM much sooner than we anticipated. When we win the Party's vote, he'll be installed. The most important political figure in the United Kingdom!"

The redhead gasped. Her wide eyes and open mouth told DeVere his words were sinking in. They only confirmed what she already knew, but he positioned them in a way that changed her perspective. 

"But understand, Roxanne," he continued, pressing the point home. "It would end his political career if news of your liaison leaked out."

Her sadness reflected in her face. She enjoyed the powerful man's company, irrespective of his growing importance. "But you know I wouldn't do anything to harm him."

"I know that, my dear. I understand both of you so well. After all, I've known George for twenty years… and you for eighteen months."

"Almost two years," she corrected.

DeVere nodded. "Yes, that's right. But he's married, for God's sake. I can't take risks." 

She smiled wistfully, sitting back down beside him. "But Dominic…"

His eyes flashed. His tone was cold. "No buts!"

Roxanne immediately realised she was on dangerous ground. "I understand, Dominic," she softly conceded.

He nodded, his face hard as he allowed the smoke to fade into the air. "That's good, Roxanne. I know you're attached to George. Or is it that you love power? I know it's such a turn on for you."

Her head cocked to one side as she thought about his comment. His words rang true but she didn't want to admit that. "It may be more accurate to say that I'm turned off by the lack of it."

DeVere laughed. It was a cold laugh. This woman was nobody's fool. Time to reinforce his directive. "Well, this piece of power is at an end. George is in an election fight to be the next Prime Minister. Quite frankly, you're a luxury he can't afford."

She slowly eased herself from the couch and returned to the window. It had begun to rain. DeVere admired her silhouetted figure for a few seconds before speaking again. 

"Roxanne, think about what I'm saying." His voice was softer, more persuasive than confrontational. "The media will be searching for anything they can find. If they find out about his liaison with you, it would destroy him."

The redhead whirled around, her eyes blazing. "Perhaps it's enough for me to be very careful?" 

The silence returned at her words, as if the two of them were in competition. A cold chill ran through DeVere's body. Didn't she realise he'd given her an instruction? It wasn't up for negotiation.

"Dominic…" she continued. 

DeVere's upraised hand halted her objection before she could continue. "Stop!" His voice was harder, louder. "This is not a request, Roxanne!"

Her face dropped again. She took a couple of steps towards him before hesitating. "I'm sorry."

He clucked his tongue in disapproval. His voice changed, his tone condescending. "Just remember your place, my dear."

It was as if he'd slapped the beauty. She looked stunned. 

He took another long drag from the cigar, watching the smoke unfurl towards the high ceiling. It was time to confirm his authority. "Come here," he eventually asked, staring across at her. 

For a second she hesitated. It was a second too long. That was the moment he decided what he had to do. 

Roxanne began to move again. She knew what he wanted and was fully aware it was his right. He 'owned' her. 

She floated back across the room, leaning down, allowing him to feel her warmth. At first she brushed his forehead with her lips, then it was her breasts rubbing across his face.

"Friday night, Dominic," she breathed into his ear, attempting to remedy her mistake. She couldn't afford to upset this man. "When you visit me, I've planned a very special night."

He stared up at her, watching transfixed as she flicked open another two buttons on her green dress. His cock lurched. She so rarely wore a bra.

"Eight o'clock tomorrow," she purred.

He breathed faster. The sight of her perfect breasts had his manhood pushing hard against his slacks. 

She ran a finger across his lips as she leant forward again. "And this is just an appetiser."

His eyes burned as he stared inside her open dress. Her naked breasts thrust out at him, the hard nipples proud and erect. He let her hand snake around to the back of his neck and pull his head to her magnificent swells.

His hands slipped under the dress and dug into her ass as he rotated his sucking lips between nipples. Roxanne allowed him a couple of minutes play, unbuttoning the rest of her dress before gently unfastening his slacks.

Pulling his head upwards so he could look in her green eyes, she eased out the cock she knew so well. 

"You need relief," she whispered, cupping her full breasts and lowering them onto his hard manhood. 

He twitched as she squeezed her soft flesh around him. She'd long since learned that her body was a sure fire way of defusing tension. Maybe she'd overstepped the mark, but this would restore the balance.


Palmer Ch. 01



She smiled at his look of unadulterated arousal as she began to move on him, fucking him with her firm mounds. He moaned from the delicious friction as he pumped back, closing his eyes and beginning to buck his hips.

"Roxanne…" he grunted.

"Going to cum so quickly, Dominic?" she teased.

Before he could respond, she dropped her head and sucked hard on his shaft. Her warm mouth gave him three more quick sucks before preparing for his delivery. Her hands replaced her mouth on the shaft as her lips concentrated on his crown. 

She loved the way his fingers wrapped around her red locks as his body gave one final jerk. He erupted. Roxanne moaned in delight as he fired in her mouth. In that sensual way of hers, she sucked and licked him continually until he grew soft between her lips.

She smiled at him as she stood up and refastened the buttons of her green dress. As she turned towards the penthouse door, she looked back over her shoulder. "Friday," she purred, "Eight o'clock. Don't be late!"

***

Jack Palmer's wife took a deep breath to shake off her nerves. It was difficult for her to believe she was sitting opposite Erin DeVere. The Erin DeVere.

Kelli knew that the exquisite looking strawberry blonde had been a supermodel herself in her younger days and now, at thirty-eight, she ran the most famous modelling agency in Britain, if not world-wide. And to think the woman was actually complimenting her!

"I love your photographs, darling," she purred in a refined accent Kelli wasn't used to hearing in most Americans. The older woman ran a hand through her short, glossy blonde hair as she flicked through the portfolio the young model had produced. "Although, of course, they are never enough. But now you are here, you've proven my instinct correct."

"I'm flattered," Kelli murmured. It was as if she hadn't spoken.

"You see," Erin DeVere continued, leaning back in her oversized chair, "there are three things I demand in a model. The first is aura. A presence. Sometimes you get an instinct when looking at photographs, but that's all."

Kelli nodded, making sure she didn't interrupt again.

"With you, my instinct was accurate. The way you entered the room. The way you hold yourself. You're confident, yet innocent. I like that. You have that aura. Let me guide you and that sexy naiveté could earn you a fortune, darling."

The older woman stood as she finished the sentence, every movement graceful as she walked across to the slate-grey Olympus couch. When she flopped down, she spread both arms out behind her on the back of the couch, crossing her shapely legs out before her. 

"But now we must check the other two qualities," Erin purred. "First, in everything, I expect instant obedience. Should it ever prove otherwise, you and I will be finished. Is that understood?"

Kelli nodded enthusiastically. She'd do anything for a chance to become a supermodel. "Absolutely, Mrs. DeVere."

The woman sat forward, uncrossing then crossing her legs again. This time, the skirt rode up her thighs. Kelli looked. She couldn't help it. By no stretch of the imagination was she bi, but this classy beauty certainly had a hypnotic quality about her.

"That's good! But you still seem very nervous, darling. Can I get you something to calm your nerves? A little snow, perhaps?"

"Nu… no," Kelli quickly responded. She'd never taken drugs and never would. Under any circumstances. "I'm fine, thank you."

Erin DeVere nodded, as if dismissing the thought. "The second quality, of course, is your body. You can't be a model without a good body. And you can't be a supermodel without having a perfect body. Is yours as good as the photographs tell me it is?"

Kelli smiled. This was one area she felt confident in. All the hours spent in the gym had ensured that her stunning body, complimented by a natural deep golden tan, was in perfect condition.

"Stand up and let me see," the American woman directed, pulling her silken, blonde hair onto the top of her head before allowing it to fall again.

Kelli eased to her feet, watching as the Agency Head's blue eyes lingered on her breasts before dropping to her waist and legs. Such scrutiny. Even through her clothes, she knew the woman could see her nipples rise.

Provocatively, she did a little pirouette, comfortable in her body. Then, Erin DeVere went ahead and tested that comfort. "That's not quite what I had in mind, sweetheart," she purred. "Strip!"

The command hit Kelli between the eyes. As she spoke, Erin slowly uncrossed her legs again, as if allowing the heat between her thighs to pervade the room. Her arched eyebrows told the aspiring model she was waiting.

Instant obedience, Kelli thought. That's what this woman had demanded. And here she was on the verge of blowing it at her first opportunity. That wasn't going to happen, she decided, running her fingers through her wavy, blonde locks. She'd show Erin DeVere she had what it takes. 

Keeping her sparkling brown eyes firmly fixed on the woman, she unzipped her dress and let it fall to her ankles. 

The right strap of her bra demurely fell from her shoulder. She left it there, thrusting her perfect tits in Erin's direction. The glint of her diamond belly button stud shot across the room.

The Agency owner nodded, stroking Kelli's body with her blue eyes, taking in the cleavage spilling over the black bra and the delicious skimpiness of the plunging black thong. When she twirled her fingers, it was to tell Kelli to turn around.

The blonde beauty did, slowly, knowing that her new career could depend on this. She thought that Erin had what she wanted but should have known better. The soft nod of the head told her otherwise.

"Exquisite, Kelli," she praised as she comfortably leant back again. "Now the rest, darling."

With a swallow, the wannabe model instantly obeyed. She unhooked the front fastener, allowing her full breasts to bounce free. When Erin licked her lips, her pink nipples hardened. She'd always thought of her tits as her greatest asset, and certainly all her previous boyfriends had regarded them that way. Jack loved them, too.

The dreamy look on Erin's face encouraged her and she confidently eased her thumbs into the waistband of the thong. When she pulled them over the gentle curve of her hips and down over her thighs, she'd removed the last bit of modesty she had. 

She felt liberated. 

No longer nervous, she felt fully in control. Her thick, pink nipples proudly pointed upwards from the crest of her jutting breasts, and her pussy, oily smooth from the arousal of the moment, was only protected by the merest hint of a blonde landing strip.

The naked model cocked her hip to one side, resting one hand on it as she struck a sexy, provocative pose. "Well?" she heard herself ask the American woman.

***

Amélie Pascal stepped into Dominic DeVere's office. He knew she would. She always did after he'd entertained a female visitor. Particularly Roxanne. It wasn't jealousy, just a need to leave her mark. On him.

The Frenchwoman's hair was so closely cropped, she could have been mistaken for a man. Nor was she particularly beautiful, though there was something undeniably attractive about her long face.

DeVere had found her six years ago. At school, she'd amazed her teachers with her abilities. It was the same when she went to college. Her choice to join a circus was a temporary one, and it was at Cirque de Soleil that her unique abilities began to flourish. 

From there, it was a natural progression to the movie world. She'd already contributed to three mega hits when he'd met her.

He'd told her of his idea. A vision that was so wild, so exciting, so enthralling. She'd devoted five full years to the design, development and build. Fifteen million pounds later, their masterpiece was almost ready. The dinosaurs, indeed every piece of their creation, were robots controlled from the central complex. But even to the trained eye, they appeared to be the real thing.

It would transform DeVere into a worldwide household name, up there with Walt Disney. Dinosaur Land would be the greatest attraction the world had ever seen, outstripping any entertainment in any country. 

The whole creation was a new level of technological mastery. It would allow every visitor to actually partake in the adventure. To actually do battle with the dinosaurs and experience those real life thrills and buzz of danger. In a perfectly controlled and safe environment.

A superior version of the fictional Westworld.

It was a means to an end. Yes, Dinosaur Land would recoup its investment over time, but it was the guarantee it gave of entry into the worldwide business community that would make DeVere a billionaire many times over.

He would position George Blair as a long-time supporter of the project. That would give the Prime Minister elect a huge boost just before the vote. It would reinforce his status as the next PM. 

DeVere's hold over him would be complete.

Amélie's hands pawed at his tailored trousers, bringing him out of his grandiose thoughts. God, he was slipping. He hadn't even noticed her undressing.

"Ay 'ope you 'ave some left for Amélie," she growled, running a hand through the blonde curls between her thighs. 

He told himself again - it wasn't jealousy. Just a desire to fuck. 

His recently discharged cock began to lengthen. The Frenchwoman was the opposite of Roxanne in so many ways. Slim, pale, no tits. But a regular fuck machine.

She attacked him on the couch. Her mouth slurred against his, her hands worked on his cock through his trousers. "Mmm… 'ees tres bon, Dom-en-eek. Nice and 'ard for Amélie."

She simultaneously yanked his trousers and boxers down to his knees. Swinging around, she reversed back onto him. 

"You want to fook Amélie's pussy?" she asked, running her wet folds along his slick cock. "Mon dieux," she moaned. "Zat feels good."

He adjusted position so he could slide home but the Frenchwoman was having none of it. She eased up so that his cock hit her slim buttocks.

"Or you vant to fook Amélie's ass?"

Before he could speak, she'd taken hold of his shaft and set it against her anus. With a deft adjustment of her thin body, she leveraged herself onto him and was pushing her ass down on him.

"Mon dieux, Dom-en-eek," she hissed, gingerly pushing down. "Oh, FOOK…"

Half up on one leg, she lowered herself. Her cautious movements became a little faster as her backdoor adjusted to the size of his cock.

"Does… your… redhead… let… you… do… theees?" she gasped. One hand reached behind her to rest on his chest. Her fingers clawed into him through his expensive shirt. "Does she let Dom-en-eek fook her ass?"  

He found himself thinking that he wasn't fucking anything. She was fucking him. She'd gone from zero-to-sixty in half a second and her tightness had him approaching his second orgasm of the afternoon.

Amélie knew he was almost there. Somehow, she always did. 

The hand on his chest dug tighter, not caring that she was drawing blood. Her spare hand dipped between her legs, working her pussy as her asshole worked his cock.

"Going to cum? " she gasped, the fingers on her clit taking her to the edge with him. "Now, mon cherie," she gasped. "NOW, Dom-en-eek…"

She drilled down one final time as she craned her neck to look back at him. "Cum, Dom-en-eek," she shrieked. "NOWWWW…"

He didn't know how she was able to coordinate their orgasms so well, but she'd done so time and again. This time was no different. He jetted into her ass at the very moment she ejaculated over his lap, slacks and couch.

Fuuuuck!

***

Professor Dennis Price's appearance was deceiving. The spin-doctor had been described as resembling Quasimodo. Not that he had precisely the same physical deformities as Victor Hugo's character, but his hunched back was the reason for such comparisons.

Sir John Cobalt, who in a physical sense was Price's alter ego, greeted him as he answered the knock on the door to their hotel suite. Tall, stiff and upright, Cobalt was a confident man. So he should be, being part of the team that had successfully guided George Blair to the verge of becoming Prime Minister of England.

There was one final battle to fight. And the current Chancellor of the Exchequer would prove a hard woman to defeat.

Cobalt had set up the meeting with Price, although it was DeVere's idea. The keen eyed entrepreneur had counselled that he was essential to Blair's success. Not only in the forthcoming election battle. But also in the additional two and a half years before the next election. 

Labour's ratings were so low it would almost certainly take the rest of the term to turn them around.

"I appreciate you coming," Blair told Price, shaking his hand. "I'm being interviewed live on television tonight, so this was my only opportunity to have this conversation."

Casting an eye over the half bent man, he now understood why the Professor stayed out of the public eye. But despite his physical appearance, the quality of his brain wasn't in doubt.

"My pleasure," Price smiled. "Though I'm not used to this cloak and dagger stuff."

"A necessary evil," Cobalt interrupted. "With the battle with Shirley Ryder coming up, you'll appreciate we don't want to take any chances. Coffee?"

Price nodded, taking the chair indicated by Cobalt's nod. He pulled out a pipe and held it up.

"Yes, of course," Blair confirmed. "When we're finished here, the suite is yours for the night. If you can live with the smell of tobacco, that's fine with me."

Price's smile creased the edges of his plump face. "A habit too hard to break." 

When he stuffed tobacco into the battered pipe and lit it, he almost disappeared in the smoke cloud. Blair edged across to the partly open window, unsure whether this was a good idea after all.

"So, Dennis," Cobalt began, handing him a cup of coffee. "Are you interested in working with us?"

Price nodded. "I wouldn't be here otherwise, Deputy Prime Minister."

"And our chances," Blair asked. "How do you rate them?"

Another cloud of smoke hit the air. "I've thought about that throughout the journey here. I'd say fifty-fifty."

Blair looked at Cobalt. The Deputy PM shrugged his shoulders. "I'd rather hoped we were ahead in the contest," he muttered.

"The way I see it, it's too close to call," Price confessed. "There's no point in pretending otherwise."

He closely observed Blair's reaction. If he was going to work for the Prime Minister elect, he needed to understand everything about him. That included the way the smooth looking, brown haired man reacted to information he didn't particularly like.

Blair pulled himself to his full height. A fraction over six feet, his slim, muscular build was testament to the two-hour workout he religiously undertook first thing each morning. Healthy body, healthy mind was Blair's dogma. "Why?" he asked Price.

"You may be ahead in the polls," the Professor explained. "But Jack Donaldson has the power to change all that. And word has it that he's going to throw his weight behind Shirley Ryder."

Damn that Donaldson! Blair had never seen eye to eye with the outgoing Prime Minister. He may have been retiring from the Premiership due to his ill health. He may have been unpopular with the country. But he was still massively influential within the Labour party.

If he came out publicly in support of that cunning woman, it would change the picture overnight.

"You've always been a maverick, George," Cobalt reminded his friend. "Played by your own rules. Voted against a few Government initiatives. You've opposed him on several occasions

Price nodded, nibbling on his pipe. "Too many, I'd say."

Blair gave a wry smile. After Margaret Thatcher, you'd think the party would have had enough of potential women Prime Ministers. "In that case, we need a strategy to bring Donaldson round to our way of thinking. And another for discrediting Shirley Ryder."

Price smiled. This was what he wanted. A clear insight into what made George Blair what he was. Tough. Obsessed. He liked that. 

"Either of those things could be essential if you're going to be the next PM," he suggested. "You know Donaldson as well as I. He can browbeat, cajole, threaten, blackmail, call in favours. In the blink of an eye, he can change the political landscape."

Blair walked across to the pot of coffee and poured himself another cup. He stirred the single sweetener slowly, his cool blue eyes fixing on Price. "Why do you want to work for me, Dennis?" he asked.

Price returned the stare. His gaze was unwavering. "Frankly? I've got to be on one side or the other. That's the way it works. I like the fact you've always been a maverick. I've followed your career for years. In the main, we agree on the same things. Same ideals."

Blair leant back against the desk. "And?"

For the first time in their meeting, Price laughed. His over-large, grey eyes twinkled. "I like your style. I know that you can do great things…"

This time, Blair's voice was sharper. "All that may or may not be true," he snapped. "But there's more. What do you want?"

Price's laughing face disappeared. A determined look took its place. "I want recognition, Mr. Blair. I want a place in the public eye. I don't want my physical condition to be seen as a drawback. I deserve more."

The Prime Minister elect pushed himself away from the table, walking a few paces across to the Professor. "I can do that for you," he decisively said. "But only if I become Prime Minister and then win another term."

Dennis Price smiled. "With me at your side, Mr. Blair, how can you lose?"

***

Savannah loved her job. Singers, film stars, rock stars or politicians, it was all the same to her. Fucking celebrities was such a turn on. She hadn't needed much persuading to join Erin DeVere. It gave her the break she'd been searching for all her life.

Her afternoon session with… what's his name… was different. God, she'd already forgotten what he was called. Gerald something, that was it. It was her first time with the television pundit, and she'd had better. 

But his desire to please her was different. It was usually the other way.

The fact he had an interview tonight didn't seem to matter to him. The political commentator had slipped away from the television studio and snuck off to her apartment. 

The first time they'd gotten together, he'd tried to engage her in conversation about the political merits of the two Labour candidates. She'd stopped him with her talented mouth. The sassy redhead had no idea about politics, but she knew everything there was to know about fellatio.

This time, he knew better. This time, they went right to her boudoir.

Savannah's bedroom was scrumptious. Roxanne had helped her design it. She adored her model friend, even coloured her hair to look as close to her as possible. One day she'd fuck her, too.

As Roxanne had suggested, Savannah had laid on champagne, strawberries and cream. Such luxuries made her feel like a princess. She always responded well to that feeling. It enhanced her arousal. 

The king size bed dominated her room. She loved that, too. Lying there in the silky robe that didn't cover much of her curvaceous body, she smiled at her trick. 

He stood in only a pair of white boxers that did little to conceal the bulge of his erection. OK, so he may be boring, but he was also cute. The hair on his chest was peppered the same as that on his head, although his muscular body defied that bit of grey. 

She crooked a finger, inviting him back to the bed.




Palmer Ch. 01



When he sat beside her, she leaned forward so that her full breasts began to push open the front of her robe. Now that Gerald was close enough, he'd be able to see the bumps formed by her nipples high on the silk.

"D'you approve?" she asked with a tantalising laugh, following his gaze.

His lustful eyes gave his answer, as did the hand he slid inside her robe. She opened her mouth in mock protest, but his lips were there, swallowing up any attempt to tease.

"Feels nice, baby," she groaned into his mouth, arching her back so that her firm mound pushed into his hand. Before he could respond, she returned her lips to his, snaking her tongue back into his mouth.

Gerald's hands slid the rest of the way inside her robe, easily pulling it open and off. Her ripe breasts looked fantastic on her toned upper body, the large, dark nipples sitting perfectly on the tops of her tits. 

He palmed them both, turning them roughly between his fingers before pushing her back onto the bed. It took but a second to slide his boxers down his thighs. 

She groaned approval at the sight of his cock rising thick and ready from the dark hair between his legs. "Going to fuck Savannah again?" she purred, tossing her soft, wavy hair as she opened her legs for him. 

"Yeah," he gasped, hypnotised by the hand she ran down her lean body and along her smooth mound. 

"Good," she purred, arching her back and pinching her nipples. "Come and get it, baby."

He didn't need asking twice. Taking his cock in his hand, he teased her with the ridge of its crown, running the spongy head along her silky furrow. Enjoying her moan, he dipped it into her moist opening before drawing it back and passing it across her clit.

"Oh, yes," she moaned. 

This was much better. Perhaps he'd just needed warming up?

His face was smug as he pressed his hips down and forward, sliding inside her tight pussy. The redhead responded by wrapping her legs around him, digging her heels hard into his lower back. She prompted; he pounded. 

They grunted with each forward thrust, rutting like animals. It was unusual for her to cum so quickly, but his improved performance was a surprise. She screamed out when she climaxed, squirting all over his still pumping cock.

He began to thrust again, seeking his own release. When she stopped him, he tried to hold her down, but her smiling eyes told him she was playful again. He followed her lead.

Rolling out from under him, she switched positions. Facing the windows on all fours, she wriggled her bottom provocatively. Instantly, he grew even harder.

It took only a second for him to slide inside her again, tightly gripping her youthful hips. She groaned at his entry, then again as he instantly resumed his pumping.

"Remember, baby," she smiled, looking back over her shoulder. "Don't cum inside me."

Before he could respond, she thrust backwards against him. One, twice, then rat tat tat like a machine gun. 

He was lost, his fingers digging into her flesh as he tried to match her backward thrusts. She was about to milk him for a second time and there was nothing he could do about it.

He went with the lusty torture, beginning to pant harder. When he was about to unleash his load, he tried to make some sort of statement of control, pushing her thrashing head down into the silk sheets. Her perky ass rose even higher, and with one final slap of his balls on her clean-shaven mound, he was there. 

He only just pulled free of her clutching body as he exploded.

"Oh, yes," she moaned as he messily launched his pearly man juice all over her arched back.

Swinging around with a speed that surprised even herself, she covered the pulsating cock with her mouth to catch the last few, diminishing bursts. She kept her lips on him, continuing to suck him clean even as he recovered. Quickly, her hovering mouth had the desired effect.

"Good boy," she praised, as he began to grow again between her lips. Moving back, she flipped a leg across his body, sinking his newly revived cock back into her. "Why don't you give tonight's interview a miss?"

***

"Okay," Price told George Blair. "Let's cut to the chase. I need to know everything about you. No surprises. Tell me what you secrets are. What could destroy you politically if they come out into the open? We all have them. What's yours?"

Blair looked down at the third cup of coffee in his hands. The distraction helped him cover the ping of shock that had him stunned. For a few seconds, the image of Roxanne appeared in his mind. 

Her naked body was stretched out on a large rug, her legs opening as she slipped a finger in her mouth, provocatively sucking on it while her other hand snaked down between her thighs. He had to physically shake his head to focus back on the present.

"Nothing," he casually lied. "Absolutely nothing."

"I don't believe you," Price calmly responded, his intelligent, grey eyes fixed on his new boss.

A surge of anger appeared in Blair's stomach. "Now listen–" he began, leaning up in his chair.

Cobalt interrupted, attempting to defuse the argument before it started. "Dennis, we've been through this before. The press are constantly all over us. Had there been anything, they'd have turned it up by now."

"All over you?" Price almost shouted. His vehemence startled both men. "They haven't been all over you! At least, not in the way they're going to be. This is the Prime Minister's role we're talking about. The British tabloid media are scum." 

"Yes, but…" Cobalt began. Price's hairy hand stopped him before he began.

"No buts," he responded, turning to look at Blair. "They'll be into everything you've done. Business deals. Personal. Family life. If there's something to be found, they'll find it. I want to know. I want to know now. I can't help you otherwise."

"There's nothing," Blair insisted, his teeth clenching as he spat out the words.

Price smiled. "Good. I take you at your word, George. You've got a lot going for you. Young. Handsome. With a good track record. You're Mr. Clean. Just make sure you interview well tonight. In the meantime, this is what I'm going to do—"

He paused for effect, tapping the dead ashes out of his pipe into the waste bin beside his chair.

"I'll speak to Donaldson and see whether I can turn him round, or at least keep him from coming out in favour of Ryder. I'll also check out a few things about the woman, see where her weaknesses are. Or see if we can create any. We don't have much time."

Slowly, the professor began to refuel his battered pipe before continuing.

"We also need to raise funds. Got to be careful there. Keep you well away from anything illegal. Nothing should be traced back, George." 

Blair and Cobalt exchanged glances. There was a pressing need to keep the main source of funds to themselves. Until DeVere was ready to disclose his secret.

"I know, I know," Price added, observing the look exchanged between the two men. "Let's recognise one thing. What I'm suggesting is essential if you're to become Prime Minister. Are you with me?"

Their nods of approval were simultaneous.



Palmer Ch. 02



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 2: Surveillance

The five star Howard Swissôtel, set in a quiet oasis on the border of the city of Westminster and the city of London, was only a short walk from Dominic DeVere's penthouse. The underground car park, rented exclusively by the entrepreneur, made it an ideal location for their meeting

Looking out of the window of his silver-grey Bentley, parked facing the exit ramp, DeVere watched George Blair guide his Mercedes CLS 320 CDI down the ramp and park in the adjacent bay. 

"You have to smoke that?" Blair asked with a grin, nodding at the Havana cigar smouldering in DeVere's fist as he climbed in the rear door of the Bentley.

The crew-cut man smiled in return. "One of life's remaining pleasures," he grinned, pressing a button in the door to raise the window and give them privacy. Another flick switched on the exhaust fan, giving the smoke an escape route. "How are you, George?"

"Feeling like I'm in the Secret Service," Blair replied, warmly shaking his hand. "Do we really need all this cloak and dagger stuff?" 

"I'm afraid so. It's important for me to retain my privacy. What happened with Dennis Price?"

Blair smiled. "An excellent meeting. He's in."

DeVere nodded. "Good, good! Splendid news. It's always good to have Quasimodo on your side."

"You bet," Blair enthused, ignoring the slur. "I was impressed. If he does what he says, he'll put Donaldson in his place and have Shirley Rider kissing my ass."

DeVere pulled a face as he listened to Blair's venom spill out. That was the trouble with his friend. He could be overly emotional at times. "Easy, George. One step at a time. Once you're in Number Ten, we can consider our next moves. The focus now is on getting you there."

"I know, I know," Blair enthused, still on a high. "But Price is fully committed, he's grasped the situation and he's a brilliant tactician. I'm on my way, Dominic, I can feel it in my bones."

"And congratulations on last night's interview. You made mincemeat of Paxman."

"Yes, well, he may have a reputation as a hard nut. But he's a pussycat."

DeVere laughed. "You're a one off, George. A winner. That's what attracted me to you in the first place. You have a big appetite, and a ruthless streak. That's why you'll win. Price will help of course, but he wouldn't have joined the team if he hadn't seen the same qualities."

Blair stared at the man beside him, suddenly wary. It was the first time he'd ever spoken to him in such a way. Eventually, he muttered, "Then we seem to have the same qualities, Dominic."

DeVere nodded. "Could be. We both go for the jugular when it's called for. That's why we're so successful, George. The difference between us is that you are selective when you choose your victims. With me, I'll devour anything that gets in my way."

Blair frowned. "I feel there's a hidden message there."

The crew-cut man shook his head, his grey eyes staring at the Prime Minister elect. "Nothing hidden, George. I just want you to know that my appetite is as big as yours."

It took a few seconds for Blair to respond. After thinking over the comment, he gave a soft laugh. "I understand, Dominic."

DeVere puffed on his cigar as he joined in the laughter. "Okay, George. What stands in our way apart from Donaldson?"

"Longer term?" Blair immediately responded. "Money."

"Naturally. How much?"

"Could be up to five million," Blair responded, looking DeVere hard in the eyes. This wasn't a time for ambiguity.

The crew-cut man remained silent as his mind chewed on the figure. Puffing hard, he savoured the taste of the smoke on his tongue before allowing it to ease from his lips. "A lot of money," he eventually said.

"Indeed," Blair admitted. "Right now, it's too close to call and we're going to have to spend to get that edge. The tighter disclosure rules are making it more difficult to obtain donations from..."

DeVere's upraised hand stopped him. "You don't need to explain, George," he smiled. "I understand. You've relied on my financial help for some time now. You think I'm going to shy away now that we're so close to our objective?"

Blair nodded. "Thank you, Dominic."

"You're welcome," the crew-cut man replied. "Which leaves one other discussion point!"

"I know, I know," Blair responded. "We can discuss that after next month's vote."

"No we can't. We must resolve it now."

Blair's eyes hardened. "Dominic. I said it could wait."

DeVere's face remained impassive. "And I said no."

Blair ran his fingers through his slicked back brown hair and shook his head. "You're getting personal," Blair snapped, a hard, flat tone to his voice. The muscles in the corners of his mouth quivered as he spoke.

Still calm, DeVere asked, "You want five million of my money and you say I'm getting personal? It is personal, George." The Prime Minister elect's name lingered like the echo of a lion's growl.

Blair blinked, as though DeVere had slapped him. He sat forward and asked in a carefully measured tone, "You're blackmailing me?"

DeVere smiled softly. It was another example of Blair's emotional fragility. Yet he understood this conflict. "You know that is an offensive accusation..."

For a second, Blair held the crew-cut man's gaze. His cool blue eyes continued to blaze with anger. Then he sat back, exhaling silently through his mouth. "I'm sorry, Dominic. That's not what I meant. But... you know... this is my personal life..."

"You don't have a personal life, George," DeVere responded quietly. "Not as Prime Minister."

Blair took a deep breath. DeVere held his groan in check, but this exchange was beginning to press on his nerves. Blair wasn't giving up on this, apparently Roxanne meant too much to him. The silence between the two men lasted on half a second longer. "Half the fucking politicians in the country have mistresses," he suddenly blurted.

"An exaggeration, but I get your point," DeVere smoothly responded, opening the window and flicking his cigar onto the hard tarmac with a flourish. He waited until the window slid back into place before continuing. "However... they're not running for the Premiership, are they?"

"Look—"

DeVere's upraised hand stopped him again. "George, we've been friends for a long time. And it was me who introduced you to the woman. I understood your need and I serviced it."

"Yes, I know, Dominic," the slim, muscular man admitted.

"And what I'm suggesting now is that you stay away from her until after next month's vote."

"Suggesting?"

"George," DeVere sighed. "If the two of you are seen together, it's the end of everything."

Blair scowled. "Don't push me, Dominic. Don't... push... me!"

DeVere nearly lost it, his face turning red. Blair could be such a fool, and yet Roxanne had the ability to do that to a man. Now was not the time for confrontation. He tried a different tack.

"George, I speak as your friend. The media will be all over you right now. Think what it would mean if they found out. What it would do to your wife, Cheryl. To your career."

While the need to patronise Blair annoyed him, it was his best weapon at the moment. He'd invested a great deal of time and money to bring this sometimes-idiot-of-a-man to this position. Once Blair became Prime Minister, DeVere would become even richer through his business deals, and the establishment of contacts in governments around the world. 

He wasn't about to lose all of that.

"All I'm asking," he continued, keeping his voice under control, "Is that you think about it. Advice from one friend to another. Keep away from her until after next month's vote?"

Blair was cornered. He knew DeVere was talking sense. But Roxanne was a special woman. It wasn't just her curvy body, or the way she used it. It was the way she made him feel special, gave herself so willingly, so freely, whenever he needed her.

She'd given him a new vitality he thought he'd lost. That energy had helped him drive things forward, put him where he was today. How could he give that up?

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I'll think about it. I'd better get back, Dominic. Someone will be looking for me. I can't even take a shit these days without someone peeking over my shoulder."

DeVere smiled. "That's my point exactly, George."

***

Despite their intense night of lovemaking, Kelli still wanted more.

"No, honey," her husband moaned. "I've got to get to work. I'm gonna be flat out on this case for a few days."

"Is that right, Jack Palmer?" she purred, her hand encircling his cock. "So you don't want to celebrate my new job?"

"From what I remember," he grinned, enjoying the sensation of coming alive in her hand, "we've been celebrating your new career as a potential supermodel all night long."

Kelli laughed, but then her smile disappeared and her face became a little more serious. "Well, I know this is only the beginning and I've done nothing yet. But it's a great opportunity, Jack."

Palmer nodded, his soft eyes conveying his encouragement. "I know that, honey. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity. And I know you'll take advantage of it." She stroked him, her eyes lost in thought. "So what exactly did you have to do at your audition yesterday?" 

For a second or two, her caressing fingers stopped moving. She was suddenly shy. She'd stripped for Erin DeVere. Would her husband think less of her for exposing herself for a job? 

Not to mention that other thing. The thing she'd been dancing around even in her own mind. Had she actually wanted the older woman to touch her? Give her relief from the increasing arousal the whole process had produced in her? 

At one point, the older woman had eased herself up from the couch and Kelli thought she was going to make a move. Her heart had skipped a beat as Erin DeVere had brushed against her. Then the moment had passed. The American woman walked right by and produced a contract from the drawer of her desk. 

Of course, it meant nothing. A silly thought. And it really didn't matter. Now she was one of Erin's Models, with the guarantee of a two-day photo shoot within the next week. It was unbelievable.

"That's not important," she muttered, tightening her grip on his cock as she began to stroke faster. Time to change direction. "The thing is Jack, if I was able to make a success of it, make it big, we'd earn enough for you to look for a change..."

He pulled a face. How many times had they discussed this? Okay, he didn't enjoy the late nights either, but he was a cop and that went with the territory. 

"Honey," he softly replied. "I know you don't like my job but—"

Kelli's eyes flashed. "Jack, you know it's not that I don't like your job. It's that I never see you. Your work is affecting our marriage. And now you've got another case that's going to keep you away from me."

Here we go again. Same old story. Palmer pulled himself away from his wife's stroking hand. "I don't want this conversation again," he snapped. "We have it every other day. Look, I'd better get going. Webster will have my ass if I don't turn up on time this morning."

Kelli held her anger in check. There'd be time to fight later. Right now, she needed to be fucked before he went to work. Who the hell knew when she'd see him again?

"Hey," she muttered, pulling him back on the bed. "It's not everyday you have a supermodel for a wife..."

Jack hesitated. Kelli took advantage of the pause, dipping her head into his lap. Her mouth was as wet and inviting as ever. She'd always been skilled when it came to working his veiny flesh. It took no time to get him hard and ready. 

When he was fully erect, she straddled him, sinking his cock into her even softer sex. She loved the control being on top brought. She threw her long, blonde hair back as she thrust her breasts outward. 

"Like what you see?" she teased, running her fingers into her wavy locks. She loved posing for him.

She truly had a model's body. Her full breasts hung firmly, high on her long, slender torso that matched her long, slender legs. He ran the palms across those legs, marvelling at the softness of her bare skin. He always marvelled.

Her hips responded to his touch. Beneath her diamond belly piercing, beneath the barely there landing strip, her full pussy lips stretched obscenely around his girth. His jerking cock drew a moan from his wife. She dropped a hand to his chest, grinding franticly down onto his glistening cock. 

They found a rhythm, as hot and heavy as anything they'd done the night before. They were animals, rutting away in long, powerful strokes.

Jack grunted as he thrust up into her, meeting each powerful downward undulation. Their eyes talked. Fuck me! Fuck me harder! Only their grunts and their slapping flesh filled the room.

"God, that feels good, Jack," she moaned, leaning forward to allow him to cup her bouncing tits.

He knew how much she enjoyed having her breasts caressed whilst fucking. He kneaded both, gently at first, then harder, just the way she liked it. When he began flicking his thumb across her nipples, her body shuddered and she cried out.

"Jack," she gasped, pausing in her movements as the tide swept through her. "Jack..."

He plowed into her and continued his onslaught against her little, brown nipples. She went off. Her head fell forward, her long hair covering his face. Palmer held her whilst her body trembled and jerked, covering her panting face with kisses. She continued to roll her hips along his length, even as her breathing began to return to normal.

"My turn now," he whispered into her ear, nipping on her lobe. He flipped them, pulling her under his body. Somehow, his cock somehow remained firmly embedded as they switched positions.

"Thought you had work to go to?" she teased, her breath catching each time his erection shifted inside her.

He didn't answer, his clouded eyes telling her he needed his own relief. She loved it when he took her like this. He eased his cock out until only the tip was buried in her wetness, and then lunged forward, stroking back into her. 

"Mmmm? What about work?" she teasingly repeated, her fingers digging into his ass. "You want to fuck your wife instead?"

Her words drove him to fuck harder. Pump harder. His pelvis clashed with hers. She wrapped her long legs around his back, pulling him closer with each thrust. 

"Fuck me, Jack," she encouraged, her tongue licking around his ear and neck as she groaned out the words.

He did, pounding harder as they both moved closer. She tossed her head left and right. Her blonde hair fanned out across the pillow like the pin-up model she intended to be. A supermodel. That could be her. Millions would recognize her face. Her tits. Her body. She clutched his ass harder. She dug her heels into his lower back until it hurt.

"Come on baby. Cum for Kelli."

Jack raised up on his elbows, steadying himself. "Yessss!" he groaned, his hard cock exploding inside her.

His seed filled her like liquid fire, igniting her nerves. Igniting her own orgasm. Things went red and hot. Kelli dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades and her heels into his back, lifting her toned frame from the sheets. He pumped in and out one final time and she was there, too, gripping him tightly as they bucked and jerked against one another. 

Neither spoke for some time. Their breathing mingled, heavy. Loud. Satisfied. At last, Kelli asked in a whisper, "So what was it like to fuck a supermodel?"

***

"Nice of you to join us, Palmer," Donny Webster sarcastically told him, calling him and Wilson into his office as soon as he arrived. "Hope you read through everything last night."

Palmer was about to respond but the look in Sandra Wilson's eyes warned him against it. She knew Webster only too well.

"What we've got here," the Vice boss told him, "is information from a series of phone taps, taken over the last month."

He picked up the different files scattered across his desk and precariously piled them on top of one another. Somehow, they stayed in place. Thrusting the half eaten sandwich into his mouth, he attempted to take a drink from his plastic cup at the same time. 

Palmer and Wilson exchanged glances when the coffee ran down the front of his T-shirt.

"Is this all..." Palmer began to ask.

"Yes," Webster interrupted. "We're all legal and above board." He looked at Palmer and grinned, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Judge Wilkinson is a friend of mind. Got him out of a jam once."

He threw the empty cup into his dirty waste bin. The remains of his sandwich followed.

"I want you to listen to this one," he snorted. "Taken last night. The subject is Savannah. A cute, sassy redhead. Got some photos somewhere. We got her apartment wired. The guy is Gerald Packman."

Palmer whistled. "The Gerald Packman?"

Webster nodded. "The one and only. He interviewed George Blair live on BBC last night. This is what he does to get himself in the mood."

He nodded over at Sandra Wilson, but then held his hand up when she reached over to switch on the recording.

"I'll play you a snippet. You need to get an idea of what the operation's all about. All the recordings are tagged, so you can listen to them all at your leisure." He grinned, displaying his off-colour teeth. "Just don't get too excited..."

***

Harry Bannerman looked down at the young girl as she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. With her dirty blonde hair held back with a pale pink headband and a smooth, unblemished face, she was barely eighteen. So young. He'd found her in the park, still wearing her school uniform and smoking a cigarette. Waiting for someone. For him?

"Mind if I join you?" he'd asked, taking a seat before she answered his question. The blonde had glanced over at him, her pretty face clearly annoyed at the middle-aged, slightly balding fat man.

"Go right ahead," she said sarcastically, putting out the cigarette on the park bench. She'd rolled her plaid skirt up, as was the fashion with kids these days, and Bannerman could see that her legs were lean and slender. Perhaps she played field hockey, or football?

"Listen, I was wondering..." He grinned at her, ignoring the haughty way she returned his smile. Girls like this were his favourite. So full of teenage bravado. She probably dated a high school jock. Or maybe, she'd just broken up with him as she was university-bound. "I'm going to need to see some ID." He glanced at her cigarette. "There are laws."

The girl's bright blue eyes had widened at that! He loved that moment, when things started to get all imbalanced. With a shaking hand, the girl produced a wallet from her trendy handbag. Bannerman hadn't even looked at her name. He could care less about that shit. Just the birthday. Yes, she was eighteen. Just so. That was important.

"Happy birthday," he'd said with a smile, handing it back to her. She took it, this time not quite as confidently.

"Th—thanks," she'd replied, removing another Lucky Strike. Bannerman helped her light it. She wore knee socks. God, to be young again, he thought. Then again, college didn't exactly hold the most cheerful memories for him.

"Listen, doll, I have a proposition for you. Something that profits the both of us..."

The girls never said yes immediately. They always pretended to be more wholesome than they really were. But Bannerman knew how to pick them. He knew what to look for. And they changed their mind when he told them how much he'd pay. And just for a blowjob. That always got their interest. He didn't even want to fuck them, just feel their lips working on his manhood. And their tits.




Palmer Ch. 02



Then, when they saw his giant of a cock, their attitude changed again. A couple of times, they'd almost begged him to fuck them. He never did, of course. He got off on the power; cumming in their mouths or between their tits was just icing.

Towering above the young blonde in his hotel room, he was in complete control. He loved that. When her eyes displayed that growing realisation, he slipped off his jacket and began to unbuckle his belt.

"Just think of the money, baby," he manipulatively muttered as he saw doubt cloud her eyes. She wouldn't doubt him in a moment.

His slacks dropped down to his ankles. Her eyes followed. He pulled his semi erect cock from his boxers. "Well, what do you think?" 

"Geez," the girl gasped. "It's enormous."

"Enormous indeed," he murmured, fisting the soft flesh and waving it in front of her. "Now why don't you show me how much you want to earn your money?"

Bannerman slid his free hand through her soft, blonde hair, slowly pulling her head to his thickening shaft. As expected, there was no resistance. She was a sensible girl. This wasn't anything she hadn't done before. And think of the money! Besides, who could refuse such a monster?

He moaned as she took his hardness between her lips. His hand tightened behind her head, though he knew it was unnecessary. He felt her low growl tickle across him. She accepted this. When her tongue began to flick along his hardness like a snake searching for its prey, he let out a soft groan. 

She'd told him she was inexperienced - she was anything but. The young blonde took him as far inside as she could, the head of his cock touching the entrance to her throat. One hand dug into his ass, whilst the other dropped to caress his balls. He dug his fingers into her scalp, displaying his growing pleasure. 


Encouraged, she took his thick cock into her throat. And she did it easily. Bannerman groaned, ripping her headband away and tossing it into the corner. How many high school guys had she sucked already? How many would she before finally settling down? Bannerman huffed at the fantasy.

She sucked with a purpose and a passion. Her long tongue created a wonderful friction all along the underside of his shaft. Both of her hands gripped his ass, her fingernails digging in as she worked on her personal mission. 

When he was close, Harry pulled her head up so that he held her gaze. He nodded. She went back to work, but kept an eye on him. Slowly, he began to buck his hips against her face. He was close. She knew it. She was ready for it.

This was almost the moment of truth. The money would go out of their young minds and a primitive sexual need took over. It was a desire to please their man, to make him cum. This one was no different. 

Her fingernails dug deeper, drawing blood from his chubby buttocks. 

He tightened his grip on her hair, close to the point of no return. A final suck of her mouth, a fondle of his balls, and he was there. Her eyes stayed on his. His hips spasmed. His muscles went taut. His groan pierced the air. 

The blonde gave out a guttural moan as he fired the first blast against the back of her throat. She growled, almost greedily accepting burst after burst of his creamy tribute. 

When she'd taken it all, she lay back on the bed and slipped her hand under her skirt. Rubbing herself furiously, she came almost immediately.

***

Palmer sat quietly when Webster switched off the recording. Despite the repulsion he felt, there had been a surprisingly erotic quality to the way Savannah had gone about her business. It was almost a classy seduction, rather than the basic rough and tumble he'd expected.

"Well?" Webster asked.

"How did you get onto this?" Palmer asked, more for something to say.

Sandra Wilson smiled. "It was a tip off."

"One of her tricks?"

Webster shook his head. "Shit, no. We picked up a few hookers about a month and a half ago. Knew them all. One of them started complaining."

Wilson laughed. "Big Elsie. Quite a woman." 

"Yup," laughed the fifty-year-old Vice boss. "She's all of that. Well, this particular evening she was drunk, or as near as dammit. She complained we're always picking on the low-renters and letting the high-rolling ladies get away with it."

He turned to Wilson. "Get me another coffee, will'ya?"

She rolled her eyebrows at Palmer and slid of her chair, making her way to the battered machine in the corner of the next office.

The young detective watched the tall, black-haired female go. Her black, skin-tight jeans hung low on her slender hips, and her snug, red blouse didn't quite cover her flat midriff. Her gun was holstered right up against her tailbone, although it wasn't the gun Palmer found himself looking at.

By common consensus of the guys in the department, the thirty-three year old divorcee was as sexy as hell, though few dare mention it for fear of her infamous temper. 

Her bright smile was bestowed on very few, though Palmer received more than his share. So did Goodwin. Although it was strictly against department rules, Palmer had an inkling there was something going on between those two. But that was their business as far as he was concerned.

Webster's voice brought him back to the present. "Elsie musta realised what she'd said because she wouldn't give us anything else." He laughed. "So I gave her some more drink."

Palmer gave a soft chuckle. "That's a technique I haven't heard of—"

The Vice boss nodded, licking his lips. "Did the trick. Within ten minutes she came up with a name and address. That's how we got onto this Savannah."

Wilson walked in with two coffees. One of the buttons of her red blouse had worked its way undone. The way her cleavage spilt over her white lacy bra and between the open folds was pretty sexy. 

He nodded to the offending button, giving her time to surreptitiously fasten it after she handed him the second coffee.

"See," Webster joked, referring to the coffee. "You're getting respect already." 

Wilson gave Palmer a thank you grin as they turned back to their boss.

"Anyway," he continued, "this Savannah proves to be a busy lady. You wouldn't believe who we've recorded with her. Then, a few days ago, bingo! We got a whole new ball game. I don't have time to take it forward. That's where you come in."

"Okay, Chief. I'm intrigued," Palmer confessed. "Tell me more."

"I thought you'd read the file?"

"I have Chief. It's a little short on detail!"

Webster grunted. "We got a big fat shakedown. The people she's involved with are mega names in the political, entertainment and business world."

"Is that any of our business?" Palmer queried. "We're Vice."

Webster's eyebrows arched. "We get involved in anything I say. This is the biggest thing to hit the department for a while. They could blackmail these johns as far as we know. We're gonna follow it all the way."

Palmer smiled. "Well, we could sure do with a bit of excitement, Chief. I'm all for that. Want me to lean on this Savannah?"

Webster ran a hand across his baldhead. "No, Palmer. That's not what I want. We make the wrong move and we can blow the whole case out the freakin' window. Understand?"

"Okay," Palmer said, looking from Webster to Sandra Wilson and back again. "But can you give me the low down?"

This time Webster nodded across at Wilson. He drained his coffee as he slammed his feet on top of his desk. 

"Well," the female cop began. "She led us to a friend of hers, Brooke Welles. It seems they're working together. We got her place wired as well."

Webster couldn't resist joining in. "Pretty soon we got a third. Roxanne Lopez. From what we can tell, now there are three of them. All of them, fucking internationally known men. Decision makers."

Palmer nodded. "Do we have a line on Brooke and Roxanne?"

"Oh yes," smiled Wilson. "Goodwin and I got lucky one night. The three of them were together, with three tricks. Japanese. Tony Mizato, a big shot businessman. Money to burn. And two people he was hoping to impress."

"They'd be impressed alright," Webster growled.

"We tailed 'em," Wilson continued with a roll of her eyes. "And then followed 'em home. A limo the size of a jumbo jet picked them up, took them to Gordon Ramsay's Boxwood Café for dinner then to the China White nightclub. Money no object."

Palmer whistled. "Maybe I could take them out on a date."

"Yeah," Webster laughed. "On your pay, a McDonalds combo. That's where you take your old lady, isn't it?"

Palmer winced at the mention of his wife. He and Kelli seemed to have become more distant lately. Too many late hours.

"Anyway," Webster continued, "we already got Savannah and Brooke's apartments wired. Now I got us permission from my Judge friend to wire Roxanne's, too. That's your next step, Palmer."

The young detective's mind was doing overtime. "We got a first class wireman lined up?" he asked.

Webster laughed—a wry, sarcastic laugh. "Are you shitting me? We got the combined skills of you, Wilson and Goodwin. That's it. The three of you should be capable of tapping her phone."

"No," Palmer responded. "I want the whole place wired."

"Well, good luck with that," Webster almost snarled, shaking his head at Wilson. She grinned back, running a hand through her unkempt black hair.

Palmer smiled. "And I know who can do the job. Taffy Boyd."

Webster grimaced. "Taffy Boyd? A bloody Welshman?"

"This guy's the best wireman you're ever likely to meet."

"I'm not likely to meet him," Webster responded. 

"You already have, Chief. He's in narcotics."

Webster's faded eyes briefly leapt into life. "Boyd? He's good."

Palmer nodded. "I know. And I can sneak him out long enough to do our job."

"Holy shit. I don't want to know," Webster snorted. "You do what you got to do, Palmer. Just don't fuck it up."

***

This girl was hotter than most he'd picked up. A little on the waif-side, but he didn't mind. It made her look even younger. He watched her as her fingers worked furiously beneath her white, cotton thong. That wasn't so innocent.

Bannerman had done this countless times. He found he couldn't stop. When he saw an innocent girl by herself, it was like a half-full bottle of whiskey to an alcoholic. Yet he'd never fucked one of the girls. Never felt the urge. Never, that was, until this one.

And that meant it was time to go.

The blonde's head shot up as she heard the zipping sound of his fly. Watching her get off made it difficult to stuff his monster back into his pants. "Where are you going?" she asked, reaching out and grasping his belt.

Her short, pleated skirt had ridden up her thighs. Bannerman hadn't missed that detail.

"I don't..."

His protest died as she reached back in, fished out his semi-swollen cock, and took it back into her mouth. He was full after two slippery bobs of her head. And when he was full, she pounced.

A habit of a lifetime, out the window. When she pushed him back onto the bed and began to tear off her schoolgirl clothes, he knew he was heading into murky waters.

"Leave the socks on," he begged as she pushed the skirt and thong over her narrow hips. She was skinny, but her girlish tits were large enough to fill her small, white bra. "And the shoes." Those black, patent leather shoes.

"Want me to put my hair in pigtails?" she asked as she unhooked her bra, posing for him, pigeon-toed and demure. God, she was his fantasy come to life, from the pouting lips right down to her smooth sex.

"Oh, Jesus," he moaned, his hand instantly going to his cock.

"Let me do that," she giggled, crawling down between his legs. Her fingers barely fit around his girth. "This is the largest I've ever seen," she marvelled, licking the tip like a lollipop.

She snaked up his body, doing a quick one-eighty as she settled into his lap. 

He could see their reflection in the side mirror as her hand held his saliva-damp cock upright. She placed the mushroom head against her quivering opening. She teased him with the delectable flesh. This girl was no virgin.

"Ohhhh!" she moaned as she lowered her spasming pussy over his hardness. 

Bannerman shuddered as he felt her moist folds parting around him. Remarkably, she bottomed out on him, her snug little pussy swallowing him whole. She laid back against his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her perky tits.

And then she began to gyrate. She moved like a stripper on his lap, her peach-like ass making tight little circles in his lap. 

The fat man redirected his hands to her slim hips. This girl was a slut and it was time to show her how he dealt with sluts. He began to pile drive the little blonde in his lap. He went from zero-to-sixty in half a second, his hands slamming her down against his legs. His monster of a dick burrowed deeper and deeper into her sex, penetrating as far as he could possibly go. 

She flexed her legs and bounced back up, moving with the energy of a cheerleader. A cheerleader that she probably was! Fuck! He slammed her back down before she could recover.

Over and over, he pounded the willing teenager, her little tits bouncing with his thrusts. His forearms burned from the effort.

"Yeah, baby," her vibrating voice gasped, over and over again. "Yeah, baby. Yeah, baby..." She urged him through her desperate cries. 

Bannerman lost himself. He became a thrusting machine, whipping her lighter body harder and harder on his lap. She arched her back, pushing her shoulders against his. Her soft, blonde hair draped across his chest as he gave every ounce of energy he had. The sweat poured from him. His heart dangerously worked overtime.

When he slammed her down again so hard he was sure his chubby legs would be bruised, he detonated inside her pussy, crying out as he disgorged shot after shot of hot cum into her young body.

Her sex twitched with each burst, the slick muscles tightening each time she sucked another rope of pearly seed. He couldn't stop, still cumming thirty seconds later, his hips twitching with each explosion as the teenager gratefully accepted each further explosion.

Neither moved for a few minutes, just resting. Both exhausted. Eventually, the young blonde pulled away and sat up on her elbows. "Did I do well?" she asked.

"Yes," he sighed, his voice indicating how tiresome he found the question. How often had he been asked that? "Very good. You can leave now."

"My money?" she asked, almost apologetically.

"Money?" he replied with a hoarse laugh. "I've got no money. Now get out of here before I break your fucking fingers."

***

Kelli put the phone down. It had been good of Erin to check on her and to provide her with details of tomorrow's shoot. A thrill of excitement shot down her spine. She hadn't expected things to move so quickly.

Despite her fucking session with Jack, she was frustrated. A new assignment meant that she wasn't sure when she'd see him again. Nothing new there. She hated that. Hated the way he was married to his job. 

She'd broken up with Danny when his passion for football saw him travel around the country. He'd attempted to make it professionally, but all he ever managed were short-lived trials by one club after another. Never quite good enough; not bad enough to quit. His obsession took him away from her for long periods of time. Too long. 

It's what had indirectly led her to Jack. She was young and beautiful, just breaking into the world of modelling, even though it was minor league stuff. She'd broken things off with Danny. Feeling low, she'd decided to go out. She'd met Jack in a bar, dated the next night, fucked the night after that, and been inseparable ever since.

Until he'd been made a detective, that was. Now, she felt déjà vu, and hated herself for it. 

But then, would she really be spending her nights alone if she was single? The illicit thought caused her to tremble with shame and, she admitted deep down, a little excitement. Her pink nipples grew hard and she pulled her silk robe tightly around her. There was a plethora of attractive, young men who'd be desperate to get into her panties.

Kelli shook her head, banishing the terrible thoughts. She loved Jack. She was his wife and took that promise seriously. Yet she couldn't suppress the overwhelming sadness that was overtaking her. Did he not understand what he was doing? Did he not understand that she couldn't put up with his absence for much longer? If their marriage was going to remain intact, Jack would have to change his ways.

But he hadn't shown much sign of wanting to do that so far. If anything, things were worse.

Could this modelling opportunity change everything? Maybe, if she made it big, then he could be around more. Maybe it would help her finally get over her profound loneliness. Or maybe, her new lifestyle would help her deal with his absence in other ways...

The more she thought about the way things were between them, the unhappier she became.

***

Sandra Wilson was getting ready to leave for the day. Like the rest of Vice other than Webster, she sat in an open plan room, her small desk stacked high with unfilled reports. Unlike Webster's, however, at least her papers were lined up in the semblance of organization.

She stood and stretched, catching her reflection in the grimy window that looked out into the ally. She looked tired. She needed some sleep. Too many long hours with little reward. As usual, she'd tied her straight black hair into a knot high on her head, although a few unwashed strands had escaped.

"You're still here." A snow-white haired head crept up behind her just as she shouldered her leather attaché.

"Goodwin," she smiled, feeling her face flush a little at the sight of the older man. They'd been partners for close to ten years and over that time, had developed into good friends. Best friends. Each had helped the other through their messy divorces – the ink on Sandra's still wet. "You're still here, too."

"I think we're the only ones," the older man whispered, stepping into view. Alex Goodwin was pushing sixty although the barrel-chested man kept himself in great shape. 

Sandra shivered, thinking about his body under those clothes. She hadn't been with any man but Jason since they'd started dating twelve years ago. Until last week, that was. She still wasn't sure how she and Goodwin had gotten together, but she loved the way his thick cock had fucked her.

"Oh yeah?" she responded, raising a playful eyebrow. "It'll take me twenty minutes to reach home. Make sure you're not far behind."

***

Harry Bannerman made his way to the Fifth Floor of DeVere Towers. His body ached all over and he'd much rather be soaking in his own flat. But when his boss called, he came running.

The computer complex was exclusively housed in the building. Only half a dozen people worked there, all of whom were experts in their own field, but none of whom understood the bigger picture. 

Only Harry knew that. And Dominic DeVere, of course. There was nothing about his business that the crew-cut man didn't understand.

The young brunette that met him had worked there for eighteen months. Harry often thought about her sucking his cock, but knew better than to mix business with pleasure.

"Well?" he asked. It was his standard question whenever he went into work. Loosely translated, it meant tell me anything I need to know.

"Everything's fine, Harry," she smiled. But then it always was. Each of Harry's employees was a specialist in their field. That's why he'd hand picked them and why he paid so much.

A graduate of Harvard, many years ago, Harry's computer and financial genius was the best there was. He'd approached DeVere, not the other way around. I can save you a couple of million a year, he'd told his future employer. I've studied your annual reports and what I can find of your business plan. There's no doubt I can revolutionise your computer operations and make your business more tax efficient.




Palmer Ch. 02



DeVere hadn't thrown him out. He'd listened. In the five years Bannerman had worked there, the savings he'd initiated had actually exceeded three million per annum. He was now DeVere's most valuable, and most trusted, employee.

In return, DeVere had solidified Bannerman's loyalty by providing him with a salary and bonus scheme that ensured an extravagant lifestyle. The lifestyle of a top executive. Expensive holidays, private jets, gourmet restaurants were all at his beck and call.

And on the rare occasions that one of his young conquests objected to Harry's refusal to pay them, Dominic would intervene to provide a cast iron alibi that proved Harry couldn't have been involved at that particular time. He'd been in a board meeting, of course.

And a small cash inducement always helped them go away for good.

But while Devere had begun by simply taking advantage of Bannerman's computer and financial genius, times had changed. The man with the receding hairline had developed into his number two. 

Wherever there was information to be found, or dirty work to be carried out, the middle-aged fat man was invariably heavily involved.

When his phone rang, he checked the caller extension. "I'll be right there, sir," he answered, without waiting for his boss to speak.

He took the private elevator up, punching in the intricate key code. DeVere was looking out of the window when he arrived.

"Harry, I want you to review the laws pertaining to party political contributions. And the way we make such contributions. If I pay a million a year for the next five years, I want to get half my money back."

"Half..." Harry began. That was a tall order, even for him.

"Find a way," DeVere snapped. "And I want every single penny accounted for in such a way that it will stand up to the most rigorous government examination. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry barked. There were times DeVere expected him to be a miracle worker.

"Oh yes, and I want a million ready for transfer immediately after the MP's vote next month. I'll sign the necessary requisition the day before."

Bannerman nodded. "No problem. We'll ensure they're a number of small, personal contributions, maximum of fifty thou, say? It may be we can backdate..."

"Harry," DeVere interrupted. "I'm not interested in how. Once you've got it all worked out, we can go through it together."

And they would, thought Bannerman. DeVere insisted on checking everything personally. The only time Harry had ever made a mistake, he'd been given a chilling warning. He'd never do that again.

"Is that all, sir?" Harry asked, his thick lips rolling back in a fat, deferential smile.

DeVere's nod was dismissive.

***

At the same time that Bannerman was being dismissed from DeVere's office, Sandra Wilson was opening the door of her small apartment to the snow-white haired cop.

"Alex," she smiled. "Twenty minutes late."

He stroked her body with his eyes as she stepped to one side to allow him to enter. It was clear from her strawberry smell that she'd showered before she'd changed. Her black, skin-tight jeans looked good on her tall, lean body, as did the black tank top. 

He still couldn't believe this was happening; he still kept waiting to wake up from the fantasy. He was nearly sixty, for God's sake. What she saw in such a gruff, often miserable old cop puzzled him.

He'd lusted over her modelesque body since she'd been assigned to him. She was just twenty-three at the time, so innocent. In the past ten years, she'd matured into a graceful beauty, although the long hours in Vice and her divorce had added a few more lines around her eyes.

"God, I want you," Wilson said, rolling her eyes as she echoed his thoughts. 

She led him into her small living room, whipping the tight tank top over her head as she did so. The quick action dislodged the elastic that held her hair up. The dark waves bounced around her face and shoulders. She'd blow-dried it. Just for him? "Come on," she beckoned, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her bangs had caught in the gloss of her lips.

Goodwin felt his heart leap in his chest just a fraction before his cock began to unfurl. He stood at the entrance to the room, watching.

Sandra moved over to her couch - a beat up old thing that had seen better days. Keeping her back to him, she unsnapped the top button of her jeans and began to shimmy out of the tight, black denim.

"Well, just going to stand there?" she asked as she stepped out of them. Her black, satin thong - which matched her demi bra - plunged between her tight, ass cheeks as she came to a stop before her couch.

"Just admiring the view, " he joked without moving. She had almost no body fat on her. Her pale, lightly freckled body was built like a tigress. He watched her sinuous muscles shift as she reached behind her and unclasped her bra.

Again, Wilson rolled her eyes, although this time her lips were curled up in a smile. "Why don't you admire a little closer?" she asking, turning to face him. She had small, firm breasts capped with round little nipples that stuck out like eraser tips.

Goodwin unrooted himself at last, crossing to her as he pulled off his wrinkled, string tie. The dark haired woman sat back on the edge of the table as he stepped into her. Their lips came together like parched wanderers in an oasis.

Sandra helped her partner divest of the rest of his clothing, sliding her hand into his boxers impatiently so she could feel his rigid member. Geez, her mind screamed, I need this cock!

He pushed his boxers down his legs as she whisked her thong away.

"If anyone knew about us, we could lose our jobs," she warned as she took hold of his thick manhood and placed it against her pussy.

"I know that," the older cop said gruffly. He knew it all too well. He'd seen it happen before, with some of his best friends. The head of his cock rub across the younger detective's smooth pussy lips as she lifted her ass off the table. 

His cock lurched. 

Last week, she'd been hairy and unkempt. He hadn't minded, of course. It went well with her outward exhaustion. Now, he noted with a quick glance between their legs, she'd sculpted her dark hair into a trimmed wedge of curls atop her buttery soft folds.

"So you like it when Sandra shaves?" she asked devilishly, jutting her hips upward as his cock sank into her. 

"You're such a slut!" he growled against her ear as she adjusted to his girth.

"And you love it, don't you, baby? Say it."

"Fuck yeah. I love it!"

"Then fuck me, Alex," she cried, her hard ass sliding across the smooth wooden table.

There was no more talk. Only grunts. His mouth closed on hers, jamming his tongue hard down her throat. Her hands were on his snow-white hair, gripping it tighter in her lust.

Goodman picked her slender body up. She squealed in surprise, looping her legs around his back. She clung to his neck as he shifted them over to the couch, keeping his cock half-buried in her. He dropped her onto the beat-up cushions, the momentum driving his cock as deep as it would go into his partner. 

"Ugh God!" she cried, clenching her teeth as the pleasure bordered on pain. Her heels dug harder into his ass as he really began to thrust.

"Ah, ah, AH!" Sandra's spring-tight body stiffened even harder. She dug her nails into Goodwin's back as she tried to bend him down into her cumming body. The older man didn't budge, his body as solid and unmoving as ever.

"Geez, Alex, you make me feel like I'm in my twenties again," she laughed huskily as they readjusted. 

The white-haired detective sank into the couch as his naked partner climbed into his lap. The feeling was exquisite as she sank down onto him.

He just grunted in response, although she made him feel so much younger, too. He hadn't had this much fun with a woman since the early parts of his failed marriage.

"Mmm... Alex, I love the way you fill me," she growled, resting her arms on his muscular chest as she pushed herself back up to a straddle. Her head dropped backwards every time she thrust downwards on his hard cock.

Their eyes locked on each other's as she took her pleasure and gave him his. She was gyrating her hips in tiny circles now, her eyes narrowing at the sensation, and only when she heard his groans turn to growls did she begin to ride him hard, resuming the up-and-down momentum of her athletic hips. 

That was it. She had the perfect angle and his cock nudged right across her g-spot. "Geez, Alex. Yes... yes..."

She gritted her teeth as her head fell onto her chest, her body trembling as another orgasm found her. "Fuck yessssssssss!" 

Goodwin allowed her to ride out her peak. Well, most of it, anyway. Before she'd fully recovered, he scooped her trembling body into his arms and carried her into her bedroom. His body surged with renewed vigor. This beast had found his second wind, and he was going to devour his prey whole.

Tossing her onto her unkempt bed, he crawled in between her long legs. Her pink furrow was loose from the sex. The flower was near full bloom. He dove his head in, eating her neatly shaved sex with years of experience behind him. 

Her sex petals were softer than anything he'd had the pleasure of running his tongue along - and loose enough now that he couldn't pass up sucking them whole between his lips like the juice from an orange slice.

"Ngh ah!" Sandra moaned. He hardly felt her tight fists pawing at his hair. That was why he still had hair, for young women like Wilson to pull on, right?

When he'd teased her to the brink of yet another orgasm, he settled up along her lean body. She was twitching like a crackling transistor. She was ready to blow again.

He gently eased his cock between her legs, sliding forward so that just his cockhead penetrated her.

She whined, wanting more. "Don't tease..."

"This what you want? " he smiled, pushing himself forward. He slid inside her like a knife through butter.

He thrust once, then again. Her soft moans encouraged him to keep teasing, slowly sliding back and forth like he was sawing at a piece of wood. The tingling sensation ran from his cock to his brain and back again.

"Faster, Alex." She was humping up against him now. Not for long. He needed relief.

Increasing his pace as directed, he could feel her body shake with the downward thrust. He was close, his balls buzzing each time they hit her smooth sex. The faster he pumped, the louder she moaned. 

He felt the familiar surge as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Uh, yeah!" he cried, as his balls emptied themselves into her tightness. 

Sandra Wilson held him tight as his body jerked over and over again, like a mother comforting her child. When he was finally spent, she struggled her head to his ear and whispered, "Bed now, baby? We've got a long night ahead of us."



Palmer Ch. 03



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 3: The Shoot

Palmer used a company car to pick up Taffy Boyd, a top of the range BMW. That made sense in view of their destination. Anything else would look out of place in Mayfair.

Wilson and Goodwin sat in the back, letting the smoke from their cigarettes curl through the open rear windows and disappear into the early morning London air. For some reason, they both looked bushed, as if they'd been partying all night. 

Palmer smiled at the thought of Goodwin being at an all night rave. It didn't quite fit the image. Maybe it was just the early hour?

But then, he was tired, too. Kelli had been away last night, travelling to Edinburgh for her modelling assignment. He'd used the alone time to go over every single piece of information on the case. Even on paper, this Roxanne seemed special, a little different to Brooke or Savannah. Classier somehow. 

And her photograph! The soft, wavy, red hair. Her perfect face, with her soft green eyes, and full, red lips. He'd met a few classy broads in the line of duty, but this one was getting into his psyche. 

What was it about her?

"How long are we going to have to hang around?" Goodwin asked. He'd been cantankerous ever since getting into the car.

"Patience, Grasshopper," Palmer joked. "Something crawled up your ass last night?"

Wilson silently chuckled. At some time, in their early morning fucking, it had been the other way around. 

In the rear view mirror, Palmer caught the smile Goodwin and Wilson exchanged. Perhaps they had been partying, after all?

"Just tired, I guess," Goodwin grumbled. "And I don't like those shits in narcotics. How long's this guy been with 'em?"

"Long enough," Palmer replied, catching Goodwin's eyes in the mirror. 

The tired looking older man shot back a reluctant smile. Then he grunted. Goodwin often grunted. It was his stock in trade.

When Palmer realised that was as positive a reaction as he was likely to get, he reassuringly added, "But he's a good guy. We grew up together and I'd trust him with my life."

"He knows what he's doing?" Sandra Wilson asked.

Palmer nodded, tilting his head so that he could see both his colleagues in the mirror. "The best wireman you're ever likely to meet. Though I doubt you'll have met one like Taffy Boyd." He gave a soft laugh and nodded over at the entrance to the building opposite them. 

Three pairs of eyes homed in on the short, overweight Welshman. He looked almost as scruffy as Webster. The faded blue jeans were two sizes too big, and whereas the grubby black shirt was tucked in at the front, the tail was flapping in the strong breeze. Typical Taffy.

"He looks more like Mr. Magoo," Wilson laughed, referring to the thick glasses. "This is our wireman?"

Goodwin joined in. "You're shitting me, Palmer?"

Palmer laughed out loud. Taffy Boyd was the opposite of the archetypical wireman and regularly provoked this kind of initial reaction. 

It had been that way since they were kids. When he thought of the number of fights he'd become involved in when the young Taffy was picked on. Moving to England when he was so young had seen the Welshman bullied because of either his appearance or accent. Palmer had looked after him.

"Geez," Goodwin gasped, interrupting the childhood recollections. He was watching the overweight man waddle over to the car, carrying a big, black, tool chest. "He looks worse than Webster. When did he last have a haircut? And look at those dirty, brown suede shoes. With blue jeans!"

Even Wilson laughed at that one. Alex Goodwin wasn't exactly noted for his own sartorial elegance. 

"Though for someone from narcs," the snow-white haired man grudgingly conceded, "I gotta say he looks almost human."

Then Taffy Boyd was leaning against the car door, puffing heavily. "Jack, boyo, how's it going?"

"Good, Taffy," Palmer replied, getting out to stow the toolbox in the boot. "Get away okay?"

"Not a problem," he panted. Opening the passenger door, he crawled into the front beside Palmer. "Chilton's on holiday this week, so the bastard can't cause any problems. Your timing's perfect."

Goodwin laughed. It was the first time since he'd got in the car at the crack of dawn. "Hey buddy," he said, slapping the Welshman on his back. "If you agree that Chilton's a shit, you'll do for me."

"They've a few shits in narcs, boyo," the newcomer added. "But, then, every department is much the same."

"Not us," Sandra Wilson responded with a laugh, lighting another cigarette and lowering the window again as Palmer started the engine and glided into the already heavy traffic. "How'd you get involved with narcs anyway?"

Boyd pulled a King Size chocolate bar from his pocket and took a large bite. "My first meal today," he explained, showing a mouthful of goo. "Well, Chilton heard of my reputation. He borrowed me for a job similar to this. Wired up a politician's house they'd heard was supporting a terrorist cell."

"Jackson Kumar? Shit, you were involved with that bust?"

Picking a piece of chocolate from his teeth and giving it the once over before swallowing it, Boyd nodded. "Yup. He ordered a new surround sound system and that gave an excuse to get me in. I wired the whole place from top to bottom."

He gave a weird, machine gun rattling laugh as he took another large bite.

"And?" Wilson urged.

Boyd took off his Magoo style glasses and struggled to remove a sliver of chocolate that was stuck to the right lens. "It gave us everything we needed. Enough ammunition to put him away for years. And fucked up his brother too."

"His brother?" Goodwin mumbled. "Didn't he turn up dead?"

"Yes, boyo," the Welshman replied, dropping the chocolate wrapper onto the floor as he finished the bar. "He was a nastier piece of work than Kumar. Involved in all kinds of unpleasant business. Responsible for more murders in London than the rest combined."

Sandra Wilson's voice was uncertain this time. "So you guys had him rubbed out?"

The machine gun rattling laugh got louder. "No! The tapping showed he was fucking Kumar's wife and his daughter. We got that information to Kumar a day before we picked him up. It was enough for him to take care of his brother for us."

"No shit," Goodwin muttered, exchanging glances with Wilson.

"Yes, boyo," Boyd giggled, somehow smudging the chocolate sliver right across the lens. He decided to clean it on the front of his shirt. "After that, Chilton had me transferred to his team. Said he couldn't do without the wonderful Welshman."

The two cops in the back nodded, thinking back to the media furore that surrounded the whole Kumar case. 

It was Palmer who broke the silence. "And I think that's a new world record..."

"What's that, Jack?" the overweight wireman asked.

"You ate the whole of that King Size in four point two seconds..."

"Very funny, boyo," Boyd groaned, then added with a grin, "But then, I get plenty of practice. That's why I'm so fit. By the way, where're we headed?"

"Mayfair."

The Welshman whistled through his teeth. "We're going upmarket?"

"You bet," Sandra Wilson offered. "We're after a high class hooker involved in an extortion scam. Think you can wire up her apartment so we can hear her eat breakfast?"

"Oh, yes. Not a problem, little lady. I can do anything. What kind of apartment?"

The attractive female cop shrugged her shoulders. "Dunno, Taffy, but we got the one next to hers rented out. Palmer here is the lucky playboy who's posing as the tenant. That's why he's dressed so smart today. Impress the neighbours."

The Welsh wireman laughed. He glanced across at Palmer. With his black, crinkled hair and square jaw, he looked more like Superman than ever. People had often drawn that comparison, but those who knew the twenty-five year old detective were well aware not to mention the fact in his presence. Boyd never had. "Palmer's dressed smart ever since I've known him," he contented himself by saying. "You'd think we were twins."

"Yeah, right," Goodwin grinned. "Twins. That's a good one."

"The building only has four floors. We're on the top," Wilson continued. "There's a secured gate activated by a code-card, and a security guard inside the building."

"How do you know she's not at her flat right now?" 

"I've been ringing her number for the last hour," Goodwin interrupted, holding up his cell phone. "No answer. But if she is there, we'll wait in Palmer's flat 'til she leaves, then do the job."

"Palmer's flat! I like the sound of that!" Palmer grinned, glancing over his shoulder at Wilson and Goodwin.

"Yeah," Goodwin mumbled. "It's alright for some. Don't know where the Department gets the money. Try getting anything more than a free cup of coffee and you've no chance."

The dark haired female cop tapped Palmer on the shoulder. "That's us on the left."

Smoothly pulling to a halt, the wavy haired detective used his key card to open the gates. They swung open without a hitch. Observing the five-mile per hour limit, he edged into his allocated parking space. 

Boyd went to the boot and flipped open his toolbox. In direct contrast to his appearance, it was meticulously arranged inside.

"Geez," Goodwin grunted. "I don't know what half of those things are, but they sure look impressive."

The Welshman laughed. "Is that right, boyo? You didn't expect a scruffy, fat Welshman to be so organised, eh?"

***

Kelli looked back at The Howard. She somehow felt important as the early morning limo sent to collect her glided away from the intimate and discreet 5-star hotel. Occupying three Georgian townhouses in the heart of Edinburgh's New Town, Kelli had never before experienced such luxury.

Jack had never taken her to anywhere as extravagent as this. She marvelled at the character of the building. They'd used rich fabrics, oil paintings and opulent furnishings inside to enhance that character.

And her suite! The Abercromby had consisted of a huge, richly-textured bedroom with a luxury king-size four-poster bed, a separate living room and a marble bathroom with two basins. This was a different world!

From her suite windows she could see Great King Street. It was a classic example of a wide, cobblestoned, New Town street and when she'd awoken at a ridiculously early time that morning, she'd gone outside and wandered around for an hour. 

She'd taken in her surroundings like a tourist, although she certainly hadn't felt like one. She felt alive. Energized. A star in the making. And if this was an example of the sort of perks that awaited, she'd do everything she could to make her dream come true. She wanted more.

***

Palmer locked the car and ran a hand through his black, crinkled hair as he addressed the others. 

"Okay," he said, his voice adopting the same serious tone as his face conveyed. He glanced at Wilson and Goodwin. "You've both seen Roxanne. I need one of you to stay around here and keep an eye on the entrance. We've gotta know if she returns when we're up there."

"That's you," Wilson grinned, nodding at Goodwin. "I'm needed to add some finesse upstairs."

Palmer ignored the joke. He was focused. Anxious to get the job done. "Okay. Let's go."

Using the key card again to gain entrance to the building, the three cops bounded up the short flight of stairs from the garage area to reception. A painfully thin guard greeted them, seventy if he was a day.

"Jack Palmer," the detective introduced himself, shaking the older gentleman's hand. "I'm renting number fifty."

The guard's look of suspicion immediately vanished, replaced by a soft smile. He gave a welcoming nod, running a couple of arthritic fingers across his grey, pencil moustache. It was as thin as his hair.

"Your name is?"

"Jobson, sir," the elderly guard answered, almost clicking his heels. "Ted Jobson."

Palmer smiled warmly. "Good to meet you, Ted. These are three of my friends. We're just going to look around. I thought I'd show off the place."

Jobson grinned. He looked like he'd collapse if you blew on him. "Nicest apartments in Mayfair, sir. You'll love it here. Very quiet, too."

"Great," Palmer smiled. "What about the neighbours? Anyone interesting?"

The old man's eyes twinkled. "Miss Roxanne has the flat next to yours, sir. You'll love her. A real beauty, and a real classy lady, too."

"Sounds good," Palmer grinned. "I could use some feminine company. Is she married?"

"Oh, no, sir," Jobson answered, putting a hand on Palmer's arm as he leant in confidentially. "But she entertains the occasional male friend." He gave a knowing wink.

"Is that right?" Palmer responded, smiling warmly into the old man's twinkling eyes. "Is she in? I might introduce myself."

The grey-haired guard shook his head. "No, sir. Went out some time ago. Can't say when she'll be back."

Palmer put on a disappointed look. "Well, perhaps some other time then. Tell me, Ted, what time are you here until?"

"Six o'clock, sir. Then the night guard takes over. I'll tell him all about you, sir."

"I'd appreciate that, Ted," Palmer responded, leading Wilson and Boyd towards the elevator. "Catch up with you later."

***

"Hotel satisfactory?"

"Satisfactory? It was wonderful. I've never stayed anywhere as beautiful. And I just loved that massage you arranged last night."

Erin DeVere smiled at Kelli. She'd caught the early morning flight from London and arrived not more than half an hour ago. Her original plan had been to fly up with her newest model, but her afterthought to give the tall and willowy blonde a taste of decadence had paid dividends.

All the better to lull her into the web she was weaving.

"Nervous?"

"Absolutely," came the immediate response. "But so excited, too. I can't believe you arranged a shoot so quickly, Erin."

The sophisticated American woman laughed. "I haven't just arranged the shoot, Kelli. I've just replaced the model I intended to use. You're perfect for what we have in mind. No problem escaping from your husband for two days?"

Erin led the young model into the opulent mansion on the outskirts of Edinburgh. It had once been the summer home for some minor royalty, she'd heard. She'd used it for shoots before, and it was perfect for Kelli's first one.

"Not at all," the blonde responded as Erin opened the front door. Kelli's phone call to Jack had been brief and to the point. She'd be working on a two-day shoot. And as he was engrossed in his new case, she didn't expect she'd be seeing much of him anyway. Perhaps an uncalled for jibe, but true nevertheless.

The Agency Head smiled, the corners of her mouth crinkling in what was becoming a familiar way. "Good! I have big plans for you, Kelli. As long as you keep following instructions, the sky's the limit."

The naïve blonde nodded. She'd do anything to pursue her dream. 

"Have you ever shot with another woman?" Erin asked, smiling as the young model gulped and shook her head. "Well, Brooke's easy to work with. You'll love her. Come on."

She led the excited girl through the house to the luxurious living room, where the shoot would be conducted. As they passed the hall mirror, she studied her latest 'acquisition' quickly. Kelli's long, blonde hair fell in loose waves around her bare shoulders, and the way her strapless top hugged her round breasts was delicious. The low-rise skinny jeans were designer, which was good. Her girls needed to present themselves with a certain standard.

"Kelli, I'd like you to meet the photographer, Chad. He's one of the best in the business."

The Billy Zane look-alike was hurrying out the living room, adjusting the long lens of his sleek black camera. Why was it so many bald men felt they needed to wear caps? Though she had to admit, even back to front, this one added to the short, muscular man's sexiness. Kelli shook his hand with a "good to meet you."

"Just running out to my car for a few more pieces of equipment. But we should be ready to start shooting shortly."

"Wonderful. Brooke's here?" The man nodded, then hurried past them.

The vaulted ceilings and tall, pained windows made this place perfect for photoshoots. Even on rainy days, the lighting in here remained perfect. Gauzy drapes that hung from the high tops of each window softened the sunlight, and the crystal chandelier that dominated the centre of the room sparkled whenever it shifted in airy space.

Chad had already finished most of the set-up. He'd erected his flashbulbs and draped a couple areas of the room - one in front of those old-worldy sofas, the other near one of the deep windowsills. He'd set up his cameras and light meters on the cherry wood console table on the darker side of the room. 

A short, curvy model was standing with her back to Erin and Kelli as they entered, fiddling with something next to all the equipment. She was barely dressed in a lacy pair of black, boy-short panties and a matching bra.

"Brooke, I'd like you to meet Kelli, the latest to join Erin's Models," the older woman introduced.

The raven-haired beauty turned, her smile bright enough to compete with the photographer's lamps, and set something down on the table before striding across to them.

As she moved, the pocket dynamo threw her hips like she was walking a runway. Her lean, tanned body could have been right out of Playboy. The black bra seemed to struggle with firm, ripe breasts. Her bust coupled with her narrow waist and wide hips gave a new definition to the term 'hour-glass.'

When her eyes eventually made her way back to Brooke's face, Kelli realised that the young model had been basking in her gaze. She calmly raised a manicured eyebrow. "Hot, eh, babe? I'm Brooke." She held out her hand, and Kelli nervously shook it. "Your palms are sweaty. I like that." She winked at Erin.

"I'm sorry. It's just... this is all so beautiful." The blonde looked around, concentrating on studying the lavish home in a feeble attempt to shift the attention off her.

Brooke chuckled, turning away and strolling back to the table she'd been standing at. "Do you own this place?" Kelli asked Erin.

The Agency Head gave a soft laugh. If this girl got any more nervous, she'd have a heart attack. 

"We rent it for shoots such as this," she said smoothly, reaching out to touch the girl's bare arm. Her soft skin shivered beneath her fingers. "Come this way, darling." She tightened her grip on Kelli's arm just enough to guide her over to Brooke. "I've produced three supermodels from Europe so far. You could be the fourth." 

Kelli nodded enthusiastically, but her response died as soon as she realized what Brooke was doing. Erin felt the naïve girl stiffen as the raven-haired beauty finished carving a third line of white powder.

"Erin..." Kelli began, glancing across at her. Her words caught in her throat when Brooke rolled up a bill and did a quick line. 

The Agency Head flashed a smile. Erin understood what the susceptible Kelli must have been feeling. Why, the poor girl had actually begun to shake! But there was no escape. She'd left her nowhere to go. "This'll cure your nervousness, darling."

Brooke handed Erin the note and she quickly did her own line. She sniffed sharply, rubbing her nose and licking her lips. When she handed the bill to Kelli, her eyes closely watched the blonde's reaction.

It was everything she wanted. Her fingers quivered a little. Her saucer-wide brown eyes bounced from Erin to Brooke to the remaining coke on the circular mirror.

Seemingly against all her better instincts, the young woman took the bill, leant forward and snorted the remaining line of cocaine. 




Palmer Ch. 03



"That's such a good girl," the Agency Head purred, her piercing blue eyes burning into the young model as she stood straight again. "Your first?"

Kelli nodded. "Ye... yes..."

She grabbed Kelli's hand even before the chemical buzz hit the naïve blonde. "Feel good, sweetie? Let it wash over you. Take away that nervousness." 

The young model nodded. "Feels good..."

"Let it empower you, darling. Like a true supermodel. And always remember, Erin knows best!"

Brooke was already cutting up another set of lines before the true force of the coke had set in.

***

The three cops headed straight to number forty-nine. Time was of the essence. Palmer rang the bell. Once. Twice. As expected, nothing. He gave three loud knocks and waited.

"Over to the expert," he eventually said, turning to Wilson and Boyd and nodding at the Welshman.

Taffy smiled, his grubby hands instantly reaching for the lid of his toolbox. He carefully studied Roxanne's lock before deciding which tool to use. 

Holding the stainless steel needle between his thumb and forefinger, he slowly twisted it into the keyhole. When it caught, he gave another quarter turn. Repeating the exercise, it caught twice more and the tumblers clicked. Perfect! 

He unsteadily got up from his knees and pushed open the door. "Isn't it great to watch an artist at work?" he grinned.

"Awesome," joked Wilson.

Palmer glanced at his watch. "Okay," he said, stepping inside. He was all business. "Let's get moving."

It took no time at all for the three of them to familiarise themselves with the apartment. Each room was bigger than Palmer had expected. Everything was bigger than Palmer expected. 

Boyd gave a low whistle when they convened back in the living area. "Well, boyo, the furniture here costs more than my house."

Palmer laughed. The security guard was right – this woman had class. The beige and cream walls added light to the room and the facing antique chestnut coloured Chesterfield leather sofa provided a wonderful focal point.

Matching chairs faced each other on either side of the sofa, separated by the royal marble top coffee table, firmly positioned in the centre of an antique Oriental rug. The plants, cleverly positioned around the room, added a nice, homely look.

"We're definitely in the wrong business," Wilson smiled. Palmer glanced at the attractive detective. She wore tight, low-slung leggings and, as usual, her smart, black leather jacket. "And you wanna see her bedroom!"

Palmer nodded. He realised he did want to see her bedroom. But first things first. "Let's get to work, Taffy," he rasped.

The overweight Welshman nodded. "The plants are perfect," he said, taking a tiny mike and slipping the pin into the stem of the kentia palm beside the sofa. Within seconds, he'd adjusted it to blend in perfectly.

"What if she waters it?" Wilson asked.

The Welshman shook his head as if taking a question from a child. "Covered with silicone. That makes it waterproof. You amateurs just stay out of my way and I'll be finished in no time."

Palmer smiled at Wilson. "Remember", he joked. "the man's a genius. You watch and learn, I'm going to look around again." 

He made his way back through to the bedrooms. In the smaller of the two, a massage table sat in the middle, above which were four sunlamps. Beside it, the marble-topped side table was covered with a variety of oils and body creams. 

With a soft sigh, he moved to the main bedroom. The ornate, four-poster bed dominated the room, but it was the mirrored ceiling and walls that caused him to gasp. His imagination at the activity the bed must have seen began to take over as he idly pulled open the top drawer of the mountain oak bedside table.

A second gasp escaped his lips. 

It contained a combination of pills, vibrators and powders. Fuck, this Roxanne was quite a woman! He remembered the photograph of the sexy redhead, this time, without clothes. God, if Kelli knew the thoughts going through his head right now!

"Just this room to do, boyo," came the Welshman's voice from behind him. He hadn't wasted any time.

Palmer slowly let his thoughts go. "Make it good," he mumbled, heading back to the living area. 

He'd only taken three steps when his cell phone rang. It was Goodwin. He flicked it onto loudspeaker. "She's back. Pulling into the car park."

Palmer swung around.

"I heard, boyo," Boyd told him from his knees, before the young cop could speak. "I'm nearly done."

Palmer hurried back to Sandra Wilson in the living area. "Double check that everything's the way we found it," he barked.

No more than a minute later, they'd finished their inspection and Taffy Boyd had joined them. Nodding at one another, they slipped into the hallway. A few seconds later, the redhead stepped out of the elevator.

She stared at the three of them, her perfectly symmetrical face frozen in shock.

"I'm so sorry, we alarmed you," Palmer smoothly said, taking the initiative. He stepped forward, holding out his hand. "I'm Jack Palmer and I'm moving into number fifty."

Her stunning face changed instantly, turning from concern to friendliness. "Good to meet you, Jack Palmer," she breathed, her lips parting very slightly into a smile. "Ted told me you were up here. I'm Roxanne."

Palmer sighed as he stared into her soft, green eyes. Her voice was hardly more than a seductive whisper and he hadn't experienced the thrill that ran through him in a long time. It wasn't just her beauty. She exuded an aura of... something... that just made your toes curl.

"These are friends of mine," he mumbled, attempting to explain why they were in the corridor. "We're just... familiarising ourselves with the topography of the building." 

She nodded gently as she unlocked her door. "Good idea," she murmured. "Well, Jack Palmer. I hope we'll see more of each other."

So do I, he thought as her door closed behind her. So do I. 

***

Kelli felt good. Very good. What was it Erin had said? Empowered like a supermodel? That's exactly how she felt. What was all this nonsense about not doing drugs? Supermodels did snow, and if it made her feel this good, this confident, it wouldn't be the last time for her.

She glanced across at the almost empty rack in the small dressing area. There were three separate lingerie combinations hanging there. As instructed by her mentor, she took the red set and slipped behind the folding screens. A couple of days ago, she wouldn't have been able to do this. Now, she hadn't the slightest hesitation.

Ridding herself of her black leather jacket, white strapless top and blue jeans, she replaced her underwear with the red bra and boy-shorts—a red version of Brooke's outfit. The thin white robe gave her some protection as she wandered onto the set.

"Darling!" Erin greeted her. "You two are going to make such a hot pair!"

Brooke was glowing. Her warm, golden skin looked bathed in a sheen of satin, and the tight black lace accentuated her curves with a pinup quality. Her flat stomach was pierced with a diamond stud, just like Kelli, although the small, curvy model had a sunburst tattoo ringing her belly button.

A thrill shot down the blonde's body as she watched the other woman approach. She was stoned, that much was for sure, but that was the only reason for her excitement, right? She'd never had a bi bone in her body, yet ever since she'd stripped for Erin, she'd become insatiable. Even her recent all-night session with Jack hadn't filled her appetite.

But a woman? 

"Erin told me this is your first time, so just lean on me when you need to, okay, babe?"

Kelli nodded, following the model as Chad led them across the floor. Her eyes lingered on the raven-haired beauty's tight buttocks, encased in the little shorts. She shook her head and looked away. "Thanks, Brooke," she smiled, hoping this was going to be straightforward enough.

"Good luck, darlings," Erin purred from behind Chad. "I'm going to enjoy watching you both in action." 

Chad finished adjusting his camera and grinned at the two models. "Okay, Kelli, I'm going to have to ask you to take off your robe now."

The blonde felt everyone's eyes on her. Brooke had stopped and half turned, her pink tongue perched at the edge of her lips.

Kelli's face coloured. Taking a deep breath, she pulled open her covering, arching her back for maximum effect.

Brooke let out a wolf whistle. "Wow, babe. Erin has such good taste. You look good enough to eat." 

Despite her embarrassment, Kelli grinned proudly. From such a hot young woman, the compliment was appreciated.

"So... have you?" Brooke continued, stepping close to her. She reached out and ran her fingers sensually along Kelli's face.

"Have I what?"

"Ever been eaten by another woman?" 

Then the angelic looking model threw her head back as she began to laugh out loud at the look of shock on Kelli's face.

***

"This is going to be the best listening post you've ever been in, boyo," Taffy Boyd grinned as, hands on hips, he surveyed Palmer's apartment. The furniture and décor wasn't to the same standard as Roxanne's, being fitted out primarily with a tenant in mind.

Nevertheless, the brown leather couch and matching chairs looked impressive enough, set around the mahogany table in the centre of the room. "Want me to show you how all this is going to work?" he asked.

Palmer's frustrated sigh gave him his answer.

"You know something, Jack," he muttered as he bent down to take a small object from his box. "You've gotta do something about that impatience."

"And you've got to get into better condition," the young detective sparred, observing the way the short, overweight, Welshman was out of breath just from bending over.

"Touché, boyo... touché," he grinned, letting out a burst of that machine gun rattling laugh. "See this. We pre-set the amplifier to a specific frequency and it'll be picked up by this miniature tuner."

"It's tiny," Palmer said, a surprised look on his face.

The wireman pushed his Magoo glasses further up his nose. "I can see you're up-to-date with current developments, boyo! What did you expect? Everything fits into the palm of my admittedly grubby hand. When someone talks next door, the recorder will activate automatically. You can listen through the headphones, or switch on the loudspeaker."

"Loudspeaker?"

"Just flick this switch," he said, turning to flash a cheeky grin at Sandra Wilson. "Just in case you want to hear in surround sound. It'll cover any conversation in any room. You can listen to everything without having to move from your cramped position on the luxury couch. Life's a bitch."

"Just what we need, Taffy," Palmer said, slapping his friend on the back. 

"What if she has music on?" asked Sandra Wilson, flopping down on the couch. It embraced her as if giving her a warm hug. "Mmm, comfortable..."

"See," the small Welshman smiled, pulling another chocolate bar from the box at his feet. "The little lady asks the sensible questions. By the way, you married, Wilson?"

His strange little eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses, ran over her body. Her straight black hair was back in a long ponytail, and both men had to admit how sexy it looked, somehow. She'd set her leather jacket on the sofa back, and in her thin, black jumper and tight leggings, she may have been wearing a catsuit. As for those freckles...

The 33-year-old divorcee raised an amused eyebrow. "You hitting on me, Taffy?" She'd have to tell Goodwin that one!

"Careful," Palmer interrupted, wandering back and forward as if unable to keep still. "Those rugged good looks of his are a hit with all the girls."

Wilson laughed. "Well, boyo," she explained, using Taffy's favourite word, "I'm just coming off the back of a messy divorce. But if I ever get back in the market again, you'll be the first to know."

"Deal," the beaming Welshman told her, merrily devouring the chocolate. "Now back to your question, little lady. Any music might cause you a small issue while you're listening, but we can filter and erase any background noise later. It'll all be as clear as a bell when I'm finished."

Palmer gave a soft grunt, another thought circulating around his head. "Could we get a feed into her apartment?" he asked. "See what's going on?"

Boyd laughed. "You fancy being a voyeur, Jack? From what I gather, it could get a little steamy..."

"I'm serious," Palmer snapped. "I'd like to see whoever she's entertaining."

The Welshman nodded, finishing the chocolate bar and wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "Can do, boyo. But that'll be quite a bit more complicated. You'll need approval too."

"I'll get it," Palmer responded. 

***

The photo session had gone well. The two models were on their third and last change of lingerie. For Kelli, that consisted of a white g-string and a push-up bra that had to be a size or two small for her healthy C-cups. 

The coke had worked wonders for Kelli, as had the wine that Erin had plied them with during each break.

With the driving beat of techno filtering through the room over the speakers, Chad had built up the pace, changing the mood from light and sensual to one of sexual tension and arousal. It seemed to come so naturally for him. He'd done so many of these kind of shoots, he had it off to a fine art.

Kelli allowed Erin to take her empty glass and fill it again. She knew she'd had too much... way too much. But she also felt good as a result. Confident. Sexy. The way a supermodel should feel. She took the refilled drink from the Agency Head and downed it in one go.

"Sexy little thing, don't you think?" Erin asked, nodding across at Brooke. The small, curvy model had emerged in her final outfit. Like Kelli's, her lingerie was pure white, although hers was a satin and lace teddy that presented her tanned cleavage on a shelf for the camera.

Kelli nodded. There was no doubt the raven-haired model was hot. "That's for sure," she agreed. 

"Good in front of the camera, too."

Kelli nodded. She'd already learnt a few things from just watching the way the model's full, pouty lips and teasing light brown eyes worked the camera.

"I'm looking to get her in Playboy," Erin continued, stroking Kelli's arm.

The blonde nodded, staring across at her fellow model. "I should think so, too," she laughed, slurring her words just a little. "Look at those tits."

"Mmmm," the American Agency Head responded. "Just wait 'til you see them naked, darling."

"Okay, ladies," Chad interrupted. "Time to get a little more intimate."

"This is an important session, darling," Erin smiled as she began to fade behind Chad. "No inhibitions. I want to see sexy!"

"Okay, sweethearts, face one another. Good. Brooke, slip your arms around Kelli. That's it, right there. Hold it..."

Brooke didn't just slip her arms around the blonde. She caressed Kelli's skin with light brushes of her fingertips. God, that was good. 

"Okay, Brooke. Now hold Kelli's waist. Kelli, slip both hands around Brooke's neck. A little higher. Elbows down... perfect!"

It brought their breasts together and Kelli felt her nipples harden as they came into contact with the angelic looking beauty's. Even through the thin, lacy material, she could feel how hard they were. Her body went flush. Drunk and stoned, she felt so fucking good. Get a grip, girl!

It took a few deep breaths for the blonde to compose herself. Gain control. Then Brooke cut through her composure again.

"You have such beautiful lips," she whispered. 

Her light brown eyes teased Kelli's as her stare bored into the blonde again. Brooke's soft face was almost angelic, and yet those eyes constantly hinted at sexual promise. Those cupid bow lips, and teasing eyes, promised a man the hottest and dirtiest sex of his life. And right now, they were promising Kelli the same. 

Gently, imperceptibly, Brooke rubbed her globes against the blonde's. She leaned close, gliding her mouth along the blonde's jaw and up to her ear. "I bet they feel wonderful wrapped around a cock."

The surge of arousal powering its way between Kelli's legs threatened to overwhelm her. Chad didn't help.

"I like that, Brooke! I want you to lean in," he directed her. "As if you're going to kiss her. Excellent!" 

Kelli's throat went dry as the young model did as instructed. 

"There, hold that!" he confirmed, as Brooke stood on her tiptoes to reach her lips to Kelli's. Her head tilted to one side as she dipped her face forward.

The blonde closed her eyes in an attempt to defuse the heat arising from the two of them. She could feel Brooke's hot breath on the tip of her lips. She waited for the kiss. Wanted the kiss.

"Perfect! That's great, girls!" More clicking. "Hold it! Keep that position."

Kelli eased her eyes open. That was what Brooke was waiting for. The raven-haired woman edged her head forward. Just enough. Their lips touched. Soft. Wet. Full. Slowly, she ran the tip of her tongue across Kelli's closed lips. Once, twice, three times. Open those lips, she was telling her. 

Kelli gave in to the insistent tongue. She opened her mouth just so. She felt the other woman's soft tongue push between her lips. Her teeth. Their tongues touched and glided as she returned the embrace. Brooke's white teeth were smooth and slippery. Her first girl-girl kiss. She moaned. She needed this.

Chad's voice brought Kelli back to her senses.

"Damn! Technical problem!" He snapped his camera open. "Take five, ladies. Take five."

***

Boredom. It was the biggest curse of any stakeout. But at least this one was carried out not just in comfort, but luxury. 

Except for the food. Several tins of soup and beans complimented the loaf of bread and carton of dairy free butter. With the jar of Nescafe and carton of Soya milk, what more could a man want?

There was nothing on television. Nor did Palmer have any reading material. Wilson promised to bring some back with her when she and Goodwin relieved him in the morning, but that didn't help right now. 

He slipped the headphones on again. Kenny G was blaring from some state-of-the-art stereo system as she moved around, and for a few minutes he enjoyed the wonderful tone of the soprano saxophone. When her phone rang, the music faded.

"Hello? You've been able to do that? That's wonderful. It's for tonight. Great. I appreciate you taking the trouble. Okay, I'll be along in a few minutes. Thanks again."

Palmer breathed a sigh of relief. He'd have to tail her of course, but it might give him the opportunity to buy a paper, a couple of magazines and maybe some chocolate. The least Taffy could have done was leave some of those bars he carried around with him.

He gave it a minute after he heard her door close. The last thing he needed was to run directly into her again. The busy traffic made it easier for him to track her, staying a couple of cars behind her silver Merc.

The Caviar House delicatessen was only a few minutes away. As soon as she'd made her way into the store, he dashed into the next-door newsagent. Grabbing what he needed, he comfortably made it back to the anonymity of his car before the redhead returned to hers.

This time he gave her a couple of minutes after she'd parked her car on her return. Once he was sure she'd be safely back in her apartment, he took the few stairs between the garage and the reception two at a time.

Damn! 

She was still talking to the night guard. Palmer had almost walked into her and there was no way out. 

When she saw him, her beautiful green eyes crinkled at the corners. "Mr. Palmer," she smiled. "Just in time to escort me to my door."

Do something, he told himself. Don't just stare at her. Lamely, he returned the gleaming smile. "That'll be my pleasure, Roxanne."




Palmer Ch. 03



"Have you met Danny, by the way?" she asked, turning to the night guard.

"One my way out," he answered, nodding at the young man.

He needn't have bothered. The young guard's eyes seemed fixated on Roxanne's breasts. Palmer couldn't blame him. 

Under her brown, casual jacket, the cream T-shirt left her washboard midriff tantalizingly bare. The top had tease written across the front. It lived up to its name, he thought. Her braless breasts undulated gently against the material with each soft sway of her body. 

And those black, low-rise jeans seemed glued to her peach like ass. 

"I'm up here," she smiled, the remark jerking his eyes up to meet hers.

Damn! She'd caught him checking her out! He wasn't blushing, was he?

She linked his arm, her soft breast pressing against him. Her eyes met his again, her chin slightly raised, a mischievous look on her face. "Well?"

For a second, he almost lost himself in those gleaming eyes. "Well?" he mumbled.

She cocked her head to one side, staring up into his brown eyes as if reading his innermost thoughts. "Are you going to escort me to my door?"

God, how stupid was he? "Yes," he muttered. "Yes, of course."

She continued to link his arm in the elevator, the warmth of her body sending warning signs somersaulting down to his loins. Control yourself!

"How did you get that?" she asked, turning into him so that her breast now rested firmly on his bare forearm. Palmer could feel her nakedness through the thin material.

For a few seconds, he wondered what her reaction would be if he cupped it in his palm. "What?" he asked instead.

Her soft hand very deliberately ran across the side of his neck, tracing the downward scar and then lingering a moment.

"Oh, that?" he mumbled.

"Yes, that! I hope it's an interesting story..."

Palmer smiled. "Not really. A fight when I was a kid." 

She smiled. "Did you win?"

He nodded. "Oh, yes."

"That's what I expected, Jack Palmer." The twinkle in her voice spoke volumes, much more than her words.

"Does it bother you? My scar?" he suddenly asked.

Her laugh was soft as they left the elevator. "No, Jack, not at all. It adds a little character." She stopped halfway along the corridor, her green eyes digging into his. "But then your face is full of character. I like men with character."

God, was she coming on to him? He was blushing again. Big time. Before he could speak, she'd started walking again, her arm pulling him along with her.

"I see you enjoy chocolate," she purred, nodding at the carrier bag.

He looked down. The two oversize bars were visible against the almost transparent plastic. "My treat for tonight," he laughed.

"You should eat better," she told him, stopping at her door.

Her hand reached up and stroked along the scar again. The tingling he'd felt since he'd bumped into her downstairs intensified. Could she sense his ever-present erection? It wasn't going away anytime soon.

"Tell you what, Jack Palmer. As you're my new neighbour, I'll cook you a meal. Just to welcome you to the building. How about that?"

"That," he murmured nervously, like a schoolboy, "Would be wonderful." His stomach did somersaults. 

Had he really said that? For a moment he'd forgotten why he was here. He was on a stakeout, for God's sake!

"Great," she laughed that wonderful laugh. "Give me a couple of days, then we'll agree a time."

As she ran her hand through her silken red hair, the T-shirt pulled tighter across her breast. God, her nipple was hard.

"That's good, Jack Palmer" she smiled, opening her door and slipping inside. "See you soon," he heard her say just before it closed behind her.

***

Kelli was grateful for the interruption, although she had no idea that Chad didn't have a problem with his camera. Or that it had been Erin's voice in his ear that had asked him to call a halt. 

Not that the Agency Head didn't want to see how far Kelli would go. Au contraire! She just wanted to give her an extra little push.

Kelli gratefully accepted the proffered glass of water, running the drink around her mouth to ease the dryness in her throat. Brooke knew how to kiss! And somehow, it had felt quite natural. 

Suddenly, Erin's hand was pulling her to the table at the back of the set behind her. "Not long now, darling," she told the model. "Here, this will help."

As Kelli turned, she saw that Brooke was already snorting from one of the two lines of coke Erin had drawn. When the short, curvy model passed her the bill, this time Kelli didn't hesitate. Leaning over, she instantly snorted the powder. Maybe it would enhance the cloak of arousal that was already covering her entire body?

She heard Erin purr her approval and out of the corner of her eye, caught the Agency Head nod across to the photographer. That was good, time to start again.

"Okay, ladies," he said, a large smile on his face. "For these final shots, I want you naked."

Brooke tossed Kelli a wicked smile. Unsnapping the base of the teddy, Kelli felt her jaw drop. Apparently the belly button stud wasn't her only piercing. A white gold Scorpion clitoris bar dangled intoxicatingly, the centrepiece of her cleanly shaved sex. Kelli couldn't think of a more perfect look for the naughty model.

Pulling the teddy up over her head, Kelli's eyes shifted up. Flat stomach. Ripe breasts that looked fantastic on her toned upper body, and the small, brown nipples sitting high and tight looked so suckable. Kelli wondered how they tasted. 

"Sexy, eh, babe?" Brooke laughed, posing for a second. "Now, you."

Yes! Kelli wanted the hot raven-haired model to see her naked. And Erin. And Chad. Her body was hot, too!

Without a second's hesitation, she followed suit, proudly freeing her full, round breasts and whipping the barely used g-string down her legs. When Brooke and Chad's eyes feasted on her, it was like flicking on an electrical current. 

She twirled, ending by putting her hands on her hips. She'd show them!

Erin gave a final push as Chad called them over. "No inhibitions," she whispered into the blonde's ear. "I want sexy!"

Inhibitions? She was flying high off the second hit of snow. God, if Jack only knew what was happening here...

Chad had the girls lie together on a fluffy white rug, draping their naked bodies over each other. It was delicious torture. With each new position, Brooke's fingertips drew soft circles on Kelli's skin, bringing short, little pants from the blonde. 

"Wonderful," he kept murmuring, clicking away. "Like that... like that..."

Choreographing them as if working on a masterpiece, he constantly adjusted their positions, each a little sexier, more intimate. 

"Brooke, put your hand on Kelli's right tit."

The blonde moaned at the contact. Her nipples ached, they were so hard.

"That's it... lips on her neck... " 

Kelli felt an amazing sense of freedom. This was natural. For the camera. Sexy, Erin had instructed. She'd show them sexy.

"Now you, Kelli," came the next instruction. "Cup Brooke's left tit."

The short, curvy model's light, brown eyes burned as she rubbed herself against Kelli. The naive blonde couldn't hold back. She snaked her hand onto the model's thrusting breast. It felt so firm... yet so soft. 

Her fingers ran across the nipple, rubbery hard beneath her palm. She watched the change in Brooke's eyes as she pleasured her. It was like a drug. She couldn't tear her hand away, cupping more of the breast and kneading the wonderful, buoyant globe.

"Mmm, babe," Brooke breathed, raising her head and pushing her tongue into Kelli's mouth.

Kelli was lost. The thought that they were being photographed left her mind completely. She had no idea that Chad had moved to the side, clicking away, capturing every action. It would have made no difference. She had another woman's tongue in her mouth and her hot body entwined with Brooke's soft skin.

Suddenly, Brooke's mouth moved away. But before she could register her disappointment, the raven-haired beauty had dipped her head to suck in Kelli's right nipple. 

Oh, God! Her top teeth sank into her lower lip. She hissed as the wet sensation around her nipple spread through her.

Brooke's right hand slide down her stomach, curling across her wet pussy. For a second, it felt so good. She felt slender fingers tip-toe around her swollen clit. So close. So hot.

Click, click. Kelli blinked. For a second, the red haze of lust cleared. Was it the gentle shutter of the camera? Or the feeling of guilt? Instinct?

Kelli had to stop. Had to. She grabbed Brooke's slender wrist, dragging it clear of her throbbing pussy. 

Brooke just smiled, holding up the fingers that were glistening with the blonde's juices. Slowly, she brought them to her mouth, sucking them slowly, one at a time.

Kelli's breath caught. She licked her lips subconsciously, wondering what the girl was tasting. But... this was wrong. "I'm sorry. I can't..."

Brooke touched Kelli's face, brushing the young model's blonde bangs away from her eyes. "Why not?" she asked sweetly. Before Kelli could answer, the raven-haired beauty's mouth closed in for another kiss. She couldn't resist those succulent lips. No longer wanted to resist. Her tongue snaked down model's throat.

When the curvy model stiffened two fingers and pushed them into her oily pussy, she was lost. Her moan was swallowed by the raven-haired woman, who maintained the lip lock. 

Eagerly, she widened her legs to accept the wonderful intruders. The soft touch was perfect. No man had ever been this good. No man could know the precise pressure to—

"Oh, shit!" Kelli gasped, tearing her lips away from Brooke's. She felt pressure on her clit. Circles. A thumb both soft and persistent. Flicking, diving, fingering. A third finger joined the first two in her pussy. The girl twisted her wrist. "FUCK!" the blonde cried. Her body went as stiff as the long digits drilling into her.

"Cum for Brooke," a female voice whispered in her ear. Close. Shit! A female! A soft, woman's body. So wrong. So fucking good!

Throwing her head back, her long, blonde hair flipped out across the plush, white rug. Tits in the air, shoulders back, legs open, she came harder and longer than she'd had in a long time. So fucking good. So fucking...

Lips closed around her gasping mouth. A wet tongue slipped into her mouth. She returned it. Returned the girl-on-girl kiss. "That was fun," Brooke whispered, touching Kelli's cute, little nose. "Next time, it won't be just my fingers getting you off."

Kelli sank back into the carpet as Brooke stepped away. She still hadn't been able to catch her breath. Her first bi-sexual orgasm had left her reeling.

Opening her eyes, she stared up into the bright lights of the crystal chandelier and the strobe flashes of the photoshoot site. Her body surged with super-charged confidence. She was on her way. 

This was her life now, the life of a supermodel.



Palmer Ch. 04



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 4: Roxanne 

Dominic DeVere's brain was working overtime as he drove through the heavy, evening traffic. One of his many strengths was that his mind worked in a cold, logical manner whenever he was confronted with a issue. Eliminate any emotional or personal considerations. Establish the facts. Consider all options. 

Then, take the necessary action to eliminate the problem. Immediately and ruthlessly

His problem right now was Roxanne Lopez. She'd become a threat. The woman could blow apart George Blair's chances of becoming Prime Minister. Added to that, she was one of only a select few who could connect DeVere to Blair. Those were the facts.

His conversation with Roxanne hadn't convinced him. He'd explicitly told her she was to stop seeing George Blair. Her initial reaction wasn't to his liking. And initial reactions meant so much.

Then there was Blair. He'd become more and more smitten with the woman. Obsessed with her. DeVere understood that, Roxanne was unique among women. But Blair's reaction had frustrated him, too.

Yes, he'd agreed to consider giving up the beauty. Consider, for God's sake! As with all men with power, Blair was fiercely protective of his independence. Nobody told him what to do. That worried DeVere.

He couldn't push the issue further without making it a battle of wills. Yet Blair's emotional make-up could see him make the wrong decision.

And despite his instruction to Roxanne, if Blair pursued her, she was likely to keep on seeing him. In DeVere's mind, the conclusion was quite clear. 

His liaison with her tonight would be different. Bitter sweet. His body already had goosebumps from the anticipation of what pleasures lay ahead. It always did. There would never be another Roxanne. 

But then, there was afterwards.

The meeting he was closing in on to prior to visiting the beautiful woman was important. Very important. It would result in 'afterwards' being taken care of.

It wouldn't take long. Half an hour at most. Then he'd continue his journey to spend the rest of the evening with the sensual redhead. It would be their last time together. It would be her last time with anyone.

***

Kelli gently pushed the room door behind her as she returned to her suite. Even now, her body tingled. So many firsts! The coke she'd taken, the booze she'd consumed, and the way Brooke touched her between her legs all contributed to her emotional high.

Leaning back against the door, her heart was beating as if it was about to leap from her chest. The tears welled up long before they began to roll down her cheeks. She'd moved into a different world.

Erin and Brooke had accompanied her in the limo, where they'd shared a bottle of champagne. It was business as usual. Nothing was said about Kelli's first girl-girl hook-up. Talk was about relaxing that night. "Go set up another massage, darling," Erin suggested. "You need to recharge your batteries."

After dropping her off at the hotel, the other two continued on to the airport. They'd return tomorrow morning. In reality, there was no reason that the short, curvy model should return to London with Erin, but the older woman knew how impetuous Brooke could be.

If she left her in Edinburgh, the model would be all over Kelli like a rash. This was too important. She needed to take things step-by-step, like a choreographer charting a complicated routine. And besides, she would be Kelli's first, not Brooke.

Tomorrow's another big day. 

The photo shoot had been a wonderful success. Both Erin and Brooke had told her she'd performed like an established star. That praise meant everything to Kelli.

She moved away from the door, heading for the fridge. For a few moments she was tempted to take one of the alcoholic drinks, but sensibly refrained. In her condition, the chilled water made more sense.

The comfortable chair curled around her lithesome frame as she drank half the bottle. Staring out of the window, she saw nothing other than the pictures in her mind. Brooke featured in them all.

Kelli had never thought of women in that way before. Never had any lesbian tendencies. And yet the feelings the strawberry blonde Erin had stirred in her during her London audition had come bubbling to the fore in her shoot with the delectable young model. 

Nor had she stepped outside of the bounds of her marriage before, even though Jack's continuous absences frequently left her feeling alone and horny. That had been becoming a bigger problem for her. 

Of course she loved her husband, but she wasn't prepared to continue with that lifestyle for much longer.

Suddenly, she began to rationalise her behaviour. What could her husband expect? This was his fault, really. Part of the thrill of the modelling opportunity was that it might help redirect their lives, their marriage. But that was impossible if Jack wouldn't meet her halfway. 

She'd loved every second of the day. Yes, even the orgasm Brooke had given her. Her only concern was that it had happened in front of Erin. And Chad. That hadn't mattered at the time, but now she realised he'd continued to click away throughout the session. 

God, he'd have some great photos of her face when she came!

She grew a little moist at the thought. Fuck, she was even becoming turned on by the realisation! 

Okay, think rationally. What's done is done. 

The most important aspect was that Erin had been absolutely fine with her afterwards. More than that, the older woman's eyes had gleamed in a sexual way. Could she have been turned on by what had happened?

Then there was Jack. Was allowing another woman to make her cum actually cheating on him? Of course it wasn't. Besides, she'd done nothing in return, just accepted the orgasm that Brooke had given her. 

And, there was no way he'd ever find out.

She was a little calmer. Glancing at her watch, she had an hour before her massage. Her emotions were still a mess, but maybe a pair of hands working on her body would help? She laughed.

Afterwards, she'd ring the person who mattered most in her future. She wanted to ensure that Erin wasn't having second thoughts...

***

The London Eye, also known as the Millennium Wheel, sat on the South Bank of the River Thames, between the Westminster and Hungerford bridges. The location suited both parties.

At first glance, the two men seemed to have no connection. Two individual tourists coming together by accident to share the same capsule. They didn't speak until it left the ground.

"Ciao, Mr. Devere. What can I do for you this time?" the pock faced man eventually asked. "Or rather," he added, with a chilling laugh, "Who can I do for you?" 

DeVere's cold eyes appraised the assassin. It wasn't the first time he'd employed the middle aged Italian. It wouldn't be the last.

He only used the best. Marco Giovanni was the best. He embodied all the qualities you would expect from a Sicilian - single mindedness, the strength of a bull and a terrier like determination. Despite being only five-seven, his lack of height had always made him even more determined to succeed. 

After their initial meeting, DeVere had been unsure. At first sight, the Sicilian looked a contradiction – a small, ugly man, wearing an impeccable, expensive, Italian suit. He loved his designer clothes.

What DeVere had learned with that first job was not to judge a book by its cover. Since then, he'd been the man Dominic DeVere turned to whenever he needed someone taken care of. And all such contracts were delivered with the same high degree of efficiency.

"I have a problem," the grey haired man told him.

Giovanni laughed. That chilling laugh. "Si, I know that, Mr. DeVere. Otherwise we wouldn't be meeting. Who is it?"

"The girl."

"Ah, yes," Giovanni smiled. "The girl. The one you share with George Blair. Roxanne Lopez, I believe."

A coldness ran through DeVere. Giovanni had a memory like an elephant. "Blair knows nothing about my relationship with the girl."

The pock faced Italian laughed again. It was an eerie sound. "Nor her other assignations, no doubt. But you and I know differently, Mr. DeVere, do we not?"

DeVere didn't reply. There were very few people who made him nervous. This man was one of them. But Giovanni was a professional. He knew exactly where the boundaries were and observed them perfectly.

"Why, Mr, Devere? Why has the girl become such an embarrassment?"

DeVere stared thoughtfully at the view from the large glass window, and then slowly turned on his heels towards the assassin. His eyes – what colour where they - grey, green, blue? – his chameleon eyes were cold. "That's nothing to do with you," he eventually responded.

"Si," Giovanni agreed. "But then she will die by my hand, not yours. You know I prefer to understand the background."

DeVere nodded. He knew that Giovanni soaked in as much information as he could. The assassin put two and two together. Understood motives. Knew the bigger picture. It made him a dangerous employee. Eventually, he'd know too much. Then...

But that thought was for another day. 

"Blair won't give her up?" the Italian prompted.

DeVere snorted. "The man can be a fool at times. What else can I tell him? That she's a prostitute? I introduced them, for God's sake. If he keeps going after her, the media will find out. Boom... that will be that!"

"Then you must keep her away from him," the Italian thoughtfully mused, rubbing his hand across his clean-shaven head. "Is this the only way?"

DeVere looked Giovanni in the eyes. His stare was cold. Ruthless. "Would I have contacted you otherwise? Usual terms?"

***

Palmer stretched out on the couch, slipping piece after piece of chocolate into his mouth between sips of hot coffee. One large wrapper lay on the floor beside him, clear evidence he'd eaten too much. 

That hadn't prevented him from breaking into the second large bar. Taffy would be proud of him.

He wondered when he'd be seeing Roxanne? What meal would she cook for him? What might happen afterwards? Shifting uncomfortably on the couch, he adjusted the erection forcing itself against his jeans. 

Stop it, he told himself. These thoughts were unfair on Kelli. Control those emotions, buddy, they were unhealthy!

As the recorder clicked, he slipped on the tiny headphones. Taffy had told him to listen for the prompt rather than sit with his ears covered all night.

Roxanne was singing as she went about her business, filling in any forgotten lyrics with a soft hum before bursting back into song again. Her footsteps told him she was moving from room to room. 

A few moments later he heard the sound of Carole King. Tapestry, if he wasn't mistaken. That was quite a coincidence. It was the first album he and Kelli had bought, a tribute to a favourite from their youth. 

Closing his eyes, Palmer recalled the first time he and his then wife-to-be had made love - in his car, listening to the music. They'd enjoyed a day at the beach and Kelli was still in that string bikini. It had captured his imagination and captivated his cock. 

She'd removed the top as he drove, kneeling up on her seat to feed him a breast and that wonderful, deep pink nipple. He'd had no choice. He stopped the car for their safety and taken her in the back seat whilst other cars whistled by. 

The indulgences of youth!

Life seemed easier then. When had things changed? As he'd risen through the ranks, he'd needed to work longer and longer hours. Their relationship had undoubtedly suffered as a result. 

Maybe Kelli's new job would provide the spark they both needed? Or maybe he should buy her another string bikini?

The sound of bath water running jerked his thoughts back to the present. His mind left behind the recollection of his wife's stunning breasts and danced instead to his imagination of Roxanne's. He could visualize her slipping the tease T-shirt over her head, pulling down those tight low-rise jeans, and stepping naked into the bath water.

His cock grew even harder at the thought.

***

The scented bath oil made Roxanne shiver as she sat on the edge of the tub. The waves her paddling hand created brought more and more bubbles to the surface. The Jacuzzi, with its low hum, did the rest.

Turning to the mirrored wall, she sang along to the music as she swayed, wickedly imagining her next-door neighbour was peering through the mirror. 

I feel the earth move under my feet... I feel the sky tumbling down. I feel my heart start trembling... whenever you're around. Oh, baby, when I see your face...

Her normally routine undressing turned into a teasing striptease. As she sang, she twirled the T-shirt into the air before allowing it to softly float across to the door.

Her hands stroked her breasts, sliding under the full globes as she traced the sculptured curves with the very tips of her fingers. Taking each chocolate nipple between thumb and forefinger, she pinched and teased them until they were hard.

Like the show, Jack Palmer, she asked the mirror? 

Her face turned more serious as her imagination grew. Would he be masturbating as she stripped for him?

With exaggerated slowness, she unbuttoned her hip-huggers. She tugged first on one side and then the other, teasing the mirror – and herself, she could admit – with the white straps of her thong. She dragged the tight denim down her legs, shimmying provocatively with each move. Yeah, she could admit, she turned herself on. 

Pulling the jeans from one foot and then the next, she threw them at the mirror. Come and get me, Jack.

She smiled at the telltale damp patch on her white thong as she ripped them from her legs, swinging the lacy garment around a finger before catapulting them against the wall. Whipping around, she presented her firm and taut ass to the mirror. The delicious chuckle she gave matched the wiggle as she swung it from side to side like a stripper.

I just lose control... down to my very soul... I get hot and cold all over...

After an elegant toe tested the water, she gracefully sank down into the bubbles, allowing the scented water to envelop her. Lying back, her eyes closed, allowing her to luxuriate in the sensations of the rippling waves caressing her breasts, stomach, legs and thighs. 

Sexy...

But then, that was an almost permanent condition for the redhead. It was just a question of different degrees.

Her thoughts returned to the man next door. Handsome, Jack Palmer. With a soft purr, she slipped a hand down her flat stomach, over her smooth mound, stopping only to answer the jutting little bud that was crying out to be touched.

Make me cum, Jack Palmer, her mind moaned.

Even as the thought hit her, she pulled her hand away. It was Dominic who was visiting her tonight, not her next-door neighbour. This would never do!

***

"It's Kelli." Jack Palmer's wife gave a happy sigh at being able to speak to the Agency Head. The massage had helped. So had the bourbon. She paced across the room, holding the phone tight against her ear. "I wanted to call to make sure..."

Erin's American accent filled in the silence during Kelli's hesitation. "Make sure of what, darling?"

The blonde's heart was pounding. "The shoot... what happened in the shoot... I hope it didn't spoil..."

The older woman's laugh rang in her ear. "The shoot was wonderful, darling. Everything we wanted and more."

"That's good," Kelli responded, feeling the relief flowing through her. "So... Brooke and I..."

The laugh rang out again, only louder. "Surely you aren't worried about that, darling? My goodness, do you know how many times a model has needed relief at the end of a session? It's only natural."

Natural? Did Erin DeVere say it was only natural?

"In fact, darling, I think I needed relief from just watching you. And I know Brooke did, afterwards. It's such a shame we couldn't have stayed in Edinburgh with you."

Kelli sighed with relief. She hadn't blown it after all.

"But don't worry," the older woman continued. "Brooke and I took care of each other's needs on the plane."

Oh... my... God! 

Kelli grew wet at the thought at the thought of the two women pleasuring each other. Her fingers ran down the front of her jeans and she began to stroke herself through the material. How could she be feeling this way when she wasn't into girls?

"Erin, I'm married," she found herself saying for some reason she couldn't think of. Even as the words escaped her mouth, they sounded ridiculous.

"You're married?" the Agency Head sarcastically laughed. "So am I, darling. But women are okay. That's not cheating."

Women aren't cheating. Her own rationalizations were being confirmed. Erin was right! A great weight had been plucked from her mind. She rubbed her crotch harder at the memory of Brooke's pleasuring fingers, followed by an image of the sassy, young model and Erin DeVere relieving one another.

Erin wasn't saying anything she hadn't thought since returning to her room. She just hadn't wanted to admit to those thoughts. She hadn't betrayed her husband. She'd just allowed herself to enjoy another woman's touch. 

Her blush increased. Her orgasm began to bubble. Why shouldn't she allow a beautiful young woman to pleasure her? What did Jack expect? If he wasn't willing to stop working those long hours, he was going to kill their marriage. Already was!

"Even with a male model," the Agency Head continued. "Sometimes its necessary. In the modelling world, it's not cheating. It's only sex, darling."

Only sex?

Her spare hand jerked down the zip of her jeans and her fingers found their way inside her thong. She began to breathe more heavily as she rubbed her middle finger up and down her wet opening. She tried to cling on to what Erin was saying but right at that moment she'd just uncovered the slippery bud of her clit. 

There... that's the spot... 

"That's it, darling," she heard Erin's voice somewhere in the back of her mind. "Let yourself go. You're nearly there, darling. You need this."

My God, Erin knew she was masturbating! She'd heard the sexual heaviness of her breathing. For a second she paused, her embarrassment threatening to spill over.

"Touch yourself, darling. I am, too. I want you to cum."

The shockwaves hit the blonde. She wasn't hearing this. Was she? Her fingers began to move again. Harder, faster. She couldn't hold back.

"Cum, darling," Erin implored. "Let me hear. Cum..."

Kelli dropped her head down onto the table as she fell off the cliff. Her ass lifted from the chair. They weren't her fingers inside her sex, nor Brooke's. They were Erin's.

Her whimpering scream pierced the room.

***

DeVere circled the apartment block, checking for anything unusual. Satisfied, he swung the car around and parked in a nearby side street. Close enough to be convenient. Distant enough to be unnoticed.

Glancing at his watch, he nodded to himself. He had three hours.

The day had been eventful and the decision had been made. No going back. Images of the beautiful redhead had dominated his mind since he had met Giovanni. 

His thoughts were dominated by happier times... memories of how it all began... recollections of their time together among the super-rich and powerful... images of their private time together.

Tonight, that came to an end. But not before he'd enjoyed her one final time.

Pulling out his cell phone, he sent the text. It announced his arrival. Two minutes later, he received one back. Smiling, he switched off his phone and slipped into the building, using the key card he held.




Palmer Ch. 04



The responding text was their signal, confirming she'd called the security guard up to her apartment. That gave him time to make his way unnoticed into the complex. Using the stairs, he'd safely reach Roxanne's apartment. The security guard would be back at his post by then.

DeVere's ascent upwards was slower than on previous occasions. His mind was attempting to clear itself of the baggage. 

He'd known this woman for almost two years. They'd shared so many intimate times together. He'd made many tough decisions in the pursuit of his dreams. This was the toughest of all. 

Nevertheless, this was a decision he had to make. Sentiment shouldn't come into it. He shook his head. That cleared any second thoughts. It was a technique he'd mastered a long time ago. By the time he arrived at her door, he was fully under control.

Roxanne answered on his first ring. My God, she was something! She was naked other than the semi-transparent, black negligee. No lingerie. No jewellery. No shoes. Just the slightest touch of make up. With her soft, wavy, red hair swept to one side, she looked perfection itself.

Behind her, scented candles dominated the interior, infusing the room with the smell of mango and coconut. The beautiful sound of her favourite Kenny G played loudly in the background. Almost too loud, but somehow right for the occasion.

Her nakedness shone through the lacy negligee as she turned and led the way inside. Her round bottom swayed in that way of hers as she walked, the aroma of her sensual perfume trailing behind her. Everything about her was telling him that tonight would be special. Very special.

Turning around to face him, she put her hands on the marble coffee table behind her, stretching backwards to allow him to drink in her sensuality. By arching her back, the dark nipples pushing against the negligee reinforced the delights in store.

"Welcome, Dominic," she smiled.

***

Palmer heard the doorbell ring. Using the headphones allowed him a cleaner sound and he whipped them onto his ears. Her door opened and closed. Her trick was inside the apartment now. If only she'd turn that music down he might be able to hear something.

Perhaps covering the headphones with his hands would help? Yes. A deep male voice, certainly. It sounded strong, confident. But then, Roxanne only entertained men of power.

The brief silence between tracks gave Palmer a few seconds of conversation. If only it was his voice instead of Roxanne's soft, melodic tone. 

Damn! Palmer's cock was lurching to attention again. What the hell was it about this woman that had that effect on him?

The sound of the saxophone peaked as she began to speak again. What was that? She called the man by his name. Palmer was sure of it. What was it?

His foot caught the half drunk mug of coffee as he leaned forward, spilling it across the expensive carpet. Wonderful! Webster had warned him and the others he wanted everything kept in pristine condition. 

How the hell was he going to explain that?

***

DeVere's body sunk deeper in the taupe velvet Carrosse armchair, lost to the sensation. Roxanne's warm body felt wonderful. Her near naked breasts cushioned the back of his head as three of her fingers rotated in firm circles across his temple. 

The last of his tension – of his meeting with Giovani, of what had to be done – slowly left his body. His head grew light under her sensual touch. His body began to relax. His mind was consumed by the music filling the room.

Allowing him to rest, Roxanne moved to the ornate, silver bowl sitting in the centre royal marble coffee table. It was set on the arms of a statue, the entwined nude couple sending an erotic hint as to the content. 

Uncorking a dark bottle, she filled about a third each of the two empty glasses with clear, green liquid. The slotted spoon she held over the top of the glasses held a sugar cube. Twisting open one of the little spigots protruding from the ornate bowl, he allowed a thin stream of clear liquid to fill the rest of each glass. 

Waiting until the liquid turned milky green and the absinthe chilled, she climbed into his lap as she served it. She grew warm as his eyes focused on her nipples, visible through the gossamer negligee. Reaching behind her, she plucked two small, white pills.

"Like old times," she laughed, setting one tablet of Ecstasy on her long, pink tongue. Her fingers traced across his crew cut as she closed in for a kiss. Tenderly, she passed the pill from her tongue to his before kissing him passionately. 

She took her own pill, washing it down with a glass of the emerald liquor.

Slowly, it began to take effect. 

She loved watching others as their minds succumbed to the drug at the same time hers did. His face altered as lights made trails across his vision and his body began to vibrate. He sank even deeper into the chair, his head swirling, his mind drifting. The music got louder. It was inside his head as well as hers. Invisible feathers caressed his skin. 

His cock began to swell. 

Roxanne slid between his knees. It was as if she was in slow motion. Her hands floated to his slacks, her eyes locked on his as little by little, she unbuckled his belt and pulled it away through the hoops. The clink of its clasp provided an erotic contrast to the saxophone. 

Drawing the zipper of his tailored pants down, the cock she teased from his boxers rose majestically to her touch.

She shook her head as he reached for her. Instead, she undressed him, only allowing him to shift position so that she could drag another piece of clothing from him. 

Only when he was naked did she sit back, no more than two or three feet away from his feet. The drug was overpowering her, too. Her thighs tightened and relaxed. Her vulva ached with desire. Her body was on fire. She felt good. So very good!

Green eyes fogged with arousal, she pulled off the negligee and dropped it behind her. Her mouth open, her breasts tingling, her long fingers searched lazily for her navel, slowly, lightly, brushing around it.

DeVere's hard erection, pointing at the ceiling, fuelled her arousal. He attempted to touch himself but an instant shake of her head stopped him. This was her game, her area of expertise. She was in control.

Her hands slid to her breasts, her chocolate nipples rising to meet them. She savoured the firmness and roundness of her tits before taking her nipples between her fingers. Her eyes never left DeVere's as she pulled on them. His gaze never left the movement of her fingers.

One hand covered both breasts, kneading them. The other worked faster, two fingers inside, her thumb flicking the slippery button that hardened and grew under her touch.

Her muscles tightened around her two fingers, trapped them, held them, and then released them. 

She rocked faster. "Yes... yes... yes..."

DeVere's stare was that of a hypnotised man. He wanted to touch himself, needed to, but she wouldn't allow it. Instead, she thrust her hips forward, providing a closer view of her working fingers. The blatant lewdness of her actions was an aphrodisiac for them both.

Her continuous moans danced with the saxophone like two lovers. Her hips rocked faster and her long, red hair weaved patterns across her face. "Yes... yes... yes..." Her head jerked back and forth with her simpers.

She stiffened as she came, her green eyes losing focus as they rolled upwards. Her body jerked. Her orgasm consumed her. 

Even as the fireworks released themselves, she fell forward, her face diving into his lap, her mouth engulfing his member. Within seconds, his pearly man juice was exploding against the back of her throat

***

Palmer was sweating. He'd heard every sound, from her singing, humming, the music, their breathing, and their moans...

Attempted to picture the man with her, he saw only himself. 

Then he envisioned Roxanne. Naked. She was firm, bronzed, and voluptuous in the right places. He wondered what she looked like between her thighs? Hair, landing strip or clean-shaven all worked for him, dependant on the woman.

He was sure Roxanne would be perfect. But he wanted to see, wanted to taste...

What were they doing? What would he be doing if he were there now? Touching her? Kissing her? Going down on her? What would it feel like between her thighs?

He imagined his mouth on hers, his tongue flicking across those full, red lips... his fingers cupping her breasts, thumbs strumming her nipples... his hand between her legs, stroking her wetness. He imagined her pushing him down, crawling on all fours to straddle him.

He wiped the beads of sweat forming on his brow with the back of his forearm. His pulses jumped. His cock was so hard it was hurting. 

But those weren't his only thoughts. He was embarrassed. He was guilty. How could he feel this way? What would Kelli think?

***

Even as she eased Dominic DeVere's legs apart, the redhead was thinking of Jack Palmer. It was a long time since she'd been so taken with a man! He was so sweet, so gentle. She wanted to wrap her arms around him... kiss him... feel his cock against her. What would that feel like? 

Returning her concentration to the man in front of her, she picked up the bottle of oil. Pouring the thick liquid into her hands, she covered her breasts - a slow sensual caress designed to maximise her pleasure and inflame DeVere's senses. It worked.

They were as firm and as perfect as in any hot-blooded male's fantasy. Whatever preference a man had, large or small, it always changed with one sight of Roxanne's majestic orbs. 

Her slippery hands worked slowly and easily. The practiced fingers never broke rhythm as she spread the creamy liquid across every inch. 

Finally satisfied, her oily hands returned to his thick cock.

Despite his earlier orgasm, the sight he'd observed had his penis steadily lengthening again. Stroking along his shaft until he growled, the redhead rested him into her cleavage. He growled again as he figured out what she was doing.

Clutching the full swells in her manicured fingers, she slid DeVere's manhood between them. His dreamy eyes followed her every move. They were half closed, narrowed, and full of arousal. 

They hooded again as she started to masturbate him, easing his hips upwards as he strived to join in. "My God!" It was the first time he'd spoken for some considerable time. 

He felt good, throbbing in her cleavage. His cock flesh was so soft, so wonderful against her skin. Every touch sent a jolt through her body, right down between her thighs.

Roxanne's eyes flashed. She increased the pressure, tightening her slippery breasts around his girth. They smiled sensuously into his, telling him the control she was exerting was as much for his pleasure as hers.

His whimper of excitement drove her on, as did the way he was attempting to thrust his hips. But this was her game. She was the one dominating the action. 

Easing upwards on her knees, she changed angle, sliding him deliciously between her breasts until his balls rested against their plump undersides. This time when she slid her body downwards, the tip of his cock popped out above her shining globes. He growled again.

"Now," she purred, one hand rising to grip his chest hairs and tugging painfully on them. She was giving approval for him to take part. It was time to change from a cock masturbation into a tit fuck.

Gasping with excitement, the panting man thrust frantically upwards, his ass rising from the chair in an urgent effort to gain more friction. He was urgent, frantic, ogling her beautiful face as he began to fuck her tits.

The sight of his glistening purple dome contrasted with the flawless tan of her cleavage each time he popped out of her tit tunnel. Roxanne's mouth watered. 

Moving her hands away from her gleaming breasts, she replaced them with his. Gave him the control he wanted. He gratefully took it, stroking, squeezing and manipulating her slippery tits. 

He was panting hotly now, close to being out of control. His thrusts became more frantic, if such a thing was possible. Her long nipples were bullet-hard beneath his clutching hands. The pace of his thrusts increased, his hands almost violently squeezing the supple flesh. His balls sank up into the soft, fleshy swells. Again and again. He whimpered. He was passing the point of no return. 

Roxanne felt his huge erection pulse strongly and prepared herself.

The first, long rope of semen flew over her slim shoulder and landed in the thick silk of her wavy, red hair. The second burst hit the underneath of her chin and ran lazily into the hollows of her neck. His face squeezed tight as his creamy cum continued to squirt, rhythmically hitting her neck and chest in long, warm jets. 

"That's it, baby," she heard herself encouraging, her loins tingling at the feeling of satisfaction as he emptied himself.

Now for her need. She was so close she could scream. Her hand dropped between her legs and three quick rubs brought an orgasm bursting from her. A depth charge exploding in the sea.

***

Palmer lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the couple in the next apartment fucking like rabbits. At least, that's what he imagined they were doing. His headphones were off, the loudspeaker on. 

Despite himself, he was unable to stop listening, like a voyeur, to the sound of their breathing and the growls, groans and moans.

He hated himself, but he just had to ease the tension. His hand squeezed and stroked his erection through his jeans, imagining he was the one with Roxanne.

He lay on the massage table in her apartment. She was leaning over him, straddling him. Her soft thighs were against his, her red hair framing her smiling face, his hands reaching across to stroke the soft skin behind her knees. Except it wasn't her skin he began to stroke. 

For some reason, he checked to make sure no one else was in the empty room before unzipping his jeans and unleashing his hardness. His palm held it tight.

Eyes still warm, imagination still active, he saw her stretching down over him, her nipples gently brushing his chest. Her full lips hovered over his. Her wet mound teased the very tip of his shaft.

It was almost too much. His hand moved faster... 

She was bending low enough now for him to kiss her neck, her throat, the contours of her breasts, her hard nipples. He couldn't wait, his imaginary hands pulling her down and allowing her wet folds to suck him inside.

Oh God, that was it! He came like a beast, the sound of Roxanne's next-door orgasm proving too much.

***

In Roxanne's bedroom, their reflection stared back at them from wherever DeVere looked. The eroticism of the mirrors never failed to heighten his arousal. Tonight his senses were on a knife-edge of sensuality. His orgasms so far were just an aperitif for what was to come.

He felt godlike as he moved above her, able to fornicate for eternity without losing his erection. The drugs helped. They'd taken a refresher before moving from the lounge to the bedroom. But it was the women who had her legs wrapped around him that was the real aphrodisiac.

Now, she was his to do with what he wanted. Fucking her had never felt so good. As he rose high above the beautiful redhead, thrusting inside her smooth sex, he was claiming his territory one final time. 

The power of fucking this goddess of a woman was simply amazing.

He loved the way he made her groan as she stretched to accommodate his girth. He adored the way she slid locked her feet across his ass, pulling him even deeper. He grunted as he powered down hard into her, driven on as the mirror images around them confirmed his control.

Even as she dug her fingernails into his hard buttocks, his sweat begin to drip onto her body. It was another sign of his conquest. Raising up on his haunches, he pummelled her harder. This was to be a final fuck to remember. Grunting, he fucked her like an animal. 

She tightened her thighs against his waist, attempting to slow him down and gain a second wind. DeVere would have none of it, his roar signalling he was picking up the pace. He was the one who was dictating, not her.

He had her close, too. He knew that. Pounding harder, she bounced on the bed as he took her to her climax. Shouting out as she came, the words that forced themselves from her lips made no sense. The intense, unintelligible cries ripped through their minds. 

Satisfied with his achievement, DeVere gave a bestial roar. 

The mountain below his testicles swelled and slammed between his legs. His orgasm surged through him, his body steadying like a stiff board as he fired into her... the final time she'd receive his tribute.

Afterwards, as they recovered, panting, he felt nothing. Not even regret. Tonight, he was closing the door on Roxanne, never to be opened again. Perhaps the woman that Erin had identified could be trained into an acceptable replacement?

"That was better than ever," he breathed into her ear. "Special. I'll remember tonight for ever, but I have to say goodbye."

***

Palmer didn't hear their final orgasms. He was in the shower, freshening up. He'd cum again halfway through their final fucking session. 

It had been a long forty-eight hours, ever since Kelli had fucked his brains out two nights ago. Since then he hadn't slept much, and here he was masturbating himself to another orgasm, thinking of a different woman.

Was that what this stake out was all about? Falling for someone else? Or, at least, becoming infatuated by her? 

Not only that, she was a hooker, even if she was a high-rolling one. Was it just that he wanted to fuck her? If so, did that make him any different to her? Or were his feelings something more? 

He'd never been unfaithful in his life. What the fuck was happening?

Despite the shower, he felt grubby as he slipped into his clothes again. Grubby in his mind. Grubby in his old clothes. 

Returning to the living area, he glanced at the clock. Midnight. He'd left the loudspeaker on, to the sound of music mixed with the groans. Now there were voices! He listened closely before giving a groan of despair. The Simpsons! She had the television on. 

That could only mean one thing. The mark had gone. He'd left while Palmer was in the shower. Damn! Rewinding the recording, he listened to the end of their lovemaking. "That was better than ever," he heard the trick say. "Special. I'll remember tonight for ever, but I have to say goodbye." 

He was right. This woman was special.



Palmer Ch. 05



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 5: The Kill

Erin DeVere was convinced she'd found another gem. Kelli's encounter with Brooke confirmed that. So had the young model's masturbation during their phone conversation. And the blonde looked bright and alert this morning, ahead of time, eager to get on with the shoot. 

As the Agency Head finished her conversation with Chad and headed towards the dressing room, it was difficult to remove the triumphant smile on her face. There was a lot to feel pleased about.

Kelli was accepting situations much more quickly than the older woman had anticipated. Giving her a taste of the hotel and then utilising Brooke had been masterstrokes. Today's shoot would add to the process.

Going forward, it would simply be a case of gradually grooming the naïve innocent, exposing her to situations that heightened her sexuality and provided further experiences of the good life.

The importance of this shoot couldn't be overemphasised. The opportunity to drive another wedge in Kelli's mind between what was acceptable sexual behaviour, and what that meant for her relationship with her husband, was too good to be missed. 

"Ready for action, darling?" she asked, catching the young model staring into space as she walked into the dressing room. A wavy strand of blonde hair fell across her left eye, adding to her allure.

Kelli jerked her head up, glancing at Erin in the dressing room mirror. She'd been miles away. Thinking about the shoot. Thinking about Jack. Wondering exactly what life had in store. What if she didn't make it as a model?

"No, I'm fine ..." she hesitantly said, her eyes telling Erin something different. 

When she raised a hand to push the loose strand of hair behind her ear, the outline of her right breast became more prominent against the thin, red top. Erin's eyes devoured the hard nipple pushing against the fabric.

"But?" she asked, leaning backwards against the closed door. She didn't want problems at this stage.

"I don't know... I was just thinking about my life," Kelli explained. "What will happen if this doesn't work out?" She turned to look into the sophisticated, older woman's eyes as she spoke, like a child looking for guidance.

Suddenly, Erin understood. Such fears were natural. Time for some ego stroking. She covered the few steps from her position against the door and stood behind the blonde, reaching down to massage her shoulders. "Do you believe what I tell you, darling?"

Kelli's head swung up and her eyes bore into the Agency Head's. "Absolutely, Erin. After what you've done for me in such a short time, how could I not believe you?"

The older woman dug her fingers deeper into the T-shirt, reaching for the kinks she could feel. "Good, darling. Because I'm telling you I haven't seen anyone like you since... Alicia Stiles, Gabrielle Dubois."

The blonde gasped. "They're fabulous!"

"Two good examples, Kelli. You could be either of them. Gabrielle is one of the most famous supermodels in the world. Her face on the cover of so many magazines. And she has her own brand of perfume and lingerie."

"I know," Kelli chuckled. "I wear both."

Erin bent to kiss her neck, sighing softly as she breathed in the delicious perfume. "Yes, darling, the perfume smells even better on you than Gabrielle herself!" 

When the young woman gave a soft, pleasurable shiver, the American woman straightened. Not too fast! She'd be experiencing much more of that delicious flesh before too soon. 

"And then, there's Alicia," she continued. "Not many know this, but she was married just before hitting it big? Did you know that?"

She'd heard the rumours, but wasn't sure if they were true. In the past year, the blonde had become the face of Estee Lauder and her stunning face had saturated the media. "She was married?"

"'Was,' yes. A husband and her career were too hard to juggle. And if she still went by 'Alicia Kennedy,' do you think you'd even know who she was?"

Erin DeVere paused, allowing her words to settle. Kelli's eyes were saucers, her body half turned in the chair as she stared up at the Agency Head. A pupil looking at her teacher. Time to hammer the point home. 

"What you must decide, darling, is whether you can do what Alicia did?"

She felt the blonde tense under her stroking fingers, her head turning back to the mirror in front of the chair. Staring at the American's reflection, Kelli's reply was surprisingly firm. "Erin, I want this so badly."

"And your husband? Does he understand the sacrifices you'll have to make? And you... can you make Alicia's sacrifice?"

"My marriage... Jack..." She stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words. But her eyes never left the Agency Head's in the mirror. "This might just rescue my marriage, Erin. If it doesn't, then Jack and I wouldn't have worked much longer anyway. This is my future, Erin. If I'm good enough. That's what frightens me."

"And I'm telling you, darling, you have no need to worry. Place yourself in my hands, do everything I tell you, and you'll be the next Gabrielle. But I need that obedience, Kelli. I need that dedication. If you have any doubts, we can stop right now."

The blonde swung around in her chair again. "No doubts, Erin. I have no doubts. I'll do whatever it takes."

***

The sound of the door closing behind Sandra Wilson brought Palmer out of his sleep. Jerking awake, he grabbed the Kel-Tec .380 as he sat up.

"Easy, tiger," Wilson blurted, taking a startled step backwards. "I've got bacon and eggs here." She held up the carrier bag with one hand, as if allowing him to see the outline of the contents.

Palmer sagged back, his gun hand dropping between his legs. "Sorry," he moaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Checking around, he realised he was still on the couch. He remembered lying awake until the early hours. Goodness knows what time he'd dropped asleep? Or how much sleep he'd actually had?

Wilson grinned at him as she walked into the middle of the room, stopping to survey the tired looking young detective. "You need a shave, Jack! Good night?" 

"Lots of action," Palmer sighed, dropping his head back to rest against the top of the couch. "Not sure how much will help us."

"Shame. Who was the trick?"

Palmer didn't answer. Not at first. A sheepish look crossed his face.

"You're kidding," she gasped, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Palmer swallowed as he sat forward. He hadn't set a good example.

"How did that happen?"

What could he say? He was showering after wanking, whilst imagining he was fucking the beautiful redhead? "Fell asleep," he lied.

Wilson laughed. "Well, Palmer, I've done that before. And you wanna hear Webster's story about when he fucked up by falling asleep. Big time! You've gotta get him well and truly drunk first, though."

Although he returned her smile, her words didn't provide much comfort.

"But at least we've got the recordings," he mumbled, knowing they'd provide little that could help them. Except, perhaps, the name of her trick. Roxanne had spoken it when he'd arrived. That was something.

"Good quality?" Wilson asked, starting to make her way to the kitchen.

Palmer pulled an uncertain face. "They will be when Boyd has finished with them. But while you're making us some coffee and breakfast, let me check to see if I've missed anything this morning before I move on."

Wilson stopped at the door, slipping a hand to her hip as she raised her eyebrows. "While I make breakfast?"

Palmer grinned. It was his first grin of the morning. "I like my bacon crispy."

He watched Wilson waltz into the kitchen. Where did she get those figure hugging black jeans? They looked like they were spray painted on her body. That woman really did have a great ass. How come he hadn't noticed before? 

Unfortunately for him, there was sound when he leant forward and checked the recorder. A couple of flicks identified the precise position and he adjusted the volume.

The redhead was moving around, opening and closing cupboard doors, presumably dressing. This time it was Alabama 3 in the background. Then she was singing along... Woke up this morning... before the song quickly ended. Her footsteps were followed by the soft click of a door opening and closing.

Damn! Not only had he missed the mark. Now he'd let Roxanne leave without a tail. Could things get much worse?

"She left the apartment," he told Wilson when she brought a coffee through for him.

The attractive cop grinned. "Looks like you've done well on your first watch, Jack." The look on his face was pure embarrassment. "Don't worry, she'll be back," she added, attempting to assuage his pain.

"Maybe," Palmer groaned, standing up and pacing to the door and back. "But we should have been on top of this."

"We?"

Palmer sighed, flopping back down onto the couch again. 

***

Erin's heart was beating faster. Watching the young model undress and slip the robe over her naked body sent a tingle through her. The blonde had shown no objection to her being there while she undressed. In fact, if the Agency Head wasn't mistaken, Kelli actually teased her by strutting around for a few moments, turning this way and that as if openly displaying her body, before eventually covering herself.

This was even better than she could have anticipated. The mixture of blatant sexuality and naïve innocence was a combination as rare as the most precious of pearls.

"With your body, you'll be a sensation, darling," she warmly smiled, reinforcing her earlier words. "Even I get hot looking at you."

Kelli's shiver was one of arousal. Erin had no doubt about that. She'd seen it in other women often enough when she'd used the same line. It wasn't a ploy. The American woman couldn't wait to experience this one.

"You'll love today's shoot," she continued, perching precariously on the edge of the dressing table. "You and Brooke have company."

"Company?"

"Oh, yes. Max will be perfect. A black body between two white always sells well."

"Black...?"

"Max Williams."

Kelli's sparkling brown eyes widened even further as she looked up from her position in the white, wicker chair. "Max Williams? Isn't he..."

The older woman nodded, crossing her legs with graceful ease. "That's right. The ex-porn star who's made it into the modelling world. And wait until you see the size of his dick, darling. It'll make your eyes water—"

"That is so true!" The voice came from the door. Brooke had arrived. Her cleavage almost fell out of the low cut top as she burst into the room, heading across the room to hug Kelli like a long lost friend. "Honey, you've no idea how much I've thought about you," she smiled. 

"Me?"

"Mmm-hmm. I've never been into women in a big way," she lied, that angelic face beaming. "But you're as hot as they come."

As Kelli stared at the young model, Brooke self confidently thrust her tits out. Impervious to the forces of gravity and crowned by the assertive, hard nipples that pushed impatiently against the low cut top, she looked every man's wet dream.

"See, darling," Erin smiled, easing from the dressing table and bending low to adjust her hair in the mirror. "Now you have two women lusting after you. Just think of the effect you'll have on the great unwashed!"

"And don't give me that sexy, naive, what-do-you mean look," Brooke added, dropping her bag onto the chair in the corner of the small room. "I know what's going on inside that so-called innocent mind."

The brunette struck a carefree pose: hands on hips, head thrown back, ass jutting out. She was a regular pinup. Satisfied with the way the new model's eyes ran across her body, she strutted back, bending to plant a soft kiss on her lips. Kelli was taken by surprise, unsure what to do next. It was some relief when Erin's comforting smile told her this was normal.

"See," Brooke murmured, so close Kelli could feel her breath on her cheek. "You want me to take you to bed and do you properly. I know that. You know that. Erin knows it too. All you gotta do is admit it to yourself."

Kelli glanced across at the Agency Head again, a blush instantly appearing from nowhere. But the strawberry blonde Erin had her back to the two of them now, busying herself at the table. The tap, tap, tapping gave the blonde a clue as to what that was, her heart beginning to race even faster.

She looked back to Brooke. The raven-haired beauty had sauntered a couple of steps away. Swinging back with an exaggerated look of wickedness, her fingers went to the bottom of her t-shirt. "Want to see my tits again?" she giggled, beginning to pull it up. 

Kelli couldn't help but lick his lips as the model's tits bounced free. She peeled her top over her head with all the panache of a stripper. That way she had of arching her back thrust the ripe, naked breasts towards the blonde. They really did belong in Playboy.

"Well?" she purred, cupping her tits, not letting Kelli off the hook.

"They're... they're incredible."

Brooke gave a soft, sexy laugh, rotating her palms across the small, brown nipples that sat high and tight on her majestic swells. "Oh, I know that. So suckable, too," she teased. "Want to taste?"

"Okay, darlings, time for your morning treat," Erin interrupted. Her eyes flashed as if to say there wasn't the slightest possibility of anything further happening between Brooke and Kelli. Not yet, anyway. She would be the first woman to take what the young innocent had to offer!

She nodded at the two lines of coke she'd just drawn on the table. It wouldn't be the only temptation Kelli had to face before the day was out. 

Brooke went first, and the naïve blonde instantly followed. There was no hesitation. As she dipped to snort the powder, Brooke grinned across at the approving Agency Head.

***

The man in the café stared out of the surprisingly clean window, peering intently across at the apartment block. The direction of his gaze hadn't altered much in the hour he'd sat there. 

The table for two in the corner was ideal in that it was sufficiently out of the way of others in the small, upmarket café and gave him the perfect view of his target.

Although the damp wind outside hinted of rain, the heavy, brown leather jacket over his Italian suit wasn't to keep out the cold. Nor were the sunglasses necessary, but they provided the anonymity he sought. The markings on his face were hidden by the turned up jacket collar and in the unlikely event of anyone noticing the undistinguished man, they wouldn't remember him tomorrow.

Giovanni's mind was focused on the need to get inside the apartment block without being seen. He hadn't expected the location to be so quiet, but a few minutes later he was given the perfect opportunity. Experience had taught him that patience invariably paid off.

The man strolling to the dark blue Mercedes was in no hurry and even stopped to check his tyres. It gave the watching Sicilian the chance to settle his bill and head across the road. He sauntered casually, as if he was simply walking past. When the garage gates slid open to allow the Mercedes to exit, he waited until it purred down the road and then slipped inside the complex seconds before they clanged shut again.

He moved quickly, like a cat, belying his age. The many hours he spent at the gym, when he wasn't gambling of course, were more and more necessary as each year passed. 

It took him mere seconds to cover the distance to the far wall and, flattening himself against the wall, merge into the background. First problem overcome.

Pushing the wraparound glasses onto the top of his baldhead, the Italian's alert eyes studied the garage interior. There was a small elevator door in the side of the wall. Just what he wanted. The cars scattered across the parking area gave him problem number two - he could run into the owners at any time.

Loping across to the elevator door, he slipped the sunglasses back down across his eyes and held a handkerchief over his nose. Should any of the car owners appear, he'd fake a sneeze. 

The fact the elevator connected directly from the car park to each floor was a bonus. That resolved potential problem number three.

Inside the left hand pocket of his heavy leather jacket, he held firmly onto the Makarov handgun. True stopping power in a small package. The longer, four inch barrel had served him well in the past. Better to be prepared.

His fears of meeting someone proved unfounded and as he exited on the fourth of six floors, he checked up and down the hallway. Empty. Hurrying to number thirty-eight, he rang the bell. As expected, there wasn't an answer. How could there be with the apartment empty? 

His fictitious telephone offer to purchase the property had been accepted, giving him the assurance he needed that there'd be no more viewings. No interruptions!

In seconds, he'd picked the lock and was inside, quietly closing the door behind him. Motionless, he stared around the empty room, listening for any telltale sound. All he heard was his own breathing, harsh and erratic. 

It would have been more comfortable had the room been furnished, but no problem. He'd concealed himself in far worse places.

It took half a minute to check the rest of the apartment. He didn't want any surprises. Only then did the pock-faced Italian allow himself to relax. Immediately he headed to the bathroom to relieve himself. The three cappuccino's he'd consumed in the café were one too many. 

Returning to the living area, he removed a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his heavy leather coat and slipped them on. They'd be his second skin until the mission was accomplished. 

Sitting down on the plush carpet beside one of the two apartment windows, he removed a small stick from his pocket. It allowed him to prop open two slats of the Venetian blinds, the small gap giving him a clear view into the woman's apartment across the road.

He removed and spread the leather jacket across the floor – there was work to do. From one of the specially sown pockets inside, he removed the twin-barrelled carriage of the twelve-gauge shotgun. A second pocket contained the ammunition. The third held a cell phone, and the fourth contained a high-powered pair of 18x50IS AW binoculars.

With practiced ease, he snapped the shotgun together, cocked both hammers and caressed the two triggers. The hammers clicked a nano second apart. Removing the two shells from the special pocket, he loaded both barrels.

Carefully placing the shotgun on the floor beside him, he picked up the binoculars and trained them on the apartment opposite. The clear view allowed him to see it was empty inside. That wasn't a problem to him. Patience, he told himself. Patience.

Fishing into his shirt pocket as he eased to his feet, he removed the small plastic bag and carefully placed it on the windowsill. 

His face had a look of purpose as he headed towards the kitchen. The four plastic cups inside one another on the counter were ideal. Slipping one from the others, he blew the dust away before half filling it with water from the gold tap.

His steps were measured as he returned to his position by the window. Placing the cup on the windowsill, he opened the clear, plastic bag and set the two red pills beside the water. Years of experience had taught him to be meticulous in everything he did.

With a gracefulness that belied his stocky size, he slipped back down against the wall. He could wait as long as it took for Roxanne to return.




Palmer Ch. 05



***

Erin ran a hand through her strawberry blonde hair. It was the colour of sunlight in the morning. She loved to show off her fabulous legs in her sexy, little power suits and right now, Max Williams was leering at them. That was typical - he could be a cocky bastard when he wanted. 

But with a body like his, he could usually get away with it. Today, in just the plain red robe that perfectly complimented the colour of his skin, it was easy to see why he felt cocky. 

She chose to ignore his supercilious grin. "Max, you know what's expected today?" 

"Sure, Mrs DeVere," he grinned in that arrogant way of his, leaning back against the wall. 

That was the great thing about Max. Despite having a body and a dick to die for, he was about as dumb as they came. That made him the perfect candidate for these sorts of tasks.

"The two models you're working with are special," she explained. "Especially the blonde..." 

"Brooke's pretty fuckable too," he leered, his eyes still running across her body. 

But then, why wouldn't they? The exquisite looking former supermodel was still devastatingly beautiful. Many a man had chosen her classic beauty compared to the youthfulness offered by other women. 

Max was a little different. Less discriminating. If it moved, he'd fuck it.

"Yes, Max, I know," she answered with a sigh, waiting to continue until his eyes found her face again. "And Brooke is in on this, too. Both Brooke and I want you to make the blonde – Kelli – as hot as you can during the shoot. Understand?"

"Sure," he smiled. "You want me to fuck her later?"

Erin's heart momentarily missed a beat as she thought of that black cock fucking her new acquisition. That would happen somewhere down the line, most certainly, but she had to be careful not to run before she could walk. This was still a softening up process.

"That's a possibility, Max," the American woman hummed. "But not today." His face dropped, like a ten year old kid who'd asked for a sweet and been refused. "But if you do this properly," she added. "I'll let you fuck Brooke. How's that?"

The ten-year-old face brightened immediately. 

All of a sudden, Erin couldn't resist. At six foot four, he was an impressive physical specimen and she wanted a piece. Jumping to her feet, she crossed towards him. Her hand sneaked between the folds in his robe. Feeling his monster grow instantly hard, she knew she'd have to fuck him again herself. Soon.

"Just get her hot, Max," she purred, trying to stop her breath form quickening the way it was.

He nodded. The cockiness had gone from his eyes, replaced with a dreaminess. "Like the last time?" he moaned, thrusting his hips forward as she stroked a little faster. "With Jennifer?"

"Almost, Max," she whispered, enjoying her control. "But Jennifer was ripe for fucking and you did it perfectly." 

A slow grin spread across his face at the compliment. His ass was pressing against the wall as he thrust his hips forward in an attempt to fuck her hand. 

"Kelli isn't," she emphasised, sliding her thumb around a drop of precum and spreading it across the head. "Understand?" she emphasised. "Just tease her a little."

"Got it," he moaned.

Erin hoped he did. Pushing too hard could ruin everything. Her only consolation was that she'd be on hand to control proceedings.

When the two models appeared, she reluctantly withdrew the hand controlling his libido and licked her sticky fingers. It was such a shame that body and IQ so rarely complimented one another. 

Max instantly returned to his cocky self as the two models made their way onto the set. But then, he was used to women, beautiful women. Used to working with them. Used to fucking them. She knew the two beauties were about as hot as he'd ever have seen. And that was saying something. 

The smile he gave Kelli looked like it almost made the blonde turn around and run. Erin quickly intervened. "Come on ladies, we're late. Chad's waiting. Let's get started..."

***

Dominic DeVere's grey eyes flashed with excitement as he stared down at the scene unfolding beneath him. The realisation of his dream. 

The oversized, glass window of the control tower gave him the perfect view. His gleaming eyes spanned the lush grass, heavy undergrowth and the trees that edged along both sides of his vision. They wanted to look in three different directions at once.

This was his world. His new world. The five acres to the north of Aberdeen would soon be known to the world as Dinosaur Land. 

Building the complex so close to Donald Trump's planned new resort and golf course in Balmedie, north of Aberdeen was a masterstroke. Both ventures would attract visitors, feed off one other. They couldn't fail. That would ensure an introduction to the American magnate. He would be one of many billionaires that DeVere would begin to form friendships with. Alliances. The future was full of possibilities.

The imported crack of thunder signalled the start of the action. Amélie had a talent for detail. DeVere's eyes gazed at the expanse below.

A huge animal claw emerged from the trees, gripping the cables of the electrified fence. One by one, the grey hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. Moving into the clear, the Tyrannosaurus rex stood maybe twenty-five feet high, forty feet long from nose to tail, with an enormous, boxlike head that was five feet long by itself. 

That was some beast!

The ferocious roar echoed all the way up to his position in the control tower. As it took a step forward, the fence began to buckle, its posts collapsing into themselves, the wires snapping free as the rex bent to chew its way through.

Stepping over the ruined barrier and into the middle of the dirt track, the dinosaur stood there for a moment, swinging its head from one side to the other. With a quick movement that belied its size, the rex strode around to the side of a Cherokee 4x4, snorting as it peered down from high above. 

Slowly circling the vehicle, it bent forward to allow it a clearer view of the passengers through the window. Knowing its vision was based on movement, they stayed stock-still.

The dinosaur bent further, peering right in through the window. Its giant, yellowing eye was only a fraction smaller than the entire pane of glass. Seemingly satisfied with what it saw, it pulled away slightly, almost teasing them by pretending it was about to leave. It wasn't. With a snarl, it reached down and rocked the car with its snout.

The follow-up roar just before it banged down on the roof was almost frightening and the force of the blow knocked the roof down into the vehicle. For anyone watching, it was a heart stopping moment.

Keeping up the attack, the rex bent down and nudged the car with its head, attempting to roll it onto its side. Like a wild animal, it put one foot on the chassis and tore at the undercarriage with its jaws. Biting at anything it could reach, the rear axle ripped free.

The rex casually tossed it to one side, immediately searching for its next target. The tyre provided it. Gripping the rubber between its teeth, the explosion saw the creature take its first backwards step.

Even as it bellowed with anger, a figure emerged out of the trees. A young man, bright flames shooting from the flare in his hand. He waved it from side to side, the rex's eyes locked on his moving arm. 

With another roar, it left the vehicle and thundered towards him.

DeVere clapped his hands in excitement, the glee of a small child reflecting in eyes that flashed with delight. "Awesome, Amélie," he blurted, turning towards the woman at the control panel. "Quite incredible," he enthused, "You have outdone yourself."

Amélie Pascal purred with satisfaction. It had been DeVere's brainchild. It was her creation.

"That's all I need to see," he almost shouted. "We have our masterpiece. Tres bon, Amélie!"

The blonde Frenchwoman smiled a contented smile, her fingers deftly working on the keyboard in front of the large, electronic control panel. Outside, the Tyrannosaurus rex came to a halt. Slowly, the entire scene they'd witnessed went into reverse. Like someone rewinding a dvd. 

"Wonderful," DeVere enthused. "It's impossible to tell that we are dealing with robots, rather than the real thing. A controlled environment, and yet everything appears so realistic. You are a genius, Amélie."

It took a couple of minutes until the beaming Frenchwoman was content that all aspects of the robot display were back in place. Eventually, her satisfied smile confirmed everything was in order. She closed down the computer screen and turned towards DeVere.

Both knew what was on her mind. It was her reward. His treat.

Eyes wild, she tore at her clothes, dropping them around her as she headed towards him. Dropping to her knees without so much as a kiss on the lips, she yanked down on his zip. Dragging out his hardening cock, one quick glance at his manhood was enough. Her lips were practically drooling with saliva as she practically lunged forward and took the engorged member deep into her throat.

DeVere knew the butch looking Frenchwoman was unstoppable in this mood. The excitement of their joint achievement had driven both their arousal levels higher. It was a real turn-on. 

He reached back to grip the edges of the desk behind him as her skilled mouth prepared him for her next onslaught.

Satisfied he was hard enough, the wild blonde pulled away and almost threw herself on the large desk, her legs opening to fully reveal the thick blonde curls between her thighs. 

DeVere's preference was for smooth mounds, just as he favoured buxom women. Conversely, it was the fact that so much of Amélie's body was the opposite of his normal liking that made her so attractive to him. That and her uninhibited way of fucking. Like a wild animal.

"Want to fook me, Dom-en-eek? You want Amélie's cunt?" 

The Frenchwoman was on her back now, her body flat on the desk. Smiling up into his aroused eyes, she grabbed his cock and edged the long shaft down to her centre, easing him along her heated furrow. "Ees good? Want to fook Amélie?"

It was a rhetorical question. With a quick undulation of her hips she guided him home. Three thrusts saw him bottom out. The untamed woman's legs pinched up over his shoulders as she urged him on.

"Fook me, Dom-en-eek. Fook me weeth zat big cock..." 

Her dirty talk was an aphrodisiac. They both knew that. Even as she pushed upwards, she felt him grow another inch at her words. 

Responding to her urgings, he eased up onto his elbows to give himself a better angle to thrust. Soon he was fully into it, varying the pace from fast to slow and back again. 

"Oui, Dom-en-eek... faster..." Her words were as urgent as the feet she locked behind his ears.

He did, pummelling her like a machine. One that was almost out of control. "How's that, you hot bitch," he groaned. 

He was an animal, rutting in the most basic way. Unrelenting, a hand grasped each of her ankles and held them wide, above her head, while he pounded her. Hard, fast and deep. He'd show her who was boss!

Both gave in to the purely physical act of fucking. It went on for longer than they could have expected in their heightened state. 

DeVere thought he was in charge. He wasn't. The Frenchwoman decided enough was enough. Her fingers gripped his short, grey hair, jerking his head up so that their eyes met. Her sex tightened around him in that way of hers. He groaned. Tightening the lock her feet had around his ears, she smiled in that 'I'm-in-control' way of hers. 

"Want to cum een Amélie? " she asked in that innocent schoolgirl way that aroused him most. Her tongue softly ran across his neck. That always took him there.

"Yesss," he hissed, his face tightening into a cringe. 

Her legs pushed their way back down his body, her feet planting themselves on his desk. "Do eet!" she snarled, the leverage allowing her to hump back so hard, it began to bounce.

The weight of her movements drove his cock deep into her and he went off like a depth charge, filling her slick walls with wet, satisfying heat. He howled out loud as one burst followed another. 

The Frenchwoman let herself go with him, rolling her head back and screaming like a banshee. Her bucking body tossed him up like a rider at a rodeo.

"My, God," he panted, his heart threatening to burst from his chest.

The Frenchwoman shook her head. "'Ee won't help you, Dom-en-eek," she huffed. "Amélie wants to fook again..."

Even as he struggled to turn and look at her, she was on the move again, flipping positions and pulling her body across his until she was sitting on his lap. Roughly lining him up with her wet opening, she jammed her tongue deeply into his mouth. Her hand stroked him. He was hardening nicely.

Long fingers dug into his chest as he penetrated her in one clean movement. "Tres bon, Dom-en-eek," she gasped. "Such a good boy—"

Rotating her hips in circular motions, it was her turn to dominate. 

***

Kelli was firing on all cylinders. A sexy diva! It wasn't just that she gave herself completely to the camera, and to the two models with her. It was the uninhibited way she gave herself. Erin's pep talk this morning was what she needed. So was the snow.

And rather than take the edge off her arousal, her encounter with Brooke yesterday had made her even hornier. But how could anyone not be aroused working with a Playboy-destined model and a hot-bodied ex porn star?

Even the relief she'd given herself in the bathroom at the second interval hadn't doused her fire. Maybe the second hit of coke hadn't been such a good idea after all? 

She glanced across at Max. She hadn't met anyone quite so arrogant – but even so! His toned, ebony body made her feel weak at the knees. The smell of honeyed mango on him was a real turn on. So was his rich black skin. And the pièce de résistance – his cock was simply a monster. 

If only she wasn't married...

She hadn't expected a naked shoot. It hadn't fazed her. She'd thrown herself into it without a hint of embarrassment. He body was hot. She knew that. Brooke and Erin had both told her. 

The day had been intoxicating so far, and it wasn't over yet. Their three bodies were continually being smothered in oil, slipping and sliding against each other as they shifted from one position to another. 

It was Brooke who oiled her, insisting that Kelli return the favour each time. Every touch simply increased the heat setting on her thermometer.

As yesterday, Chad drove each session, coordinating the three of them into one position after another as if conducting an orchestra. With the same driving beat of techno as yesterday filtering over the speakers, the master built up the pace, changing the mood with each new position. This was his masterpiece. 

"I want that innocence," he kept telling Kelli. "That sexy naiveté. That vulnerability. Can you do that? Keep giving me that! The real you!" 

But how could she focus on sexy vulnerability when Brooke kept pressing her tits into hers, and the African model continually rubbed his monster against her ass? It was as if they were deliberately working her up!

Brooke wrapped her arms around her again and ran her lips and tongue along the side of her neck. Max thrust his swollen manhood against her taut backside. "Perfect, perfect," Chad encouraged.

It was like being in a sex film but being denied the sex.

They were only halfway through the day when Chad picked up the sexual pace. "Max, I want you to cup Kelli's tits..."

Oh, God! His palms feel so good on her flesh. The way he manipulated her nipples sent sexual shockwaves to the very heart of her sex.

"Closer!"

His cock pushed into the crevice of her ass as he complied with the instruction. Even half erect, he was as big as Jack. What would he feel like inside her?

***

"Fuck, you've gotta be joking," Goodwin gasped.

"It's true," Sandra Wilson smiled, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee into the room. She handed one to her barrel-chested boyfriend. "I made Palmer bacon and eggs."

Goodwin winced slightly as he took the coffee from her, a few drops slurping over the side and burning his index finger. "No, you goofball," he said, swapping the mug between hands and licking at the burn. "Not that. You said Palmer had fucked up."

"Too right," she said, dropping down on the couch beside him and taking the finger. "And not just that coffee stain on the carpet. He fell asleep."

"Fell asleep?"

She nodded, raising his digit to her mouth and sucking on it like she would a cock. "Missed the mark leaving," she mumbled. "No way of identifying him unless Taffy produces a name when he cleans up the recordings... removes the background noise."

"Shit."

Her eyebrows arched as she held his finger up. "Shit he fucked up? Or shit, that feels good?"

"Both," he grinned.

"Not only that," she continued, taking a second finger in her mouth. "He overslept and missed Roxanne this morning."

Goodwin pulled a sympathetic face, forgetting about her mouth for a second. "We've all done it. But I wouldn't want to be the one to tell Webster."

"No," Wilson slurped. "How about you and I keeping out of the way when he does that?"

"Where's he now?"

"Back at base. Checking a few things out. Said he'd be back here in an hour or so."

"Doesn't he ever ease off? Especially with a wife like his. Have you met Kelli?"

"I've met her," Wilson replied. She slipped his fingers back in her mouth again, sucking them deeper. "You saying she's sexier than your new girlfriend?" she mumbled.

Goodwin struggled to slip his mug on the carpet beside his feet. "No way," he groaned. His cock was as hard as a rock from watching the way she fellated his fingers. "My girlfriend is as sexy as hell. And the thing is, she gives great head!"

Wilson's eyes smiled into his. "Okay, big boy. Just for that, I'll show you just how good I am until Palmer gets back. And I've got an added treat for you."

His eyebrows shot up. "Treat?"

The black haired beauty smiled, reaching towards the recorder. "This is what happened last night. I was listening to some before you arrived. It'll blow your socks off."

The sound of a door outside interrupted her even as she reached for the switch. "Roxanne," they said in unison.

"I told Palmer she'd be back." Wilson smiled, pulling him into a kiss. "Now we can rest easier. But to get back to the business in hand - let me put last night's recording on loudspeaker. It might inspire you..."

Her eyes gleamed wickedly as she reached for his slacks.

***

Showered, Kelli felt invulnerable. The shoot had been a triumph. Her arousal levels were running at an all-time high. Only Brooke's presence in the dressing room had stopped her from masturbating. 

As the two models made small talk on the couch, it was an effort not to rip off her robe and expose herself to Brooke. Maybe the raven-haired beauty would finger her again, if she asked?

Erin came to the rescue, just in time. The Agency Head swayed into the dressing room carrying a bottle of champagne. 

"We need to celebrate, darlings," she smiled, popping the cork with practiced ease. Smiling at Kelli, she filled three of the four glasses she'd brought with her on the tray.

"I've asked Max to join us later," she explained. "We must let him celebrate with us, too. But first, it's just us girls. And a toast!"

"A toast?" Kelli repeated, her dreamy eyes smiling at her employer. "I'd like to toast you, Erin. For everything you've done for me."

Erin beamed at the blonde, handing the two women a full glass each. "That's so sweet, darling. But the toast is to a successful shoot today. And to your debut in two days."

Kelli almost choked as the bubbles found their way up her nose. "My debut?" she coughed.




Palmer Ch. 05



"Yes, darling," Erin murmured. "Your catwalk debut. At the Victoria's Secret fashion show in Milan. Didn't I tell you that you're heading for modelling stardom?"

***

Giovanni's face changed to a steely smile of anticipation. She was home. The sight through his binoculars confirmed that. Even in the subdued light of the apartment, he could see her moving around. That red hair was unmistakeable.

For a few seconds, he pulled the binoculars to the apartment next door to his target. A woman was on her knees, giving head to a grey haired man. He felt his cock lurch. How long was it since he'd had sex? Reluctantly, he lowered the binoculars. Don't get distracted, Marco. Not now. You have a job to do. 

Slipping the small plastic bag into his pocket, he slipped one of the reds it into his mouth and washed it down with the lukewarm water. 

He lived for these moments. Time for action.

It took only a few minutes to secrete everything back into his leather jacket. Slipping it on, he took the plastic cup to the kitchen and threw the remaining water down the sink. Rubbing the inside of the glass on his shirt until it was nearly dry, he carefully replaced it inside the other three. Everything had to be exactly as he'd found it.

Returning to his position beside the window, he leant against the wall. It didn't take long for the speed to kick in. Even as the assassin closed his eyes, it raced along his nerves like fire burning along a fuse. In no time, he felt superhuman. His nerve ends jangled with excitement. His stomach heaved with anticipation. His senses sharpened like a knife. 

This was the state he needed to be in. He was ready.

Standing up, he put his hand through the pocket vent and held the shotgun, aiming it at the floor. He was too professional to risk an accident. Buttoning his coat, he removed the piece of stick he'd propped between the two slats of the Venetian blinds. This was no time to get careless. 

Slipping his sunglasses back on, he made his way back to the elevator. Two minutes later he was heading across the road to the apartment block opposite, his nonchalant gait making sure he blended in to his surroundings. He was just a tenant out for a stroll. 

Reaching the car park gate opposite, the code-card given him by DeVere gained him instant entry. His eyes covered every inch of ground ahead of him as he headed across the tarmac towards the stairs to reception. His mind was active with every step. 

The Makarov handgun in his pocket would take care of problem number four. It was messy, and he disliked mess. But there simply wasn't any alternative. Or was there?

The security guard was speaking on the phone as the Sicilian entered, his back to Giovanni. Whoever he was conversing with, he was flirting. That saved his life. 

The assassin reached him just as he ended the call. The butt of the Makarov to the back of his neck sent him crumpling to the floor. Within seconds, Giovanni had the unconscious body hidden out of sight under the security desk. The young guard would be out for a good couple of hours and the Italian only needed five minutes. Maximum.

Loping across at the door to the stairs, it was almost an afterthought when he checked around him. One step ahead. Stay one step ahead! The large desk close to the door would do the job if he needed it. 

He pushed through the door and took the steps two at a time, pausing when he reached the exit to the fourth floor. The silence was just as it should be. Just as well. Anyone who got in his way now would end up as a corpse, but he preferred not to have any complications.

His eyes flicked both ways along the narrow corridor as he made his way to the terracotta door of number forty-nine. Unbuttoning the bottom of his coat, his thumb held firm across both hammers of the shotgun until he pushed the bell.

Taking a step back, he swung the weapon upwards through the opening of the raincoat.

***

Kelli never wanted to come down from this high. She'd never drunk as much champagne in her life. How many bottles had Erin opened? And the cocaine! She hadn't realised it would make her feel this good.

She was floating. 

One week ago, she'd never met Erin. Now she had a successful shoot behind her. Not to mention her first bi experience. Of sorts. She began to laugh. This was so funny. She was going to become a supermodel. Erin had told her. And what Erin said...

Not only that, next stop was a catwalk debut. In Milan. A Victoria's Secret fashion show, too! It was one of the most prestigious events in the world of modelling. And she, Kelli Palmer, would be strutting that stage. 

Kelli laughed out loud at the absurdity of her thoughts. Everything was so surreal, unbelievable!

Her life was turning upside down. For the better. Much, much, better. She loved Jack. Of course she did. But her heart told her he'd never change. They couldn't go on as they were. More accurately, she couldn't. Here, on a plate, was a way out - for both of them, if Jack wanted that. 

But did he? Deep inside, she knew the answer. It made no difference to her decision. This was an opportunity she intended to grasp with both hands. With or without Jack. 

She owed Erin, and she'd repay that debt.

Her eyes closed as a wave of dizziness swept over her. As the heady combination of champagne and coke washed over her, she realised she couldn't stop laughing. She was so happy. She decided to share her thoughts with the two women. 

Turning to her right, she looked at Brooke. Somehow, she couldn't quite remember what she wanted to say. Her brain wouldn't focus. She laughed aloud again. The smile that Erin exchanged with the short, playboy-esque model didn't register with her. But she did hear the Agency Head's soft drawl. 

"Kelli, darling. We've left Max out. Shame on us." She leant over to fill the fourth glass with champagne from the third bottle she'd brought through. "Here, darling, take this through to him, would you?"

***

Sandra Wilson wrapped her hand into Goodwin's snow-white hair, pulling him more tightly into the Promised Land. He'd quickly succumbed to her talented mouth and now it was her turn. 

Her long moan as he bathed her with long, slow sweeps of his tongue spelt out her need. Time was short. She didn't want Palmer walking in on them, but she needed satisfying. 

Her legs parted further. As much as she enjoyed their slow, lovemaking sessions, this was what she preferred. Rough. No finesse. No slow build up. 

His tongue probed deeper as her hands directed his movements. "Yes, baby, that's it. Just there—"

Her grip in his hair tightened. Her hips undulated against his working mouth. "Use your fingers, baby..." 

Obediently, he followed each new instruction. One hand slid from her ass to twist two fingers inside her wet channel. When his lips moved to her clit, she almost came there and then. 

Her eyes smiled down into his. Why hadn't she given herself to him years ago, instead of trying to make it work with that cheating bastard of a husband? 

"Yes... Alex... yes..." she groaned. Her legs widened as far as she could to provide unhindered access. God, if anyone could see her now? A naked, wanton, police slut!

She loved that he knew how to work her. The gentle flicks of his tongue on her clit, the way he dragged the slippery nubbin between his teeth, already had her spiralling out of control. "That's it, baby..."

From the loudspeaker, Roxanne's moans mingled with her own as if they were in competition. The sound of the redhead being fucked last night only added to Sandra Wilson's arousal. She was bubbling. 

"Yes... Alex... now... NOW! Here... I... cummmm..." It was an effort to push out the final words as the electric current switched on.

Her hands held his head in position. She was loud, shuddering. Her bucking body used his face for even more friction. Her feet pushed flat on the floor. Her ass and hips lifted, pushing hard into his mouth. 

Eventually the movement of his tongue slowed, pacing her down from her orgasm. Fuck, he was so good at this. Much better than that no good husband.

"Palmer will be back soon," he muttered, sitting back and wiping his juice smeared face. "Better make ourselves decent." 

"Fuck Palmer," the dark haired cop responded, even against her better judgement. Her orgasm hadn't satisfied her. She tore at his trousers for the second time in half an hour. "I need cock."

She pushed him flat on his back, her movements rough, brooking no argument. Her frantic hands pulled his hardness free. With one leg, she straddled the nervous cop. Her eyes gleaming into his as her buttery sex took him inside in one pass. 

"God, Alex. That feels good!"

"But Palmer..."

"Forget Palmer..."

She began to thrust down, groaning as he filled her. Perfectly. The need for speed drove her on. She moaned with each hard, downward thrust. So did Goodwin. Loudly. 

Their grunts shut out the music next door. The ring on Roxanne's doorbell. The sound of the chain being taken off the door as she answered. 

The two louder, muffled sounds did reach them. For a second, both stopped moving. Their brains engaged gear. 

It was Goodwin who spoke. "Shotgun!" 

***

Max's dressing room was smaller than Kelli expected. But just as ostentatious as hers and Brooke's. Using the opulent mansion had been Erin's brainwave. Would every shoot be based somewhere as wonderful as this location?

The male model turned as the naïve blonde entered. Even in the red robe, his monster announced its presence.

"Hey, honey. You got something for Max?"

"Erin asked me to bring you some champagne," she giggled. "Don't mind me, I think I'm a little tipsy."

"Thanks, honey," he smiled. "Put it on the table would you?"

The blonde nodded, walking her unsteady way past him and gently lowering the glass onto the gleaming wood. The four-inch heels Erin told her to wear weren't helping things. There was that smell again, honeyed mango. She was beginning to love that aroma.

When she turned back to him, he'd slipped out of the robe. Naked, he looked magnificent. Her eyes stared at the rich, ebony skin. His rippling muscles. And that monster of a cock. 

She realised he was between her and the door. How could she get out? Did she really want to?

"Don't look so shocked," he grinned in that cocky, arrogant way of his. "You're not looking at anything you haven't seen all day."

She giggled again. Yes, that made sense. They'd been naked together all through the shoot, so why should it be any different now? Her eyes returned to that body. That cock.

"Why don't you slip that robe off, too?" he casually suggested.

Kelli stopped her hands as they were halfway to her belt. She couldn't. That would be too personal. Not yet, anyway.

Max smiled. He knew she was fighting her reluctance. He'd help her. Slowly, he sauntered across the short distance between them. Take it easy with her, Erin had insisted. He would, but he'd seen that look in lots of women's eyes when they'd seen his cock. Maybe, if he was real careful, he could push this a little further?

"You look like you've never seen a cock before," he leered, posing with his hands on his hips.

"I haven't." She giggled again. "I haven't seen anything that big."

"Want to touch it?" he asked, standing as close as he dared without frightening the beautiful woman. He thought she might step away. She didn't. That told him what he needed to know.

"Don't be shy," he grinned, reaching out to take her hand and pulling it to his black shaft. Instantly, he began to grow. "See, it likes your touch."

Kelli's eyes widened as he grew in her hand. A fiery wetness formed between her thighs. Her grip tightened. She heard a soft groan and realised the sound was emerging from the back of her own throat.

"Stroke it, honey," Max suggested, planting his feet firmly on the soft carpet as he thrust his hips forward.


Kelli's dreamy eyes looked into his and then back down at the monster in her hand. He shuddered as her fingers ran up and down the enormous shaft. She loved that. It was her fingers that were exciting him.

"Yes, honey," he growled.

Kelli smiled. Her fingers momentarily dropped to cup his large, hairy, testicles before sliding back to his shaft again. 

This time, the moans she heard were Max's. Though the soft purr in her throat continued. When she began to jerk the now fully erect monster, he slowly moved his hips back and forward in time with her movements. 

"Honey, you do that so well," he whispered into her ear as he leant forward. "Let me sit down, but don't stop. Whatever you do, don't stop."

Glancing behind her, she saw the couch. Her hand pulled his cock towards it. He followed. She giggled at the sight. What a thrill. What a fucking thrill! She'd never done something like this before. She was actually leading him by his hard cock.

When he bounced down onto the soft cushion, she sat beside him.

"Don't stop, honey," he repeated, when she hesitated. "Feels too good."

"I won't," she smiled, feeling the need to give him reassurance. Staring into his eyes, she began to jerk him again. She loved the way she made him growl.

"Ever taste a black cock?" he grinned, leaning comfortably back against the couch and spreading his arms along the low back.

Kelli hadn't. She hadn't even previously thought about it. A black man? But now, with her hand wrapped as far as it could around the monster, she knew with a certainty she wanted to. 

But she couldn't. How could she? She was married! Jack...

One hand went to her hair. His gentle stroking across her blonde tresses felt so comforting. She looked into his smiling eyes. His male scent, mixed in with that delicious honeyed mango aroma, was intoxicating. 

"Taste it," he encouraged, his dark, gleaming eyes boring back into hers. "I need you, honey. Help me out."

Her eyes returned to the monster. Rising majestically from his black curls, it looked like a God's. When his hand pulled her head forward, she didn't resist. How could she refuse the meaty offering in front of her?

The first, tangy, salty taste was an aphrodisiac. She provocatively licked her lips, savouring the manly flavour.

"Oh, yesss, honey..."

His groan spurred her on. So did the tingling between her thighs. He needed her and she needed him. Like a drug. Her fingers shook with excitement as she stretched them as far around his girth as they would go. Then her mouth went to work.

Her sucking lips devoured the first leakage of precum. She swallowed it deep into the back of her throat. The sweet taste was infectious. Her tongue returned to the big, purple head, licking around the crown in an effort to tease more from him.

For a few minutes she lost herself. Her mouth practised everything that Jack enjoyed, but with more emphasis on the things that made Max moan loudest. She had no idea cocksucking could be quite so arousing as this.

"Yes, honey," he moaned. Gripping her hair more tightly, he raised up on one hip and gently began to fuck her mouth.

Kelli gagged for a second, but quickly adjusted. One hand went to his chest, so she could stroke his shining, ebony flesh. Every muscle was hard. Her fingers ran to his nipples, tweaking each of them in turn. 

Her other hand held him tight. Her mouth jammed down on half of his black shaft again. She wanted this black man's cum and wouldn't be denied. Would it taste different to Jack's? She just had to find out.

How much of his black shaft could she take into her throat without choking? She soon found out. Her hand tried to steady him as he fucked her mouth harder. It didn't faze her. He was an ex porn star and she was a suction machine, a star in her own porno, seeking her prize.

The dreamy, intoxicated blonde wanted this to be the best blowjob he'd ever had. Growling, her lips formed a tight seal around the thick ebony shaft. He was close and she'd take him all the way. She was in control and he was powerless to resist. 

Max's grip in her hair tightened. He increased the pace of his upward thrusts. She let out a gagging noise but took him as far as she could again, her head bouncing up and down as she sucked him to orgasm.

"Yes, honey. Oh, fuck, yes..." 

The black hips started that familiar shudder. Kelli tried to prepare herself and even as his first offering splashed against the back of her throat, she found she was cumming, too. Just the thought that this black man's cum was all hers had set off the fireworks inside her.

She had no time to enjoy the little grenades of pleasure exploding between her thighs. All her concentration was needed on what was happening in her mouth. His second burst hit the same spot. The third. The fourth. His heavy balls emptied, threatening to drown her. 

She swallowed and swallowed, taking it eagerly. An animal at feeding time. 

Her hand pumped his shaft. She wanted every last drop. She devoured his creamy seed until eventually even this black stud had had enough. Gingerly, he pulled his diminishing manhood from between her still sucking lips and lay back on the couch, his muscular chest heaving. 

A sound at the door to her left interrupted her sexual haze. Jerking her head around, Erin was beaming her endorsement. That was good enough for Kelli. She needed that seal of approval. If it was acceptable to Erin, it was okay with her. 

After all, this was what supermodels did. 

***

Palmer didn't understand why the security desk was unmanned. The night guard was probably taking a leak. He'd had a shit of a day and was anxious to get home to see Kelli on her return from Scotland. She'd sounded pissed when she told him she was heading North for the shoot and hadn't phoned him since then. He had some fences to mend.

Check in with Wilson and Goodwin, he told himself as the elevator rumbled upwards, and then head home. It had just reached the second floor when he heard the two sounds above him. Like... like a shotgun?

His Kel-Tec .380 was in his hand when the elevator reached the fourth. Halfway along the corridor, Goodwin was racing out of their apartment, gun pointing the way. Wilson was a few steps behind.

The time between their fucking, the noise, and action had amounted to a few brief seconds. It had been a few brief seconds too long.

"Where?" Palmer asked, heading towards them.

"Next door," Goodwin gasped. He looked flushed. His shirttail was somehow flapping from his slacks.

A noise on the stairs stopped them. "You take the apartment," Palmer called over his shoulder as he diverted through the connecting door.

Way below him, someone was running downwards, taking several stairs at a time. 

"Stop! Police!" he yelled, pausing for a second at the top before launching himself downwards. Yeah – as if.

Vaulting the stairs three at a time, he bounced off the walls a couple of times and just managed to stay upright. Halfway down he heard a door slam shut. The door to the reception lobby? 

Reaching the ground floor not more than ten seconds later, his body crashed into the door. Instead of bursting open, it held firm. What the fuck? Locked? Jammed? Where the hell was the security guard? It couldn't take this long for a leak!

Two more efforts only served to bruise his shoulder. Even as he raced back up the stairs, he knew that all was lost. It took a few seconds to call the elevator to the first floor, and longer again to get it lurching downwards. 

Damn, damn, damn!

The ground floor was empty. Rushing down the steps into the car park, he listened for any sound of movement. Only the traffic in the streets disturbed the silence. It took a good five minutes to search the area, his pace slowed in anticipation of a bullet coming his way.

Back in the reception area, he checked around the desk. At first he thought the young guard was dead. Checking his pulse, he gave a sigh of relief. A witness, perhaps?




Palmer Ch. 05



The reason for the jammed door was obvious. How the hell had the attacker got the strength to pull that heavy desk over? And so quickly? It even took Palmer a good few seconds to pull it clear.

He retraced his way up the stairs, stopping at each floor, checking for something out of place, looking for clues. He knew the fruitlessness of his efforts even as he followed normal procedure. 

Eventually, back on the fourth, he slowly returned to number forty-nine. His heart was almost pumping through his chest in fear and anticipation of what he would find. Wilson opened the door. 

His eyes fell on the scorched pattern of tiny holes near the ceiling, splattered with blood. They flicked to the marble top coffee table on its side. That's when he saw the dead woman. 

Her face was gone and part of her shoulder was blown away. Lying partly against the wall beside the door, blood continued to pump from her wounds. Like a rag doll, her hands and arms were bent at obscene angles, a splash of blood on the ball dripping down close to her body.

The bile rose in Palmer's throat. He tried to choke it back. With one hand against the wall, holding himself up, he stared at Wilson, then Goodwin. His silent scream filled his head.



Palmer Ch. 06



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 6: Kelli 

Homicide was crawling all over the apartment when Donny Webster arrived. It had taken the team some time to catch up with him. Having been out so late, drinking too, the early hour didn't suit him. 

He stormed through the apartment lobby, glaring at the old security guard on his way.

Sandra Wilson followed him, half running to keep up. "How's the youngster?" she asked Ted Jobson as he glanced up at them from his seat behind his desk.

The old guy gave a grimace. Being the Head Security Guard at the premises, he took his position seriously. "He's pretty shaken up. Maybe I should have been here instead?"

Wilson nodded. "Yes," she agreed, though unsure as to what she was agreeing to. Maybe he thought he would have done a better job than his young colleague? Doubtful. If the old man had been on duty, chances were he'd be dead.

"Are the cops okay with you visiting your friend?" he asked Sandra, still believing the cover that Palmer had sold him when they first arrived. "I imagine they'll be pretty busy up there. What's happened anyway? No one will tell me a thing. I'm only the..."

Webster exchanged glances with Wilson from his position beside the elevator. He nodded at the 33-year-old cop. Time to come clean.

"We are the cops," she sighed, flashing her ID and shooting him a sympathetic smile. "Catch you later, Ted."

The look of surprise on his face stayed even as the elevator took them upwards. 

Edging along the corridor past Roxanne's half open door, Webster showed his ID to the cop on guard and carried on to 'Palmer's' apartment. It was the stride of a man in a hurry. Goodwin and Palmer were inside waiting for him.

"Freakin' hell," he exclaimed. "Roxanne Lopez?"

Although Webster looked at him, Palmer didn't respond. How could he? He was still struggling with his emotions. The young detective couldn't rationalise why it was taking such a lot out of him. He'd only had one conversation with the woman and yet she'd affected him in a way he could never have envisaged.

"Talk..." Webster barked.

Palmer tried to, but the words wouldn't come out. He was supposed to be having dinner with her soon. For a few seconds, he turned his back, walking across to lean against the door to the kitchen.

Goodwin interjected. "Me and Wilson were next door. She'd been out most of the day. Ten minutes after she got back, someone called at her door..."

Webster nodded. "Yes, Wilson's already told me all of that. You've given all of this to Homicide?"

Goodwin nodded. "I gave them a run down on our case and what we were up to. Pretty routine. They want to speak to Sandra at some time," he rolled his eyes, "as if she might have seen something I haven't. Want to speak to you, too, boss, at some stage."

Webster sighed, taking off his glasses and blowing an imaginary piece of fluff from the left lens. "What a mess. Okay, I guess we start to look around for something else to work on. "Wilson and I can give 'em anything they want. You too, Palmer. Then we get back to the office."

For a second or two Palmer said nothing. He appeared to be weighing the advisability of his next remark. His head shook as he eventually spoke. "Don't think so, boss." 

"What?" The fifty-year-old Vice boss's face looked like he'd swallowed a bumble bee.

"We want to stay involved."

"Oh, you do, Palmer? Well, let me tell you..."

"No, boss," Goodwin broke in. "We all want to stay involved."

Sandra Wilson nodded. "Me, too."

"What are you freakin' talking about?" Webster asked, pacing across to the window and then back again. His voice was cold in that way of his when he was about to tear a strip from whomever he was talking to. 

"Briggs is in control of the case," Goodwin added.

"Briggs? That shit?" Nobody liked the smarmy police Superintendent. There were even rumours he was bent. Proving them was something else. 

"Exactly," Sandra Wilson agreed, settling down in one of the two leather chairs. She crossed her legs, swinging one foot back and forth. It was a nervous gesture. "This killing might well have something to do with our case, boss. Can you imagine turning all our information over to Briggs? Goodness knows where it would end up."

Webster thought for a few minutes. He sat down on the couch, but immediately stood up again. Abruptly, he snapped, "I understand how you all feel. But I have no choice. We've gotta leave this one to Homicide and keep out of their hair."

"Boss..."

"That's an order." He started across to the door. "Wrap things up here."

"No."

Webster stopped in his tracks, his hand on the doorknob. "What?" His voice was icy.

"No, Chief," Palmer repeated, walking across towards Webster from his position beside the kitchen door.

Webster's look would have damaged anyone in its direct path. "WHAT? I don't believe my freakin' ears..."

"Boss, just listen for a moment," Sandra Wilson said as she leaned forward in the chair. Her voice was quiet as a whisper in an attempt to defuse the situation.

It didn't work. Webster waved an arm in the air dismissively. "Listen? LISTEN? You FREAKIN' listen!"

It didn't stop Wilson. The ballsy female's voice was calm but determined. After all, she'd been fucking Goodwin when the woman was wasted. If she hadn't been... well, who knows?

"Boss," she interrupted. "Me and Goodwin have been stuck in Vice for years. You, longer. Palmer's newer, but he feels the same. Everyone in the Force thinks all we're good for is puttin' the arm on hookers and perverts. They'll laugh their asses off that we've allowed this to happen, no matter what we say."

Goodwin grunted. "Yeah, boss."

Sandra Wilson smiled at her boyfriend, but continued. "You broke the rules that got us started on this case. You gave Big Elsie a drink. And look where it's led us! We've done our job well so far. All of us. And what we'll get is more shit heaped on us. We're tired of being the assholes of the Force. And I for one don't want to be on the butt end of their wisecracks and insults. Do you?"

For a few moments, no one spoke, waiting for Webster to explode. He didn't. He always took notice of what Wilson had to say. But he didn't always agree. His voice was softer. More conciliatory. "Look, I understand your feelings. But you're making this more of a big deal than it is. No one is goin' to give us shit over this..."

Even as he spoke the words, everyone in the room knew he was wrong. Even him. He trailed off, glancing around the room into each pair of staring eyes.

Palmer stared back. However much he tried, he was consumed by guilt. What could he say? Explain that he'd met Roxanne after tailing her? Had a conversation with her? Arranged to have dinner? That she made his heart race, even though he was married to a girl like Kelli? That he'd masturbated while listening to her?

"Chief," he eventually said. "You need to understand. We feel responsible. I feel responsible. Whether I like it or not, I am responsible!"

"Me too," Wilson added. "Goodwin and I are responsible, too." This time she didn't look at the barrel-chested cop.

Webster still didn't buy it. "I understand what you're saying. I know how you all feel. But tell me one thing. Did any of you have any idea what was going to happen? Even an inkling?"

No one answered. 

The Vice boss wandered back into the middle of the room, pointing to each of them in turn. "Exactly! You're not. You're not and you're not! Nobody's responsible for what's happened other than the killer. And I'm not about to stick my dick into the meat grinder because Palmer, or any of you, feel responsible."

"We want to work on it," Palmer said. It was as if his boss hadn't spoken. His voice brooked no argument.

Webster sighed as he removed his glasses and pointed them at the wavy haired detective. "Is that right? You want to work on it? And what do I tell Homicide?"

"They'll never know," Palmer said, looking his boss in the eye. "If we turn up something, we'll hand it over. If not, no harm done."

"No harm done? No freakin' harm done? If they find out I let you guys work on their case—"

"Do you trust Briggs?"

Webster paused. It was like being caught in crossfire. Of course he didn't trust Briggs. But admitting it would be counter to his argument.

"The thing is," Palmer continued, his voice calm but authoritative, "you've been in Vice a long time, Chief. You know we're right. We've always supported you one hundred per cent. Now we're asking for something in return. We need you to support us."

Webster took a step towards Palmer. The young detective held his ground. Abruptly, the Vice boss shook his head and diverted to the couch. "Make some coffee, Wilson."

Everyone paused, the silence reinforcing that his words began to hit home.

"Coffee?" Palmer asked.

Webster's shoulders sagged. "If we're gonna stay on this one for a while, you'd better start with coffee. I'm going next door to keep my credibility intact. When I get back, we can decide our next steps."

"That makes sense, boss," Wilson cheekily said. Her broad smile helped her get away with it. "But I'm a cop like the rest of you?"

"So?" Webster snapped.

"Someone else can make coffee."

***

Kelli was angry. Jack had failed to come home last night. Again. Not even a telephone call. He knew she was returning from Edinburgh. After what had happened with Brooke and Max, she wanted to have a clear-the-air conversation with him about their future. 

There were some big decisions to be made.

Maybe it was just as well he'd stayed away? His absence told her everything she needed to know. His work had come first. She didn't want confrontation. Or an argument. But her mind was pretty well made up.

It was time to reaffirm her commitment to Erin. She was the future for her, not Jack. 

Before they left each other last night, the Agency Head arranged for them to have lunch together today. She'd suggested the Cheyne Walk Brasserie. "A wonderful French restaurant with amazing views over the Albert Bridge and the Thames, darling," she'd said. "You'd better get used to it. These are the sort of places that will become normal to you in the future..."

Let me see, she'd thought. Wait at home for a husband who was tied to his job, or indulge in the high life. There really wasn't much of a choice, she'd concluded.

Everything had happened so quickly. She was so fortunate. A week ago, she was nothing more than a hopeful, intent on breaking into a higher level of modelling. Now, she was on the road to supermodel status. Could that be? It was surreal. 

Erin had been as true as her word. The shoot had been wonderful, but even that paled into insignificance compared to the Victoria's Secret fashion show in Milan. 

Erin had told her some of the other models appearing - Roxanne Lopez, Gabrielle Dubois, Amaka, Chanel Iman, Brooke Welles and Noemie Lenoir.

And now... Kelli Palmer!

Curling her feet under her on the couch, her sigh indicated her growing acceptance of the new world opening up to her. It wasn't just the modelling experiences that were turning her life upside down. It was the sex. 

Fortunately, she'd passed out after yesterday's shoot before Max had fucked Brooke. Erin had told her all about it. In detail. Had she not passed out, she'd have let him fuck her, too. She had no doubt. Even a final pang of conscience about her marriage wouldn't have stopped her. Being with another woman was one thing, but fucking an ex porn star! 

That was something she'd just have to try!

Jack's absence last night had made her realise one thing. It was too late for them. God knows where her marriage was heading. She loved him, but the stubborn bastard wouldn't change. His late nights on Vice turned him on much more than she did. They always had. 

That had been the way of things for the previous couple of years. The excitement of their marriage had diminished and they were getting into a rut. She'd just kidded herself otherwise. It was clear to her now – this wasn't what she wanted. She hated their lifestyle and she wanted things to be different. If that was without Jack, so be it.

She picked up the latest copy of Vogue she'd purchased at the airport and glanced at the front cover. Gabrielle Dubois looked sensational. She was a stunning woman, her characteristic coyness coming through in those pale blue eyes. They looked so good with her sassy dark hair. 

One day, she'd be on this cover. It would be her that people envied.

Her eyes regarded the French model's full, pouting lips and immediately, she felt herself grow hot.

God, what on earth was happening to her? Since her first meeting with Erin, she looked at women in a different light. And her encounters with Brooke! She had no idea how fulfilling sex with another woman could be. Her thoughts turned to Erin DeVere. What would the strawberry blonde American look like naked? 

Maybe she'd have time for a quick masturbation session before she left to meet Erin at the restaurant?

***

Webster was accompanied by a youthful looking, dark haired man when he returned. "Tom Burley," he said by way of introduction.

The tall, slender man glanced around, a smile creasing his face. "Morning, all." He winked at Sandra Wilson. "Hello, pet..."

Her face curled as if she'd tasted something sour. "Pet?" 

Burley laughed. "Whey aye, it's a term of endearment in Newcastle."

"I should have known," she smiled. "A Geordie."

"That's reet, hinny."

"Who's this?" Goodwin asked Webster. His gruff voice displayed the irritation he felt. Wilson was his girlfriend.

"Forensics," Webster replied. "Tom and I've known each other a while."

"Aye. Your boss got me out of a real problem a few years ago," Burley added, smiling across at Webster. "Aa'l aalways be in his debt."

"What's he doing here?" Goodwin asked Webster, continuing to ignore the younger, dark haired man.

"A stroke of luck," the Vice boss replied. "Met him next door. He's on the case. Forensics. Briggs has gone back to HQ so Tom's going to fill us in on what he's found."

"You're willing to brief us?" Palmer asked, leaning forward in the leather chair closest to the large window. "Against policy?"

"Aye," Burley agreed. "And aa'm not saying aa'm comfortable doin' it. But as aah said, I owe your boss. Hey, has anyone told you that you look like Superman?"

Palmer sighed. Wilson giggled. Goodwin snorted. It wasn't the cleverest remark knowing Palmer's hatred of the comparison.

"Okay, when you kiddies have finished," Webster cut in, "tell us what you know, Tom."

"And try and tell us in English," Goodwin grunted, his instant dislike threatening to boil over. "I'd like to understand what you have to say."

Burley grinned as he walked across to the leather couch and flopped down beside Sandra Wilson. "Takes a while for you to catch on, eh?" he smiled at Goodwin. "Aalreet, aa'l take it slow."

Ignoring the look the snow haired man shot across his bows, he turned to Wilson and Palmer. "First, the obvious," he said, sitting on the edge of the seat. "The weapon was a shotgun. Sawn off shotgun. Why? Because if you want the shot to spread faster, that's the best way."

He paused, checking for comprehension on the other faces staring at him. Satisfied, he continued. "From the way the victim's hair was burned in places, and some scorched bits of skin embedded in the wall, aa'd say the weapon was fired within three or maybe four feet of her face."

"The point being?" Goodwin was still simmering.

Burley didn't rise to the bait. "If you listen to the recordings you guys gave us, not only were the two shots simultaneous, they overlapped, just by a fraction of a second. They came too close together to be from an automatic, pump or lever action. So it's a sawed-off, double-barrel twelve-gauge shotgun. One that was very effectively silenced."

The four of them looked silently at Burley, considering his analysis. It was Palmer who spoke. "A lupara."

The forensics' man nodded.

"What the hell's a lubara?" Webster asked.

"Not lubara," Palmer corrected. "A lupara. Haven't you seen any Godfather movies, Chief? It's an Italian word for a sawn-off shotgun. Traditionally associated with the Costa Nostra."

"Costa Nostra?" interrupted Goodwin grumpily.

Burley couldn't resist the dig. "For you, Goodwin... the Mafia."

"The classical Mafia execution weapon," Palmer confirmed.

Webster stood up from his position leaning against the mahogany table. He walked halfway across the room and then back again. "You saying this is a Mafia slaying?"

Burley shook his head. "Nah. Aa'm saying it's a similar type of weapon. And aa'm also saying this was a pro at work. No amateur would have a weapon like that."

For a few seconds, silence fell as his words sank in.

"There's one other thing," Burley muttered, pulling a plastic bag from his pocket. Gingerly opening the top, he stood up and headed over to Goodwin. "Smell anything?"

Goodwin looked at the pellets in the bag before pulling it to his nose. "Gunpowder?"

Burley smiled as he walked across to Wilson. "What about you, pet?"

She ignored his grinning eyes and leant forward. "Garlic?"

The dark haired Geordie nodded. "Another Mafia trademark. They sometimes soaked their bullets in garlic, to infect the wound and make it more painful. Never heard of that used in a shotgun though."

"This is some kind of Mafia hit," Webster said, walking across to sniff the bag for himself.

"Could be," Burley replied.

"Or..." Palmer slowly said, his brain ticking over. "It could be the killer's trademark."

Goodwin sat down on the arm the couch. "So this guy could be Italian?"

"Or woman," Wilson suggested, but Palmer shook his head.

"It's a man," he confidently said. "A woman couldn't have pulled the desk across to block the door into the reception lobby. Not as quickly."

Webster nodded. "Anything more?" 

Burley smiled. "This is just supposition, but you can tell from the way the shots hit the wall that the projectile was upwards. The victim is approximately five-ten. My expectation is that the killer didn't shoot from the hip..."

"Because?" Webster interrupted.

"If he had," Burley explained. "The second shot might have hit him under his own chin, ya knaa? My estimation is that he fired with the shotgun either under his armpit or against his shoulder. Aa'd say he's five-seven or five-eight."

Palmer suddenly rose to his feet, sharing the thought that had been whirling around his mind. "He was watching the apartment."

The others looked at him.

He nodded. "He had to be. How else did he know she'd just arrived home? It's too much of a coincidence for him to arrive within such a short time of her arrival back at her apartment." He walked over to the large window and looked out. "There," he said, nodding at the apartment block opposite. "That's where he was."

The others hurried across to join him, looking out towards the apartment complex over the road. 

A cold chill ran through Palmer. He knew it! The bastard had been watching from one of the apartments there. Anger began to seep through him. He'd find and nail the bastard. "It's the same view from here as in Roxanne's... the victim's... apartment. That means he had a clear sight in there." 

"There are only two apartments on each floor that face this way," Sandra Wilson muttered.

"He could be there now, watching us," Goodwin grunted.

Wilson laughed. "No way. What's the betting he's halfway back to Italy?" 




Palmer Ch. 06



"One of those apartments are empty, or the owners are away," Palmer deduced. "Probably the same floor as this, or possibly the one above. I want to take a look over there." 

***

Dominic DeVere needed to see Dennis Price. It was time to introduce himself. Take care of business. Price needed to understand his place in the scheme of things.

The Ming Jiang restaurant was a favourite of his and the private room overlooking Hyde Park was ideal. The beautiful Chinese woman who greeted them looked not a day older than eighteen. They always were young. He made that requirement clear.

She had a tiny flower of a girl's face that worked in perfect harmony with her dusky, Southern Chinese skin and glossy black hair. The form-fitting, yellow mandarin dress was a nice touch, hugging the girl's slender body, yet short enough to show off her shapely thighs.

"Welcome," she smiled, her voice as delicate as her figure, her bow as graceful as the meaning of her name. "I am Nuo and I will take care of you today. You like drink before order lunch?"

DeVere nodded as he removed his shoes. He sat cross-legged. "Dennis?"

"I'd like a bourbon," Price asked, following suit, albeit a little uneasily. This was definitely out of his comfort zone.

"Make that two," the keen eyed entrepreneur told their young host, unable to resist a smile at Price's discomfort. "So Dennis, I'm so pleased to have you on my team."

"Your team?"

"Oh yes," DeVere answered. His face was smiling but his grey eyes weren't. They were observing every movement on Price's tired face. You could tell as much from facial expressions as the words people used. "There are a few things you need to know..."

He paused as Nuo returned, bowing low as she placed the drinks onto the low table in front of the two men.

DeVere smiled up at her, his grey eyes wandering across her young body. "How old are you, Nuo?"

"Eighteen," her melodic voice answered.

"How long have you worked here?"

She bowed, her yellow-blue eyes as attractive as the rest of her face. "Six months. I study at University. This gives me enough money to help my studies."

"Studying what?" Price asked, his overlarge eyes running across the perfect, young body. DeVere didn't miss the look.

"Engleesh. I want to be school teacher back in Shanghai."

"Ambitious," Price responded. "Have..."

DeVere interrupted. "Would you bring the menu's now, Nuo. We need to order." He had just enough time to brief Price before his meeting later that afternoon with Giovanni.

The girl bowed again as she left. "Hai."

"Forgive me for being rude," the grey haired man told Price. "There'll be time enough for Nuo afterwards. For now, let me tell you a story..."

***

They chatted about the forthcoming assignment in Milan over salads. The day was beautiful outside, and their window seats overlooking the Thames were very private. 

"Tell me, Kelli," Erin asked, smiling into the enthralled young model's eyes. "How does all that sound?" She'd painted the most delightful pictures of the runway show, the Italian city, and the parties that went on during and after. She split the last of their second bottle of wine between their glasses. 

Kelli's chest heaved as she'd absorbed every word. Her mind raced, trying to find the suitable words of thanks. "It sounds wonderful. Erin... I can't tell you how much this all means to me. I can't believe how quickly it's all happened."

"That's how I work, darling," the American woman responded. "As if every day could be my last. Life's too short for regrets, don't you think?"

Kelli nodded, flashing her brown eyes at her mentor. She felt so alive, so in tune with life and the beautiful scenery around her. That scenery included Erin, with those high cheekbones and glittering eyes. "You know, Erin," she agreed. "I'm only just beginning to realise that." 

"I worked it out when I was your age," the Agency Head smiled. "And I've never looked back. But tell me, darling, what does your husband think of all this? Excited for you?"

"Ye... yes," the blonde replied, not too convincingly.

"Which means?" Erin asked, picking up on the hesitation.

"It's difficult," Kelli replied a little uneasily, running a finger around the rim of her empty glass. "It's been difficult with Jack and I for a while."

The Agency Head reached across the cleared table and settled her hand on Kelli's. This sounded perfect. "Want to tell, darling?"

The blonde looked across the small table at Erin's sympathetic face. It was easy to see why she'd been a supermodel herself in her youth. She was still devastatingly beautiful, but in an intelligent, mature way that set her apart from the models she managed. 

For a few moments Kelli was quiet, stopping herself for fear of how Erin would react. Would the other woman judge her? She didn't want to sounds like she came with a lot of baggage, but there was also so much on her mind.

She took a deep breath and let it all out. "Different priorities, I guess. I love Jack. But more and more it seems that what he and I want are poles apart. It's crunch time. I feel I have to make a decision. Things can't continue between us as they are."

"Have you sat down and had a heart to heart with him?"

Kelli threw back her wavy, blonde hair and snorted. "How can I? I haven't seen him for a couple of days and he didn't even come home last night. No phone call. No note. Nothing. Chances are, I'll not see him 'til after the Milan fashion show. That's the life I lead, Erin!"

The Agency Head nodded, shared a sympathetic grimace as her thumb stroked the back of the blonde's hand. Kelli appreciated the fact that the American woman didn't cast judgement.

"What do you think, Erin?" she suddenly blurted. "Should I try and make it work. Give up what I'm so close to achieving to be a good cop's wife?"

A cop? That was interesting. The older woman shrugged as she ran her other hand through her short, glossy strawberry blonde hair. "That's not for me to say. I'd never even begin to offer advice," she lied. "But a couple of things occur to me."

She watched the tears build behind Kelli's eyes. The young model's eagerness for guidance was obvious. Tell her what she wants to hear. 

"Well, darling. First, it seems to me like you've been trying to patch things up for some time. Has Jack met you halfway?"

The blonde's eyes dropped to the table as she shook her head. She sniffed, but held back the tears. She wasn't going to cry. Not here.

Erin squeezed the girl's hand, reaching over to tip her chin up. The women locked gazes. "Second, I do believe that life is too short, Kelli. Seize the moment. You're on the verge of modelling stardom. On the back of your own ability. It's not right that you should have to give that up, darling."

Kelli took a deep breath, nodding. "You're damn right," she snapped, banging her empty glass on the table. She coloured when she realised the vehemence of her reaction and both women laughed. "It's all down to you, Erin. I'll always be in your debt. I'll never know how to repay you. "

"I do, darling," Erin retorted, her piercing blue eyes burning into Kelli's soul. "Are you into massage?"

***

The meal was sumptuous. Dennis Price loved Chinese food. He also loved his battered pipe. When DeVere had Nuo bring and light him a cigar, the professor held out the pipe. Quite why he should look for approval, he was unsure. But he did.

When DeVere nodded, he stuffed tobacco into the pipe and lit it, allowing the smoke to fuse with that from the large, Havana cigar.

"From what I hear, you've made a big difference already," DeVere told Price. "Got Jack Donaldson to back off. That's impressive." 

He allowed a large smoke ring to rotate towards the ceiling as he sipped the expensive wine. "And, Dennis, so there's no ambiguity, I understand it's a place in the public eye you want as your reward. But let's be more specific. Exactly what?"

The professor took his time, pretending to push down the ash from his pipe. It was better to be direct, he eventually decided. No point in beating around the bush with a man like DeVere. "A safe seat that will get me elected," he said, his voice monotone. "And then Party Chairman."

DeVere smiled. "Not much to ask, Dennis..."

"I'll deliver in return," Price responded. His voice was matter of fact. It was a statement of intention, not an empty boast.

"Oh, I know you will," DeVere said, flashing one of those smiles. A smile full of authority. Full of, 'or else'.

Price nodded. He didn't want to come over as deferential to the man opposite, but after everything DeVere had positioned with him over lunch, he was well aware he couldn't afford to get on his wrong side.

"Well," the hunch-backed man eventually said, searching for the right words, "It seems like you've been doing well enough without me. Maybe I can just help with that final push..."

"Final push and beyond," DeVere smiled. "Labour is so far behind in the polls that we'll need every single edge to keep George in power for a second term. You'll have a big part to play in that. So will I."

"I won't let anyone down."

"Oh, I know," DeVere smiled, allowing another smoke ring to leave his lips. He stubbed out the barely half smoked cigar in the ashtray. "I must leave shortly, Dennis. Anything you'd like to ask before I go? Anything unclear?"

"Nothing's unclear," Price answered. "You've set out the position very well, Dominic. I understand perfectly. But, I'm curious - tell me what attracted you to George Blair in the first place."

DeVere paused, swilling the wine around his mouth before swallowing. It was as if he was debating whether to deign to answer. "That's a fair question," he eventually said. "His passion. And his drive. I wanted to back a winner. He has that combination of qualities that'll make him a success. All he needed was a little help."

"That's where you came in?" Price asked, nibbling on his pipe.

DeVere nodded, but that was all. He had a way of looking at a person when he disliked being questioned. He threw back a question of his own. "And your first impressions, Dennis. Looking inwardly. You're getting to know George Blair. Is there anything you can see getting in our way?"

Price thoughtfully tapped the dying ashes out of his pipe into the cigar filled ashtray. If DeVere wasn't interested in saying anything more about himself, he wasn't going to push it.

"For this to succeed, for all of us, there is only one thing I need to know," he murmured, taking a long sip from the glass in front of him. "Is he clean, Dominic? Is there anything that can be pinned on him? Ruin our efforts?"

"Is anybody ever that clean," DeVere evasively responded, wiping away the image of Roxanne that immediately appeared in his mind. "But, yes, Dennis, there's nothing I believe anyone can pin on George. He'll stand up to scrutiny."

Price could tell from the tone that there was some sort of story in there. He was sensible enough not to ask. "That's good. And his wife is supportive? And just as clean."

DeVere actually laughed. This time it was a softer noise, almost one of relief. "No problems there."

"Okay, Dominic," Price nodded. "On that basis, I can guarantee you I can guide George to becoming Prime Minister. And almost guarantee I can keep him in great shape for another four years after that."

"Guarantee is a strong word, Dennis."

"I know," the professor replied. "But just like you, I'm confident in my abilities. I'm the best in my field, Dominic." It was simply a statement of fact.

"I know that, Dennis," the grey haired man responded, pushing a hand through his crew cut. "That's why I recommended you."

Price's eyebrows shot up. "You?"

"Of course. George needs the right men working with him. I know the people I want on our side. My side. I had you checked out, Dennis, and you didn't disappoint." He smiled at Price, one of those stares that confirmed he knew something. 

Price nodded uneasily. 

DeVere could tell the thoughts going round in his mind as if reading a book. Had him checked out? What had he found? The nervous grin that creased the edges of Price's plump face was justified. 

"Well, I guess that's that," the professor said, holding up his glass as he tried to bring that particular conversation to a close. 

The crew-cut man shook his head. "I don't think so, Dennis. Do you? There's one other thing."

The colour drained from the professor's face. He knew what was coming, but how did Dominic? He'd been so careful. 

"I can't have anyone on the team who will damage our chances."

"Why would you think..."

DeVere clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Dennis!" His voice was severe. "Please. I told you that I checked you out. Never lie to me. And never hide anything from me. No secrets, Dennis."

Price's face became paler by the second.

"You aren't married, Dennis. Maybe that's why you have a need for prostitutes? I hope you understand – that could kill us! You think you could be Chairman of the Labour party on that basis? I don't think so!"

His hand stopped Price from responding.

"Two things, Dennis. First, you keep nothing from me. Never! Second, no more prostitutes. Am I clear?" 

Price stared at his inquisitor. How the hell had he found out about... How dare he speak to him in that way? Then he realised that DeVere was talking again. 

"In return for that commitment, Dennis, I'll ensure your needs are met. In a safe environment. One that can't harm us."

The professor understood the first part of the message. That was loud and clear. Don't fuck with me. But there was one thing he wasn't sure about. "How?"

DeVere didn't speak. Instead, he clapped his hands. When Nuo re-entered the room, everything made sense.

***

It had taken until early afternoon for Webster to pull the necessary strings. Palmer was right; one of the two apartments on the same floor opposite was empty. But the owners of the other were on holiday. If his theory was correct, either apartment could be the one used by the killer. 

Somehow, Burley had swung some time away from base and returned to accompany Palmer to the complex. Whatever jam Webster had helped the Geordie out of, it must have been pretty serious.

In the apartment of the holidaying couple, Palmer and Burley found nothing but a pair of bruised knees. The forensics man had been exceptionally thorough, checking every item in every room. It took a good hour.

"Let's hope we have better luck in this one," Burley groaned to Palmer as they headed to the empty apartment.

"We will," the wavy haired detective responded, his jaw set in determination. "I can feel it in my water."

***

"What?" Goodwin asked. The puzzled expression on his face conveyed his bemusement.

"We can't," Sandra Wilson told him.

"Can't? They'll be away a good couple of hours at least. Webster's back at the office." He reached for her again. "Why can't we finish what we started earlier?"

Wilson pulled away, a shudder running through her body. Death always affected her this way. "Alex, a woman's just been killed. A woman at the centre of our case. Murdered."

"Yes, but..."

"God, Alex! Are all men this insensitive? We were fucking when she was shot, for goodness sake. On duty! We should have been paying attention to what was going on!"

His bemusement left him, replaced by a look of denial. "Now, wait a minute, Sandra. Are you implying we could have saved her life? Or were in some way responsible? That's bullshit!"

The dark haired detective pulled away again when he tried to hug her. Turning her back, she walked across to the window and stared at the apartments opposite. "I don't know, Alex. I just don't know. All I know was that we were fucking on duty. And a woman is dead."

"But..."

She swung back, her eyes blazing now. "For goodness sake, Alex! I... don't... want... to... fuck!" Walking across to the table, she picked up her bag and headed for the door.

"Sandra..."

"I'm going for a smoke," she shot back over her shoulder.

Goodwin's bemused look reappeared. Women!

***

Dennis Price sat transfixed as the eighteen-year-old Chinese beauty raised her hands to the button at the top of her yellow, mandarin dress. With a flick, she popped the collar open and slipped her fingers into the fold. The rest of the dress opened smoothly, pooling in shimmering silk at her feet. The naked girl bowed as she kicked it away.

Dominic DeVere smiled. He knew only to well how to ensure loyalty. Find a man's weak spot and use it. "Well, I'll leave you to it," he muttered, patronisingly patting the spin-doctor on his shoulder. "I have business to see to. Nice meeting you, professor."

Slipping his shoes on, he made his way to the door.

Price watched him go before his overlarge eyes swung back to the young girl. They were devouring her nakedness even as she floated across the short distance towards him. 

"You like?" Nuo politely asked. She ran her hands across her nakedness, caressing skin that shimmered like satin. She let him to feast on her nakedness. He may have been the most unattractive man she'd been paid to fuck, but money was money. And fucking was fucking.

His eyes covered every inch of her body, unsure of what to focus on. Her small, perky breasts had little dark nipples high on their slopes. They went well with her narrow, girlish hips and small, smooth mound. 

When he licked his lips, she nodded. You're going to enjoy this, her eyes said. She was very good at what she did.

Her soft hand on his shoulder prevented him from rising from his kneeling position on the floor. Stepping across his lap, she took his head in both hands and pulled it to her dewy sex. "You prepare Nuo," she explained.

Price understood. His tongue flicked out. Her skin smelled like jasmine. She tasted sweet. 

"Hai," she moaned, her fingers caressing his thick, black hair. He may have been ugly, but he was good. She allowed him to lap at her for half a minute before her fingers gently pulled his head away. 

"Nuo ready," she told him. With a shake of his head, he jammed it back against her. He'd had a taste and wanted more. "Nuo ready," she told him again. This time her soft voice was more of a growl.

Price licked the smooth pussy faster, changing the pace, finding her growing clit. He'd make her cum before he fucked her. 

"Hai! Hai!" This was wrong. She was trained in the art of giving pleasure, not receiving. She was paid to give. But this was so good. Her legs widened. She crouched further. Her hands pulled him tighter. 

He circled her clit with his tongue. Faster and faster. She raced to the edge. Her hips bucked against his head. Her juices covered his face. When he sucked on her little bud, she squealed like a chipmunk and erupted.

***

They entered the same way. Burley's experienced hands picked open the door and Palmer burst in, Kel-Tec .380 in hand. The young detective's heart was always in his mouth at times like this. Even though the odds of the killer staying around were infinitesimal, he never quite knew.

Palmer stayed low, hurrying from room to room. Only when he'd confirmed it was safe did he allow Burley inside.

The Geordie slipped on his surgical gloves for the second time that afternoon, slowly and methodically moving from room to room. Without furniture, it took no time, but the results were the same. Not a single fingerprint to be found.

"Try the area beside the two windows," Palmer irritably snapped. "There's got to be something there, somewhere."

"Nee problem," Burley smiled. "Patience, Grasshopper. If there's owt to be found, aa'l find it."

Shaking his head, Palmer wandered around the apartment. Checking. Double-checking. Nothing. Each time the forensics man took a scraping or sample, he was at Burley's side. "What've you found?"




Palmer Ch. 06



"All in good time, ya knaa," the Geordie kept saying, working on until he had something to share. Eventually, he signalled to the young detective. 

"What?" Palmer asked, feeling his chest tighten.

Burley held up a plastic bag. It contained a small, oblong, red pill. "Found it on the windowsill. Recognise it?" he asked.

"A red devil?" 

"Could well be," Burley nodded. "Could well be! Someone's had a drink from one of the plastic cups in the kitchen, too. Tried to disguise it. No prints, but someone's been here." 

The pace of Palmer breathing increased. He knew it! "He was here, I feel it in my bones. And look at the view. With binoculars, you can see everything in Roxanne's apartment." Somehow he couldn't bring himself to say 'the victim'. 

Burley nodded. "You're right. We're dealing with a pro here, Jack. Covered his tracks really well."

"Any fingerprints?"

The gloomy shake of Burley's head gave him an answer he didn't want to hear. "Gloves. Probably similar to mine. He's good."

The two men stared silently at one another, both searching their minds for something. Anything! 

"Tell you what," the dark haired Geordie eventually said, a final thought arriving from somewhere. "Let me check."

He was grinning when he returned five minutes later. "Who's a genius?" 

The look on Palmer's face told him the wavy haired detective wasn't in the mood to play games. "Okay, genius, spill the beans."

"I thought of one final place to take a fingerprint. No one likes to use gloves when they take a leak."

***

Nuo kissed Price. A short kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. It was the first time she'd ever kissed a client. But a client had never given her oral before. Kneeling beside him, her small hands unzipped his slacks and reached inside his boxers. He was already hard.

"We fuck now," she told him, straddling his lap. If his cock were as good as his tongue, this would be more pleasurable than usual.

"You don't have to use that accent with me," he said, surprising her with his perception. Most of her clients liked the 'frail Chinese girl with the broken English.' Most had no idea she'd grown up in London; had lived here since she was two.

She smiled at him as she adjusted her hips, her hand leading his hardness to its new home. She placed the crown inside and paused, allowing him to get used to her tightness. Then she eased down again, inch by inch, until the hunched man completely filled her. 

"You like that?" she asked, her broken English gone. She leant backwards, allowing his eyes to sweep down to their union. Her small pussy lips stretched around his girth, pulling each time she rose up off of him.

Before he could answer, her young muscles began to flex and gyrate. Her small, perky breasts moved softly with each downward thrust. Ripples on the sea. 

Price moaned beneath her, his eyes closing at her wonderful tightness. She fucked better than any girl he'd ever been with. The way she clutched with her inner muscles as she gyrated over him produced sensations he'd never felt. Even with the most experienced prostitute. 

With excruciating slowness, she took him on a journey. Every circular rotation built up the pace, her hands locked behind her as she leant backwards for better penetration. "Yes... yes... yes!"

Watching his face, listening to his moans, the Chinese teenager played him like a musical production. A concerto. She took him towards his nirvana, and just as he was about to blow, she turned the heat down to simmering point. She kept him there for longer than he thought possible. 

Price whimpered, unable to take any more. "Too much, Mr. Price?" she teased, leaning across him to caress his face. She squeezed the cock between her legs with the walls of her sex. It was time for the final act.

She went from a lazy jog to a frantic sprint. Her chanting continued. "Yes... yes... yes!" Each bounce against the root of his cock was designed to drive him towards journey's end. His face stared up at her, pleading. Wondering if this was another tease, or was the relief he craved about to be granted. 

Her melodic voice gave him his answer. "You want to cum now, Mr. Price?"

His groan answered for him.

She pulled forward against him and gave three separate, long, licks along one side of his neck, then the other. He groaned again as she rose above him. Only the very tip of his cock remained inside her incredibly tight pussy. With a teasing smile, she plunged down one last time.

It was like slipping through liquid pleasure. Her internal muscles rippled around him as he bottomed out. It was enough. "Cum in Nuo, my lover. Now!" 

Her movements stopped as he began to jolt. The teenage seductress held his jerking body tightly against her. Soft hands cradled him as he began to unleash his load of Quasimodo man-juice into her sucking body.

She loved the way a man jerked inside her. This one couldn't stop. She was a succubus, her clenching muscles extracting every single last drop until his body felt empty, drained. 

One hand kept his head against her neck while the other reached behind her. Popping the coloured pill into his mouth, she helped him wash it down with an unfinished glass of wine. 

"Good, Mr. Price," she smiled, like a schoolteacher talking to a pupil. "Soon you'll be ready to fuck Nuo again..."

***

"Ciao, Mr. Devere. We have to stop meeting like this," Marco Giovanni joked as he entered the windowed capsule. He didn't joke often. "Or at least, come up with some other venue."

"The London Eye serves our purpose very well," his employer snapped, dropping down onto the benchlike seat. "Successful?" he asked.

Giovanni snorted, running a hand across his baldhead. "When have I ever given you cause for complaint? Mission accomplished. Like clockwork."

DeVere didn't speak. He just nodded. Was that a feeling of melancholy he felt in his stomach, or just relief?

"You told me she was a hooker?"

DeVere looked across at the Italian. For someone who was always smartly dressed, he looked a little scruffy. Maybe it was just that he needed a shave. 

"A high class hooker," he answered.

"Whatever," the bald assasin grunted. "Who else can connect you to her? Other than Blair."

DeVere shot him a puzzled look. "I don't understand."

Giovanni laughed. "Really? A man as clever as you? Your wife knows. You two never did have any secrets. But who else? Who set up liaisons between her and the guys you introduced her to. Who knew about them? Apart from you."

"No one else knew."

"No one else knew," the Italian mimicked. "With respect, that's not true, Mr. DeVere. What about Bannerman?"

"Bannerman? What do you know about Bannerman?" This man was more dangerous than he thought.

"I know he does what you ask, when you ask. The point is, he knows about you. And he knows about her. And he'll know she's been wasted. That means he knows about me. You'll have told him that. All it takes is one slip of his mouth..."

DeVere sighed softly. "I can trust Bannerman with my life."

"Really?" the assassin laughed. "Believe me, Mr. DeVere, I've seen plenty of so called loyal people spill the beans. Very loyal people—"

The crew-cutted man suddenly stood up, feeling uncomfortable. He wandered in a circle around the pod. "I told you, Bannerman's loyal." 

Harry Bannerman knew about most of his dealings. He was heavily involved in most of them. He had no doubts about his devotion.

"Think about it," Giovanni continued. "Bannerman talks, they find you. You talk, they find me. Better to take care of loose ends, Mr. DeVere."

"A little melodramatic," DeVere responded. "I've told you, Bannerman is trustworthy. Neither of us have a problem with him."

The Italian shrugged his shoulders. "Your call, Mr.DeVere. But I'm a professional, and I know when I'm at risk. And if I am, you are, too."

"Let's get one thing straight," DeVere snapped. "You work for me. That's the end of this conversation. Understand?"

The assassin stood up, leaning back against the glass window as he stared at the powerful man sitting across from him.

"Okay, Mr. DeVere. I understand. We're not too different, you know. You get your rocks off thinking about the people you control. Thinking about your money. Your women. Well, I've got power, too." He held up his hand. "My power is in this finger here. My trigger finger. I hold the vote, you see. Do they die or not?"

DeVere watched the assassin's eyes dance with delight. One thought hammered at the back of his mind. This bastard was getting way too far above his station.

"I get off on it, too," he continued. "But the point is, this Lopez broad had to be iced. I did that for you, so I've got an interest in this now. I want you to think carefully about Bannerman."

DeVere felt a knot in his stomach. Giovanni wouldn't let up. 

The cold smile was still there, but the voice had gone deadly serious. "I'm the one that does the dirty, Mr, DeVere, not you. Besides, there was a cop on the premises when I burned the woman..."

"A cop?" DeVere's voice was almost a shriek.

"No big deal. He just happened to be there, I don't know why. Nearly got the drop on me, too..."

"It was the security guard..." DeVere suggested.

"Nah, it was a cop. I took care of the security guard."

"You took care... what the FUCK do you mean, you took care? You told me this went like clockwork."

"I knocked out the guard. He didn't see me. The cop chased me but didn't see me either. And I iced the girl, as you asked." 

Giovanni's voice had an edge to it, enough to make the businessman back off. But that didn't stop the worms crawling around his stomach. Things were getting out of hand.

***

"Mmm... enjoying yourself?" Erin's lazy voice asked.

"Absolutely. A girl could get spoiled," Kelli replied, glancing over at her mentor and new boss from the massage table. "I can't believe you had a massage parlour installed in your home?"

The two women were naked but for a plush, white towel over their derriere's, their bodies slathered in oil as a pair of masseuses worked them over. 

"Darling, this is what it means to make it. If I see something I want, I get it. Why go out for these luxuries when I can get them here, at home?"

Kelli's masseuse, Adrianna, had wonderful hands, although judging from the cooes and sighs coming from Erin for the past hour, her twin sister, Rosalia, was just as talented.

The twins, with their dark hair—loose and long—and their olive skin, were as beautiful as any of the people Erin associated herself with. They wore matching, skin-tight jumpsuits over their hourglass bodies. Kelli had found herself looking down the unzipped front of Adrianna's more than once, wondering what the girl's breasts looked like naked. It wasn't a thought she'd ever had before meeting Erin, but now...

"Tell me, my dear, do you like this lifestyle?" Erin asked, noticing the way the blonde's eyes kept dipping to the masseuse's chest.

"Yes!" Kelli practically cried. "I never dreamed..."

"That this could be you?" the American woman finished. She nodded at the twins to finish up. Phase two was about to start. "What do you like, specifically?"

The blonde took a moment to think about it. Truth was, she liked it all. She liked feeling pampered, feeling special. She said as much, adding, "I feel like a celebrity."

Her host nodded. "You will be one. Soon. And everything that comes with being a celebrity. Money, luxury, exclusive parties, illegal drugs. Beautiful things and... beautiful people." As Rosalia started to pack up her oils, Erin propped her head up on an elbow, baring her small, perky tits to the girl who'd been sneaking looks all afternoon. "Whatever you want, you'll be able to have."

Erin's body shivered as she watched the entranced girl fight the urge to look at her tits. Urge won out in the end, and the Agency Head's nipples grew hard as Kelli's reward. "I like that," Kelli said hypnotically.

"Would you like to see Adrianna and Rosalia kiss?" Erin asked quietly.

The blonde's soft brown eyes grew wide. She glanced away from Erin's chest, meeting her eyes to see if she was being played with. Then she glanced at the Italian sisters, who'd stopped packing and were sexily staring at one another.

Erin had always wanted to see the taboo act, although she'd never had a good reason to have them both in one place. Individually, she'd fucked them both. Now, she delighted in the power she flexed over the three other women in the room. The twins knew their place; knew that Erin DeVere wasn't denied a thing. Their fate was in the arms of the wide-eyed blonde.

"Yes," she nervously confessed, barely audible to anyone in the room.

Erin looked at the twin masseuses with a wide, devilish smile. "So would I," she purred.

Rosa set the bottle of oil into her bag. Her hand shook as she glanced over at her sister through long, dark lashes. Adrianna stared sultrily back at her. This wasn't the first time the sisters had 'performed' for others. But it was their first in front of two women.

As she approached her sister, her body went from paralyzed to hot. More than bothered. Her sister was beautiful – so similar to herself. Erin was giving them permission to do what they did so well. The audience simply enhanced the sexuality...

Kelli couldn't believe what she was seeing. She turned onto her back, not caring that she was suddenly fully exposed. She watched the two voluptuous sisters sensually draw their lips against one another as their arms encircled their bodies.

"More," Erin encouraged, the voice of temptation, just out of sight. She said what Kelli wanted.

The twins melted into one another, their full lips becoming one as tongues and spit joined in their incestual kiss. It was beautiful. "You did this," Erin whispered into Kelli's ear. The woman had silently left her massage table and moved just behind the blonde. "You wanted them to kiss, and now they're kissing. Want to watch them fuck?"

While Kelli's eyes were on the kissing sisters, Erin's couldn't get enough of the blonde's naked body. She watched the girl's chest rise and fall, those sharp nipples screaming high on her full breasts. When she said the word "fuck," Kelli opened her legs wider than they already were. Erin's mouth watered as her young protégé's smooth pussy lips bloomed before her eyes.

Adrianna and Rosalia broke their kiss, identical faces turning to look at Kelli. Waiting for an order. The rush that hit Kelli was as strong as her first hit of coke, or the first time she'd kissed a boy. They were waiting for her instructions. All she had to do is say the word...

"Do it," she hissed. Adrianna and Rosalia's eyes lit up with desire. As Rosa's mouth closed over her sister's once again, Kelli came. It was all too much for her. All too fucking much!

Erin watched the blonde climax and couldn't take it anymore. She dipped her head in and kissed the blonde softly. She was met with heavy breathing that escalated into an uncontrollable moan. It was better than she could have hoped for. Reaching down, she cupped the blonde's tits in either hand. They were as soft as she'd imagined. Her caresses alternated between kneading the full, round swells and pulling on the thick, pink nipples.

She pinched Kelli's nipples and was rewarded with a moan into her mouth. Breaking her kiss, she whispered into the girl's ear, "Look at them. Look at your desires made reality."

Rosalina slowly zipped the front of her sister's jumpsuit down to her navel. Adrianna arched her back, biting the fullness of her lower lip as her sister slipped her hands in around her waist. They kissed again as Rosa pushed the outfit open. It flopped around the other woman's full hips before Rosa pushed it down her legs.

Watching the twins strip one another was surreal. Like watching a mirror come to life before their eyes. Adrianna wore a black bra and thong of expensive, Italian lace. Her sister was naked beneath her jumpsuit.

"Sexy, aren't they?" Erin asked, still behind the blonde as the innocent came down from her orgasm. The Agency Head looked down into the girl's dazed, brown eyes. Her face was a picture of lust. Arousal. Wantonness. Erin's hand dropped between the blonde's parted thighs. 

"Watch them, darling," she teased.

Her American voice was drowned in the adrenalin surge that had hit Kelli. She felt the engine inside her throbbed with arousal. Her legs widened.

Rosalina led her willing sister to the empty massage table. Naked, the sisters were practically indistinguishable. Same large breasts. Same deep olive skin. Same lean, shapely legs. The only different was that where Adrianna had a narrow landing strip above her plump pussy, Rosalina was shaved clean.

Adrianna crawled onto the table first, as if by some unspoken communication. Her sister crawled in between her legs. Closing her eyes, Adrianna let her sister take her into ecstasy. She tipped her head to the side, letting her long, dark hair ripple off her right shoulder.

Erin glanced back at the wide-eyed beauty beside her. Her long, honey-blonde hair went so well with her all over tan, and those sparkling brown eyes gave her the look of classy sophistication. The Agency Head was going to enjoy this.

Her fingers strayed across the blonde's smooth labial lips, her eyes carefully hunting down every reaction. When one finger, then a second, slid inside the sweet wetness, it was like sparking off an electrical current. 

Kelli's body jumped and jerked. She purred like a cat. Her fingers reached out to grasp empty air. She closed her eyes, shutting out the lurid sight of the Italian sisters. Her face twisted as Erin played her like an instrument. "GAH!" she moaned, opening her legs wider for better access. 

When Erin's thumb ran across her clit, the blonde gave a long, tortured moan. Her ass lifted from the massage table. She leaned back hard into Erin, humping her hand. Slowly, then faster. 

The older woman smiled. "That's it, darling." 

On the other table, Rosalina's skilled tongue had her sister on the brink of an orgasm. Her head was bobbing as she raced Adrianna to the finish line. Erin felt her own orgasm grow, but knew there was plenty of time for her needs later.

"Ugh..." Kelli groaned, humping even harder. She was unable to stop herself. The pressure was building. Nearly there! 

Erin recognised the signs. Her head snaked down to lick the length of her captive's exposed neck. She climbed around on the table until she was facing the blonde, her oily body resting between her legs. She kissed down Kelli's cleavage and drew a thick nipple into her mouth. It was like setting off a time bomb. 

"Oh, fuck!" Kelli cried. 

"AH, DIOS!" Adrianna's husky voice echoed Kelli's, their orgasms chaining together and filling the room with shrill, pleasure-filled groans.

***

As he drove Wilson and Goodwin back to the office, Palmer's mind was all over the place. Something was up here. The case just got deeper and deeper. There wasn't a chance in hell he was going to leave things to Briggs.

On top of that, he was unable to rid himself of the feeling of guilt, no matter how much he tried. Somehow he should have been able to stop this from happening. Anticipate what was going on. Protect her. Somehow...

What about Kelli? a nagging voice kept asking. He'd rung home at lunchtime and left a message – something he knew he should have done the night before. Things were snowballing. His life was a disaster. 

Somehow, he'd have to make it up to her. He hadn't seen, or spoken to Kelli for a couple of days. He knew how she felt about his long hours, yet he couldn't let it go. He had to follow this case through. Whatever it took.

Guilt, mystery, marriage, duty... they were pulling him left and right. One day, he'd explain it to her. Hopefully she'd understand. But right now, he had to keep moving forward. Keep puzzling out Roxanne's case as it twisted and turned with each new clue. Maybe at the end, he'd free himself of his guilt?




Palmer Ch. 06



For now, he had an appointment to keep. The four of them, plus Taffy Boyd and Tom Burley, needed to talk through their findings and agree on next steps. Tonight would be a long night. Another one. 

***

When Kelli eventually opened her eyes, Erin held up her honey-juiced hand and fed the blonde her own syrup. "Lick, darling," she throatily told the still panting woman. "Taste yourself."

Slowly and deliberately, Kelli responded. At first, she tentatively licked, but then with Erin's eyes fixed on her, she put on a gratuitous show. She sucked each finger as if it was a cock, enjoying the opportunity to tease the older woman. 

"Mmm... you little minx. And you say you've never been with a woman, darling? Not even at University?"

Kelli slowly shook her head, pulling a face as Erin drew her hand away. "I didn't go to University. And no, I've never been with a woman."

"Neither had Adrianna," Erin said. They turned to watch the twins swap places. The sultry sister looked over her shoulder at the mention of her name. Kelli saw herself in the Italian's dark eyes. But then, she looked beyond Adrianna's classically beautiful face at her sister's smooth mound and shivered. "So Brooke was the first woman to taste you?" continued the Agency Head.

Kelli nodded. She watched as Adrianna dipped her head between Rosalina's thighs, the masseuse's long, pink tongue sensually running across her sister's opening.

Erin leaned close, whispering into her ear, "Never experimented by going down on a woman?"

Watching one brunette do the other, Kelli suddenly felt ashamed. As if a failure to enjoy the pleasures of a woman somehow detracted from her very psyche. "Never," she croaked.

"That's perfect, darling," Erin continued, planting a soft kiss on the blonde's full lips. "I'll be your first."

Kelli hesitated for a moment as the American woman continued to nuzzle her neck. Her brain, cloudy from all the sex, was slowly taking in the words. She nodded, the lust in her eyes remaining as bright as ever. "Yes... Please..." 

Erin shivered in anticipation. She'd imagined this for some time. Now the moment had arrived. Turning onto her back, she spread herself on the massage table, pulling their discarded towels together behind her head. She wanted to watch. To see it all. All the naked flesh. The twins. But most of all, she wanted to watch the young woman pay homage to her woman. 

Her legs spread wide. The message was clear. Now!

Kelli licked her lips, taking in the glory of Erin's naked body for the first time. Hard from hours at the gym, she was in great shape for a thirty-eight-year-old. Every toned inch of her was tanned, from her small, firm tits to the compact folds of her pussy.

Her pussy. Kelli stared at it. She had a thin band of hair above her perfect labia, swollen and ready for her virgin lover. 

Her sparkling brown eyes looked up at the older woman. Erin stared back, watching every move. She heard the Italian sisters groan behind her. Both of them. Identical groans. She wanted that. She'd made it happen. Now, she wanted this.

Confidence and desire ran through the young blonde. This was her first step to repay the Agency Head. The first chance to prove herself. The classy former supermodel had a body made to fuck. Now it was hers to sample. 

Still holding the piercing stare, Kelli lowered her face to the near clean-shaven mound. She could smell the arousal. Her tongue willingly slipped out, taking a hesitant, virgin touch. 

"Your first taste of a woman." Erin's voice was more of a growl. "One you'll never forget..."

Her eyes narrowed in arousal as Kelli's hard tongue lapped across her wet sex. The previously innocent girl's technique may have left a little to be desired, but her eagerness to please more than made up.

The voluptuous pair of masseuses had shifted into a sixty-nine position. They were now lost in their own pleasuring, forgetting their audience in their lustful need.

Kelli tentatively ran her tongue gently along the moaning woman's wetness. She was as sweet and tangy as her scent. Her doubts evaporated like the heat off her body. Erin raised her hips, her fingers threading through Kelli's silky hair. The blonde became bolder. Hardening her tongue, she attacked the unknown territory, trying to recall and replicate all the times she'd been pleasured in the past. 

"Higher," Erin croaked, tugging Kelli's head a fraction upwards.

The blonde glanced up for a brief second and then understood. Her mouth sought out the slippery clitoris. Took it between her lips. She felt her own pussy grow wet. Erin's clutching fingers dug into her hair. She liked it. She needed it. 

Encouraged, she picked up the pace. Her mouth licked, sucked, and teased the older woman. Twisting slightly, her hands went to Erin's apple-shaped breasts, pulling on her hard nipples as the American woman began to thrust back in rhythm with the flicking tongue.

Overwhelmed, she began to lick with an increasing ardour. Her mind was consumed by her need to take her lover to orgasm. Somehow along the way, she'd turned from novice to expert. At first, she allowed the hands in her hair to guide her. Suckle the swollen clit. Lap along the slippery folds.

Then, she took control. She forced her tongue so deep inside the now undulating woman that she found herself breathing moisture through her nose. It sent waves of arousal directly to the pleasure centres of her brain. It was like the rush of cocaine, only now, she was sober. 

"Nearly there," Erin groaned, a thin film of perspiration glossing her thighs as her body began to quiver.

The blonde dropped her hands to grip under the older woman's perfect buttocks. She felt her lover's muscles shift in her palms. The increased leverage helped her probe more deeply.

"Don't stop—" the American woman was urging, squeezing Kelli's tongue with her experienced muscles.

Erin's voice was hoarse. Unsteady. She felt feverish. Glancing across from her, the Italian twins were on the brink of their own mutual orgasm. Their shapely, tanned bodies surged and slithered in time with their moans. Erin's breath caught. She stroked the blonde locks between her legs as they raced to the finishing line. Who was in control here? Teacher or pupil?

Then the older woman's body stiffened. She began to pant. Short, sharp breaths. Her body began to shake, at first barely noticeable. It grew. Faster and faster, it grew. She jerked up, forcing more of her sex into the girl's sweet face. She shoved Kelli down between her legs. "Darlingggggggggg........."

Her cry was like that of an animal in the wild.

Erin's loud orgasm sent Kelli over the edge, too. Smothered by the Agency Head's quivering pussy, she nearly blacked out. When she was able to clear her head and regain her bearings, the twin masseuses were getting dressed and Erin was propped like a queen on the massage table, regarding her subjects.

Kelli was suddenly unsure of what was expected of her. Was she supposed to leave, too? 

"You did well, darling," Erin said, holding her hand out to the blonde. Kelli crawled over to her teacher, unsure if her legs would support her. "This is just the beginning. You can have anything you want. All you need to do is ask."

"I... I want you..." Kelli said. Her bashfulness, even after all she'd done, was like an aphrodisiac for Erin.

"We have all afternoon," she winked, kissing her softly on the lips. "But first, go and thank Adrianna and Rosalina. They really are good at the art of massage, don't you think?" She chuckled.

Kelli kissed the sisters goodbye, Rosalina first, then the sultry looking Adrianna. She could taste pussy on their tongues. Their own pussy. The blonde felt her nipples harden at the memory of their erotic incest.

"Thank you," she said to each one in turn.

"Ciao, bella," Rosalina winked. 

"Now," Erin said, finally standing to her feet. "Let me show you my bedroom."



Palmer Ch. 07



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 7: The Search

The team meeting had been short. Fitting everyone into Webster's cramped office had been a challenge, so the brevity was fine by everyone. After what Webster referred to as a "focused briefing," he'd quickly summed up the next steps.

Tom Burley from Forensics was going to follow through on the fingerprint. Then check the content of the red pills. Success with one would give them the name of the assassin. The other might provide a clue to his whereabouts.

Taffy Boyd would work on the tapes to see whether anything of interest could be found. By eliminating the background noise, they might find the name of her trick, perhaps even recognise his voice. Anything would help, though the relevance remained to be seen.

Palmer, Goodwin and Wilson were to follow up with any informants that might help. Find out the word on the street.

"Keep it between us," Webster had emphasised over the dirty brim of his luke warm coffee. "If Homicide gets wind we're asking questions, all hell'll break loose. We couldn't afford that and, more importantly, I couldn't afford that."

Tomorrow morning, they'd reconvene to discuss their findings.

Taffy appreciated the lift Palmer gave him back to his base in Narcotics. Although Chilton, his boss, was on holiday, too long away from his desk would arouse suspicion. Especially with Willie Dixon on duty tonight. The old time Sergeant had a way of nosing things out. 

The Welshman would continue his work with the tapes at his own desk, and would immediately feed in anything of interest that came to light.

As he drove through the dark, Palmer's mind was assaulted by all his demons. He'd phoned Kelli three times today and she hadn't answered. He hoped this wasn't a sign of things to come. The modelling job was wonderful, but it was easy to get caught up in that sort of thing.

He knew he should have been more concerned about their relationship. He knew she was frustrated by his long hours and that the time he was spending on this case would only frustrate her more. He knew it, but he also knew that this was his job. 

Worse, this case was personal now.

Images of the beautiful redhead flashed through his mind. He'd let her down. He should have been there for her. If he'd have looked at the apartment across the way, maybe he could have seen the killer? And if not, then he should have at least caught the bastard. 

In the very brief time he'd known the woman, she'd invaded parts of his psyche that had never been touched before. Not even by Kelli. He felt tortured.

"Okay, boyo," Boyd muttered, breaking into his thoughts. "What's up?"

The question sent a shiver through Palmer. "All of this, Taffy. All of it."

"Got to clear your mind, Jack," the overweight Welshman sighed, pulling off his Magoo glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. "Focus on what lies ahead."

Palmer nodded, almost overrunning the lights. He jerked to a halt and waited until they turned to green before he spoke. "I know, I know. But I've got this feeling I'm missing something."

"We've know each other a long time, Jack, so I can say this. That woman really got to you. I can see that. Shit, I've worked in this business a long time. And even a little fat bastard like me has looked at some women, boyo, wondering what it would be like. That's it, isn't it? Wondering what it wudda been like with a high class hooker?"

"It's more than that, Taffy," he lamely responded. What Taffy said was true, but there was more to it. Something deeper.

"What? Duty?" the wireman responded, firing his machine gun rattling laugh. "Jack, we all make mistakes. You, me, everyone. But you couldn't have prevented her death, boyo. No one could have foreseen what was going to happen. You're not Superman, Jack, though you look like him." Palmer tossed him a nasty glance. "Okay – just a joke! But listen, Jack, you're just a cop. You start to think you're infallible and you're in trouble, my friend."

Palmer sighed, ignoring a motorcyclist who was giving him the finger. Damn, he hadn't seen him. He'd better concentrate. 

"You're right, Taffy." He was, too. Taffy Boyd always talked sense.

"Put it aside, Jack. She's dead, boyo. Let her go. What you should be doing right now is looking forward, not back. Figure out what happens next. And if you've still got that itch, find another top class hooker and fuck that. Assuming Kelli has no objections of course..."

There was that machine gun rattling laugh again. Thanks a bunch, Palmer thought. All he needed right now was to be reminded of the mess he'd made of his marriage.

Boyd produced a chocolate bar from somewhere. "Let me tell you something else, boyo," he went on, peeling the wrapper.

Must you? Palmer's head was beginning to ache.

"My money's on Goodwin turning something up. These Mafiosi, they're big gamblers, you know? Goes with the territory. When Alex Goodwin speaks to his bookie contact, I wouldn't mind betting he comes up with a lead. There're a close bunch, these bookies. But who better than Goodwin to shake something out of their ass?"

The young detective sighed. Until they had something concrete he'd continue to feel uneasy. As he made a final turn towards the Narcotic premises, his cell phone rang. Flicking it onto loudspeaker, he heard Burley's Geordie tone.

"Jack? It's Burley. You were reet about that little pill. It's a red devil all reet. Seventy per cent speed and thirty per cent nitro-glycerine."

Palmer whistled through his teeth. "Geez, that's dynamite!"

"Aye, too right, Palmer. They're addictive, little bastards, too. He'll be taking two or three a day. Whoever's using these is a prime candidate for a coronary."

"Any idea why he's using them, Tom? Red devils are from yesteryear. This is the twenty first century."

"Naa, aa've no idea. Maybe because he's Italian. They're aal behind the times, aren't they?" He gave a chuckle. "Just my joke, Jack. What aa can tell you is that these things provide a different kind of high. And if he's addicted..."

"Okay," Palmer responded, pulling into an empty parking space outside of the building. "Appreciate it." 

"Nee problem, Jack. Catch you later."

Palmer turned to his friend. "Speak to you later, too, Taffy."

Watching the little man waddle away, the remains of the chocolate bar stuck in his mouth, Palmer's mind went into overtime. If the assassin was using red devils... and they were addictive... he'd need to specially order them. That would narrow the search. He knew exactly who would be able to find out that sort of information. 

But first, he'd call into home. Maybe Kelli would be there?

***

"Oh, Goddd..." Kelli moaned, spreading her legs as wide as she could as Erin DeVere fucked her with a flesh-coloured vibrator, set on high. She'd been riding this orgasm out for what felt like an eternity, her muscles so sore they felt rubbery, her body so hot it might as well have been in flames.

Erin's tongue flashed rapidly across her exposed clit as the vibrator plundered the depths of her pussy, making her feel more pleasure than she'd ever felt in her entire life. 

They'd been fucking all afternoon. Kelli had cum so many times she'd lost count. Every time the blonde thought she couldn't feel any better, the experienced thirty-eight year old brought her to another sexual high. The woman was able to help her stretch out her climaxes like plugging in a battery charger. She constantly needed more.

"Good, darling?" the American woman purred, rolling her magical tongue around Kelli's clit just lightly enough to keep her hips bucking upwards in search of yet another release. Erin twisted the vibrator, grinding it against her g-spot.

"Please... please..." the blonde panted. Her clutching fingers dragged their way through the older woman's hair as she begged for yet another orgasm.

Erin purred like a cat at the response, pulling her head back to look into her wanton eyes. "Mmmm..."

Kelli was almost violent in the way she clutched Erin's silken, hair, attempting to force her back. One final touch would get her there. "No..." she panted, her voice almost a wail of disappointment.

"Ssssh, darling," Erin's reassuring voice husked. "We haven't finished. It's time to learn a new position. My favourite." Switching around like a mountain cat twirling in the wild, she repositioned her knife slender body over the younger woman. "Lick me, darling," she encouraged, lowering her pussy to the blonde's full lips. "Show me how much you want to please me..."

For a moment, Kelli's eyes simply stared up at Erin's flat stomach, adorned with a dangling, tanzanite and diamond dropper. Lower, she felt her heart speed up at the sight of the narrow strip of trimmed, strawberry blonde hair above her wonderful treasure.

She forgot her own need. She was learning that she loved the taste of pussy just as much as the taste of a man. She also learned that she was addicted to her newfound ability to bring her lover to the boil. Hearing Erin moan and squeal with pleasure had got her off more than once. 

The panting blonde wanted the woman's pussy. Wanted to taste her sweetness again. With a snarl of lust, she curled her tongue up into the beckoning folds, already wet with arousal and spent juices. Wrapping her slim fingers around Erin's hips, she dragged the American woman down onto her face as her tongue thrust upwards. 

When Kelli felt the breath blowing across her own sex, she nearly lost it. A mouth sucked in her slippery clit. Two fingers pushed inside her. She wailed. Panting wildly, she jammed her tongue back into the wetness above her. Give Erin her orgasm first, her crazed mind shouted.

The blonde had no chance.

When another finger found its way to her ass and pushed inside, Kelli couldn't prevent the inevitable. Screaming like a banshee, she gushed for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

She must have passed out. Or maybe she was transported to another plane? One of pleasure? One of satisfaction? When sense and sound returned, Erin was sitting upright, on her haunches, humping against her face. Occasionally she slowed, partly to regain control and hold back her orgasm. When it arrived, it would be a nuclear bomb. 

Suddenly it was too much. For both women. Erin began to emit a low, rhythmic grunting noise. The lid was about to be lifted from the geyser.

Kelli began to lick her. Faster. Her lips and tongue swept, dug, lapped and danced across the older woman's soft labia. She'd often got off just from the act of pleasuring Jack, sucking his cock. Giving satisfaction to a woman created a much deeper sensation. So much softer. So much more sensual.

She was about to cum again. So was Erin. 

The woman stiffened above her. Her thighs grew tight, squeezing Kelli hard. One final grind took her there, the intensity of her climax bringing on the blonde's own orgasm. The two women came hard, came together, in a combined explosion of grunts, growls, expletives and, eventually, low purrs of contentment.

Erin snaked her tongue in and around Kelli's right ear. "You'll stay overnight, of course, darling. I just have to introduce you to my double-headed dildo."

***

Goodwin knew Big Daddy from old. He knew what made him tick. He knew where to find him. It was some time since their paths had crossed, but if there was something going on, he'd know about it. 

Once he had what he wanted, he'd head for Wilson's. They had some talking to do.

The barrel-chested cop made his way cautiously through the strip club, ignoring the semi naked women and the grubby looking punters. Soho wasn't everything it was cracked up to be.

Leaving the dancing, noise and music behind him, he slipped through the heavy door at the rear of the joint. That was strange. Big Daddy would normally have some kind of protection. It sharpened his senses as he edged up the stairs. In contrast to the room he'd left, the carpet was threadbare and wallpaper was peeling from the walls.

The green door at the top was slightly ajar, and the heavy he'd expected to see downstairs was carrying a mug of coffee towards him. Big Daddy didn't allow his people to drink on duty. 

When he saw Goodwin, the coffee went flying as he reached for the gun beside him. He wasn't fast enough. Goodwin covered the distance between him with a speed that belied his size. His own gun arced through the air, crashing down onto the bodyguard's bald head.

The half conscious man made the mistake of attempting to retaliate. When he did, Goodwin grabbed him by the front of his jacket and spun him round. Putting the flat of his hand against the man's head, he smashed it down onto the desk, covering the worn wood with blood from the split forehead.

The cop wasn't known for taking prisoners, but this was extreme even by his standards. It was partly down to frustration. He needed sex and Sandra Wilson had refused him. He was as pissed as she was about what had happened to the girl, too - but it wasn't their fault.

The man that faced him when he pushed open the door to his left was shorter and younger than Goodwin, though the stomach that had earned him his nickname looked bigger than ever.

"Quite an entrance," Big Daddy said, nodding at the security screen in the corner. He'd watched the snow-haired cop's assault. 

The cop didn't speak, just nodding at the submachine gun pointing at him. Big Daddy aimed it away from him. "It's a good thing I recognised you, Goodwin. Otherwise my baby would have taken care of you. You know, I do hate violence."

"Got a fucking licence?" the unimpressed cop sneered, sloping down onto the heavy chair opposite. In contrast to the grubby stairs and outer office, this room was grandeur itself.

Big Daddy laughed. "Don't need no licence, Goodwin. The cops are my friends. You're my friend." He dropped the gun down onto the side of the leather desk, a reminder to both it was still available to him. "I assume this ain't no social visit?" he smiled, his middle finger pushing the gaudy, gold-framed sunglasses further up his nose. 

Goodwin smiled. Big Daddy always liked to dress spectacularly and tonight was no exception. The three gold chains that glittered around his neck, the diamond rings that twinkled on his fingers and the laughablely oversized gold Rolex that hung from his wrist all made their own statement.

"You want to put the gun away?" the bookmaker added, nodding at the Smith and Wesson still in Goodwin's hand. "And tell me how can I help?"

The cop smiled as he lowered his gun. As long as the bookie's weapon was in sight, he'd keep his handy, too. It was the name of the game in these parts. Resting it on his knees, he growled, "Been a while, Big Daddy."

"Indeed it has, Goodwin. Last time I saw you, you were wearing a monkey suit and sitting behind the wheel of a patrol car. Got promoted, did we?"

"Was that when you were on probation for stealing car radios? Or was it mobile phones?" the barrel-chested cop countered.

Big Daddy laughed. "Shit, time flies. And look at that hair. Weren't you brown in those days?"

The cop didn't answer. He'd always been sensitive about the speed with which his hair had changed colour. His divorce and all the years on Vice were just a couple of his former hardships. Thank God that was all behind him.

"So tell me, Goodwin. You here to bust my ass?"

The cop's craggy features melted into a smile. "No, Big Daddy. Would I come here alone if I wanted to do that?"

The bookmaker slowly nodded. It was impossible to see his eyes behind the shades – that being the point, of course. 

"How did you know where to find me?"

Goodwin gave a belly laugh. "Man, I've known about your discreet betting place for over a year now."

Big Daddy seemed genuinely shocked. "You're shitting me?"

"No, but that's not important." The cop was dismissive; time to get down to business. "As long as we remain friends, I'll let it go. Right now, I need some information."

The bookmaker's smile touched the corner of his lips. That's what he expected. Supplying information when it was needed kept the cops on his side. That way, he stayed ahead of the game. 

"Tell you what, Goodwin," he said, reaching for the bottle on the leather-topped desk. "Have a glass of champagne with me, for old times sake."

"No thanks, man. That stuff gives me heartburn."

Big Daddy looked offended. "You're shitting me? Heartburn! Do you know how much this stuff costs?"

"Don't care how much it cost," Goodwin grunted. "I don't want any. I'm looking for someone..."

The sound of Big Daddy's phone interrupted them. "Call back in ten minutes," he snapped, picking it up from its place on the right of the desk and then slamming it back down.

The bookmaker studied him for a few seconds, one hand twitching on the desk. "Now, Goodwin. There's information... and there's information. You really think I'm gonna be shittin' on any of my customers?"

Goodwin's face hardened. "If you want to stay my friend, then the answer is yes. You know how long you can get for running an illegal bookmaking operation. For running a strip club without the necessary licences? For carrying a weapon? Especially one that size." He nodded towards the PDW.

"You trying to put the heat on me, Mister?" the bookmaker snarled.

Goodwin's smile diffused the brief moment of tension. "Hey, I'm not trying to put any heat on you, Big Daddy. I thought we'd agreed? We're friends! But I'm talking about murder now and that's a different ball game."

The bookmaker paused. "Murder?" he mused. Giving himself a few seconds to think, he refilled his glass of champagne. "Yes, Goodwin. That's different."

"You bet your ass it is." The big cop leant forward in his chair. "Now, are we gonna have a conversation between friends?"

Big Daddy's smile displayed the three gold teeth scattered around his mouth. "Let's see what I can do."

Goodwin nodded. "This guy would probably have arrived in the City during the last couple of weeks. Italian. I'm banking on him being a big gambling man, though that may be a long shot. If you don't know anything about him, I'll take your word. But if you do, this motherfucker shot a young woman and there's nothing to say he'll stop there."

The phone rang again, as if on cue. This time the bookmaker ignored it. "I think you might get better odds than a long shot, Goodwin. A couple of weeks ago, a friend called and asked if I wanted to take a layoff bet on the horses. The punter had lost twenty grand and wanted to double up. When he lost that, he wanted to double up again."

Goodwin felt the rare warm feeling that came when a hunch was about to pay off. So the assassin did gamble? If he played his cards carefully, this could lead them straight to him. 

And once they took care of him, he and Wilson could get it on again.

"That sort of money's out of my friend's league," the bookmaker continued. "So I helped him out."

"When did he last bet?"

"Yesterday."

"Yesterday!?" The snow haired cop felt a shiver of excitement.

Big Daddy nodded, his eyes now focused on the cop's.

"Name?" Goodwin asked, his voice thick with anticipation.

"I don't know, Goodwin. My friend deals with the punter and I deal with him. That's standard."

"Give me your friend's name."

"You're shitting me!"

Goodwin banged his fist on the top of the desk. They were too close to fuck about. "This is fucking murder we're taking about! I want his fucking name."

When the bookmaker made no immediate response, he softened his tone. "Look, I'll cover your ass, Big Daddy. You have my word on that."




Palmer Ch. 07



The bookmaker hesitated for no more than a couple of seconds. "You'll owe me big time."

Goodwin nodded. "I'll owe you."

"Llambias," the bookmaker hesitantly said, picking up a pen and writing down an address. He handed it to the cop. "Don't fuck me over this," he added, his voice uncertain. "I'm trusting you..."

The barrel-chested cop nodded as he stood up. "I gave you my word."

***

Wilson had no idea that she was following a lead within a few hundred yards of her partner. Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club in Frith Street, Soho, was one of the black haired cop's favourite off-duty haunts. One day, she'd take Goodwin there. 

Assuming they were still together.

Despite rationalising the situation over and over in her mind, she couldn't get rid of the guilt their on-duty fucking had provoked in her. Maybe this affair was a bad idea? Or maybe she was just feeling down? Even as a hardened cop, she hadn't yet got used to death. Probably never would.

Thing was, deep down, Sandra Wilson knew it wasn't their fault. She just had to allow that feeling to come to the surface. It would. In its own time.

So far tonight, she'd drawn a blank. This final contact was a stronger possibility, but she had nothing to offer Leon Johnson. As of now, the small time petty crook was clean - and that meant she'd either have to bluff the middle-aged man or give him some sort of future guarantee.

Either way, it would be tricky. But if there was anyone who knew what was going down, it was the streetwise Johnson.

"Hi Wilson," the maitre d' greeted as the tall cop made her way across to him, looking as inconspicuous as she could. "You on or off duty tonight?"

"On," came the soft reply. 

He nodded. The look on his face remained exactly the same, but she didn't miss the coldness that passed across his dark eyes. "Yes, something about that walk said business. We don't want any shit," he told her. "This place is clean."

"I know that, Phil," she nodded. "And we both know I wouldn't damage you. Look, I won't be long. One conversation."

"Who?"

Wilson gave him a soft smile. She and Philip Shipton had been childhood friends, long before he had the hair transplant. He looked better bald rather than the stringy tassels the spilled form his scalp like a Raggedy Andy doll, but she'd leave someone else to tell him that. What was important was that she knew he could trust him to keep her visit to himself. 

"Johnson."

The maitre d' nodded. "Not quite our typical jazz fan, but he's around."

Wilson's smile grew warmer. "Thanks, Phil. I'll meet you out back in five."

It was more like ten minutes before the well-dressed man made his way to their usual meeting spot. He smiled when he saw Wilson, tugging on the lapels of his slightly ostentatious suit. Everything about Johnson was flamboyant. Even the Edward G Robinson way of drawling his words.

"Your office doesn't change much," he joked, his small, pinprick eyes dancing around the small courtyard. In his business, you couldn't be too careful. 

"Don't have time for smart remarks," Wilson bluntly replied. "I need information."

Johnson's eyes narrowed. "Ya got something on me, girlie?"

The tall cop shook her head and sighed. She hated that word. She was no more a girlie than Johnson was someone to be trusted. "No, I've got nothing," she conceded.

Johnson gave a snort as he stood taller. The cigarette he lit sent a brief sheen across the courtyard. Turning away from Wilson to stare into the dark, his words came from the corner of his mouth. True gangster style. "Then why should I give ya information?"

Wilson ignored the question. "I'm gonna ask you a couple of things, Leon. You answer, and then forget I ever asked you in the first place."

The small time crook made no response. The tip of the cigarette shone bright orange like a surging Christmas bulb. He continued to refuse to look directly at her, as if she might see something in his eyes. Instead, he stared into the darkness.

"Have ya heard of a hooker called Roxanne Lopez?"

The yellowy-orange cigarette tip pierced the dark again as he took another drag. "I heard of her."

"Well?"

The greasy haired dealer briefly glanced at Wilson before turning away again. "What's it worth?"

Wilson tugged on the arm of his tailored suit, pulling him around to face her. "Leon, I've already explained. I need information. I need it now. I will find a way to make this worth your while but right now, I don't have time. I need answers."

He turned away again. "She's a high class hooker."

"What about someone called Brooke?"

"What about her, girlie?"

Wilson sighed, unsure how to play this. Hard, she quickly decided. "Don't get smart, Leon, or I'll break your fuckin' arm. D'you think I'd be here if this wasn't important? Just answer the question."

"Okay, okay," the petty crook muttered. In an attempt to maintain some poise, he flicked the cigarette butt into the gutter beside them. He lit another. It gave him a chance to think. "She's a friend of Roxanne's," he carefully responded. He wasn't yet willing to give too much away. Not yet. "So is Savannah."

The tall cop nodded. "I already know that, but at least we're on the same wavelength. What I want now is something I don't know. Tell me about them." 

Johnson nodded, still staring into the darkness. "Don't know a lot. I first heard of Brooke. Then Roxanne came along. She was almost a superior version. Hot. Very hot. Savannah's a bit younger. Seems to model herself on the redhead. Same colour hair. Same taste in clothes. All high class hookers... and..."

Sandra Wilson's ears pricked up. "Yes?"

"All belong to a modelling agency, girlie."

"A modelling agency? No shit!"

Johnson gave a sly smile. "Yup. You're not up-to-date on your fashions, honey! Thought all ya women knew that shit?"

Wilson's face creased in puzzlement. Even in the darkness, Johnson could see he was one step ahead. Time to take advantage. "Ya'll make this worth my while?"

Wilson nodded, although she had no idea how.

"Think about it, girlie. World famous models. Well, famous to everyone except the cops." Her face stopped him mid cackle. "Okay, just a joke. It gives them a way in to the rich and famous. Means they can charge much more. Get to the superrich. I mean, what girlie hasn't always wanted to fuck a model? This Roxanne's a supermodel. Didn't ya see her on TV with Tyra Banks and Gabrielle Dubois?"

Fuck, this was new. Wilson stared at her informer.

"That surprised ya. Didn't know that, did ya?" He nodded knowingly. "Erin's Models, that's gotta be worth something. Check it out. Next time you see this Roxanne, grill her about it, girlie"

Wilson took hold of Johnson's arm, pulling him around to face her. "That won't be easy. Someone's just put her on ice..."

"WHAT?"

"Right in the doorway of her apartment. And it wasn't an amateur."

The scowl across Johnson's face told Wilson what he thought. "Geez, that's bad news."

"Who's their pimp?"

"Now that's interesting. Mrs. DeVere runs the agency. Erin DeVere." He shook his head at the lack of recognition on Wilson's. "Geez! She was a model in her own time. One of the best. You never watch TV?"

Television? When did she have time to watch television? "She's behind the operation?"

"The modelling business, yes. The prostitution game - don't think so. Rumour has it there's a rich guy involved. No idea who. Seriously – no idea. But he's one mean dude if the stories are to be believed."

"What else?"

He flicked the second cigarette butt away. "Nothing, Wilson. That's it. Cross my heart." His soft laugh caught in his throat as he saw her face. He'd only seen that look a couple of times. It wasn't to be messed with. "That's all I know, man."

"If this conversation gets out, Leo, I'll haul you in and fabricate every charge I can against you. You'll be going away for a long time. Understand?"

"It won't get out from me. But I prefer the carrot, not the stick."

Wilson sighed. She had to make it good. "Next time you're in trouble," she said. "I'll bail you out."

"Man, I'm often in trouble," he smiled. "Most of the time, I can take care of it. So let's say, when I need your help, I'll call on you. And you won't let me down."

"Nothing illegal..."

"I know, I know. I understand your principles, Wilson. I won't compromise them. I have your word?"

She nodded. "Leon, how long have we known one another? When I give my word, I stick to it."

Johnson pulled out another cigarette. "I'll go with that."

Wilson took his arm again, pulling him to face her. "Leon, I want you to keep your ears open and anything you hear... anything... you get back to me. And if anyone else starts asking questions, anyone at all, I want to know about that, too."

He nodded, starting to turn away. A harder yank on his arm turned him back.

"One more thing, Leon. Call me girlie again and I'll break both arms."

***

Palmer was in two minds. The lack of sleep was fast catching up with him. So was Kelli's absence. The state of their house confirmed she'd returned from her Edinburgh shoot, but there was no clue as to where she was now. 

At this time of night, she'd normally make sure he knew of her whereabouts, though his own movements hadn't helped. That was the other mind talking. How could she tell him where she was, when they hadn't spoken in a couple of days? He should have made more effort to talk to her while she was in Edinburgh. 

But then, this case was a tough one. So much had happened. Now, she wasn't even answering his cell phone messages. Either she was super busy or super pissed.

He shook his head, hoping to banish the worry. Like always, he turned to his work, the case, to help him through these tough times. He could call the DJ from his apartment; he'd think about Kelli later.

***

Life was good, Ben Cartwright thought. He had the perfect set-up. The money and lifestyle of a drug dealer without having to get his hands dirty. His part time job as a DJ was brilliant as a cover. Not only did give him access to the best of London's club scene, but it hooked him up with plenty of potential buyers he could pass on to the local drug trade. Also, there was the seemingly unlimited supply of young, liberated chicks. Yes, life was good.

Tonight, it was a blonde with her zipped top pulled down to her navel who'd taken his eye. Or rather, the glossy cleavage her large and unfettered tits had formed. Were they real? She'd been watching him for over an hour, sitting at the table directly in front of his position.

The young sex bomb had run her tongue across her suckable lips more than once. He knew the signs. This one was up for it. Her boyfriend had been steadily getting himself drunk for the last hour, making a fool of himself with some of his male friends. It was just a matter of time...

As he set Loveshack to work over the blaring loudspeakers, one of the barstaff handed him a note. "He said to ring him now. It's urgent." 

Cartwright thanked the camp youngster. If Palmer wanted to speak to him now, then he'd speak to him now. He knew better than to keep the young detective waiting. With a flirtatious smile at zipper-blonde, he headed out back. 

Flipping open his cell phone, the small DJ kept one eye on the inside of the club through the small glass window in the door. It wasn't sensible to be seen when he spoke to the cops. He had too much to lose. 

"Palmer? It's Ben Cartwright."

"How're you doing, Ben?"

"I'm good, Palmer. Or at least I think I am. You going to tell me otherwise?"

As he spoke, he saw zipper-blonde stand from her table and cross over to the now vacant DJ booth. Her boyfriend, if that's who he was, was being helped out by his buddies.

"You owe me some favours, Ben."

"I know that, Palmer."

"I need some help. I need it now."

Cartwright started to sweat. He watched the zipper-blonde look around before catching the attention of the barkeep who'd handed the message off. Nice guy that he was, the barkeep quickly pointed toward the backdoor.

"Name it," the DJ mumbled, seeing the blonde's eyes light on his through the small pane of glass.

"When's the last time you heard of any red devils on the street?"

"Red devils? They're yesterday's news. The day before yesterday's. Aren't you up with the times, Palmer? Who's gonna lay out that money when you can get good uppers for less than half the price?"

Shit, the blonde's mischievous face appeared on the other side of the small window now. She looked like a wet dream with her make-up and her platinum bangs. Pretty, too. Nice, round face. 

She licked her lips. He grew hard. In seconds she was through the door and into the warm night, her sweet, young ass pushing it closed behind her. She had a short, pleated skirt and knee-high boots that would make a holy man think 'sex.' 

He shook his head, holding up the phone. Surely she got the message? He couldn't be interrupted. This call was important.

She smiled. Fuck, he was wasting his time. Her pale hands went to the zip, pulling it down and free. Her firm, pear-like tits pushed the jersey material open. She had large, pink nipples high on what had to be store-bought globes. What do you think of those, then, her eyes asked.

Cartwright's mouth dropped open. "If you aren't involved, Ben, someone else is," the cop was jabbering into his ear. He barely heard him as the girl sauntered up to him. 

Wordlessly, she dropped to her knees, pulling down the zip of his trousers. She didn't speak. Just smiled up at him, running her tongue over those lips. Those oh-so sweet, suckable lips.

In seconds, his jeans and white boxers were tugged down to his thighs. Fuck, this girl didn't believe in wasting time! His cock was already erect, rising from his thick expanse of black, curly hair like a mini tower.

"I need you to put the feelers out," Palmer continued. "Someone's pushing these. Maybe a big consignment in the last couple of weeks."

One half of Cartwright's brain was listening to Palmer. The other was watching platinum-blonde lower her head and take him between her soft lips. Fuck...

He placed one hairy hand on the back of her head to steady himself, tightening it in her soft locks as she began to mouth-fuck him. His certainly wasn't the first cock she'd sucked.

"Couple of weeks?" he repeated, trying to regulate his breathing.

"That's right. A punter might have bought a bagfull recently. I need to find out who."

Her tongue made its way up one side of his shaft and down the other, bathing his length in her slippery saliva. She toyed with the ridge of his swollen head, all the while looking up at him with those luminous, playful eyes. They smiled as her cupid's bow mouth seductively sucked around the crown.

"Not possible," he gasped. "They don't sell nowadays."

Her eyes were staring up at him now. Teasing him. Telling him to end the call. God, she worked miracles with her tongue, swirling zig-zags down the hyper-sensitive underbelly.

"It's possible. It's happened. I need you to find out for me Cartwright. I don't have any time with this one. I need to know quickly."

His shaft pushed against her throat as she slid her pink lips all the way down to the base. He could feel his body succumbing to her working mouth. So quickly, too!

"I need to go, Palmer," he almost begged.

"Not 'til we're finished." 

Finished? She deep-throated him like an expert. He was nearly finished! "Lemme see," he grunted, squeezing his eyes closed, desperately attempting to stave of the inevitable. "If it's happened, it could only be a couple of people. But Palmer... I... deal with these guys."

He grunted again as she took him to boiling point. Her eyes danced upwards into his again, her eyebrows arched as if daring him not to cum. They were in their own private battle. Zipper-blonde was racing him towards his orgasm. He was trying to last out the call. 

"You owe me, Ben."

When she left his shaft with a slurp, he thought he had a temporary reprieve. His thoughts were dashed as she pushed his cock against his stomach and swiped her tongue across one testicle, then the other. Oh – My - God!

"You listening?"

No, Palmer. Not really. I'm concentrating on this young sex bomb giving me the blowjob of my life.

She sucked gently from one heavy ball to the other, her almond coloured eyes talking to his. Didn't know I was this good, did you?

"Okay, okay." he desperately gasped, his fingers vainly trying to pull her head away. "Give me a while and I'll see what I can find."

Zipper-blonde plunged back onto his ramrod stiffness, deep-throating him again. She'd had enough of playing. "Going to cum, baby?" she growled, a string of saliva dangling between her lips and the tip of his hardness as she looked up again. 

"Do it, Ben. I need to know tonight," Palmer was saying somewhere in the distance.

The blonde pulled up and took just the head between her pink lips. Her soft, jerking, sucking movements were just the way he liked it. How the fuck did she know that? 

He was there!

"Okay," he almost pleaded. "I'll ring back in an hour. Gotta go—"

With a nano second to spare, his body jerked and his thick seed surged into her greedy mouth. Her soft lips took every long burst, pumping her head until he had nothing left to give. The way she slowly, erotically, licked him clean almost had him instantly hard again.

Triumphantly pulling herself up his body, she took his hand and pulled it under her skirt. His fingers found her naked sex, smooth and wet.

"Make me cum," she told him, with a tempting teenage smile. "Then I'll let you fuck me."

***

Taffy Boyd was in his element. Punching buttons, twisting dials. He hunched inside the padded earphones as he worked to lift the voices from one of the recordings. This was one he hadn't handed over to Homicide. 

The shadow in the doorway made him jump.

Sergeant Willie Dixon smiled at him as he looked up. Known as Dixon of Dock Green for his uncanny physical resemblance to the TV character of well over thirty years ago, the beaten down man always appeared to have a weight around his shoulders. Still, retirement was only a year away.

He also knew everything there was to know about what was going on across the various departments.

"Want a coffee, Taffy?" he asked.

The Welshman pulled off the earphones. "No thanks, boyo."

"It'll go with those pastries."

Taffy licked the last of the doughnut's sugar off his stubby fingers. No way should he have eaten three of them, let alone be about to devour the remaining offering. 

The Welshman laughed. "Got to keep my strength up, Sarge."

Dixon smiled. "Yes, laddie, I know that feeling. Need a hand?"

"I'm fine, thanks." The last thing he needed was Dixon's involvement.

Still the Sergeant didn't leave, his knowing eyes soaking in as much as he could. And Dixon had big eyes. "What're you up to anyway?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Well, it's a bit hush-hush, boyo," the scruffy Welshman smiled, his nervous laugh giving the game away. Willie Dixon made him nervous. 

"You working for Homicide? I hear a little lady got blown away."

"No... why would I be working for those ignorant bastards? Just some stuff I've got to get ready for when Chilton returns."

The elderly Sergeant nodded. "Chilton! He's another ignorant bastard."

"Sure is," Taffy agreed. "But, sorry, Sarge. I've gotta get on with it."

Dixon nodded and turned away. "Leave you to it," he called over his shoulder. 

He sauntered back to his desk, his mind working overtime. Burley had been a bit strange with him earlier. Now Boyd was hiding something. Before the night was out, he'd get to the bottom of it. 

Willie Dixon always did. 




Palmer Ch. 07



***

Webster wasn't happy. He preferred to be the one in control.

Despite putting the squeeze on several of his own contacts, he'd drawn a blank. It was close to midnight and he didn't have a single thing to report. When he met with his team in the morning, he'd be the odd one out. He hated that.

His back ached, his head throbbed and his eyes burned. Time to leave the office. Maybe all of this wasn't such a good idea after all? All it took was for Homicide to get a sniff of what they were up to and he'd have World War III on his hands. 

Scratching his permanent five o'clock shadow, he wondered whether it was just the long day? He wasn't getting to old for this, was he? That made him grin. He'd never be too old for this.

Maybe he should wander across to Homicide on his way out? See if Tom Burley was still there? He'd said he'd call Webster before he left and he'd yet to hear a thing.

Stopping only to drop two headache tablets into a plastic cup half filled with water, he made his way along the depressingly narrow, faceless corridors and into the lab. 

"Hey," the dark haired Geordie greeted him. "Didn't expect me to still be here, eh?" 

Webster couldn't help but smile. Burley's effervescence always made him smile. "It's a bit late for a lad from Newcastle to be up, isn't it?"

"Aye, late – but productive." The smile on the forensics man's young face told him there was good news.

"Tell me," the Vice boss simply said.

"I've checked into everything we've found..."

"And..."

"One thing that's really interesting," Burley grinned, holding up a folder. "Here's a report on that fingerprint." 

Webster took it from him and sat on the edge of Burley's wooden desk. As he flicked it with his thumb, he accidentally sent the half full cup of cold coffee spiralling to the ground. He ignored the spillage. "I'll read it later. What's it say?" 

The Geordie stared at the growing stain on the carpet, then blinked twice as he looked up at the Vice boss. "Aa'l have to clean that up, ya knaa..."

Webster stared through him. "What's it say?" he repeated.

"We have a positive ID," Burley said. 

Webster jumped up. "Already? Who else knows?"

Burley's face expressed his disappointment. "Howway, man. Aa did aal of this on my own. Top secret. Remember?"

"Impressive, Tom. Very impressive."

"Aye. Aa pulled a few strings. And Willie Dixon's been snooping around. But aa'm pretty sure aa've kept this one under wraps."

"What've you found?"

"Aa've got his name. Marco Giovanni, a fifty-five year-old Italian hit man." 

For a second, Webster's face lit up. The Geordie's upraised hand stopped him mid smile. "Only one problem, boss."

The Vice boss's face changed in a moment. "I don't like problems."

"Aa knaa. You won't like this one either. According to our records, Marco Giovanni was incinerated in a car accident in Italy two weeks ago." 

***

George Blair sat in front of the open fire, a glass of early morning brandy in his hands. Even at two o'clock, he felt bright, alert. He always did when he had a lot on his mind. 

He loved the Lygon Arms. Not just for the hotel's sumptuous elegance, but also for its anonymity. All he had to do was to slip unnoticed into the appropriate courtyard suite.

He needed the brandy to counter the feeling of melancholy. It was overwhelming him. Ending his relationship with Roxanne had been difficult, but he knew DeVere had been right. He usually was. She represented a constant danger to his destiny. As grateful as he was for the new vitality she'd infused him with, losing her was just one of a number of sacrifices he'd need to make going forward.

Soon, he'd be the new Prime Minister. Time to move on!

As for his political ambitions, his team was in place. Dominic DeVere was a powerful force. One to be watched, yes, but an influential ally nonetheless. Sir John Cobalt was someone he'd trust with his life. Dennis Price would add the missing dimension, a shrewd and powerful strategist who was already proving invaluable.

Oiling their individual egos and keeping the machine running would be difficult, but if he succeeded, he'd have a team to ensure his election and give him another four years. After that, the ultimate. His own knighthood!,

The door opening from the suite bedroom diverted his thoughts back to the present.

"Lost in thought?" the redhead asked. Her soft green eyes gleamed at him as she floated across the room.

Even without makeup she looked magical. The fluffy, white, hotel robe couldn't hide her curves. God, she really was something. Going forward, he'd miss the company of this beautiful woman. Fortunately, the Premiership would provide adequate compensation.

If only his wife had the same voracious sexual appetite as he had; he wouldn't need the company of others. Well, now and again, perhaps. As it was now, she didn't, and so he had to satisfy it on his own. How the hell was he going to cope after tonight?

The redhead walked around him, stopping to dig her hands into his tense shoulders. "Knots," she said with a soft sigh. "You have knots. That means anxiety. You think too much, George." 

He smiled, taking a deep drink from his glass. Yes, he thought too much. No more. Tonight, he'd enjoy the last hours with his Roxanne.

"Try thinking of this," she continued, driving her fingertips a little deeper as if digging into putty. "You're going to make a wonderful Prime Minister. People will love you."

He groaned at the delicious pain. "Really?" His voice was a tight gasp as she dug deeper. "And why's that?"

She left his hurting shoulders and flopped down beside him. Her plush robe split around her long, shapely legs as she crossed them before her. It had only been an hour since they'd last made love, but he was ready again. 

"Because you have charisma, George. The public loves charisma. Tony Blair had it. Gordon Brown didn't."

"Perhaps," he answered, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her eyes.

"And integrity," she added. "You tell things straight."

His cool, blue eyes held hers. "Do I?"

"Of course," she laughed, snuggling into his chest. Her hand sneaked through the gap in his matching robe and gently caressed his nipple. "And of course, you're as sexy as hell. All the women in the country are going to love you."

His eyes smiled at her. "All the women?" 

She gave him that delicious grin and snaked her hand around his neck, pulling him to her for a soft kiss. "Oh yes..." she murmured against his mouth. "Especially this one." 

***

Where was his wife? It was after midnight and Kelli still wasn't home. There was no message. Nor had she answered any of his calls. He'd give her until the morning and maybe call her mother. None of her clothes were missing and the suitcase she'd taken to Edinburgh was neatly stacked away. Yes, her mother's was the best bet.

Cartwright's call interrupted his thoughts. "Palmer?"

"Shoot."

"It's Ben Cartwright."

Palmer sighed impatiently. "I know that, Ben. I have your number showing on my cell phone. What've you got for me?"

The DJ's voice was high, excited. "I got lucky. There's a pusher named Bones. Does some heavy duty trade in London."

"He trades red pills?"

"Not normally. But he had a special request. Just dumped fifty on some dude." The pitch in Cartwright's voice rose higher. "He's your man."

"Where'll I find him, Ben?"

"Difficult. Sometimes he doesn't show for days. Try the All Star Lanes bowling alley in Bayswater. He was there earlier. If you're lucky, he could be there now."

Now? So much for waiting for Kelli. He began to slip on his jacket as he spoke. "What's he look like?"

Cartwright laughed. "You can't miss him. He's Elvis."

"What?"

Cartwright's laugh got louder. "Dresses as the King, Palmer. Does a good impression too, as far as I remember."

"Geez..."

"Good enough for you, Palmer. We're even now?"

"That depends, Ben," Palmer smirked. "When I get there, Elvis had better not have left the building."

***

For an older man, Roxanne was impressed with the way Blair had kept his body in shape. Tonight, she was particularly delighted by the way his cock was always ready for action. But then, Viagra always helped when you had a full night's fucking planned. She knew as well as he did that this had to be it. 

They'd even joked about it being 'break up' sex. She wondered what Dominic would do when he found out about their final meeting. He'd probably want to kill her, she thought with a laugh. 

Time to move on. Maybe focus on Jack Palmer? A normal relationship could be what she needed for a while. That man had somehow struck a chord with her.

Her flashing eyes returned to George Blair. Sitting back against the four-poster's pillows, she eased her legs apart. Her green eyes smiled hypnotically at him. There was no need for words.

His lust filled gaze held hers as he trailed the tips of his fingers along her thighs. She moaned softly at his feather light touch. He slowly lowered his head to her breasts. 

"Yes, George," she hissed, her hands entwining tightly in his ruffled brown hair as he sucked her high, chocolate brown nipple into his mouth. His fingers kneaded the other breast as he teased her, swirling and sucking just like she'd taught him nearly two years ago. His mouth and hands alternated, left, right, and then back again. 

She rested her fingers lightly on the top of his head, guiding each movement. She'd pull him close if she wanted him to suck harder; push him away a little when she wanted less. And when she wanted him to move on, she gently pushed him downwards. "Lick me, baby."

Slithering to his knees, his tongue slithered across her dewy sex. Her legs widened. "You do that so good, George. Slowly, baby..." 

He knew what the redhead wanted. A slow journey towards orgasm.

He worked along the soft petals of her labia first, caressing it with the flat of his tongue. She shivered above him, purring like his sexy, little kitten. His forefingers and thumbs reached up to gently tweak her nipples as his teeth grazed across her swollen clit. She jerked harder. Too fast.

He bypassed the sensitive pearl, nibbling up the clean-shaven rise of her mound with his lips and tongue. She jerked her hips up, trying to reintroduce her clit to his mouth. He'd have none of it, distracting her by stabbing two fingers deep into her wetness. He fingered her slowly, in time with the lazy strokes of his tongue. 

His mouth softly sucked in her juices. Each slow pass of his tongue elicited another long moan, encouraging him. He gradually upped the tempo, his swirling tongue circling her clit like water emptying from a tub.

She raised her legs, draping them over his shoulders as her hips undulated against his face. At last, he found her clit, sucking the soft flesh hard between his lips. Her back bowed as she hit her high, cresting in a shriek of pure ecstasy.

Things got sensitive for Roxanne. Too much! Too fucking much! She pushed his head away, even as his fingers plundered her depths. Luckily, she had the perfect way to take his mind off her pussy.

Twisting across his lap, her eager mouth wrapped itself around his hardness. His gasp of surprise was stilled as her fingers cupped his testicles. Her lips licked around his bulbous crown. 

"Good, baby?" she asked, dripping some spittle onto his shaft and rubbing it in. It was a superfluous question.

Her hand squeezed his balls as she went back to work with her tongue, swishing it back and forth against the underside of his shaft. He moaned at the friction, throwing his body backwards on the bed. Easing upwards onto her knees, she sucked up his precum. His panting matched hers. 

She smiled to herself, her eyes wild. No experience in her young life could quite match the rush she felt, blowing the soon-to-be prime minister. No drugs that she'd ever taken, no runway shows or fashion shoots. Nothing. If this was the last time, it was going to be extra special.

One hand circled the root of his cock and slowly jerked him. Her mouth played with his crown. When his balls began to tighten and he reached for her hair, she pulled away.

Her body flopped down on the cream sheets beside him. Her hands pulled at his shoulder, turning him round. One leg entwined with his, helping pull him over her. Her need was clear.

The muscular man responded, taking her chocolate nipple into his mouth as he adjusted his position between her spread legs.

The redhead moaned. Her back arched to push more of her tit into his sucking mouth. She felt him there, his saliva-bathed cock head hovering at the entrance of her slippery opening. She wrapped her long legs around the top of his ass. An upward thrust took him halfway inside. 

A second undulation completed the entry. She could feel every delicious inch. "Yesss, George!" 

Her heels dug into his ass, lifting her hard body from the bed. The redhead was fucking him, not the other way around. Her eagerness brought him to life, his elbows settling either side of her bucking body to allow him the leverage to respond to her thrusts.

His mouth found her breasts again. He wasn't the first man unable to get enough of them. She responded by digging her fingers into his scalp, pulling his head up to stare into her sparkling, green eyes. 

Her body spoke to him, slowing her movements to pace him down from their frantic fucking. Her hands shoved against his hard chest, pushing him up so they could both look down to see his cock sliding inside her.

"Good, baby?" she asked, adding to the eroticism by squeezing her internal muscles with each teasingly slow union. 

The sight of his cock being consumed by her oily smooth channel, the feeling created as he bottomed out, and the aroused look of control in her eyes, all combined to take him towards the edge. 

She knew it, too. With a tantalizing laugh, she slipped out from beneath him, leaving the bemused Prime Minister elect with the look of a child whose sweets had just been stolen.

Swinging around on the bed, she wriggled her perfect, peach-like ass. Sinking down onto her elbows, her buttocks raised provocatively. The eyebrow she cocked as she glanced back over her shoulder spoke volumes. Get to work. 

With a loud snort of arousal, he twisted around behind her. His sweaty hands grabbed her hips, dragging her back towards his steel-stiff manhood. He was in control now. 

She knew how much that turned him on. He loved her subservience.

Her provocative pushes against him brought a loud groan. Cock in hand, he rubbed his hardness along her heated furrow. They'd enjoyed this foreplay before. He made no attempt to enter her, both bodies moving slowly at first, enjoying the moment. 

Their breaths grew ragged as they savoured the play of soft skin on even softer skin. 

When she looked back at him over her shoulder again, it was as if her narrowing eyes were giving him permission. 

Blair gripped her hips more tightly. The redhead's right hand snaked down between them. Her sex was so wet he entered immediately. Their simultaneous groans at the union spilt the air. His hand found her neck and pushed her head into the sheets. Her ass rose higher. 

Neither spoke, the air filled only with their heavy pants and soft grunts.

Eventually, they began to fuck. There was no build up. They went from nought to sixty in a second. He was a primate. A gorilla fucking his mate. The redhead's backward thrusts and his forward momentum began to build. 

She contracted and expanded her pussy muscles around him, creating that ripple effect of hers that shot all the way down his cock and into his balls. Blair could never resist that. The delicious friction became too much. 

He cried out seconds before he released the floodgates. One burst followed another. He jerked continuously. His manjuice coated her clutching walls. Relentless and unending. She thrust back with each jerk of his body, determined to milk every last drop. His hands gripped her full breasts, squeezing until he'd given everything he could.

Only then did the redhead let herself go, a series of short, fast backward thrusts being all that it took to release her, too. Her head buried in the pillow to muffle her cries as her climax overpowered her. 

Somehow, her jerking body teased a final bust of creamy Prime Minesterial cum from the heavily sweating man.



Palmer Ch. 08



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 8: Realisation

Leaving Jack wasn't an easy decision for Kelli. How could she wipe out three years of marriage, just like that? And to someone she still loved? As she went through her wardrobe and pulled out her favourite outfits, the fear of regret nearly stilled her hands. Despite everything, she still loved her husband. That was fact.

But love alone wasn't enough. That, too, was fact.

In the bathroom, as she gathered the makeup and toiletries she needed, a surge of nostalgia overtook her. Thoughts bounced around her mind. The first night they met; the way he smiled at her across the room. That cute, Clark Kent shyness about him. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop them.

Still, there was no denying that things were different between them. They'd been changing for too long. 

Jack's long hours had been the wedge. How many times had she told him they were losing the spark? That things needed to change? He hadn't even tried. He never would. Jack loved her, no doubt about it, but he loved his work more. 

"Well, now he'll have more time to devote to it," she muttered as she snapped shut her second suitcase. She wouldn't be around any more. Enough was enough. 

The two suitcases should be enough for the time being. With Erin's Models behind her, she'd have enough new clothing to last her a lifetime.

The Agency Head had promised to make sure her husband, Dominic DeVere, fixed her up with an apartment once they returned from Milan. That was the final incentive she needed to make the break. The message she'd left on Jack's phone had been brief. They could talk things over later – something she wasn't looking forward to.

But enough of those thoughts. As she breezed out of the apartment complex and back to Erin's sumptuous home, her thoughts turned to tomorrow night. She'd be on the catwalk. Then celebrating at the after show parties. "Not a night not to be missed," Erin had told her. 

It would take her mind from her troubles and the break-up with Jack. 

Of course, there was Erin DeVere herself. Her lovemaking sessions with the American woman had blown her mind. Lovemaking? Erin had fucked her. Time and time again. All night long. As long as their energy held, and when it didn't, there was the cocaine. How many lines had she done? How many orgasms? She'd fucked the older woman, too. Replicated the ways Erin had pleasured her and repaid her in kind. It left her embarrassed and fulfilled at the same time. 

She'd been staying there again tonight. The thought already had her body tingling again.

***

Seven o'clock was too damned early for Donny Webster. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to change that. The two hours sleep he'd had, wasn't enough. Cramming this rag-tag bunch of lawmen and women into his office only made it seem even earlier.

"Hmmm. Cozy! Are we gonna sit on each other's knees?" Burley cheerfully asked as he joined them.

"I gotta better freakin' idea," Webster snapped, pushing through the gathering group. He headed out of the door, growling, "Follow me."

The pokey café around the block proved a popular venue. Not so much for the change of scenery, but more a reference to the aroma of bacon and sausages from the small grill. Being empty was an added bonus. 

"All day breakfast's for everyone," Webster growled to the cigarette smoking owner. "But coffee immediately."

"Great choice, boss," Sandra Wilson smiled, nudging Burley with her arm. "Bet you don't often get this treatment in Forensics." 

Webster shot her one of those looks. "You pay. I'll sign it off." Looking around the rest of the table, he shook his head. "Do I look as tired as you guys," he asked. "I guess it's been a long night. Okay, let's go. Wilson?"

The black haired cop sat forward and rested her right arm on the greasy tablecloth. "This is really interesting, boss. It seems that Roxanne, Brooke, Savannah all belong to a modelling agency."

A modelling agency? Palmer's tired eyes shot open. "Which?" he asked, leaning towards her across the table. 

"Erin's Models. It appears some of their top girls turn tricks. I've done a little digging. This Roxanne Lopez was a supermodel. Cover in Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue. Numerous Maxim spreads, not to mention a contract with Juicy Couture. Brooke Welles and Savannah are in a similar class, too. Aren't any of us up on fashion?"

Palmer had stopped listening. That was the name of his wife's agency. He was sure of it. Wait 'til he told her about this. She'd be shocked. For a second, he wondered about sharing the information with the others, but kept it to himself. No need to involve Kelli in this.

It was Goodwin's tug on his arm that brought him back to the conversation. "A high class hooker and a supermodel. Man, that's quite a combination."

Palmer slipped a hand through his black, wavy hair. Did he look as bad as he felt? After his fruitless wait for Elvis, he'd eventually returned home in the early hours. Despite his recent lack of sleep, he'd tossed and turned in bed, waiting for his wife to return. Where was she?

His fingers slid over the scar on his neck. It became an instant reminder of Roxanne. She'd traced her fingers along that scar. God, why did his cock rise at the thought of the redhead and not his wife?

The conversation went on hold as the café owner brought over six mugs of coffee. He grunted something about their breakfast's following before heading back to the kitchen. 

Webster picked up one of the mugs and took a noisy slurp. "Who fixes up their tricks?"

"Difficult to know, boss," Wilson grimaced. "Erin DeVere runs the agency. We don't know anything about her. I've got a check out on her and her husband. Nobody seems to know too much about him either."

"Not helpful."

"No... apparently there's a rich guy involved somewhere. No idea who, but a mean bastard apparently. I'll do some more checking today."

"You haven't already?"

She pulled a face and took a sip from her own mug, rather than instantly respond to the jibe. "Tried to follow it through last night, boss," she eventually said, pulling a face at the bitter taste. "All blanks so far. Didn't get home 'til early morning."

Goodwin flashed her a look. So that's why she hadn't returned his call, or been there when he'd knocked on her door. 

"That's the problem, kiddies," Webster said, giving that I-told-you-so smile. "We're doing this underground. No access to any resources except what we can sneak under the radar. Are we all sure we don't want to leave this to Homicide?"

The silence was deafening. It was Palmer who spoke the group's collective thoughts. "You know the answer, Chief."

Webster grunted. "Okay. But following these things through could take a lifetime. We don't have a lifetime."

"I'll be on the case as soon as we leave here," Sandra Wilson snapped. She knew Webster had a point. 

The Vice chief nodded at Palmer. For a second, the young detective hesitated. His mind was still focused on the modelling agency. 

The café owner bought him some time. It took him two passes to serve the six full plates, and another to deliver the various sauces, mustard and for some reason, mint sauce.

"Work that one out," Goodwin laughed, picking up the bronze cup containing the green sauce. "Maybe they got the bacon from a sheep?"

"Funny man," Sandra Wilson laughed, making a point of catching his eye.

"Well, Palmer?" Webster mumbled, his mouth already full of bacon and egg. His hand rubbed at the yoke that was dripping down the front of his already grubby shirt.

The young detective's reply was cut off by a call on his cell phone. It was Kelli. At last. He jerked his seat back as he reached to answer the call.

"Palmer!" his boss snapped, stopping him mid move. "Are you part of this freakin' team or not? Never mind the freakin' phone. Give us an update."

Palmer paused, glanced around at all the eyes staring up at him, and then flopped back down onto the seat. His flashing eyes betrayed his annoyance but what could he do? He'd return his wife's call as soon as he could.

"Progress, Chief," he began, his mind returning to the job in hand. 

"Share it," Webster snapped, shovelling in another mouthful.

Palmer sighed. As much as he liked his boss, there were times when his patience was tested.

"Someone's bought fifty red ones recently. It's got to be our man. The pusher – Bones – does some heavy-duty trade. Hangs out in Bayswater. The All Star Lanes bowling alley. He didn't show last night. I asked around, but no one had much to say. I'll check again today."

"Anyone else know of him?" Webster asked the table, pushing his plate away. He'd cleaned his plate a fraction of a second behind Taffy Boyd.

Palmer grinned at the blank faces. "Can't understand that. He dresses as Elvis."

"I just love Elvis," Sandra Wilson's confession brought a laugh from the others.

All except Palmer. He saw an opportunity. With Kelli's involvement with the modelling agency, he'd feel more comfortable following up personally on Erin DeVere. 

"Be my guest and follow this one through," he told her, pushing his half finished plate of grease away. "I'll follow up the modelling agency lead?"

"Are you mad?" Webster dismissively snapped. "Since when do we swap leads? Once we get everything into the open, I'll decide who does what." He turned to his right. "You next, Taffy. What've you got?"

The overweight Welshman glumly shook his head. "Not a lot, I'm afraid, boyo. Roxanne's trick was a guy called Dominic. She called him by his name a few times. There's nothing else of interest in the recordings, unless you want to listen to two night owls going at it with one another."

Wilson glanced across at Alex Goodwin again. Two night owls going at it with one another? She'd been home when he made his impromptu call to see her last night, but hadn't answered the door. Nor had she answered his phone message. Her mind had still been unravelling. 

Right now, she was regretting her decision. The sassy female needed the big man inside her.

"Not interested," Webster answered Taffy's jocular suggestion. "At least, not in terms of the murder. We'll need it for when we resume on our case. Okay, when you've finished stuffing your face, tell us what you've got, Goodwin."

"I turned up something, too" the barrel-chested cop grunted. "A couple of weeks ago, a punter lost twenty grand on the gee-gees. He doubled up and when he lost that, he doubled up again. That's some serious debt."

"Got a fix on him?" Webster mumbled, eating one of the sausages Palmer had left on his plate and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not yet, boss. But I've got the bookies name to follow through on," Goodwin added. "A bit delicate, but I'll get straight on it when we're finished here."

"So let's see," Webster grimaced. "We've got a lead about a modelling agency that could be crucial to our Vice case, but won't help us get to the redhead's killer."

"Won't help...?" Palmer began. This one was too important to him to just dismiss.

"Not direct enough," Webster snapped. "It'll take too long to follow that one through. Wilson, I've got something else for you to work on."

His upraised hand stopped both their objections. "Listen to me," he growled. They knew that tone. "We've gotta follow up any direct leads, nothing else! Get onto that freakin' bookie, Goodwin. Follow up on those red pills, Palmer. Burley's got something else for Wilson."

The Geordie nodded and theatrically thumped his mug down on the table to make sure he had everyone's attention. This was the pièce de résistance! 

"Aa've got a positive ID on the fingerprint from the empty apartment opposite the victim's," he softly said. "Marco Giovanni, Italian, born in Sicily. Known in the business as a hit man for the Cosa Nostra."

He enjoyed the sudden silence. Wait 'til they heard the next bit. But it was Palmer who spoke next. 

"We've got the name of the killer? Then why are we bothering with anything else?" 

"That's why I said drop the Agency lead you're so interested in," Webster interrupted. "Sometimes I do know what I'm talking about, Palmer. But there's more."

Burley nodded, pausing for effect. "According to our records, Marco Giovanni was incinerated in a car accident in Italy two weeks ago." 

The stunned silence returned.

"But my print is fresh, ya knaa," the Geordie continued. "So aa checked things out with our Italian colleagues. Turns out Giovanni's car went off the road in Sicily, hit a tree and exploded. His next of kin made the identification using dental records."

A smile spread across Webster's face. He held his mug up in a mock toast at the news.

"Now there's a coincidence," Wilson grinned, pushing back in her chair.

The Vice Chief nodded. "Trouble is, I can't rely on Burley getting time to follow through on this. That'll certainly get back to Briggs. That's why I want you on this lead, Wilson, rather than chasing the freakin' fashion scene."

"Understood, boss," she nodded. 

The Vice boss pushed himself to his feet. "So! The faked death. The red devils. The bookie. That's three leads that could take us straight to Giovanni. This is a nasty bastard, so let's be careful. Pay the bill, Wilson, and let's get going."

***

Harry Bannerman knew his place. It was a well paid one. When Dominic DeVere had an urgent need, Harry was the man he turned to. Not only were his computer and financial capabilities invaluable to his employer, his ability to ferret out information against all odds was just as impressive. 

That was just as well, as his boss had a huge concern on his mind.

It had taken Bannerman twelve months to build up his relationship with Willie Dixon. Unlike Briggs, the police sergeant wasn't on the payroll. But with retirement only a year away, the odd sweetener helped.

After all, Bannerman was just an investigative journalist who wanted to stay one step ahead of the competition. If that meant that the cop in charge of the office fed him a little harmless information from time to time for the odd benefit in return, well, what was wrong with that? 

Tower Hill was their usual meeting place. The elevated spot northwest of the Tower of London was always busy enough for them to merge with the tourists invading the City, and they always kept their conversations brief.

Their preference was to 'accidentally' bump into one another and strike an unlikely conversation. Today, Bannerman had no time to lose. Giovanni had been interupted by the police while completing the contract and that had aroused suspicions in his master. DeVere's success was based on staying one step ahead. Hence Harry's involvement.

Briggs had already given them a full run down. Everything appeared under control. Willie Dixon's corroboration that this was being treated as a normal homicide would confirm they had nothing to worry about.

"I got a tip there was a homicide in one of the fancy apartments in Mayfair," Bannerman said, getting straight to the point. "I've spoken to some of the investigating officers but something doesn't add up. My boss is putting pressure on me, but I can't put my finger on it."

"You check the police reports?" Dixon asked, pulling his worn overcoat closed against the wind. 

"Of course."

"What's the problem?"

Keep it vague, Bannerman thought. "Not sure, Willie. Sometimes you just get an instinct." Okay, he thought. Just confirm that Briggs is on top of things and I'll be on my way. It's too cold to be standing here chatting. He should have worn something warmer than the thin suit.

Instead, Dixon's response surprised him.

"Well, Harry, as usual, you're on the ball."

Bannerman's ears pricked up. "I am?"

Dixon nodded. "Got me puzzled, too. If I find out it's a story that'll be useful to you, I'll feed you the details."

"What's got you puzzled?" Bannerman casually asked.

"Oh, it's Taffy Boyd. It's Homicide's case, but he was in the office working half the night. He's got some kind of recording." 

Bannerman turned to lean back against the corrugated iron fence. A casual tourist, just taking in the scenery "He told you?"

"Hell no, he didn't tell me. That's the point. If he'd told me, I'd know it was all routine. He was hiding something, that's what got me interested." He winked at Bannerman. "I know it's to do with the Vice Squad. Checked it out without him knowing. Seems he's doing a favour for a friend of his in Vice. Jack Palmer."

The information went into Bannerman's computer brain. "Jack Palmer? Recording of what?" 

"He said it was a bit hush-hush. That's what alerted me. Made me check it out. Why be coy about it?"

Bannerman nodded, turning to look in the opposite direction. "Why indeed?"

"It's a recording from the victim's apartment the night before she was hit. She spent the evening with someone. A guy called Dominic."

Bannerman struggled not to show any sign of recognition. Fuck!

"So I checked around a bit further. Boyd's not the only one. A guy called Burley is also feeding information into Vice. He's working on the case. Forensics. It'll cost him his job if anyone finds out." 

"Feeding into this Palmer?"

"Not sure. Probably. Palmer's boss had a conversation with Burley last night, but Webster's pretty straight. Does things by the book. My guess at this stage is that Jack Palmer is the one driving this.

Bannerman's computer like brain assimilated the information. "What about this guy, Burley? What's he working on?"

Dixon tapped his nose with his forefinger. "He got a fingerprint checked out. That's not unusual, but he kept that hush-hush, too. When they keep something secret, Willie Dixon always finds out."

"And..."

"Strange thing, Harry. The print belongs to someone who was killed in a car crash not more than a couple of weeks ago. An Italian. Got incinerated in Sicily."

Fuck! This was as serious as it got. "You sure of all this, Willie?"

Dixon smiled. "Told you, I checked around. There's not much they can get past Willie Dixon."

***

Jack Palmer sat on the edge of his bed. He hadn't changed position for a good five minutes. How could he? He was numb. Stunned.

If only he'd taken his wife's call as he'd sat in the café, instead of allowing Webster to browbeat him into going through his findings!

Kelli's phone message had been short. To the point. Jack, things haven't been working between us for too long. I need time to think. Get my head together. All of a sudden, I don't know what I want anymore. But I know I don't want this. I'm going away for a while. When my mind is clearer, I'll call you. For now I'm going to a fashion show. In Milan. That'll help give me some space. Please don't try to get in touch.

His mind whirled. Running through the words. They repeated themselves in his mind. He knew Kelli didn't want someone who was away so often, who worked such long hours. She'd told him so many times. And now she was telling him she'd had enough. And what the fuck was this fashion show in Milan? Had her head been turned?

He had hoped to find her when he'd rushed home. But she hadn't wasted much time in leaving. Perhaps she'd already gone when she'd left the message? The depressing thing wasn't so much the clothes she'd taken. As far as he could see, she'd left the majority. It was the small possessions.

The jewellery. Photographs. Even the little teddy bear that meant so much to her. All gone. As much as she'd said she wanted to get her head together, it looked pretty permanent to Jack.




Palmer Ch. 08



***

The smoke from the big Havana filled Dominic DeVere's study. His wife was upstairs, 'entertaining' their new girl. Kelli, was it? 

He'd seen the tall blonde when she'd arrived, watching her stride across their gravel drive through the window of their upstairs parlour. She was as sexy as Erin had described, even bundled up in the short, puffy white winter jacket. The trendy skinny-jeans tucked into brown, suede riding boots made her look as stylish as any of the girls his wife recruited, but Erin was right. 

This one possessed something else. That intangible that separated the women from the girls.

From time to time, he could hear their moans. In normal circumstances, he wouldn't have been able to contain his eagerness to join them. These weren't normal circumstances. 

The information that Bannerman was currently feeding him over the phone was not what he'd expected to hear.

"You're quite sure?" he snapped. Checking with Dixon was supposed to have been routine.

"Absolutely," the out-of-breath man told him. "I've just finished talking to Willie Dixon. Face to face. It's kosher."

"Tell me again."

He added to the scribbles on the pad in front of him as Bannerman repeated every item of his conversation with Dixon. He left nothing out. DeVere growled to himself at regular intervals. There was a thread to all of this that he didn't like. He was becoming uneasy. 

As usual in such circumstances, his brain worked quickly. If they didn't know it already, the cops would soon have Giovanni's name. Finding the assassin would lead them to him. How could the Italian have been so stupid as to leave a fingerprint?

Then there were the recordings. Roxanne's apartment was bugged! His mind rapidly went through that night, attempting to recall what had been said. What clues would they have? His first name, for sure. 

If they'd tailed him when he left the apartment he was in real trouble. That was unlikely. He always took extra care when visiting Roxanne.

He dropped the pencil onto the desk and picked up his cigar again from the heavy glass ashtray. When he met George Blair early tomorrow morning, he'd give him the news of the redhead's demise. Before that, there was one more detail to be taken care of. 

He was anxious to join the two naked women pleasuring themselves upstairs. Erin would have the blonde woman nicely prepared. His arrival would be a surprise. He preferred it that way - the look on their faces was always priceless.

But the women would have to wait a few minutes longer. Giovanni had worried him with his threat against Bannerman. Now the Italian had become a threat to DeVere's very existence. 

"One more job, Harry," he decisively said. "The Italian must be removed. Immediately. Use your contacts and choose the best. The very best, Harry! Giovanni trusts no one. He will be a difficult target. But we must take him out. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply down the line. Bannerman knew only too well that tone in his employer's voice. It brooked no argument.

"Wait!" DeVere snapped, thinking on his feet. "First, take out this Palmer. And Roxanne, too. Yes. All three have to go. In that order. Can't have any loose ends. Make sure the shotgun is used on Palmer and Roxanne. It's got to look like the work of the Italian."

He put the phone back in the cradle. This was becoming too complicated for his liking, but Bannerman would take care of things. He always did.

For now, it was time to road test Roxanne's potential replacement...

***

Palmer wasn't sure what it was that took him back there. Perhaps it was the shock of Kelli leaving him? He needed to get back on the case. Throw himself into it. Occupy his mind. 

He'd started by heading for the All Star Lanes bowling alley in Bayswater in an effort to find Bones. Then to a couple of local haunts where it was rumoured the dealer might be. Eventually, frustrated at his lack of progress, he found himself back at Roxanne's apartment. 

He couldn't rationalise why was drawn there. Instinct perhaps? Something lurking at the back of his mind? 

The room smelt of death. The bitter smell or cordite and the rancid odour of dried blood pervaded the air as he first walked in. Faltering images played at the back of his mind as he glanced around. Images he wanted to forget, but needed to remember.

He was close to exhaustion, mentally as well as physically. How much sleep had he had in the last three days? Even for him, it was completely inadequate. His tired mind was confused. Roxanne was dead; Kelli was gone. 

He was alone.

His bones ached. His lungs hurt. His vision was fuzzy. His mouth was dry and hot. The bottle of still water he took from the refrigerator provided nothing more than temporary help.

More to focus his mind than anything else, he decided to do an inspection of each room. Starting with the kitchen. When he returned to the living room, nothing he'd seen was unexpected. 

Yet... there was something. Instinct told him so.

Okay, get your mind into gear, Palmer. Make this worthwhile. Something doesn't add up in all of this. What is it? Work it out! What didn't fit?

He decided to repeat his inspection. Only more slowly this time. Not just to see things, but to feel them, too. With each step, he found his adrenalin beginning to pump again. It helped ease his aching body. Relieve his troubled mind. Provide a second wind. 

He took a second bottle of water from the refrigerator and drained it in one go. And then it hit him.

***

"Tell me, darling," Erin softly asked, pulling away from their lingering kiss. "I watched you suck Max's cock after the last shoot. It was so beautiful. Didn't you want to fuck him, too?"

Kelli raised her hips to the softly stroking fingers. Her attention right now was on the bubbling orgasm, not the conversation. 

Erin was too smart. Her hand retreated from the young blonde's labia and ran circles around her inner thigh instead. 

She grinned at her young lover. Within five minutes of Kelli's return, they were back in bed. Just as she'd planned. Except, it had been the young model's idea. The tall and willowy blonde was full of surprises.

The timing was perfect. An opportunity for Dominic to sample her new conquest. Erin knew only too well that when Kelli allowed her husband to fuck her, she'd have crossed the Rubicon. 

No turning back from there.

"Well, darling?" she continued, bending her head to briefly suck in one of the deliciously thick nipples. It didn't prevent her from keeping on the pressure. "Didn't you want to fuck Max, darling? Experience that big, black dick?"

The blonde moaned. Despite swivelling on the bed, she failed to bring the older woman's hands back to her hot core again. 

"He's hot, darling," the Agency Head whispered, nipping at Kelli's soft earlobe. She pulled away, twisting towards the bedside table. "And such stamina, too," she added, picking up the straw that lay beside the mirror. 

"Mmm, that's good," the American woman groaned, snorting one of the two lines she'd prepared earlier. Sniffing sharply, she rubbed her nose and handed the straw to the blonde.

It was gratifying to see that Kelli no longer hesitated. It had become second nature to her. Gathering her silky golden hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her face, the young model sniffed. When the chemical buzz hit her, Erin's hands were already stroking those sensational tits. 

"Max is one of those men with a big cock who knows how to use it," she continued, kneading the delectable orbs. So firm. So round.

"I can believe that," the young blonde moaned, arching her back. 

"Maybe in Milan?" Erin smiled, firmly planting the suggestion. "Maybe you can experience that big cock in Milan, darling..."

"Maybe." Kelli's body was buzzing. Her legs opened in anticipation of the fingers sliding down her body. She wanted Max's cock, but then she was still married. "But... I don't know... Jack..."

Erin ran a tongue across the back of the blonde's neck. Time to deal with that reluctance. Her fingers gently brushed across Kelli's clit, bringing a jerk of arousal from the confused woman.

"But darling, you let Brooke make you cum. You sucked Max's cock. You let him fire his seed down your throat." 

Kelli's face contorted. The words and fingers were cleverly doing their job. Removing Jack from the equation.

"You let me fuck you," Erin husked, eliciting a lustful moan from the panting woman as she slid a finger into the wetness. "And you fucked me, darling. You weren't thinking of Jack then... Or now..."

The blonde moaned again, raising her hips to accept a second intruder.

"And now you've left Jack," the older woman said, as her fingers found the sweet spot. "Don't you want to be a success, darling? Don't you want to become a supermodel?"

The blonde's moans changed to a helpless purr. Like a kitten on its back, lost in the sensation of its owner's pleasuring fingers on its stomach. Except Erin's fingers had long left her stomach behind.

The older woman's thumb flicked her clit. Teeth pulled on her nipple. "Want to cum, darling?"

"Yessss... " Kelli's ass was suspended off the bed. Her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

"You want to be fucked, too, don't you, darling? You need a big, hard cock inside you. You want that sweetie, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," came the strained response, the tortured woman's hips beginning to pump upwards. As good as it was with Erin, she did need the touch of a man, too. Right then, with those wonderful fingers taking her to another orgasm, she somehow saw everything much more clearly.

"You want to meet my husband, too, don't you, darling?" the Agency Head continued. "He's the one who's allowed me to make you a star. He's the one buying you an apartment. You'd like to thank him, wouldn't you?"

Kelli gasped as the orgasm approached. "Yes..."

"He has a big cock," Erin's hypnotic voice continued. Her spare hand slipped around to the beautifully hard ass. A finger probed the rim. "You'd like Dominic to fuck you, too, wouldn't you darling? Show him your gratitude?" 

The blonde's begging eyes stared pleadingly at her tormentor. The older woman was looking at the bedroom door and Kelli's gaze followed. The naked, grey haired man was stroking an impressive erection.

"This is Dominic, darling," Erin whispered. "You'd like to thank him, wouldn't you?"

Her fingers plunged in again, two in her hot pussy and another in her sweet ass. Kelli shrieked as she exploded. Her love juices were unstoppable, gushing forth like a spring. Her eyes clamped shut with the image of Erin's husband's erect cock magnified behind her eyelids.

***

For a few seconds, Wilson just stared at Palmer. One hand on her hip, the other went to smooth her ponytail. Then, with an arch of her eyebrows, she walked past the young detective into flat next to Roxanne. What they'd joked was 'Palmer's' flat. Had it only been a couple of days ago that they'd staked it out? 

"I hope this is worth it. I was busy."

Busy didn't quite fit the bill. Frantic was more like it. Frantic and frustrating. Following up one fruitless lead after another had left her with an itch. She'd considered calling Goodwin but had hesitated. On her way over here, it was her hesitation more than the itch that she worried about. Things felt different now. Strained.

"So, Palmer? Is it worth it?" she snapped, rougher than she'd intended.

"It is," he replied, blinking at her harsh tone. She brushed into the room, walking over to the tall, paned windows. Palmer's eyes dropped to the black, skin-tight jeans that hung low on her slender hips. He could see the dimples of her lower back, creasing her otherwise pale skin. He shook his head. Get a hold of yourself!

"A couple of hours ago I washed the place from top to bottom," he explained. "Every room. I made a mental list of everything that appeared out of the ordinary. Out of place." As Wilson nodded and swung from one foot to the other, her taut buttocks danced before his eyes. He couldn't tear his gaze away. 

"Weren't you supposed to be out looking for Elvis?" she asked, smiling to herself. Her eyes hadn't moved from the window, but she knew he was looking. Feminine intuition, maybe?

She peeled her black leather jacket and tossed it into the chair to her right, stretching as she did. She caught his vague reflection in the glass. He was still looking.

"I've been looking for him all day," he continued, sounding a bit forced. "He's either gone into hiding or I'll nail him later tonight."

She'd often looked at Palmer and wondered. There was a quality about the wavy haired youngster that was appealing. Like he didn't know how sexy he was. And for Sandra, that was incredibly sexy. But he was the rookie. Not only that, but he seemed so happily married. Still, that was sexy too, in its own way.

You can nail me now, she thought, immediately berating herself for even thinking it. But it was too late. The image of Jack Palmer inside her was firmly planted in her imagination.

"Does Webster know you're here?" What would the young cop do if she turned and dragged him to the floor? Fucked him there and then? God, she was even hornier than she'd thought. A wave of arousal ran down between her thighs and secreted itself there. It lingered. She wouldn't be able to shake it, she knew. It was lodged in her brain like a bullet. Life was all about timing. 

"No, Sandra, that isn't the point." He stared at the lithe detective with exasperation. "The point is I've worked it out. I called you, because I thought you of all people would catch on." 

The brunette turned, the bashfulness looking strange on her pale, softly freckled face. Had he managed to flatter her? He'd never seen the seasoned cop look so... soft. Glancing at her tight, white camisole top, he quickly changed his observation.

She'd never been so feminie.

"Okay, Palmer. Shoot."

He paused for a few seconds, looking over at the kitchen, where there were no temptations to ogle. "Coffee?" he asked, suddenly nervous in her presence. What if he was wrong? What if she still thought of him as a rookie, all wet behind the ears?

"Get to it, Palmer," she said, tapping her foot in frustration.

"Okay. Let me tell you what's bothering me. The keys on the living room table. The suitcase on the floor. The wine bottle on the kitchen cabinet."

"Er...," Wilson frowned. "What about them?"

"They don't add up." 

Wilson leaned back on the windowsill. She still didn't get it, but despite the younger man's insecurity, she trusted him. He'd surprised her more than once with his insights. "Help me out here, Jack. Switch my lights on."

He grinned. "Turn you on?"

There was that innocent sexiness. Surely he knew what he was doing now – knew that he was flirting. She played it off like the tough girl everyone thought she was, raising her eyebrows. "Don't get cute."

"Think about it, Sandra," he enthused, pacing into the kitchen where he began to fix a pot of coffee. His hands shook. "There are six expensive bottle of wines in the wine rack. Plus one on the counter – still in the bag. With a purchase receipt. It was dated the same day that Roxanne was shot."

"So...?"

"The keys on the table. There were two. One was for a car."

"Yeah?"

"And there was a slightly battered suitcase beside the bed. It was pushed back against the wall, half packed, everything almost thrown in. No toiletries or make-up."

"So...?"

"A red negligee spread out on the bed. A small leather make-up case on the table. Another toiletry case in the bathroom. Two razors."

"Look Palmer, you better explain this in words of one syllable..."

He smiled. "I know, Sandra. I know. It took me a while, too. Listen, if Roxanne was about to go on a trip, why did she buy an expensive bottle of red when she had six others in her rack? Look at that suitcase and then look at the two in the closet. It's not in the same league. Why would she take that one?"

Wilson stood, joining him at the counter. His excitement was infectious. She still didn't understand, but felt it, just out of her grasp. "Keep going!"

Palmer flipped the switch and the coffee began to brew. He glanced at the black-haired detective, glad to see her face begin to light up. She always seemed so hardened, so cynical. She looked so much softer like this. He hadn't recognised that beauty before.

Again, his eyes dipped down to her chest. She was leaning over the granite counter of the kitchen's island, and he could see her firm breasts down the front of her tank top. It had spaghetti straps that didn't cover the white straps of her bra. She smiled, catching him looking.

He turned away, his face burning with embarrassment. "When you look around her apartment, everything's so immaculate. But that suitcase. The clothes are almost thrown in. Why have a make-up case in the living room? Or a toiletry case in the bathroom. Why two razors?"

"I'm not there yet, Jack—" But she was so close. Just a little bit more.

"Okay, Sandra. One other thing. I took the car keys down to the garage. They're for a BMW. It's in the car park. Roxanne has a Merc." He slid a folder across to Wilson. "Look inside."

Sandra's eyes widened. She understood immediately. Even before she flicked it open. "Giovanni hit the wrong woman."

"Exactly!" Palmer exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the countertop between them. It was impossible to disguise the excitement in his eyes. "The licence in the folder belongs to a Jane Weathers."

"Jane Weathers?"

"I've checked it out. Jane Weathers is otherwise known as Savannah."

"Shit...!" Wilson's mouth dropped open. The hand that ran through her straight, black hair was almost shaking. 

Palmer circled the island countertop between them and placed a firm hand on each of his arms. He nearly shook her. "Exactly! Roxanne wasn't packing to leave—"

"She'd already gone," Wilson finished for him. "The stuff in the suitcase was Savannah's. The suitcase was Savannah's. She was unpacking!" Sandra stared in awe at the young detective. 

His eyes flashed with triumph, like a Boy Scout making his first badge. "Exactly! She brought the wine with her," he went on, ramming the point home. "And the make-up case and the toiletry bag are hers. She was staying here while Roxanne was away."

Wilson smiled. "I've got to hand it to you, Palmer." His hands felt good on her bare skin. She had to admit she liked being man-handled by the handsome, young detective.

"As you said, Sandra, he hit the wrong woman! Same height, same hair colour. He took her out as soon as she opened the door. How would he know the difference? Roxanne is alive!"

The words reverberated in both of them. Roxanne is alive! Elation. Relief. The weight of guilt lifted from both of their shoulders. "You're a genius!" Sandra cried, stepping up against him. Her hands closed around the soft material of his buttoned-up shirt, trapped between their suddenly close bodies.

The dark-haired cop, older than Palmer by close to five years, watched her wavy haired colleague blush at the compliment. Such modesty. Such fucking adorable modesty! Beneath her fingertips, she felt his heart race.

"You don't have to—" he began.

"Palmer," she cut him off, tightening her fists in his shirt and pulling him closer. "Jack... shut up."

Before he could say another word, she tilted her head just so, leaned forward just enough, and kissed him. She shouldn't have. She really shouldn't have. But then it was too late. Then she felt her tongue pushing itself into his mouth. She felt him let it happen. He hesitated only for a moment.

And then their tongues were intertwined.

***

"Be a dear and fix us another round," Erin said to Kelli, nodding in the direction of the powerful drug. "You'd like another, yes?"




Palmer Ch. 08



Through her drug and sex-filled haze, the blonde nodded. She did, although she was suddenly nervous. She reached for the razor hesitantly, having never done this before. Mimicking the chopping motion she'd seen Erin do so many times in the past, it felt much more wrong than when things were done for her.

"Go ahead and lay out three," Dominic's voice boomed as he crossed the room, taking a seat on the bed with them. He shared a long kiss with his wife, although his eyes remained on the lithe blonde.

She was indeed incredible. She was certainly built like a model, with long, slender limbs and skin as unblemished as fresh snow. The ponytail she had her long blonde hair in helped to emphasize the chiselled bone structure of her high cheekbones and elegant jawline.

Looking at those full breasts that hung before her as she cut the coke up with long, shaking fingers, he thought about Roxanne. A worthy predecessor indeed. The two sets of breasts could have been mirror images of one another.

Finished, Kelli turned hesitantly in their direction, holding the short straw out to Dominic first. Good girl, Erin thought, watching as her husband got his buzz on. She quickly followed suit, leaving the final line—the fattest of them all—for her sexy conquest.

What was happening to her? Even after the hard orgasm Erin had given her, Kelli felt the fiery sensations linger. The coke didn't help her ability to focus, but it did give her a wonderful buzz that seemed to enhance every sensation racing through her aroused body. She did the final line, feeling the medicinal drip down the back of her throat as the kaleidoscope of erotic sensation shot through her.

"There, darling," the American woman whispered, suddenly next to her. She nearly came at the warm touch. Mimicking what she'd watched Brooke and Erin do in the past, she wet the tip of her finger, sopped up the cocaine residue, and spread it across her gums.

The act brought a smile to Erin's lips. The girl would be her coke whore before she realized it. "Ready for Dominic now?" 

Kelli nodded. Pumped up as she was, she was ready for anything. 

The sensation of Erin's husband's hands on her tits flowed down her stomach to her still tingling pussy. She needed more attention. Only it wasn't a tongue she craved. It was cock. Dominic's cock.

"I know," Erin breathed, reading her mind. She took Kelli's hand and slipped it onto her husband's hardness. While not in the same league as Max, right now it was very acceptable. "Feel good, doesn't it darling?" she seductively whispered. 

It did. Kelli found her hand sliding up and down his shaft, almost of its own volition. In a moment, her lips would follow.

Erin slid her mouth to the blonde's soft ear. "You need to thank Dominic, darling. For helping make you a supermodel. Want to thank Dominic?"

Kelli nodded. Of course she did. 

She gasped as Erin pushed her head forward. Dominic's cock was fully erect and already impressive. Erin's mouth remained next to her ear, constantly imparting words of encouragement – not too subtle suggestions "Take it, Kelli. Suck it. Love it. Like you did Max. Like the delicious young slut you are. You want to be." The blonde didn't take in every word, but she heard enough.

Dominic relaxed back on his elbows, cross-kneed. His thick cock pointed skywards. When Erin's hand attempted to guide the blonde's mouth to her husband's shaft, Kelli pushed it away. 

For a second the married couple glanced at one another. But Kelli wasn't resisting. The young model wanted to put her own stamp on the situation. With a low growl, she fell forward. Her long fingers wrapped themselves fully around Erin's husband's girth as her wet mouth descended on him.

Her anxiousness to please was evident with every bob of her head. She worked with a wonderful efficiency, swallowing more and more of his veiny flesh between her lips with each passing second. He tasted every bit as good as Max had. 

Fucked up like she was, he tasted better.

Her chin bounced against his large testicles. Was he thrusting up? Was he helping out with each hard suck? The blonde's hazy mind wasn't sure. She didn't care. Spitting saliva down along his length, she worked it in with both hands and then allowed her mouth to get back to work again.

Another growl erupted as she took him deep enough into her mouth that Erin was quite sure she was deep-throating him. With each bob of the blonde hair, the watching older woman's arousal increased.

"That's a good girl. So sexy," she encouraged, releasing the girl's blonde hair from its clasp. The silky waves loose, she ran her fingers through them, encouraging her even more. Dominic's hand joined hers and she smacked it away; he wasn't going to get control. Yet.

The young model choked a little as Erin shoved her head deeper onto Dominic's cock. She wouldn't let her escape. This was the defining moment for all three of the participants. Every one of Erin's moves would bring the blonde one step closer to her ultimate form of submission: being willingly fucked by her husband.

Her fingers found their way back between the young model's thighs. For a second, Kelli gasped. She eased back, attempting to catch her breath. 

Dominic would have none of it. His right hand shot out to grab her blonde tresses, dragging her mouth back onto him. "Make me cum, baby," his deep, commanding voice growled. 

The words sent a shudder through her body. Her subservient mouth dropped forward again. She swallowed him as deep as she could. Her growl was like that of an animal cornering its prey. It was no longer just about his pleasure. It was hers, too. She wanted his cum.

Her hands joined in, squeezing first his right testicle and then his left. It was enough to take her to her prize. 

"Oh fuck, yeah!" He grunted, clenching his teeth and pulling her in until her lips touched his trimmed pubic hair. 

Erin's hands grabbed her tits, holding the young model steady from behind as her husband sent two blasts down her throat.

Then the American woman's hands were jerking Kelli's head away, ensuring that the next three blasts splattered across her face. The facial was one of the most erotic sights she'd ever seen. And she'd seen quite a few. The cum dribbled down the model's cheeks, down her neck, onto her tits.

Kelli almost bounced as the Agency Head pushed her flat on the bed. The older woman's experienced mouth lapped the pearly juice from her tanned skin as she felt her trembling legs being spread apart. 

By the time she licked her clean, Dominic would be ready again.

***

"Sandra, we can't!" Palmer cried, breaking free of the feverish kiss with Wilson. His friend and colleague. The badass female cop who didn't give a damn! Damn!

He felt her fingers move between their bodies, which had plastered themselves to one another during their spontaneous make-out session. He knew where she was headed but could do nothing to stop. At some point, his own hands had drifted from her upper arms to her lower back, where neither her tight tank top nor her low-rise jeans covered her soft skin.

"We can't?" she questioned, snaking her hand down between his legs. She held his straining cock through the denim as she batted her lashes innocently, waiting for his response.

In his eyes, she saw everything and nothing. Lust and denial. His mouth was open and those twinkling, brown eyes were heavy-lidded with arousal. He was unsure, but needed this as much as she did. 

In answer to her question, he kissed her again. Hard. Dominating. He slid her fingers beneath the tight waistband of her jeans, feeling her thong beneath. Her fingers pulsed harder along his cock, stroking the impressive girth.

How long ago was it since he and Kelli had fucked? Did it matter? It wouldn't happen again for a long time and right now, Sandra Wilson felt and tasted so good.

Some things were so wrong, they were right.

The brunette stepped back, her hands going to the hem of her white tank top. She loved the shy, lopsided grin he gave her as he leaned back against the counter and watched. 

Palmer couldn't believe this was happening; yet things were moving too fast to stop them. With a half smile, the black-haired cop yanked the tight top over her head, her perky ponytail bouncing as she shook the bangs from her dark eyes. Her white see-through bra was perfect for her small, firm breasts, doing nothing to conceal the erectness of her little, dark nipples. 

Not that it mattered; it didn't stay in place long. Quickly, she reached for the front fastening clasp and let it drop. 

"You've been staring at them since I got here," she husked, running her hands across her perky tits.

His eyes looked like they might pop out of his head. His stare was drawn hypnotically to the round little nipples. They stuck out like eraser tips. 

"Looks like you want this as bad as I do, Jack," she smiled, looking down at the bulge in the seat of his jeans.

Her hands were already unbuckling her belt, then working the figure hugging jeans down her thighs. With a sexy shimmy, they were on the carpet. The white, lacy thong was as translucent as the bra by her feet, her trimmed patch of dark hair exposed.

They were back in one another's arms, kissing as her fingers went to work on his shirt. It took seconds to unfasten the buttons and ease it from his broad shoulders. A single finger traced its way down his naked chest. "Impressive," she smiled, for the first time appreciating the hours the young recruit spent in the gym.

Flicking her tongue over her lips, her gaze wandered downwards. She followed the thin trail of dark curls that marched across his taut belly. Back to the outline of his cock. It grew under her gaze. Her mouth began to salivate.

Maybe she was a slut? But she was going to fuck Palmer. She'd thought about it before. Now she was going to find out.

Glancing up into those dark, swimming eyes of his, she moved her hands to his belt and unbuckled it. Only the clink of its clasp broke the sound of their heavy breathing. She held his eyes as she drew the zipper down, smiling as she dropped to her knees. Without a word, she tugged his jeans down his legs and dragged out his semi-erect cock.

"Very impressive, Jack," she growled, staring up at him. Watching him, she lowered her head. 

Her mouth caressed his length. Nothing too heavy. Taking her time. Soft licks along the shaft. Her tongue flicked around the crown. Her need to fuck could wait a few seconds. She wanted this pleasure first.

He was silent for a few moments, other than the low growl. Holding back. Thinking of his wife? She didn't care. Soon he'd be begging her.

Then he groaned. "Sandra..." 

His hips jerked at the sensation of her lips around his hardness. Her mouth was wet and tight, so amazingly different to Kelli's. Suddenly, his hands were gripping her dark hair. Urging her on. 

Wilson growled her approval. He was starting to participate as well as receive. She dipped her head to suck his balls into her mouth, one at a time. Then at the same time.

He groaned and dug his hands into her scalp. It was the reaction she wanted. Her mouth left his testicles and took his shaft again. He roughly shoved himself as far as he could into her throat, seeking release. 

That's better! But not yet, Jack. Not yet.

Flicking her ponytail as she glanced around, her eyes lit on the Chesterfield leather sofa. Perfect. Pulling herself up his body, she dragged tongue all the way up his bare chest. "Nice pecs, Jack."

With a soft giggle, she took his arm and dragged him across to the sofa. Do you want this as much as me, Jack? her dark eyes asked. Want Sandra to fuck you? She threw herself into a corner, the feeling of the cold leather surprisingly erotic against her shapely back.

"Well?" she asked, looping her thumbs in the thong and skirting them down her long legs. He stood above her, gripping his glistening cock between thumb and forefinger. She opened her legs, giving him a clear view of the sculpted wedge of dark curls she'd left above her otherwise bare pussy lips.

Her fingers slid between her thighs, one pushing into her pussy. She gasped. "Ugh! Nice and wet, Jack," she moaned. "Just for you." 

His brown eyes were wild. Out of control. This was what she wanted. She pushed his buttons further, holding out her juice-covered digit for him to suck. It was an invitation Palmer couldn't refuse. 

With a growl, he took her wet finger into his mouth, slurping her juices as he rested his saliva-bathed cock against her buttery soft folds. When she gave a long, low growl, he repositioned himself against her opening and pushed forward. She was so wet, he slid in easily, his balls slapping against her ass. 

"Oh, yesssss! Feels good, Jack," she murmured appreciatively. "So good, baby..." 

Her hands stretched out along the back of the antique chestnut coloured sofa behind her. Her dreamy eyes called him forward and he thrust back into her again, harder than the first. The sofa shifted a couple of inches. 

"Come on Superman," she teased, raising her hands to free her ponytail. She shook her hair free, sensually bouncing it around her face as she raised her hips to meet him. "Fuck your Lois Lane..." 

His face reacted to her provocative words. So did his cock. It thrust harder, deeper. She bent her legs to dig her feet into the sofa seat, gaining more purchase to push her ass up higher.

"Yes, Jack. Yessss..." 

He fucked harder. So did she. One of her arms dragged itself around his shoulder, the other rested on the arm of the couch. Other than her planted feet, her body was completely off the couch as they ravaged each other. Palmer's hands slid under her ass, holding her up as he pumped inside. Two cops fucking. Their bodies slapped and their throats moaned.

"Make me cum, Jack," she gasped. The gasp turned into a scream. "That's it, Jack. Oh, yessss...." 

Her face curled and twisted as the orgasm shot through her. Biting down on her lower lip, her body shuddered in his arms. Even as her scorching climax soared through her, she could feel his hands squeezing her buttocks, his cock still moving inside her. It set her off again.

Palmer was patient, waiting until she came down. Sandra Wilson didn't have the same patience. 

"More," she encouraged. "You haven't satisfied this hot bitch yet, Jack. I want you to think of this every day. It'll keep you warm at nights, baby."

The wantonness of her words had the effect she wanted. Palmer dropped her back onto the cushions, thrusting his cock forward again. The new angle dragged his shaft across her clit. With each thrust, the friction ran through her swollen nub like lightening striking a lightning rod.

"Ngh... fuck... Jaaaack..."

She dragged his face to hers, moaning into his mouth as she shuddered through the second orgasm. Then without warning, she was viciously yanking his head away. His face contorted in pain, but it was a pleasurable pain. His cock grew another inch inside her. 

"Suck my tits," she commanded, staring into his eyes. 

Her hands were pulling his head down before he had time to respond. His mouth closed over one hard nipple, sucking hard before she dragged him across to the other.

Suddenly, the roughness was gone. "Like a baby, Jack," she moaned, her hands turning from a tight grip to a soft stroke. "Suck me like a baby."

For a while, he somehow stopped himself from fucking her. His cock remained firmly sheathed inside the thirty-three year old divorcee, moving gently. But it was her two small, hard erasers he focused on pleasuring.

Wilson's hands caressed his hair. The suckling lips provided a welcome contrast to their hard fucking. She allowed him to pleasure her for a few minutes, and then she wanted more. Her soft purrs turned into longer growls. Her hips began to move again.

"Don't move," she whispered, stopping him as he began to pump again. She pulled his head up to stare into his narrowed eyes. "Hear me?" her gruff voice reinforced. "Lois Lane's gonna take Superman to heaven."

He grunted, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. She was swivelling like a contortionist, escaping from under his body and straddling him. How the hell did she do that? 

His cock instantly found its way home again. "Yessss," she groaned, her hard downward thrust making sure he bottomed out inside her. 

A second thrust brought a moan from the young cop. His hips began to thrust back.

"Don't move, baby," she insisted, her voice sharp. Reinforcing her order, her squeezing internal muscles stilled his movement. Then she jerked her body down on him again, using his cock as if it was a dildo. "Sandra wants your cum, Jack. Want to give it up, baby?"

Her dark hair flipped forward as she dropped her mouth to his neck. His skin tasted of sweat and manliness. With each groan from the imprisoned man, she moved, never keeping still. Her teeth nipped his earlobe, grazed his chin, and pulled down on his lower lip. 

His obedience aroused her further. Time to take him to heaven. "Want it, Jack? Want to cum in Sandra?" His cock immediately surged at her words. "Oh, Jack. I felt that," she goaded. "Sooo good, baby!" 

He didn't respond. Not in words. Instead, he pushed forward so her ass hung in mid air over the edge of the sofa. Sinking to his knees, he lowered her onto her back on the antique Oriental rug. 

For a few seconds, neither spoke. 

Sandra Wilson's eyes flicked to his thick cock, twitching even as it rose from the greasy-smooth furrow between his legs. With a soft moan, she ran a hand down the trimmed wedge of dark curls between her thighs, tickling her clit and the space he'd just left. She nodded. "Come and get it, Jack."

His eyes gleamed as he fell over her, pressing his hips down and forward as he sank between her wet folds. Immediately, she wrapped her legs around him. He sank ball-deep in her.

"God, that feels good, baby," she whispered huskily, casually slipping her hands behind her head. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Yes, Jack." Her voice became strained as she lifted her hips. "Show me how good this can be."

Leaning up, he thrust hard and deep. Slowly to begin with, prolonging her pleasure before building the pace. Then he was no longer interested in her pleasure. He pounded harder, needing to cum.

"Yes... yes," she moaned, spreading her legs so that he could use her any way he wanted. "Fuck me, baby!" 

Jack pumped harder, dropping onto elbows that dug into the rug. His changed angle gave him better leverage. Deeper penetration. Her growls were deep, escaping her throat in low moans.

She tossed her head right and left, her eyes closing completely as she allowed him to use her. "So good... so good... so good..."

He held himself up on arms, relieving the burning pressure on the tips of his elbows. "I'm close," he warned.

"Me, too." Her dreamy eyes opened and she pulled her hands from behind her head to lock them around his neck. Her tongue found his as her knees dug into his sides. "Cum in me, Jack," she slurped. "Cum now..."

When her internal muscles tightened on him, he was lost. She was about to milk him for all he was worth and he so needed the sweet relief it would bring. His moan started loud and ended louder. As his cock went off in her buttery cavity, he felt her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, her heels into his back.

His seed filled her like a bursting geyser. Then she was cumming with him, the continuous bursts from his jerking body igniting her own orgasm. "Yesssssss!" 

When their bodies stilled – when the sweat of their fucking began cooling on their naked skin – they heard it. Over the sound system. Over the surveillance equipment.

It took both a second to realize what it was. For anything but the warm feeling of their bodies to register.




Palmer Ch. 08



It was a clink and rattling sound. Keys. Keys in the door. Not their door. Roxanne's door. He hadn't realised the surveillance loudspeaker was still on. It conveyed every noise. 

The adrenaline hit Palmer like a shot in the arm. His recently spent cock surged once again in Sandra Wilson's creamy sex. She groaned softly, but was just as alert.

"Giovanni?" Wilson whispered as Palmer sprung naked off her prone body. She was up beside her, both digging their guns from their discarded clothing.

Palmer didn't answer. If he were a dog, his ears would be on point. He crouch-ran to the door, his cock bouncing out before him. If it was Giovanni, he wasn't going to let the bastard get away.

And a voice filtered over the speakers. A soft voice with a bright laugh. "OK, mum, just got home... Talk to you later... Bye bye!"

It was Roxanne. She really was alive.

***

"It's yours," Erin whispered. "All yours. Take it, darling. Show me how much you want this."

Kelli nodded. Erin was right. This man was hers. His cock was hers. She wanted it. She needed it. She'd have it. 

"Show me," the American woman whispered again. "Show me how good you can be." 

The blonde nodded again. Her eyes told Erin she was ready. Lying back, she spread her long, shapely legs. That was it. Show him what he wanted. A finger found its way to her wetness and returned it to her mouth, sucking in her sweet nectar. 

"Want it?" she provocatively asked, holding it out to him. 

From somewhere, she was infused with a sexual confidence stronger than she'd ever felt in her life. 

Watching Dominic's face change to a lustful snarl, she realised how much in control she was. He thought he was going to fuck her, but she was the one in control. Come into my web, said the spider to the fly.

His cock seemed to grow another couple of inches as he sucked the outstretched finger. Wasting no time, her hand took his and dragged him onto the bed. Taking the initiative, she pushed him onto his back.

His long, thick shaft thrust skyward. Ready for action. Her mouth watered. Her sex tingled. She'd have his cock in her in a few seconds. She desperately needed that.

Throwing a shapely leg across his hard stomach, she settled herself. Her hand reached behind her. Pulling his hard cock forward, she slid backwards, guiding him against her glistening opening. Yesssss.

At first she allowed just his crown inside, resting for a moment just to savour the moment. This wasn't Jack's cock. It was someone else's. Not just anyone. It was Erin's husband's. 

For some reason, the thought sent another surge of arousal through her.

Erin was suddenly behind her, sliding her apple-shaped breasts against her back, the older woman's hands pulling on her dark nipples. She loved it, but it was this man she was focusing on. This man and the wonderful cock now edging further into her tightness.

The journey downwards sent excruciating sensations through her body. She savoured each, slow thrill. Then she had him all, completely sheathed in her wetness. He moaned. So did she. She began to move, experiencing another man's cock inside her for the first time since she'd met Jack. It felt wonderful.

Her undulations forced more grunts from the captive beneath her. Leaning forward, her hands gripped his chest, running through the hairy covering. She pulled on the little hairs, making him snarl with the delicious pain.

Suddenly, Erin was moving to her side. No, in front of her. A brief bolt of anger flared inside her. This man was hers. To do with what she would. She didn't want any interference. 

But wait. Erin had something else in mind. She was facing her, snaking a hand around the blonde's neck. Kelli accepted the long kiss as the American woman lowered herself onto Dominic's face.

That was acceptable. It was very nice, in fact. She kissed the woman passionately. Very fucking nice...

Kelli thrust down faster, enjoying the sensation of Erin's flicking tongue in her mouth, loving the experienced female hands all over her tits. But it was the cock filling her that satisfied her most. Dominic was just big enough to hit all the proper places without hurting her. Perfect. 

He had great stamina, too. Helped by his earlier orgasm. She came twice before she even sensed he was close, crying out into Erin's soft mouth.

Suddenly, her control came to an end. Erin was moving away. Her husband was rolling her onto her back. She widened her legs for him, but he grabbed her by the ankles instead. With a rough yank upwards, he settled them across each shoulder.

Yesssss. This worked, too. He was going to fuck her and she so desperately needed to be fucked.

"Do it," she grunted, heaving her ass upwards. "Fuck me..."

His face was a snarl. A lustful snarl. His mouth was sensuously covered in his wife's juices. He looked like an animal. A predator. 

"Come on," she impatiently growled at him. "Fuck me..."

He thrust hard. One hand held her legs around his neck. The other savagely gripped her left breast. Leaning forward, he began to drive into the helpless young woman. 

Kelli's face twisted with each thrust. She loved the way he used her. Like a whore. A bitch in heat, being taken by her new master. As helpless as she was, she jammed her hips back against him. 

But it was the grey haired man who now had the power. That godlike sensation he always felt when claiming his territory. It had happened with Roxanne. And Erin before her. And now this blonde. 

She'd make a worthy successor. Roxanne would soon be dead and the woman underneath him would take her place as the jewel in his crown. She was proving herself worthy of the position. Yes, she was inexperienced. Yes, she was raw. But Erin would mould her. 

So would he. 

For a few seconds, he paused. Adjusting position, he allowed his new servant to drop her legs to the bed either side of him. Sliding his hands along her flat, sweat-damp abdomen, he could feel her muscles shift beneath his fingers. She had a thin strip of blonde pubic hair on her mound. Trimmed short, but not short enough that he couldn't pinch and pull – returning the sexy torment she'd given him.

"Ah!" she gasped, jerking her hips forward and opening her legs.

He twisted the golden curls cruelly. "This goes," he growled. "All of it. Understand?"

The wide-eyed model nodded, bending to his will. She had no idea what power really was, Dominic thought. He'd show her. Cock in hand, he set it against her dripping vulva and penetrated her.

Immediately, Kelli wrapped her legs around him. Her feet crossed around the top of his sweating ass. Her heels locked together, pulling him deeper. The snow helped. It always did. But this one was made to fuck and be fucked. A worthy member of his empire.

The sounds she made as she stretched to accommodate his girth invaded his psyche. Even as she dug her fingernails into his broad shoulders, his sweat begin to drip onto her body. He grinned wildly down at her, watching their perspiration mix. It was another sign of his new conquest. 

Pushing all thoughts from his mind, he began to fuck again.

"Ngh... yessss." Her voice was a hoarse whimper. All she could manage. Words that were little more than gasps. Her hips met his renewed thrusts. "Fuck me, Dominic..."

He gave a roar. He was the one who was dictating, not her.

Grunting, he fucked her like a wild animal. This was his prize. He was taking it, branding the woman with his cock. He powered down hard into her. His feeling of immortality drove him on. So did Kelli's long moans. And the words of his wife as she urged the two of them on. 

Raising up on his haunches, he pummelled harder. The bed bounced against the wall. His captive was lost in a mindless chant as she tightened her thighs against his waist. It was a first fuck she'd remember forever.

He had her close. He was, too. Her face squeezed in tortured ecstasy. Her eyes rolled upwards. Her hands flopped onto the bed. One final thrust hit the spot. She screamed. A second scream followed. A third. Fireworks went off, soaring into the sky inside her body. 

One final deed. 

The grey haired conqueror raised himself higher. His head flew back. His mouth opened. His roar filled the room as his testicles tightened and he fired into her. His seed, his – Dominic DeVere's – pearly seed, hurtled from him and deposited in the spasming beauty.

She was his now.

***

Relief was Palmer's first reaction. Overwhelming relief. Yes, there'd still been a murder. Yes, it was a beautiful, innocent young woman Giovanni had consigned to the grave. But it wasn't Roxanne.

Over the intercom, they heard her blood-curdling scream as she discovered the crime scene in her own home. Sandra and Palmer dressed quickly, getting there as her trembling fingers were punching a number into her cell phone.

When they came running in, IDs in hand, her large, expressive eyes widened even further than they already were.

"A cop?" her hoarse voice asked.

Palmer nodded.

"You're a cop?" she repeated. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

He nodded again. What could he say?

The redhead's glance bounced across to Wilson and then back to Palmer. "Her, too?"

Palmer nodded. "Sandra Wilson."

Roxanne shook her head. "Well, you never mentioned you were a cop, Jack Palmer."

"Mentioned? You two know each other?" Wilson asked, a frown covering her face.

Palmer ignored the question. That wasn't his priority right now. "Come on, Roxanne. Let's go into the other apartment. We'll explain. Please."

Roxanne continued to stare in disbelief as he backed out of the door. Sandra was staring, too, although her dark eyes were filled with suspicion. "Know each other, huh?"

Palmer shot her a dagger at the cop. Surely there wasn't a hint of jealousy?

"What's that smell?" the redhead asked, looking around.

Her gaze followed his to the spattered, dried bloodstains and pockmarks on the wall. Her soft, green eyes widened. 

"Roxanne," Palmer quietly asked, "Come on, the other room. "

"Who... what...?"

"It's Savannah."

Her pretty face changed to the same light colour as the walls. Finally, she let herself be led out into the hall and the short distance to the neighboring apartment.

Palmer studied her vacant eyes and nodded at Wilson the whole way. "Get some whisky, Sandra."

Roxanne slowly raised her head. Her face began to crease in puzzlement, first around the corners of her mouth and then her eyes. She struggled to speak but couldn't find the words. Then the tears started. "Is she...?"

Palmer nodded. When he took the glass of whisky from Wilson and held it to her lips, she ignored it. Her hands covered her face as she tried to contain the violent sobs. She couldn't. Her whole body heaved, every attempt to control her feelings ending in another flood of tears.

Palmer didn't know what to do. Wait it out? He glanced at Sandra, who still had that jealous look on her face. No help there. So he just sat there until she'd recovered enough composure to take the whiskey. "Here. Take a sip."

She gagged as it burned her throat. "I... hate... whisky..."

But when he reached out to take the glass, she ignored him, throwing back another shot. She almost gagged.

"I understand how you must be feeling, Roxanne," he softly said. "But there are a couple of things that are really important. I need to know right now. When did you arrange for Savannah to stay here?"

Her watery, bloodshot eyes remained full of tears. It was quite an effort to respond. "I decided on the spur of the moment to... stay in the country with... a friend. Savannah's always wanted to stay here, so I told her she could if she wanted."

Palmer nodded. "When?"

"The morning I left. I called her that morning from my hairdresser's. We met at Langhams Brasserie for lunch and I gave her the key."

"What time did you call her?"

Her eyes flashed as she took another sip. "Look—"

Palmer's sympathetic smile stopped the objection. There was something in his eyes. He sat down on his hunkers beside her position on the couch. "It's important, Roxanne. Believe me, I wouldn't ask otherwise."

She nodded, taking a long swallow of air. "Around eleven, I think."

"She had no idea you were leaving London until then?"

A little colour began to return to her face as she took another sip. "No. None at all."

Palmer glanced at Wilson. "That confirms it." He turned back to Roxanne. "We need a place for you to stay. And we need it fast."

"Why?" the redhead interrupted. Her senses were beginning to return. "What's going on, Jack?"

"Roxanne," he softly said, "We think the killer made a mistake."

Her green eyes glared at him. "Of course he did. Savannah wouldn't—"

"He was after you!" Palmer interrupted, his voice sharp. He needed her to understand the danger she was in.

Immediately, she knew he was right. She would have picked up on it much sooner had she not been shell-shocked by all these revelation. 

Palmer went on. "I'm certain of it. It was you he wanted. Have you heard the name Marco Giovanni?"

She shook her head, her hand holding her chest in an attempt to control her breathing.

"Think, Roxanne. He's Italian. Marco Giovanni?"

"I have no idea who he is," she blurted, harsher than she'd intended. "Why should I?!"

Palmer eased up from his crouching position and sat beside her on the couch. Her soft hand trembled slightly as he took it in his. She felt so fragile. "Roxanne, he came to your door and shot Savannah instantly. By mistake. Someone hired him to kill you."

"You must be mistaken..."

"There's no mistake. He was after you all right. We need to understand why. But there's a good chance he'll come after you again. Our first priority is to get you out of here. Get you somewhere safe."

She jumped up and paced across to the window. The way she threw the rest of the whisky down her throat was almost an act of defiance. Her body shuddered as the alcohol kicked in. "You lied to me, Jack. You didn't say you were a cop. Why should I trust you?"

Palmer eased himself to his feet. "No, Roxanne, I didn't lie. I didn't tell you I was a cop, but I've never lied to you." 

"Any idea of where we can put her?" Wilson interrupted, her business-like tone cutting the tension like a knife through butter. "Somewhere safe?"

Palmer nodded, his eyes never leaving the redhead's. "We've got a place for you to stay. Sandra will go back to your flat with you. Pack some clean clothes and we'll get you out of here." For a second they stared at one another. It was almost a battle of wills. "Please," his soft voice asked.

She nodded. It was an imperceptible movement of her head, but an indication of acceptance all the same. A hand swept her red hair back over her shoulder as she robotically pulled herself to a stand.

"Good," he smiled, feeling the tension ease. "Roxanne, I thought I'd lost you once. I don't intend to allow that to happen again." 

He thought he'd lost me once? What did he mean, he'd almost lost me?

"Where are we taking her?" Wilson asked, her voice flat, her mind pragmatic.

Palmer's face brooked no argument. "You still live alone, don't you Sandra?



Palmer Ch. 09



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 9: The Catwalk.

From a security perspective, Sandra Wilson's apartment was perfect. Years in the Force had taught her to be safety conscious. It would be well nigh impossible for anyone to gain access without her agreement. While it may not have been the luxury that Roxanne Lopez was used to, it was ideal for keeping her safe.

"The bedrooms are down there," the female cop told the redhead, nodding at the small corridor leading off from the living area. "Mine's on the left. Choose from the two on the right. They're pretty small." 

Her words were a statement of fact, not an apology.

"That's really nice of you," Roxanne told her, glancing around. "I really appreciate you letting me stay here, Sandra."

"Didn't have much choice," Wilson ungraciously said. It wasn't the inconvenience. She wasn't even sure what it was. It couldn't be jealousy, she reassured herself at the same time she looked between the redhead and Jack Palmer.

The redhead furrowed her brow apologetically as she rung her hands together. Sandra's coldness thawed a touch. "Sorry, didn't mean that the way it sounded. You're welcome here. I'll make some coffee."

Palmer shot Roxanne a comforting smile as Wilson made her way into the kitchen. She smiled shyly back at him, warming his heart. He picked up the overnight Gucci bag and led the way to the spare bedrooms. They looked at both. "Any preference?"

Roxanne shook her head. Despite her positive demeanour, she still looked a little disorientated. He understood. Shock and disbelief were hard things to shake. He chose for her, dropping the bag onto a stool just inside the door to the slightly bigger room. There wasn't much in it. Pink wasn't his style – and he hadn't really thought it was Sandra's, either – but it suited the bedroom.

"You okay?" he asked.

The redhead smiled again. It seemed an effort. "I'm fine, Jack. Shocked, but fine."

"No wonder you're shocked, the room is pretty basic," he joked. Her grimace told him to tread with care. "You and Savannah were close?"

Tears appeared in her eyes. "She was a good girl. I'm the one who should be dead, not her."

It was a normal reaction in such circumstances. Guilt complex. He'd seen it many times. Hell, he'd just gone through it.

"I understand how you feel about that," he replied, his eyes offering sympathy and understanding. "It's natural, Roxanne. But you can't change what's happened. We've got to take care of you now."

Her body trembled a little and she sat on the edge of the bed. She needed to steady herself. A single tear made it's way down her right cheek. "Are you going to take care of me, Jack Palmer?"

His heart beat a little faster. Everything about her perfect face brought him alive. The soft, wavy, red hair. Her mischievous green eyes that always gleamed, even in these circumstances. The full, red lips. Her perfect bone structure. How could this woman look any more beautiful?

His eyes smiled as he nodded. "Like you've never been taken care of before!" His voice was strong and firm.

"I'd like that," she smiled. For a few seconds their eyes danced with each other. "You married, Jack?"

For some reason the question shocked him. He'd almost forgotten about Kelli. His wife had left him and it was at the back of his mind?

"Yes," he honestly replied. "But she left me."

Roxanne didn't respond. Or ask anything else. She just nodded, and then hid her face in her hands. "Is this really happening, Jack?"

***

As usual, the five star Howard Swissôtel's exclusive underground car park was deserted. DeVere's block renting arrangement ensured that was continually the case.

As the tall, brown haired man climbed in the rear door of the entrepreneur's silver-grey Bentley, the familiar aroma of a Havana cigar filled the air. "Feels like home," the Prime Minister elect quipped.

DeVere smiled. It was a hard smile. Blair instantly knew his host wanted to get down to business and was frustrated by the need to first exchange a few pleasantries.

"George," the crew-cutted man acknowledged with a wave of his hand. "Tell me, things are progressing well?"

Blair decided to play along. DeVere would get to the point before too long. "Extremely well, Dominic. Dennis Price is worth his weight in gold. I understand I'm guaranteed all the votes I need."

"Yes," the grey haired man nodded. "We're on our way, my friend. It's good to see you feeling confident. Cocky, even?"

Blair threw back his head as he laughed. Yes, he was feeling good. "I feel like a winner, Dominic. That's all."

"And so you should," DeVere acknowledged, his mind clearly on other things.

Blair decided to find out what it was. No point in beating around the bush. "Yet something is bothering you, Dominic."

"What makes you say that?"

"My friend, we've known each other a long time. I know you too well. Why don't you just spit it out?"

DeVere pressed a button in the door. The raised window provided additional privacy. As cigar smoke circled the interior, the exhaust fan kicked into action. How should he phrase this? "It's Roxanne, George."

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. For a few moments he thought there was a spoke in the wheel, something that was going to provide a seismic hurdle. The young woman was no longer an issue. He waved a hand as if dismissing the subject without the need for further discussion. "As usual, you were right, Dominic. She provided too much of a risk. Don't worry anymore, I've sorted that problem."

DeVere snorted. "You've sorted the problem?"

Blair's blue eyes flashed. "That's right, Dominic. I've sorted it."

"No, George, you haven't sorted anything. I've taken care of that particular problem. As I do with all your problems."

Blair sneered in annoyance. Who was DeVere to speak to him in such a way? "You have? Is that right, Dominic? Pray tell how?"

The look on DeVere's face was chilling. Despite himself, Blair felt a tremor run through his body. 

The crew-cutted man's voice was flat and cold. "She's dead, George." He carefully observed the changing expression on Blair's face. It was as if a thunderbolt had hit him. But that was only to be expected. 

"Dead?" the politician gasped. "What do you mean, she's dead?"

"She was shot in her apartment."

"My God! When?" 

"Saturday."

Blair's shocked face turned to something else. Amusement?

"Did you hear?" DeVere repeated, bemusement flicking across his face at his friend's reaction. "She's dead!"

This time, George Blair laughed out loud. He leant across towards DeVere as if to emphasise his words. "No... she's... not... Dominic."

The entrepreneur reached out and squeezed Blair's arm. "Believe me, George, what I'm telling you is true."

"A couple of days ago?"

DeVere nodded, tightening his grip. "I'm sorry, George. My contacts are never wrong."

"Really? In that case, I suggest you look for new contacts, Dominic."

"George..." They said one another's names like they were in the midst of a sword dual. A jab here. A parry there.

Blair took DeVere's hand and gently removed it from his arm. "Dominic, she's not dead. She was with me Saturday night. All night. I told her we had to stop seeing one another. We were saying goodbye. She left me around this time yesterday morning."

DeVere's grey eyes stared at the man sitting opposite. His head began to ache. The lines in his forehead deepened. A mistake? How could it be a mistake? What was Giovanni up to? He wouldn't lie. 

"There's been a mistake?" he weakly muttered. His mind whirred. Giovanni wouldn't lie. Who the hell had the Italian killed?

"I should say." Blair's body shook as he laughed. "Quite a big one from the sound of things."

***

"I'm sorry, Roxanne," Palmer's soft and apologetic voice said as he shook her awake. "But I need to ask a couple of questions."

She glanced down at the bed. Still in her clothes, she was covered with a checked blanket. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked, stretching and rubbing her eyes.

"It's eight o'clock. You've only had a couple of hours sleep, but I need to get moving soon. You can get some more shut-eye later."

"You've slept?"

"No," he smiled. "I've just been watching you."

A smile covered her whole face. She was so beautiful she gave him goosebumps. "That's nice, Jack" she responded, struggling into a sitting position. "But you look tired, too. When was the last time you slept properly?"

He gave her that lopsided grin. "I probably look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's been a few days?"

"You've got to take better care of yourself. Or find someone who will. You know, Jack Palmer, you and I have a connection."

Palmer's body heaved a little with excitement. She had a way of coming straight to the point. 

"What did you mean, you thought you'd lost me once?" she continued.

He took her hand, alternating between stroking and squeezing. He tried to speak, but his voice was lost in his throat. Even his attempt to swallow was doomed to failure.

She understood. "Maybe we can talk about that over that dinner I promised you?" she smiled, raising her free hand to run a finger along his scar. "For now, Jack, tell me what you were doing moving into the apartment next to me. With your friends!"

He nodded. This wasn't an easy question either. His voice was husky when it reappeared. "We were bugging your apartment, Roxanne. I was monitoring what went on."

So much for dinner, he thought, waiting for the blast coming back at him. Her reaction surprised him. She wasn't angry. Or embarrassed. She was simply curious.

"Why?"

He stood up and wandered to the door, turning to look back at her. In for a penny, in for a pound. "We got wind of you, Brooke and Savannah and some very senior business and political figures. I work in Vice. We needed to understand what was going on."

She slowly nodded, evaluating his words. "How long did you have me bugged?"

"We'd just finished wiring your apartment when we bumped into you."

Her smile remained, though this time her face coloured a little. "Well, at least you kept your word."

"My word?"

"You said you wouldn't lie to me, Jack. Lots of men would have sidestepped that one." She swung her legs from the bed to the grey carpet. "So, you heard everything that went on that night?" 

The way she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at with those large green eyes embodied everything he loved about Roxanne Lopez. She somehow came off a both vulnerable and sexy at the same time. 

Palmer sighed deeply as he nodded. What would her reaction be if she knew he'd masturbated while she'd fucked her trick? "That's one of the questions I have," he softly said. "I need to know who he was."

"Why?" she asked. "Jealous?" 

Palmer didn't flinch. "Well... actually... yes. Yes, I am jealous. But that's not why I'm asking the question, Roxanne. You know that."

Her face told him she was struggling to answer. That meant she was protecting someone. Why?

"He had nothing to do with this," she replied. "I can promise you that." 

"His first name is Dominic. Dominic who?"

For a few seconds, she stared at him. He hit the same stonewall. "That won't help you, Jack." She paused, then stood up and walked across to him. "Listen... would it help you to know I'm retiring?"

Palmer felt that tingle run through him again. Her perfume filled his senses. "Roxanne, I'm not here to judge you. I'm just doing my job."

Her green eyes smiled up at him. "Well thank you for that, Jack. But what I meant was would it help you personally? Not as a cop."

He hesitated. Those gleaming eyes would reach any man's heart. "Yes, Roxanne," he truthfully answered. "That helps a lot."

Her smile broadened. Turning, she walked back and flopped back down on the edge of the bed. "So then Jack, what other questions do you have? As a cop, of course."

He sat beside her. "This is important to your safety, Roxanne. I can't overemphasise that. You're sure you've never heard of Giovanni?"

Her answer was emphatic. "Never."

He nodded. That confirmed his thoughts. "In that case, he's just the trigger. For someone who wants you dead. I need you to think about that, Roxanne. Who would want that? Why?"

The silence went on for a good thirty seconds. Her eyes flicked to his face. Then away again. She had something to tell him, but just as it seemed she was about to confide, the clink of china interrupted them.

"Thought I heard you two," Wilson said, walking into the room and handing them a mug each. "Coffee," she unnecessarily said. "So, what're the next steps?"

"You need to stay here with Roxanne," Palmer said. " I've just spoken to Burley. We're gonna meet back at Roxanne's apartment. I want him to sweep the place. Then I'll be back here. Okay?"

"Okay?" she asked, the grumpiness returning to her voice. "Sure, it's okay. Tell you what, we'll use this place as our HQ. I was thinking of turning it into a guest house, anyway." 

***

DeVere pressed a button and threw the half smoked cigar out of the window as it whirred open. His face contorted in rage. First, Giovanni had fucked up. Now Blair was getting above his station. His anger was deafening – like steam pouring from a boiling kettle. 

"I said, what do you mean, you've sorted the problem?" the Prime Minister elect repeated.

"I heard what you said, George," DeVere shouted, his temper snapping. "Listen to me. I am the one who helped plan out your career. I'm the person who provided the finance. I'm the one who has helped get you to this position. I'm the one who will make you Prime Minister. I'm the one who gave you Roxanne."

"You gave me Roxanne? Is that right—"

DeVere's angry voice stopped him. "Yes, George! All of what I've just said is correct."

"The fuck you did," Blair shouted back. "You introduced Roxanne to me. That's all."

With some difficulty, DeVere got hold of his temper. His voice dropped to a low whisper. He was much more effective when he was in control of his emotions. "You forget yourself, George. Your career is nothing without me, my connections, and my money." 

He paused, allowing the words to sink in. Despite his distaste, Blair knew what he was saying was true. There was no denying it.

"When I met Roxanne, I could see the potential," he continued. "I nurtured her, helped her blossom. And when I introduced her to you, it was with one thing in mind. To invigorate you."

This was better. He was back in control again. He lazily took out another cigar and twirled it in his fingers. His cold gaze enveloped the brown haired man opposite. That look had intimidated people all over the world.

"She loved power as much as either of us. I knew she'd infatuate you. And of course, you succumbed to her charms, just as I knew you would. The point was, George, I wanted her to give you fire when you needed it the most. And she did."

Blair sat quietly. The shocked look in his blue eyes couldn't disguise his feelings, however much he tired. He was finding it difficult to take in what he was hearing. "She... she's a prostitute?"

DeVere laughed. A sneering laugh. "George, for someone so intelligent, you can be incredibly stupid."

Blair felt the cold air of realisation hit him. He shuffled back into the corner of his seat, trying to distance himself from the man opposite. 

It made no difference to DeVere. "For every asset, there are liabilities. Roxanne became a liability, the one person who could pull you down. She could destroy all the effort I've put in to helping you get where you wanted to be. As Prime Minister of the United Kingdom you can change peoples lives, George. For the better. You can also open doors, George. That's why I invested in you."

The brown haired man's face had turned a deathly shade of pale. He had to respond, try to re-establish his position. His effort was half-hearted. "I'll always be grateful Dominic, but if you think—"

DeVere's upraised hand cut him off. This was crunch time. Time to ensure this man knew his place. "I don't think, George. I know! Everything is recorded. Every penny I've spent on your campaign. Some above board, some not. All your little rendezvous' with Roxanne. I'm your greatest asset, George. But, don't... dare... fuck with me!"

Blair's shoulders slumped. He had no answer.

Satisfied at last, DeVere lit the cigar. "Good," he continued, reinforcing his ascendancy. "Nothing changes as a result of this conversation, George. I'm here to support you. We just understand one another a little better."

***

The Baglioni hotel was beyond Kelli's wildest dreams. Located in that part of Milan where fashion, culture and business met, it was one of the most luxurious hotels in the country. 

Their home for the next couple of days was the Presidential Suite. Erin had reserved them the best the hotel could offer. If the blonde model thought the Abercromby suite in Edinburgh's The Howard was special, this one simply took her breath away.

It was Erin's idea, naturally, that they shared the suite. The sumptuous sitting living room with its phenomenal view was large enough for two. The two-sink bathroom with its gold-plated faucets and whirlpool Jacuzzi tub was larger than her bedroom in London. And of course, the king-sized bed was large enough to be shared, too. Kelli tingled at that particular thought. 

The hotel was the first of the treats waiting for her. The older woman had described the after show parties, repeatedly suggesting that the two of them find Max and take him back to their suite. You won't believe what he can do with that cock, she kept telling her.

Kelli couldn't wait. Yes, she still had inhibitions. The Agency Head had told her that was only natural. But after her threesome with Erin and her husband, the blonde was determined to overcome any shyness. She was determined to sample every experience she could. 

Most important of all was the show itself. Erin had drilled that into her. Work hard, play hard. In that order. Kelli had never shied away from hard work. The fact it went hand in hand with doing something she loved just made it perfect. She'd give it everything. 

This new lifestyle was going to be so much more exciting than anything she'd ever dreamed of.

She spent the morning of their arrival working out in the hotel's stellar gym, making sure her long, slim frame was perfect for the runway show. After that, Erin had booked a spa treatment for two of them. Massage, facial, hair, and a waxing. The last was done for Dominic DeVere, although it wasn't stated.

"You're going to love Fiera Milano City exhibition complex, darling," Erin explained as they lounged at the spa in their plush, white robes. "Eleven modern pavilions in the heart of the city. Countless fashion events each year. It's perfect for the Victoria's Secret extravaganza."

Kelli smiled at the older woman. She'd also read up on the historic centre. Everything she could. She wanted to soak in the history and culture of her new world. She wanted to make tonight the best night of her life.

And in a few short hours, she'd be in the middle of it all.

Surprisingly, she had few nerves. Or rather, the nerves she had were like little kicks of adrenalin running through her. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, illuminated by having Erin there to mentor her, calm her nerves and show her the ropes. How could she fail?

This was what Kelli had been born for. As much as she'd thought she loved Jack, she wasn't missing him at all.




Palmer Ch. 09



***

"Alex?" Sandra Wilson asked in surprise when she opened her front door and found Goodwin standing in her doorway. He'd been calling her mobile all afternoon and she'd been ignoring it. Guess he decided enough was enough.

"Webster told me what's happened," he told her as he arrived. He embraced her in a bear hug. "Incredible."

"Certainly is," she mumbled into his barrel chest, wondering if he was going to ask her why she was still avoiding him. Truth was, she didn't have an answer herself. Roxanne was alive, that guilt for her death was gone, but she still couldn't think of her lover the same way.

You fucked Palmer, her conscience reminded.

"So does this mean we can get it on again?" Goodwin asked, running his hands across her athletic rear as he leaned into her.

Sandra let herself be kissed. Even kissed back. His tongue jammed into her mouth even as his hand slipped up to cup her right breast. 

"Where's the woman?" he gasped, breaking their kiss.

"Asleep," she told him. "Don't know for how long... " she offered as he led her by the hand into the living room. A tiny voice hoped that the danger would give pause to the white-haired cop, but she knew better. When the man got horny, there was almost nothing stopping him.

"So we'd better get moving," he replied, flopping down onto the couch and taking her with him.

As she fell, her hand brushed along the seat of his blue jeans, feeling his erection waiting there. Again, she thought of Palmer. Thought of the way they'd fucked. Wild and abandoned. She grew hot with guilt and... arousal?

Goodwin pulled her head against his, kissing her deeply. When he was confident she wasn't going anywhere, he focused his hands on her black denims, opening them and pushing them down her long legs. He was so horny, he was going to make her remember why they'd first started hooking up.

The brunette felt her body react to his brutish will. She always liked the way he used her – the way they used each other – and couldn't help the excitement as he ripped her thong down her legs. When he began to work his own jeans, she decided that this would be penance for what she'd done with Palmer. They may not work out, but she owed him at least one last, hard fuck.

Pushing his hands away, she yanked his jeans to his knees and dragged his hard cock through the flap in his Calvin Klein's.

She straddled his lap and sank him inside her with an outrageous groan. She was so wet she had him completely embedded in two passes.

At first she didn't move. Her eyes closed, savouring the feeling of fullness. Her body trembled above his, overflowing with nervous energy as she worked her internal muscles on his hardness.

"My God..." she began. He yanked her down to him, his mouth cutting her off. He sucked on her tongue as his cock twitched inside of her.

"Ready, baby?" he asked, gripping her slender hips and easing her ass fractionally upwards. She nodded, sweat already forming on her brow. He let her fall, jamming back down. Two more thrusts and she pumped down with him. "Gonna fuck me?" he asked. 

He groaned with each word, with each downward thrust.

Sandra Wilson began to whimper as she bounced on his lap, her flowing juices already covering his cock, boxers, and the cushion below them. He felt good, she wouldn't deny that. He felt really fucking good.

Goodwin reached for the hem of her tank top and dragged it up above her breasts. Gripping the back of her bra, he yanked it free, allowing the sensitive globes to bounce along with her undulations. His fingers went straight for her nipples, tweaking and squeezing them they way he knew she liked.

"Oh, yessss, Alex—" She paused in her movement to enjoy the sensations running through her tits. 

It gave him time to slip one of his hands downwards, grasping at her emerging clit.

"Oh, yessss, baby—" She began to move again, this time in small circular twists, accommodating his questing fingers.

"Take control, honey," she gasped, giving herself to him.

He grunted in response, lurching forward, his mouth locked on her left tit. He noisily sucked in the hard nipple while his fingers caressed her slippery bud. Her whimpers told him where she was heading.

When her eyes began to flutter, jolts of energy radiating through her, he lifted her body and jammed it back down onto his cock. It took only seconds for her to cum, another surge of love juices flooding over the cushions.

"God, Alex—" she groaned, biting down on his shoulder as her body shuddered and trembled like a vibrating machine.

"Time to get fucked," he told her, belying his age by lifting them both from the cushions. Twisting Wilson around, he pushed her over the arm of the couch and lined himself up.

"Yes, baby," she gasped, planting her feet on the floor to provide some traction. Legs wide, ass thrust as high as she could, she craned her neck to look back at him. "Fuck me... Fuck me, Alex!"

Goodwin obliged. He leaned forward to get maximum penetration, his hands gripping her tits. Pulling his hips back, he paused for an agonising second before ramming himself back into her.

"Ngh..."

With each wail, he fucked her harder. With each grunt of exertion, she wailed louder. Even in her submissive position, her inner muscles clutched and gripped him. With every squeeze on his cock, he moaned and increased the tempo. Loudly, they drove each other on.

Goodwin felt the sweat dripping down his face. His animal like grunts synchronized with Wilson's higher pitched whines. Both knew they were making too much noise. The girl was only just down the hall.

It was so good, neither could stop.

Roxanne wasn't down the hall. She watched them from her position at the end of the corridor. Their groans had woken her and she instantly knew what was going on. She just didn't know who it was that was fucking. For a few seconds, she wondered if the snow-haired man had forced himself on the cop. Wilson's encouraging moans soon dispelled that notion, although there was definitely something more going on. Something slightly unbalanced.

Still, watching the female cop play the submissive began to arouse the redhead. So did the uninhibited way the older cop was fucking her. Her hand ran down between her legs, under her pleated, short skirt.

The guy – 'Alex,' Sandra Wilson called him – was getting close now. Roxanne pushed her fingers inside of her thong as she watched, finding her clit swollen. She wanted to swap places with Wilson. She needed to be fucked, too. But that would come later. With Palmer.

When Goodwin finally hit the point of no return, his hips turned from a steady rhythm to an erratic tempo. For a few seconds he paused, held himself there. Then both barrels emptied in a single shot. 

Roxanne growled. The thumb pleasuring her clit had her own orgasm just seconds away.

Goodwin's bursts of hot liquid were soon intermingled with a rushing wave of Wilson's climax. When her body convulsed, the sight and accompanying scream was too much for Roxanne. 

Her hand became doused in her own syrup as she exploded with the mismatched lovers. Her body violently shuddered, biting down on her lip to keep from screaming.

Now would be a good time to leave, but something inside of Roxanne told her to wait. The fuckbuddies began to recover. The white haired man pushed off the younger cop and looked around lazily for his jeans. Now that the heat of the moment was gone, Roxanne felt it again. Something was strained between these two.

Even Goodwin could feel it, the awkwardness pushing through his thick skull at last. Sandra wouldn't meet his eyes as she gathered her things. The girl was alive, but was their illicit relationship dead?

He left without saying more than a few words. Not even an, 'I'll call you.' What was the point? She wouldn't pick up anyway.

When he was gone, Sandra leaned against the door and started crying. She'd managed to put on her thong and tank top, but didn't have the strength for more.

Hearing movement across the room, she was startled to find the redheaded model standing there, although she no longer had the strength to do more than gasp. "How long have you..."

"Long enough," Roxanne whispered, gliding across the room to the brunette. There was something intoxicating about the girl. Sexual, definitely, although Wilson wasn't into women. Pure, maybe. Intimate. "Sometimes, men are slower to catch on."

"What's that?" Sandra asked at the cryptic statement. Even fresh from a nap, the girl looked good: red hair in a ponytail, pleated skirt and tight polo shirt.

"When things are over," she whispered, coming to step in front of the female cop, just inside of her comfort zone. 

"How did you know?" Sandra asked in wonder. The girl had just watched them fuck like animals; how could she know that there was anything but pure lust between her and Goodwin.

Roxanne shrugged. "I just know. Want to talk about it?"

All at once, Wilson realized that she did. She didn't have any other female friends, all of her acquaintances being in Vice or the force. She couldn't talk to Palmer, of course, and no one else knew about her and Goodwin. Maybe talk was exactly what she needed.

She nodded, feeling warmth flood her. Already, she felt the weight of her stress come off her shoulders.

Roxanne leaned in, taking the brunette's head in her hands and pressed their soft lips together. It was more than a friendly kiss, and yet Sandra didn't get the feeling that the redhead was necessarily coming onto her.

"Why did you do that?" Wilson asked, coming out of the kiss. She had to admit that she liked it, and she felt much better because of it.

"You looked like you needed it," Roxanne laughed, stepping away and wandering into the kitchen. "Come on, let me make some coffee and we can talk."

Sandra found herself looking at the model in a new light. Definitely a sexual one. So maybe she did have some curiosities, she admitted, but now just wasn't the time. Now, she just needed a friend.

***

Palmer's promise to collect some additional clothes for Roxanne saw him reach the apartment block half an hour ahead of his planned meeting with Burley. 

"Morning Ted," he smiled at the elderly security guard. "How's the invalid?"

"He's doing fine, Mr. Palmer. At least, he's good enough to be back on duty soon." He leant forward confidentially. "The relief night guard is hopeless. Doesn't know anybody. No initiative."

Palmer grinned. "Can't get the staff, Ted. Can't get the staff..."

Once inside Roxanne's apartment, he headed for the bedroom. It was underwear she wanted. The woman who'd gotten inside his head had asked him to pick a few items out for her. Something he liked, she'd said. You choose.

Looking in a couple of drawers, he realised he liked everything.

His focus on her lingerie left him flat-footed. He heard the noise behind him, the creak of the hardwood floor. The slight scrape of boots. But he was too slow. He didn't even have time to start reaching for his gun.

The pain from the object hitting the back of his neck stunned him. He had no chance to steady himself, the impetus sending him reeling against the wall.

He twisted as he fell forward, swinging one leg in a wide arch behind him. His foot connected, glancing against human flesh. Swinging around, he balled his fist and drove it low between the two legs, punching into a crotch. His assailant let out a cry of pain and as he sunk to his knees, Palmer hit him again, this time between the eyes.

His momentary satisfaction was disturbed by the toe that kicked into the middle of his back, burying itself just over his kidney.

He screamed with pain and rage. Twisting in the opposite direction, he blindly swung his fist at the second assailant. When he missed, he reached for his Kel-Tec .380. A foot kicked into his wrist, knocking it from his hand. 

A second foot slammed into his stomach even as his weapon clattered against the wall. It sent him to his knees. The assailant took full advantage. The fist that smashed down onto the back of his head sent him into a sea of nausea. 

He tried to fight it, but he couldn't ignore the pain of the second blow that slammed into his neck. His tired body gave way. His hands went numb. His knees collapsed. The sounds around him receded as the darkness took over.

***

Kelli stared at the long lines of people stretching around the exhibition complex. Even at this early hour, she could actually feel the emotion and anticipation hanging in the air around the Fiera Milano City. 

"Rehearsal's haven't even started," she said, her wide eyes taking everything in. "Is this normal?"

"Oh, yes, it's normal," Erin smiled. "Get used to it, darling. This is your future."

The blonde felt her pulse race. She may have been calm before. Now the enormity of the show was making her feel like a kid walking into the wrong classroom on the first day of school. "I'm not sure it's something you can get used to," she replied, following her mentor into the complex. Erin navigated through the crowd, knowing exactly where to go.

"The very best models don't just get used to it, darling," the Agency Head explained as she linked her and led her through the reception area. "They use the buzz, use the adrenalin."

"Use it?" 

"That's right, darling. Feed off it. Believe in yourself. Use the atmosphere to be the very best you can be. Come on, let's show you around. There are a few people you need to meet."

***

Toby Parkinson was laughing. Turning to his brother, he shook his head at the reaction on the other end of the phone. 

"I don't know what you're worried about, Harry," he said with another cackle. "The guard was stupid enough to get in our way when we were taking Palmer from the apartments."

"Don't know why I'm worried?" blurted the voice at the other end of the phone. "I'll tell you why." Harry Bannerman's voice rose heatedly with each word. "I'm paying you a lot of money. Your instructions were to take out Palmer. Use the shotgun. Blow his face away. I didn't say anything about killing a FUCKING seventy year old security guard."

The smile left Parkinson's face. Nobody spoke to him like that, but the small-time hood knew that Bannerman had connections. As much as his instinct was to tell the guy to go fuck himself, he had to reign in his reaction. Besides, there was a hundred grand each for him and his brother riding on this. 

He tried reason. As much reason as Toby Parkinson was capable of.

"Listen, Harry, calm down. Number one, we blew the old bastard's face off. So the cops will think it was this killer of yours that did it. Number two, we've got Palmer here. As soon as he tells us where the woman is, we'll blow his face away, too. Then we'll take out the girl, just as you asked. So there's no reason for you to get excited. Okay?"

He heard Bannerman's exasperated hiss. "I hear you. But understand this, Toby. I CAN'T afford any fuck up here with so much at stake."

So much at stake? Perhaps he and his brother should have asked for more money?

"I understand, Harry," the pitbull of a man softly said. That was better. Humour him. Keep him sweet. Then he could get on with the job in hand. "Just leave it all to Toby Parkinson. By this evening, you'll have your two dead bodies, just the way you want." 

Bannerman's voice sounded calmer. "No slip-ups, Toby. I'm already lining up Giovanni. I'll give you details when you've dealt with today's problems."

"This Giovanni won't be a problem either, Harry."

"Don't be FUCKING stupid." Bannerman's voice rose again. "He's a fucking expert. Don't underestimate him, Toby. I'll set him up. You and your brother take him out. Then you get your money."

Parkinson snorted as he hung up. Giovanni would be no match for the Parkinson twins.

***

Erin swept her through the Fiera Milano City, introducing her to one famous personality after another. Every time, she introduced Kelli as her newest star. "Watch for this one, darlings, in a few months, you'll see her face everywhere."

Not only was it flattering, but it gave Kelli an enormous boost to her confidence. When a supermodel like Heidi Klum agreed that she was stunning, how could she not feel that extra spring in her step?

"Well don't you two make a pretty pair," a deep, confident voice said behind them. Kelli heard the hint of Russian in his mostly American accent. She shivered. She knew that voice from television.

Turning, she watched as Erin smiled at the devastatingly gorgeous man who was smiling at them. "Alexander. Nice to see you again, after so long."

"Erin... DeVere, is it now? You look as lovely as ever. Love the new hairstyle... but then anything suits an older woman."

Erin smiled at the barb, ignoring it. "Alexander, I'd like you to meet Kelli Palmer. Kelli, this is the most pompous man you'll ever meet, Alexander Mishin."

Kelli shivered as she watched his eyes roam her body. She wore a miniscule, knit dress that stretched snugly over her tall body. While she'd begun to think that the turtle neck was a mistake in the warmth of the convention centre, at least it was sleeveless.

Plus, it really added emphasis on her full breasts that were perfectly proportioned to her slim body. Breasts that Alexander Mishin took his time admiring.

"Very nice to make your acquaintance, Kelli," Mishin smiled when his gaze finally returned to her soft browns. His blue eyes were positively hypnotic.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Mishin," she said shyly. God, he was a pretty man. The touch of grey in his unshaven face made him look distinguished, and his frosted blonde hair – done up in his characteristic faux-hawk – was right off the pages of GQ.

"Please, my dear, call me Alex." She nearly melted on the spot. "Let's catch up later. I'm scheduled for an interview..." he glanced at his watch. "...five minutes ago, looks like." To Erin, he nodded. "Nice seeing you, Mrs. DeVere." He winked and was gone.

Erin rolled her eyes, but both women watched his slender frame until he'd blended into the crowd. "I think I hate him as much as I love him," the American woman said, more to herself than to Kelli.

"He launched the careers of Gabrielle Dubois and Alicia Stiles. What's there not to love?" Kelli said, drawing an immediately fiery look from the Agency Head.

"Don't get any ideas, darling. Stick with me and you'll surpass them both."

They mingled for another half hour before Erin left her alone. She had some people to meet, but gave her a bit of advice before sauntering off: "You need to stand on your own two feet, darling. Watch and inhale everything that happens. But don't be overawed. You're the best. Show it. And stay close to Brooke when she gets here. She'll show you the ropes."

Kelli nodded, but couldn't help feeling a bit lost at first. Her wide eyes took in everything. So many personalities. Some she recognized, but only from the magazines. Models, movie stars. She spotted Max, flirting with a few attractive reporters from the E! Channel. When he saw her looking and turned his bright, white-teethed smile on her, she felt a familiar twinge between her legs.

Brooke arrived within half an hour, although it had felt like an eternity. "Don't leave my side!" Kelli whispered, clutching the curvy brunette. She didn't. The young model was been a star, continually whispering little things to her throughout the afternoon. 

"The women around so-and-so will be picked up by such-and-such within a month, watch for it," or "Looks like such-and-such has decided to win the contract with a few personal favours." She'd been a real treasure, keeping the blonde on the straight and narrow. She'd also opened her eyes to the pretty seedy underworld of modelling Somehow, she found herself growing even more excited.

The first two rehearsals went perfectly. Kelli had delighted herself with her approach to the catwalk. Her feeling of belonging had surprised her and impressed everyone else. She found herself quickly 'owning' the stage.




Palmer Ch. 09



Strut, darling. Strut, Erin had coached her that morning. Show attitude. Work it. Own it. She had. The narrow platform was her new home and she loved it. 

"Perfect, babe," Brooke whispered, when Kelli returned backstage from the second rehearsal. "You look like you were born to be here!"

"That's how I feel, Brooke," she whispered back. "I don't feel like the new girl at all. I love it here."

"Okay, for the final rehearsal, make sure you take more notice of the photographers pit at the end of the runway. Pretend they're there. Those photogs can make or break you. Develop a haughty look designed to tease and tame. Attitude, baby. Attitude is everything!"

"How many will there be?"

Brooke gave a gurgling laugh. "Two to three hundred I would think. They set their cameras up in 'AI Servo' mode so they can take continuous bursts of us as we glide along the catwalk. You do that so well, honey. But when you get to the end, always remember. Hand on hip, haughty look. Something special. That's what gets you noticed."

Kelli's eyes sparkled. "Got ya. I'll think of something." 

The young raven-haired model nodded. "You pick up stuff so quickly, Kelli. A girl with beauty and brains! There aren't many of us around with that combination."

Both women burst out laughing, and then Brooke's hand was snaking around her neck, drawing her into a kiss. Kelli returned it, once again enjoying how soft another woman's lips could feel against hers.

The raven-haired woman's eyes widened mischievously. Her head scanned the corridor, settling on a small changing room to the side. 

Her voice growled as she pulled the blonde along behind her. "Come with me."

Inside the small area, she pushed Kelli back against the wooden panel. Instantly attacking her, she practically mauled the blonde's face as they kissed. Her right hand laced through the wavy, golden tresses as she stood on her tiptoes and pushed her mouth harder against the novice model.

"Just time for a little, much needed relief," she murmured into the blonde's open mouth.

Their tongues swarmed and devoured one another with an intensity born of the situation and the moment. Brooke pulled Kelli's hand inside her robe, jamming it down the front of her delicious little pair of boy-shorts. 

"Oh fuck!" she moaned, feeling the blonde's fingers find their way inside her pussy for the very first time. When Kelli curled them, she cried out into the blonde's mouth as she succumbed to an unexpectedly instant orgasm.

"Geez, girl, you're good," she moaned, quickly recovering.

Her own hand moved now, dipping inside Kelli's thong, and sliding them across her sensitive mound. It was the first time that anyone but her had touched the smooth skin since she'd had it waxed bare, and Brooke seemed to know exactly what to do. The knowing fingers homed in on the pink nub of Kelli's naked clit. When she pinched it, the blonde's entire body rocked; a mini-orgasm crashed through her.

Panting heavily, the two women stared at one another as they recovered. Remarkably, their needs had been attended to in the first sixty seconds. But that was just the first round. 

"One all," Brooke's teasing voice purred as Kelli tried to come down from the high. "Let's see who can make it two."

She slid two fingers along the blonde's deliciously wet slit, her relentlessly invading digits going straight to work. Kelli arched backwards against the wooden panel, supporting herself while her hips danced to the tune Brooke was playing.

Then she got in on it, too. "Bet I can get you there first," she moaned teasingly into the short and curvy female's ear.

Brooke gasped in surprise as Kelli's fingers returned to her sex. The blonde pulled on the scorpion piercing that hung off her clit, nearly driving her over the edge. "You're one sexy bitch for such an innocent," she purred, biting down on the blonde's earlobe.

Kelli smiled through the aroused haze. Yes, she was learning fast. She corkscrewed three fingers into the raven-haired model's fleshy well, feeling the telltale response as Brooke began the up-and-down momentum of her delectable hips. Keeping up the pressure, she twisted them. Once, twice, three times.

When she thumbed the pocket dynamo's exposed clit, Brooke simply exploded. "Ngh! Kelliiiiiiii. Fuuuuuuck!"

The blonde's free arm supported the shuddering body against hers. Yes, she was learning fast.

When Brooke had recovered, she gave Kelli a long kiss of gratitude before whispering seductively into her ear, "Looks like you win round two..."

Before the blonde had to ask what she won, Brooke was lowering herself to her knees, taking the other woman's thong with her. Grinning at from the floor, the brunette positioned Kelli's leg over one shoulder, opening her sweet, pink lips before her luminous eyes.

At first she teased and toyed, curling the blade of her tongue up along the blonde's moist labia, licking it like a twist of soft-serve ice cream. Her wet touched swirled just off of the girl's swollen clit, dancing on the skin where her blonde landing strip once sat.

Kelli rocked her hips forward, using the leg draped over Brooke to try and get leverage. It almost worked. For a second, clit touched lips and she gasped. Brooke quickly pulled away, just out of reach.

"Naughty girl," she clucked. "You know what we do with naughty girls?" As she said it, she rammed two fingers into Kelli's sweet cleft. The blonde nearly lost it.

When Brooke swept her tongue along her throbbing, pink button, she did.

***

As he regained consciousness, Palmer couldn't decide which part of his body ached the most. It took him a short time to realise his hands were bound. And his feet! He slowly opened his eyes. Pain flared across his forehead. Nausea swum around his head. The slow rocking of the floor suggested he was on a boat.

He had to close his eyes again. For a few moments he lay still. It was like he was on a boat, only the dizzy rocking was inside his head.

He allowed his senses to return. Slowly. Opening his eyes again, blinked. It was like watching a snow covered world through the labouring paddles of a windshield wiper. Grey. Everywhere, he saw grey... concrete?

Concrete. Yes. A cold, concrete floor and... a wall behind him. Tall enough to disappear into the darkness. Rafters were up there. A corrugated ceiling? 

With great effort, he turned his head, looking right. He was in a large, dirty looking space. Full of concrete blocks. Disused warehouse, perhaps? How'd they get him out Roxanne's without alerting Ted Jobson? 

He looked left, coming face-to-face with a short, bald-headed man, squatting low and watching him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Toby Parkinson sneered. "For a short time anyway."

The voice was high pitched, unsuited for the pitbull of a man. His laugh was a cackle. It hurt his throbbing head, although Palmer wouldn't have liked it under normal circumstances. 

Focus, Palmer, focus. Everything was important now. Everything around him. Hear what he's saying. Look for a way out. 

"It needed two of you to take me out?" he provoked, with more bravado than he felt. His eyes flicked over to the nearly identical looking man sitting on a small, concrete block. He'd seen lots of thugs like these two in his career.

"Oh, yes," Parkinson smirked. "Didn't want to take any chances with a tough cop." There was that cackle again. "How rude, let me introduce ourselves. I'm your soon-to-be executioner. On my left is my brother. He's the one you thumped in the balls. He'll be repaying the compliment before you die."

Die? Palmer's body shuddered as the word ran through him. If they were willing to take out a cop in cold blood, whatever he and the Vice team had stumbled on was even more serious than he'd imagined.

"Get a seat for our guest," the pitbull told his brother. 

The thinner version grinned as he languidly rose to his feet, wandering the short distance to what looked like the shell of an office. He returned with a rickety, wooden chair in need of varnish.

"Here, make yourself comfortable," pitbull snarled, grabbing Palmer by the lapels of his short, leather jacket and roughly yanking him onto the worse-for-wear chair.

The thug untied the rope around his wrists, but before the young cop could react, his right hand was secured to one arm of the chair. Then his left. The young cop's vision wobbled with each motion, bile hitting his throat. The room went in and out of focus.

"You can't avoid death," pitbull continued, happy with his work. He lit a cheroot as he spoke. "But you can save yourself a lot of pain. One simple question. Where's the woman?"

When Palmer didn't reply, Parkinson smiled at his brother. It was an ominous smirk. The thinner man covered the short distance and applied pressure to the nerves just above Palmer's right elbow. Pain fired down his arm, stopping only when it hit his fingertips. 

"A simple exercise to demonstrate what's in store," pitbull sneered, scratching his large, baldhead with a thick, grubby hand. "We can make this as easy, or as painful as you want, my friend. You decide."

Palmer didn't answer. His eyes flicked around the room, looking for something, anything, that would offer him some hope.

"No?" Parkinson nodded his brother again.

The thug pressed a forefinger into a nerve beside Palmer's left eye. The cop nearly passed out from the instant, excruciating pain. 

Pitbull took a deep draw from the cheroot, as if he was having a casual conversation with a friend. "We have all day. This is only the start. Believe me, sooner or later you'll tell us. It's just a matter of time." 

A throbbing darkness threatened to engulf Palmer. He couldn't speak, even if he wanted. It was difficult getting his brain to function through the pain. He dragged the vision from his good eye back to the brothers. They were grinning.

"The longer the better," Parkinson continued, taking another long puff. "More pain that way, you see. Tommy enjoys inflicting pain." He laughed. "Or rather, you don't see. Not out of one eye, anyway."

Responding to another nod, Tommy's hand returned to the nerve beside his left eye. Palmer screamed this time, instantly vomiting onto his now grubby clothes. 

"Dear me," the pitbull's voice said. In the hazy darkness in front of his eyes, he could no longer see the thug. "Quite a mess. And we're only just starting. Let me ask again. Where is Roxanne?"

The young detective remained silent. He couldn't answer. He was retching again, hovering on the very edge of consciousness. 

The sudden burning pain in his hand halted the onsurge of woozy darkness, somehow jerking him back to the present. It took a good few seconds to realise that the pitbull had stubbed the stogie into the back of his right hand.

The burning pain helped him find his voice again, even if the words did come through gritted teeth. "Fuck you..." 

With a soft smile, Parkinson repeated the exercise, the stench of burning flesh suddenly reaching Palmer's nostrils as he fought to stifle another scream.

"Everyone loves a hero, don't they, Tommy?" pitbull grinned at his brother. 

The thinner man returned the smile. He pulled out a gun, waving it with a flourish before jamming it against the side of Palmer's head. 

The young detective closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of the bullet. The sound that would tell him everything was over. Any second, now. At least he hadn't told them a damn thing.

It didn't come. Instead, he caught sight of a flailing arm. The butt of the gun crashed down on the fingers of his left hand. His grunt of pain echoed around the large, empty space. When the thug repeated the action on the back of his hand, his scream of pain replaced the grunt. 

It filled the air a brief second before the blackness overtook him again.

***

This was it. All the models were lined up. Ready to take their turn to strut as soon as the lights went down. The music was already blaring, a low, bassy throb. To Kelli, it was like the roar of an engine, starting up. It was mere seconds before the show commenced. 

All crammed together, Kelli stood immediately behind Brooke. Her closeness to her raven-haired friend helped. Gave her some comfort. She closed her eyes, attempting to focus. Attitude, she told herself.

Her mind jumped back to the last couple of hours. Even backstage, she'd had to be alert. Apparently, the photographers were allowed to roam free, or so it'd seemed. They blended into the background unnoticed until they pounced like predators, capturing the particular shot they wanted.

It hadn't been a time for complacency. Brooke had warned her. Erin had, too. Stay on your guard. They'd print the worst of shots, as well as the best, if it would sell magazines. Stay on your toes at all times.

The whole process had been truly amazing to watch. The wide-eyed blonde had no idea the whole backstage process was such a massive undertaking. A bit like trying to herd and corral cats. The teams of models, hair stylists, makeup artists, stylists, and dressers all fought for position.

Each time a model emerged late for rehearsal, out of breath, a team descended upon her. As many as five at a time, all working on the girl to get her ready. What surprised Kelli the most was how at home she felt. She fitted into this world.

Then there was Brooke. That session had helped her enormously. Not just by taking off the edge of her burning arousal. Making the curvy model cum a second time helped her own feeling of belonging. Letting the girl eat her out was like a free pass into this world. That's what world famous models did. She was one of them now. 

The music changed, pulling her back to the present. It was closing in on her cue. Brooke was approaching the far end of the catwalk, sauntering forward in her sexy, little boy-shorts and matching cami top. When the brunette turned, it would be Kelli's turn to push herself out into the flashing lights. She gave the deepest of deep breaths. The couple lines of blow Erin had given her helped. She was buzzing. She was ready. This was her future! 

Attitude, she told herself as she stepped out, one long stride in front of the other. In time with the heavy beat. Attitude!

She was hot. She knew it. The cameras knew it. That confidence raced through her. The bra only just covered her full breasts, allowing them to bounce seductively as she walked. Even standing still, her cleavage bobbled over the top. Her thick, pink nipples were proudly pointing upwards through the flimsy material. 

Hot, baby, hot!

Her oily smooth pussy was already aroused, protected only by the skimpiest of matching thongs. The lacy thigh highs completed the sexy picture. Black so complimented her long, wavy, blonde locks. 

With each long stride, her sparkling, brown eyes focused ahead. A hint of mischief was evident in her otherwise no-nonsense look. She strutted down the runway like she it was hers, one hand glued to her hip while the other danced in time with the music.

This was easier, better, more sensual, than she could ever have believed. Even the continuous flashing from the photographers failed to faze her. 

From somewhere, Brooke's earlier words came back to her. When you get to the end, always remember. Hand on hip, haughty look. Something special. That's what gets you noticed.

Her mind whirled. Dare she? Even as she debated, her hands went to the back of her bra, unleashing the clasp and whipping off the garment with one hand. Instantly, her free arm teasingly covered her bouncing, naked breasts. The gasp that filled the room was electric. 

At the very end of the runway, she paused. 

Her bold stare into the photographer's pit allowed them complete access to her near nudity. With a sensuous nod at the flashing blackness in front of her, she draped the bra over her neck and down her back. With her arm constantly moving across her tits to offer the merest hint of nipple, she posed with one leg forward, then the other.

Without warning, she bent forward and the bra cups were covering her breasts again. Provocatively arching her back as she fastened the clasp behind her, she gave a final flick of her blonde locks. 

Her sultry look was of a woman wanting to take you to bed. Executing a perfect pirouette, she swung around to begin her model's stride back down the catwalk. She felt the eyes on the firm globes of her buttocks. Felt the flash bulbs capture every shimmering curve.

Her journey back was just as scintillating as her march in.

The deafening cheers filled her ears. 

Body tingling, she put an extra wiggle in her hips, taunting the cameras with her almost naked ass. She'd never been more confident in her life than she did as she confidently strutted away. One long step in front of the other. Work it, baby, her mind screamed. Work it, and then work it again!

***

Pain and the shaky desire to pass out were all that Palmer knew. They overwhelmed everything. He could smell the vomit on his clothes. He could feel the searing pain on the top of his burnt hand. He could practically feel the thumb marks on the edges of his eyes. 

But all he could really focus on was the pain.

Focus on it. Focus. Palmer, focus. Use it, he told himself as he slowly began to recover. Use the pain. Clear his head. Work something out. There had to be an opportunity to get himself out of this situation. Think positive. Think Roxanne!

He eased one eye open. The right. He still had a clear vision in that one. Keeping his head still, playing unconscious, he took in as much as he could.

For the longest moment, he saw nothing. Was he alone? Where had the pitbull with the cackle gone? There was movement in the office shell maybe twenty feet away, accompanied by the sound of laughter. The brothers enjoyed their job!

Slowly he began to rotate his wrists. The rope around his right was a little looser than the left. It took a good five minutes, but centimetre-by-centimetre, he worked his hand under and free. His wrist burned with every movement. 

That was good. Use it, he repeated through gritted teeth. Use the pain. 

It took a few painful seconds for his free hand to unfasten the rope binding his left. The swelling and throbbing was a different sort of pain from the burn marks in his right hand. It was broken. 

His eyes closed for a few seconds. It allowed the wave of nausea to pass. Focusing was so difficult. Think. What had the thug said? What could he remember? What could he use?

From nowhere, words came into his mind. Not the words he expected. Where'd they come from? Why now, in his current situation? The man Roxanne had entertained that night had spoken them. I'll remember tonight for ever, but I have to say goodbye.

Fuck! That was it! It suddenly made sense. He was saying goodbye to Roxanne. Goodbye! With his fuzzy brain, it was a surprise Palmer could think logically about anything. But the more the words reverberated around his mind, the more certain he became. 

The man on the tape was behind this. Dominic!

His hands went to the ropes at his feet. Hampered by his broken bones, he'd only worked them half free when Tommy returned to the room. Damn! A few more seconds and he'd have been free.

Palmer kept his hands in position on the arms of chair, as if he was still fully bound. The thug glanced across at him. 

"Awake, huh?" he sneered. Flicking a piece of gum into his mouth, he casually sauntered across the floor. "When Toby's finished his call, we'll put ya to sleep again. This time for good."

Palmer swung his head from side to side. "Help," he moaned.

The thin brother's laughed as he stepped closer. "Help?" His face was a sneer. "You thumped me in the balls, sucker. See this," he grinned, pulling out and waving his gun. "I'll blow your fucking brains out before we're finished."




Palmer Ch. 09



"Roxanne," Palmer moaned. He kept his voice low enough to force the thug to lean closer to hear. "I'll tell." 

The thug's lips curled in a mocking smile. He leaned in, cocking his head to the side to hear. Palmer could smell the stink of the man's breath, even through the mint of his gum. He summoned every last bit of strength. One chance. One. His last.

Jerking forward, he led the way with his elbow. 

His aim was true. With a satisfying crack, the thug's nose broke. Instantly. Bone shattering echoed around the empty space. A brief second later, a geyser of blood gushed across Palmer's lap.

The cop grabbed the gun from the upraised hands. Even as the brother screamed in pain, he held it to the side of his head. He had no hesitation. He pulled the trigger, putting a bullet into the thug's skull. 

A look of disbelief shot across Toby Parkinson's face as he hurried out of the office shell. When Palmer's unsteady hands sent a shot past his ear, he stepped back. It gave the young cop the opportunity to finish freeing his feet before the hail of bullets came his way.

They didn't. Silence filled the air.

The young detective stumbled forward, trying to regain the feeling in his legs. He wouldn't last long in this condition. His eyes and gun were trained on the door, ready to drop the pitbull as he burst through. When he didn't, Palmer had to think again.

The feeling in his legs returned with each unsteady step. He needed to hurry to the door. He was a clear target. Why was pitbull waiting? 

Reaching the loosely hanging door, he paused to steady himself. He'd be no match for the thug unless he could take him by surprise. With a deep breath, the barrel of his gun pushed the flimsy covering open. His crouched angle gave him half a chance when the thug opened fire. 

Palmer's gaze covered the empty room. Where the hell was he? The only way out was the half open door at the opposite end of the small space. The thug would be waiting but in his condition, the cop had no time to lose. Squeezing his eyes a couple of times didn't help. The fuzzy vision remained. He checked the gun before entering the empty space. Damn! As if his condition wasn't bad enough. 

Two bullets only! 

Edging his way across the open area, he forced himself to think. What would he do if he were the thug? It took seconds to find out. Parkinson threw his weight against the door just as he reached it. Perfect timing. Palmer was flung across the small space, his head crashing into the sidewall. So obvious, yet he'd fallen for it.

When the pit-bull immediately followed through, Palmer knew he was in trouble. Parkinson should have taken him out there and then. His excitement got the better of him. The first flustered shot flew just past the young cop's head. The second went through Palmer's left arm. 

The thug's round face smirked as he closed in for the kill. "This is for Tommy," he gloated. 

The empty click gave Palmer an unexpected reprieve.

"Stop," Palmer told him, not even having time for a sigh of relief. His unsteady hand pointed his gun at pitbull's chest even as the thug pulled another weapon from somewhere. "STOP!" 

The thug took no notice. Had he expected him to?

When pitbull took aim, Palmer fired. The bullet exploded in his chest, shattering his ribs. It didn't immediately stop him. Willpower kept him moving forward, ready to lunge at Palmer one final time. 

The young detective wanted him alive, but he had no choice. He held his hand as steady as possible as he aimed between the eyes. Somehow, his final bullet found its target. 

***

With each of her subsequent performances along the catwalk, Kelli had enhanced her new reputation. Two hours later, not only was the talk all about the wonderful Victoria's Secret lingerie, it focused on the new phenomenon that'd stolen the show from the established supermodels. 

"You were wonderful, darling," Erin purred, hugging her blonde lover for the umpteenth time since the show had ended. "Simply sensational. Everything I knew you could be, you were. Your career is guaranteed."

"I don't know about that," the new, young sensation smiled. Her sparkling brown eyes were brighter than ever. "But I do know I couldn't have survived today without you, Erin."

The Americanwoman kissed her softly on the lips. "You can show me your gratitude later tonight," she said. Her smile was one Kelli was beginning to recognise. 

Roughly translated, it meant, I'm gonna fuck your lights out. 

The blonde shivered at the thought. She was on a high such as she'd never experienced before. She was going to be a star.

"Come with me," the Agency Head told her, grabbing her hand as she glanced at her watch. "It's time. For now, there's one more task."

"Anything," Kelli enthused, almost running as the older woman pulled her along the narrow corridor. "But what..."

"You've heard of The Don?" Erin asked over her shoulder.

The blonde nodded. Everyone had heard of The Don. The obese man was the single most influential force in world fashion. 

"He's asked to see you. Wants to give you his blessing," Erin smiled, suddenly pulling to a halt outside of a thin, brown door. "Listen, darling. Meeting The Don is like meeting the Pope. He doesn't bless many. His request to see you is the final seal of approval. You're one of the chosen few." 

"Bless many...?" The confused look on Kelli's face made Erin smile. She really was such an innocent.

"What do you think, darling?" Her piercing, blue eyes conveyed the exact meaning of her statement. That naïve look always set off her high cheekbones and large, brown eyes. Erin purred. 

"We need this, darling. Your stunt with the bra was a stroke of genius. But think how jealous that'll have made some of the girls. In this business, you have friends or enemies. You've made a few of both with tonight's performance. Jealousy, darling. Jealousy!"

"Enemies?" The thought hadn't crossed Kelli's mind.

"Absolutely. But The Don's blessing makes you an untouchable. There's only one stipulation. When he asks to see you, you perform. If there's one thing you can do to guarantee your career, this is it. Tyra, Gabrielle, Naomi, Roxanne – even me. Everyone who's become a real superstar has paid homage to The Don."

She opened the door behind her before Kelli could evaluate her words. "Trust me," she whispered, pushing the blonde into the small room. It served as The Don's private office whenever he was in Milan. 

The ridiculously large armchair was just big enough to contain his obscene girth. His pinprick eyes glinted as they ran across Kelli's svelte body. "I can see why you're going to be so famous," he hissed, the croakiness of his voice in true Marlon Brando 'Godfather' style. 

She swallowed hard as he waved her forward with an oversized hand. "Don't be shy. Come here, bambino!"

With a radiant smile somehow forced from deep inside her, she edged forward. She'd worn a pair of low-rise skinny jeans tucked into her heeled, brown suede boots, and a loose blouse that scooped low enough to show off her voluptuus bust. At that moment, she used it all. This was just another catwalk. Another show. And yet, all she could think was: how could such an obnoxious looking creature become so powerful in the fashion world? There wasn't a single attractive feature.

She was wrong. She realised that immediately she closed the distance. He'd already unleashed himself in anticipation of her visit. If Max's cock was impressive, this was easily his equal.

"I see you like what you see," he croaked as her brown eyes widened in surprise. "Guaranteed never to disappoint. Sit here, bambino."

He pointed to the cushioned floor between his legs. 

Hypnotically, Kelli did as she was bid. "Time to receive my blessing," he croaked, his chubby hand reaching her blonde tresses.

For an instant, Kelli's thoughts flickered to her husband. Then to Max. And Dominic. She'd blown them. She could blow this obese man, too. He was just the next in line.

"Well, bambino?" he asked, pulling her head close but then letting go. His body flopped back against the cushion behind him.

He was giving her a choice. To go back to where she'd come from. Or continue on to superstardom. She laughed to herself. Not only would she please this man for the sake of her career, she'd have blown that monster in just about any circumstances. 

The power he exerted simply added an additional edge to her arousal. This would be the best blowjob he'd ever been given.

Even as she wrapped her full lips around his veiny tower, she began to pant. Her nipples hardened. Surely she wasn't going to cum? 

She swept her tongue over his swollen cockhead and dipped forward. It tickled the back of her throat before she'd taken even half of it in.

And then she was cumming. Almost choking on The Don's manhood as her senses went into overload. Her hand dropped to her sex, rubbing herself over her jeans. It took a few seconds only. Throwing her head back, her body jerked as if she was a puppeteer's marionette.

The Don understood. It had happened before. Power was quite an aphrodisiac. It made him hornier too, watching the faces of these beautiful women crease in rapture as their wills bent to his. 

He patiently waited until she came down from her climax. Then his fingers crept around her neck, pulling her head back in place. 

Kelli needed no encouragement. Sinking forward, she stared up into the pinprick eyes. They were gleaming as she wrapped her lips around his impressive cock. It curved into her mouth. Perfect for sucking.

"That's it, bambino," he croaked, stroking her hair. "That's it..."

She fell into a rhythm, bobbing her head along his huge length. It took a while to grow accustomed to the size but judging from his grunts, and the way his fingers played in her hair, she was doing a good job. What worked best with Max, she kept asking herself?

Recalling the blowjob she'd performed on the black monster, she tried out the same technique. As Brooke told her, she was a fast learner, after all. It worked. With each dip of her graceful head, his manhood actually seemed to seize and swell further. 

She slid it out, wanting to see if he had actually grown in size. It looked delicious. This was no longer an obligation. It was a pleasure. Maybe the obese Fashion Lord would let her fuck him later? 

His fat ass was lifting slightly with each lick along his shaft. She traced it with the tip of her tongue, swirling it across the crown and down to the base before greedily sucking him inside again. She swallowed as much as she could. 

"Yes... yes, bambino..."

Kelli grunted. Now she was the one with the power. 

His hips were moving faster. She was bringing him closer. Her pussy began to itch again. She adjusted her position so that she could best receive his cum. Her hands went to his testicles, gently squeezing each fat ball. It was enough. He erupted in her mouth with a force she'd never experienced. Once started, he didn't stop. 

Continuous blasts hit the back of her throat. It was all she could do to accept his lashings of creamy seed. Fuck! How much cum did the Fashion Lord have?



Palmer Ch. 10



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 10: The Party

The series of elegant, ivy and bay leaf-lined black marquees had been erected on the park in Milan's Via Melegari a couple of days earlier. They created a perfect, mini Gucci world. 

Erin had stressed that the Gucci event was the most sought after and prestigious party of them all. "We've got to be seen at this one, darling. Everybody who's anybody is seen at the Gucci party." 

Those with passes were accommodated first. Celebrities in their own right. Or hanger's on. After that, a select group of invited guests were granted entry, dependent on the space available. It usually meant that, eventually, there were too many revellers. Then it was time to go. Find another alternative. They weren't too hard to come by.

The guests were still outside, queuing to gain entry. And were becoming increasingly agitated. It was always the same.

"Now that is trouble brewing," the Agency Head laughed as she guided Kelli and Brooke the short distance from the limousine. "But look at them. For such a party, they have no idea of clothing at all. Far too conservative, darrlings. If this is a snapshot of Milanese youth, it's no wonder there's a revolution on Milan's runways!"

Kelli smiled. She didn't care about Milanese youth. Her mind was entirely focused on the delights of the evening ahead. They went to the front of the line, ignoring the protests as they bipassed the line and entered.

Inside the partioned grounds, it was different. The lawns were already dominated by the supermodels, fashion designers and the hundreds of celebrity guests. "Anyone who's worth knowing is around here somewhere, darlings," Erin smiled over her shoulder, as she commandeered flutes of champagne for the three of them. 

The three women stayed close as they circulated. Erin and Brooke made a point of introducing Kelli to one VIP after another as the evening progressed. The number who congratulated the blonde model was overwhelming. Designers, photographers, columnists all fell over one another to acknowledge her success. Kelli felt she could fly.

As Erin had warned, there were the few jealous jibes also. The Agency Head swatted them away like she would a fly. "You haven't been invited to meet The Don, darling?" she would tell the antagonist. "Really? Kelli was introduced to him today."

With a wicked laugh, she'd then move Kelli on to the next person anxious to meet her.

Brooke took advantage of a rare – and inevitably brief – lull to ask about the Fashion Lord. There was only one question on her mind. "Is he as big as everyone says he is?" she laughed, hailing them another drink from one of the tuxedoed servers.

"As big as Max," Kelli grinned. "Maybe thicker." 

"Whoa… babe, that's impressive! Maybe you can get me an introduction. We could introduce him to a threesome." Her delightfully warm laugh filled the air.

"He's so fat," Kelli whispered, glancing around to ensure they weren't overheard. "Ugly, too. But Brooke, there's something about him."

"It's power," her companion grinned. This not-so-innocent would be finding that out before too soon. The Agency Head hadn't introduced her to that side of 'life' yet. "Men with power are an aphrodisiac. Don't worry. Erin will introduce you to plenty."

"Fancy wanting to meet me!"

"Of course he wanted to meet you," Brooke told her. "After that stunt with the bra, you're even bigger than me, babe." 

"Yeah, right."

After another laugh, the small, curvy model's face showed its serious side. That didn't appear too often. "It's true, Kelli. I know my limitations. They don't apply to you. At least, not in the same way. You're destined for the real big time, babe. Like Roxanne. No doubt about it. The sky's the limit."

"No way!"

"Yes way!" the brunette laughed, that playfulness returning. "Trust me, I should know. She's a good friend - I'll introduce you when we return to England."

"I dunno, Brooke. She's almost as well known as Gabrielle Dubois. I love what you're saying but I'm not in their league! They're both so hot!"

"And you're not?" Brooke laughed. "Babe, just look at that dress you're wearing…"

A smile lit up Kelli's face. She just loved the red dress! After her spectacular act on the catwalk, she wanted to appear more refined tonight. The slinky and not too short Rachel Roy creation gave her the image she wanted. Thanks to Erin. The American Agency owner had bought her the dress, specifically for the party. 

But it wasn't the classy look that Brooke was referring to. "Shows those tits off to perfection," she laughed, a sparkle in her eye. 

Kelli's gave an embarrassed smile. She simply adored the way the clever low cut design allowed her cleavage to announce its presence without looking like they were attempting to gain attention. Not that they weren't receiving plenty of interest. The way her erect nipples pointed proudly upwards through the material made sure of that. 

"Change of scenery," Erin told them, swinging around on her heels and heading towards the main marquee. With a broad smile, she added, "See what you think of this, darling." 

Even as they reached the entrance of the largest of the erected tents, Kelli's mouth dropped open. Glancing into Erin's amused blue eyes and then back again, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. 

She'd expected elegance. Instead she got decadence. 

Under the central structure, a canopy of lights had been suspended over the black stage. Several girls dressed only in g-strings were dancing in oversized glasses suspended from the ceiling. Their stunning bodies gyrated sensually to the loud music.

"I've gotta try that one day," Brooke whispered, her eyes dancing with delight at the look of shock on Kelli's face.

The white male servers wore their black tuxedoes like a second skin. The black female servers looked as sexy as hell in their contrasting white tux's. All carried smiles as they attempted to filter through the crowd, but it was a thankless task as they fought against the press of the crowd.

"I have some business to attend to," Erin explained, using a hint of tongue as she kissed each woman on the lips. "Catch up later."

Brooke and the blonde exchanged glances as they watched the Agency Head return the way she'd come. "Don't ask," the sassy brunette told Kelli with a knowing smile. She took her arm. "Come on. Let's mingle. Jelly babies or marshmallows?"

Kelli frowned at the strange question, following her gaze to one of the attractive female servers. The dark haired beauty pushed towards them along the front of the marquee. "Got to be jelly babies," she laughed, picking up one of the baskets from the girl's tray.

Brooke collected two flutes of champagne from another passing waitress and they fell into a girly laugh as they clinked glasses. 

"Come on, people to meet," Brooke insisted, throwing back half the glass in one go. "There are loads of creeps, but be nice to everyone, Kelli. You never know…"

It turned out to be a fruitless task. Not only was it pretty nigh impossible to catch sight of anyone other than in their immediate sight, the loud music inhibited any sort of easy conversation. Half an hour later, they gave up. 

"This is hopeless," Brooke shouted in Kelli's ear. "Let's go back outside."

The blonde gave a relieved nod. The sweat was already producing a glossy sheen on her skin. Not a good image! The heat inside the tented pavilion was overbearing. "Great idea!"

Brooke grinned as her eyes flashed around the crowd. "But I need the loo." She leant conspiratorially into her friend. "Erin's outside talking business to a couple of Japanese contacts. We've used them before. Tony Mizato. He's cool, and very, very rich. Roxanne, Savannah and I entertained him and two of his people some time ago."

Kelli felt her heart stop. The emphasis Brooke put on the word made her wonder. Entertain? What exactly did that mean?

The angelic looking brunette babbled on, hardly pausing for breath. "They spend money like its going out of fashion. Could be big bucks. Go and listen in, find out what you can. I'll catch up." With that, the pocket dynamo turned on her heels. 

Kelli watched her push through the guests, occasionally stopping to exchange a few words with someone before moving unhurriedly on her way. She was such a flirt!

The scandalously short black halter dress bounced and fluttered around Brooke's thighs as she shimmied this way and that. Designed in part to show her shapely tanned legs to their best advantage, it barely covered the tops of her lacy thigh-highs. 

And as for that plunging neckline…

Whatever else Erin had in mind for Kelli after the party, she hoped she'd get a chance to taste Brooke's high breasts before the night was over. 

Feeling her body's reaction at the thought, she swung around towards the entrance. God, she was horny! Stuffing another handful of jelly babies into her mouth, she went to find Erin. What had Brooke said? Japanese contacts? Entertain?

She had no difficultly in sneaking up on her employer. For a second, a shock ran through her. Is that what she was doing? Sneaking up? The Agency Head would be appalled at the show of disloyalty. But Kelli had to know. The word 'entertain' kept buzzing around in her mind. 

Erin looked at ease standing beside the small businessman. With his wispy grey hair and strange little beard, he resembled the guy out of the teenage Kung Fu movies. Kelli couldn't remember his name. The two of them were staring across at the revellers as they sipped their champagne and talked. The image fitted the scene. Two revellers, enjoying each other's company.

By edging around to the side of the marquee, the blonde was able to creep to within a couple of feet and still remain out of view. As long as she didn't make any noise—

"The price is satisfactory," the Japanese man was confirming, the slight nod of his head typically Oriental.

The beam of satisfaction on Erin's face was hidden to the listening blonde, but Kelli could hear the purr of delight in the older woman's voice. "You won't be dissatisfied, Mr. Mizato," she told him. "A private modelling show for your best clients is a wonderful business incentive."

"And afterwards?" the small businessman asked. "Afterwards, the three women will be available to entertain?"

Kelli's heart skipped a beat. There was that word again.

"Not the same three," Erin hesitantly said. Dominic had told her to exclude Roxie from all future plans. God knows why. "But I guarantee satisfaction."

The secluded blonde saw the Japanese man jerk his head. "Not the same three? I was specific in my requirements. I thought you understood?" His voice suddenly had a hard edge to it.

Erin took his arm, her stroking fingers designed to soothe the unhappy man. "Mr. Mizato. Have I ever let you down? You remember the blonde who impressed you at the fashion show? Kelli? You asked for an introduction later. I have her earmarked for you. She, Brooke and Savannah will leave you with no room for complaint."

The hidden model's gasp almost gave away her position. Her chest heaved and her limbs began to tremble. She was being included in the deal?! A fashion show—but what came afterwards?

The businessman hesitated, as if in two minds. "Roxanne is special," he said. "She's very special. Why no Roxanne?"

"Mr. Mizato," Erin answered, her voice adopting its most persuasive tone. "Kelli is even more special. And… she's never been with a Japanese man before. She's always wanted to."

Never been with a Japanese man before? Kelli's brain was racing. Always wanted to? Was Erin serious? Could she really be hearing this? Being hired out? Like a prostitute? She must be mistaken!

"I guarantee, Mr. Mizato," Erin was almost purring. "You'll never experience a better fuck…"

***

Palmer had no idea how he had made his way back to Sandra Wilson's apartment. A taxi, probably. Although the two thugs had stripped him of all belongings, he'd found and recovered his wallet, phone and gun after shooting Toby Parkinson. 

It took him a few seconds to shake off the feeling of disorientation consuming him. From the stench of vomit on his clothes, he realised he'd been violently sick again at some time.

"SHIT!" Sandra Wilson's voice was alive with shock. She swung the apartment door further open so that Palmer could drag himself inside. "What the hell happened to you?"

She took his arm to stop him from falling, helping his shaking body stumble across to the couch. "Geez, Jack, you stink."

Roxanne emerged from the bedroom at the sound of Wilson's voice. Her eyes told him she'd been crying. "Jack!" Even with her tear stained cheeks, she looked beautiful.

"What the hell happened, Jack?" Wilson repeated. Her eyes took in the combination of vomit and blood. "I've gotta call Webster. We've been looking for you ever since you failed to meet Tom Burley at Roxanne's apartment."

"No!" Even though his voice was shaky, it remained authoritative. "Don't call anyone, Sandra. Not just yet."

She nodded uncertainly. "I've just made coffee. Want some?" His parched lips attempted a smile. Wilson saw it. "Two minutes…"

"Jack! What on earth happened?" Roxanne asked as the black haired cop hurried through to the kitchen. 

Even in his woozy state, the concern in her voice resonated with him. His weary eyes flicked towards her. The hand he put to his head didn't stop the haziness. "I ran into a couple of thugs at your apartment. Seems like they were waiting for me. They were going to waste me after they got the information they wanted."

"Information? What information?" It was Sandra Webster asking the question. Roxanne took the half filled mug from her, holding it to Palmer's lips. He took two small slurps. 

"What information?" the cop asked again.

Roxanne's head jerked around in Wilson's direction. Her words came out in staccato fashion. "He should rest. And clean up. Look at all the blood! We need a doctor."

"They wanted you." He let his words hang. Fill the sudden silence. The two women stared at one another and then back at Palmer. "They wanted you, Roxanne," he repeated. 

"The two men…" Wilson began.

"Dead," Palmer answered the unfinished question. His eyes closed as he wearily slumped back against the side of the couch.

"What are your injuries?" Webster asked.

"Broken," he said, painfully raising his swollen left hand a few inches. Bullet through my arm, too. Lost some blood."

Roxanne gasped and flopped down on the couch beside him. "Because of me?" She took his right hand but let go when he winced. "Burnt," was his simple explanation when she stared at the two scorch marks.

Wilson interrupted. "Palmer. I'm ringing Webster first. Then a doctor. I don't care what you say."

He nodded, taking a longer drink from the coffee Roxanne held to his lips. "That sounds like a good idea." 

As Wilson made the call, Palmer's eyes flicked back to the redhead. She shifted beside him on the couch. "I know who it is," he whispered. The dizziness was overtaking him again.

"What?" Her mouth dropped open.

"I know who's behind this. It's the man on the recording. The man with you that night. It's him."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "No… that can't be…"

He nodded wearily. "It is. I don't know the reason. Only you know that." His voice tailed off.

The redhead's mind instantly jumped back to that evening. Goodbye, he'd said. She'd thought of that at the time. It had seemed strange, even then. He never told her goodbye. He always said Au Revoir. Could this was his way of removing her from the equation. Her heart began to race. It was unbelievable. Horrific! No, it couldn't be…

"You're protecting this bastard," Palmer blurted, making one last effort to escape the unconsciousness waiting for him. "Don't you realise that?"

"Palmer," she began, pain etched on her face.

His voice softened. "You told me he had nothing to do with this, Roxanne. You're either lying or mistaken. Badly mistaken." 

His hand went to his head. The pain behind his eyes was almost too much. His vision went blurry. His hands throbbed. His arm was painfully numb. But he wouldn't let go. Couldn't. His brown eyes glared at her even as the room began to swim around him.

"I need to know, Roxanne," he snapped, using up his remaining strength. His anger at her hesitation was clear. "For God's sake, it's the only way I can protect you!"

She began to cry. Silently. The tears left her eyes and ran down her cheeks. It had to be true. And that meant Blair could be in on this, too! She needed time to think things through, but she had to be up front with the young cop who was beginning to mean so much to her.

"DeVere," she whispered. "Dominic DeVere."

***

"I need to talk to you," Kelli told Brooke. Edging her way back round to the front of the marquee, she'd bumped into the hot brunette almost immediately.

"Talk away," the pocket dynamo smiled, taking another long drink. Her eyes were glazed; she'd had one too many.

"Not here," Kelli snapped, her voice urgent. She was feeling very dreamy herself. He head was whirring. Looking around, the semi-secluded area to their left was perfect. "Follow me."

Flopping down on the bench, the wave of dizziness she'd just felt threatened to engulf her. 

"You okay?" Brooke asked, leaning forward.

The blonde's eyes stole a glance down Brooke's dress at those perfectly formed tits. Her head shook. Focus, she told herself. Focus! "I feel a little strange. Too much champagne."

"Champagne?" Brooke laughed, leaning further forward. Kelli could almost see a nipple. "Champagne my ass! How many jelly babies have you had?"

Kelli's dull eyes flicked to the few that remained. "My candy? Why?"

Brooke's brow furrowed for a moment. Her teasing eyes stared into the blonde's. Was she joking? No, she wasn't! Her hair bounced on her shoulders as she threw back her head in amusement. "You don't know, do you?" Brooke asked. "Seriously! You don't?"

"Don't know?" Kelli asked, beginning to feel irritated. 

The sassy brunette's laugh was louder. "Kelli, those things are laced with acid!" 

The young model stared at her. Acid? No wonder she was feeling so horny! So strange…

But Erin's conversation with the Japanese businessman had turned her on, too. Horrified her, yes. But aroused her, as well. She had to admit it. Her wet thong was perfect evidence for the prosecution.

"Brooke—" she hesitantly began, trying to escape the confused feeling of fuzziness. "Erin. And that man. You've—you've entertained him before?"

Brooke nodded, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Sure! I told you. Me, Roxie and Savannah."

"What do you mean, entertain?"

The penny began to drop with the brunette. A giant smile hit the corners of her mouth. "What do you think, Miss Innocence? We fucked them. Tony and his two contacts."

Even though Kelli knew the answer, she couldn't stifle her gasp. "You fucked them? Erin asked you to?" 

Brooke shook her head in despair. "Haven't you worked it out yet, honey? That goes with the territory! Erin's made us supermodels. Gave us a wonderful lifestyle. We all live our own lives, but when Erin calls, we answer."

Kelli's mouth dropped further with each piece of the explanation. Was she really hearing this? God, her body was so wet! If she touched herself, she'd explode! "Brooke," she began, the tone of her voice rising. "Erin's made a business deal with him. I'm included this time!"




Palmer Ch. 10



Brooke burst into laughter again. "Well let me tell you, you're in for a treat, honey."

Kelli's dreamy brown eyes widened further. She looked like a little girl lost. "Treat?"

"Sure," the angelic looking brunette added, her eyes conveying her own arousal. "Fucking for money, Kelli. Fucking some of the most powerful people in the world, knowing that they're paying. For you! It's the ultimate aphrodisiac. You'll love it, believe me."

The warm feeling in Kelli's sex expanded to the rest of her body. "Really?" she asked, like someone casually being told the time was later than they thought.

"Really!" Brooke emphasised, deciding to take advantage of the situation. From their secluded bench in the shadows, she could hear people, see people. But despite their close proximity to the revellers, they were sufficiently far away from people's sight to be inconspicuous. Unless anyone made the unlikely decision to head in their direction, they'd be safe for some time. 

"And Japanese men—they fuck like there's no tomorrow—" 

Kelli let out a soft moan. Brooke knew only too well the feelings cascading through her friend's body and mind. The blonde's parted lips were perfect for kissing. 

"And you so need to be fucked, honey, don't you?" she growled, jamming her tongue into that waiting mouth. 

Her hand slid in through the side of Kelli's silky, red dress, cupping an unrestricted breast. "This is just an aperitif," she moaned into her mouth. "It's about time we shared a bed." 

Her tongue circled inside Kelli's mouth, then flicked along the outside of her lips. Her teeth bit into the lower lip, pulling it down as her fingers found and twisted a thick nipple. "Want to cum?" 

The blonde's hiss answered for her. Those long legs slid apart even before Brooke's hand slithered between them. 

"Look at me," the curvy model ordered. 

Kelli pulled back so that her lust-filled gaze could stare at the raven-haired model. For someone so sexy, Brooke's face was almost angelic. It was her large eyes and long, dark lashes that constantly hinted at an allure of sexual promise. 

Her cupid bow lips may have seemed out of place on others. On her, they were perfect and the deep, pink lipstick she wore only complimented. Suckable, one boyfriend had christened them, in both a giving and receiving sense. He'd been right.

Holding Kelli's aroused stare, Brooke slid her fingers inside Kelli's lacy thong. "Open wide," her melodic voice sexily purred.

The blonde desperately flung her legs open, lewdly pleading for the touch she was coming to know so well.

Brooke watched every expression on the blonde's face as she stiffened two fingers and slid them home.

"Ngh…" Kelli's orgasm was instantaneous. 

It didn't satisfy Brooke. Slipping her tongue out and flicking it across the blonde's contorted face, she allowed just enough time for the peak to ease before curling her fingers again. When she found the sweet spot, Kelli's body jerked like a firecracker. A jumping jack was set loose inside her body as the second orgasm exploded in torturous bursts.

Brooke covered Kelli's soft lips with her mouth, stifling the cries that would otherwise have seen them discovered. There'd be hell to pay if they were photographed, but she needed her own pleasure. 

She held Kelli's trembling body close until the blonde calmed, stroking her hair like a comforting mother. "My turn, babe," she eventually whispered as the woman's orgasmic pants began to ease.

Kelli smiled. It was a lustful smile. But when her hand slithered under the black dress, the curvy model stopped her.

"No, babe," Brooke smiled into her eyes. "I want that mouth." She spread her body down onto the backless wooden bench, stretching a leg either side. "Come on, babe," she provocatively spat out. "Do me."

Her hands went to the hem of her dress, pulling it up to her thighs. Kelli gasped. No panties, only the seductive sight of brunette's cleanly shaven pussy, framed by her lacy thigh-highs.

Brooke eased her legs apart, as if balancing them in the thin air either side of the bench. "Go ahead, babe. It's all yours—"

The fire in Kelli's body roared higher. Flames of lust shot through her. For a few seconds, her eyes savoured the buttery-soft texture of Brooke's labia, broken only by the tasteful little scorpion piercing through her hood. So different to Erin's, but just as intoxicating. Then she closed in on the sweet smelling sex. 

The Playboy-esque model shuddered with the first lap of the sweet tongue. "Oh, yessssss…." 

Her hands reached forward to the golden locks. Kelli had worn her hair up for the evening, preferring a different appearance. Classy, Brooke had told her. But the purring model destroyed the effect in a single second, ripping out the pins so she could dig her fingers into the silken tresses.

Her body jerked again as Kelli's tongue drew figure eight circles over her clit. Her juices began to flow with each pass. Her legs bent as she wrapped them around the blonde's back. Erin was right. The girl might be inexperienced but she was a natural.

"Oh, God, that's good, babe," she gasped, tightening her fingers into tight fists. She pulled the head harder against her undulating sex. This woman was remarkable, even better than Savannah. No matter how rough Brooke was, she didn't flinch. 

She responded to each push and pull by licking faster, increasing her pace. They'd have some real fun in bed later.

The diminutive model unlocked her feet and pushed her legs wide again as Kelli slipped a finger inside. She growled, abandoning herself to the waves of pleasure flowing through her. She felt the other woman's teeth pull at her piercing. Innocent her ass! She was being worked by an expert!

Her grip left the blonde tresses. Her hips pressed upwards. The blonde's tongue resumed its sensational figure eight pattern, first along her lips and then across her clit. A second finger slid inside.

"Yes, yes…" 

The tongue slowed, then hurried. Softened, then hardened. "Yes, oh yes…" 

When Kelli crossed the two fingers inside her sex and nibbled on her clit, she couldn't hold back. "Now, babeeeee! NOW…" 

***

Palmer awoke to a face he didn't recognise. His body reacted, jerking upwards and grabbing the hand with the needle. 

It was Roxanne who restrained him. "It's the doctor," she whispered.

Sandra Wilson's voice came from the other side of the bed. It held a hint of amusement. "Steady, tiger. He's one of us. No need to take him out." 

"Dennison," the weary looking doctor introduced himself. "I fixed your hands as best I could. Your arm, too. Fortunately the bullet went straight through. It's a clean wound. You'll be fine once the fever eases. But you'll be off duty for a good few days."

Palmer's efforts to focus his eyes increased his headache. It was better when he squinted. "How long've I been asleep?" he mumbled.

"A couple of hours," Roxanne told him, wiping his brow with the wet towel in her hand. "You've been flat out."

"Not surprising," Dennison broke in. "Rest is what you need, young man. I suggest these two guardian angels make sure you get plenty."

"I'm okay," Palmer slurred, shifting on the bed. He would be if only the fuzz in front of his eyes would clear.

Dennison held up the needle he'd just used. "You will be shortly. I've filled you full of antibiotics." Closing his small bag, he turned to the two women. "Just keep him warm, so he doesn't go into shock. That's important. After a few days rest, he'll be fine."

***

The party had been beyond Kelli's wildest dreams. The atmosphere, the beautiful people, the drink, the acid, the continuous flow of congratulations! They all blew her mind away. She was floating in an alcohol and drug fuelled haze and adored every second.

"What time does this thing go on until?" she asked Brooke, unsteadily leaning against the grinning model. They'd both had a continuous grin for several hours.

The raven-haired young woman glanced at her watch. "It's only four in the morning, babe. Maybe we should look for another party?"

As the thought circled, a voice from their left interrupted. "Brooke, Kelleee…" 

The beautiful woman worked her way across towards them, her expression right out of a fashion tear sheet. One meticulously plucked eyebrow was raised, the corners of her full lips turned up in mischief.

Kelli's heart jumped. This was Gabrielle Dubois. The Gabrielle Dubois.

The supermodel's short, light blue dress was spectacular. Whether it was the way the silky material swept low and backless, moulding itself to her backside, or the absurdly scandalous low cut at the front, she oozed sex. Yet she was so classy, too.

With her sassy, dark hair woven up in a complicated twist and those pale blue eyes sparkling with mystery, she reminded Kelli of Audrey Hepburn. 

"Allô," her sonorous voice almost purred. The thick French accent sent a thrill through the captivated blonde. "I didn't have thee chance to catch you at the show and just had to congratulate you on your performance," the supermodel said. "Truly magnifique! "

"Thank… thank you," Kelli mumbled, suddenly tongue-tied. This was the Gabrielle Dubois – the model who'd obtained superstar status four years ago and was now arguably recognised as one of the most famous of them all. 

"You are so welcome, cherie," the beautiful brunette smiled. "I predict great things for you. Per'aps we can work together very soon?" 

Kelli beamed at her, captivated by the way the supermodel's French accent pronounced her name.

"I 'eard about you before the show," she continued, taking a feminine drag of her cigarette through the long, black filter. Based on the sweet fumes it was producing, Kelli was pretty sure it wasn't just tobacco she was smoking. "But you're even more beautiful than I 'eard. And, cherie, you have that certain je ne sais quoi that can take you to the top. The very top."

Kelli was taken aback. The compliments she'd received tonight faded into nothingness compared to the praise from this beautiful, vibrant goddess. 

"Gabrielle, I don't know what to say," she eventually blurted. "I've followed your career for so long. You've given hope to hundreds of women like me."

The words were true. Gabrielle's astonishing success was a beacon of light for aspiring models. There were no shortcuts to her success either, no spreads in Maxim or Playboy. This woman was a classic star, the likes of which the fashion world hadn't seen for a long time.

"You may well do the same in time, cherie." The supermodel's sultry laugh was delicious. "And sooner rather than later, if today's show ees anything to go by."

She held up her glass, clinking it against Kelli's. "Au success!" 

Turning to Brooke with an apologetic smile, the French model kissed her on both cheeks. "I'm sorry, cherie. I didn't mean to ignore you. Let's drink to three of the most beautiful women in the world."

Brooke laughed, sensuously running a hand along the supermodel's tanned arm. "That's okay, Gabrielle. I'm very happy in my own skin, but I know I'll never reach your level. Kelli may, though."

"Mais oui! With the right handling," the French star confirmed. "And Erin DeVere ees one of the best in the business."

"I know," Kelli agreed, her brown eyes wondering what those full, pouting lips would be like to kiss. "I owe her everything."

"Tell me, cherie," Gabrielle smiled, leaning closer. "Is that perfume what I think it ees?"

Kelli laughed, sniffing the tanned neck in front of her. "Yes, I see you're wearing it, too. When I saw you had your own perfume on the market, I just had to have it."

The French supermodel leant even closer, her pretence at smelling the perfume being betrayed by the soft lips on Kelli's shoulder. The hint of tongue that danced along her flesh sent a shudder through her. 

"Nudity!" They said the perfume's name together and shared a laugh.

"Eets a perfect name, vous ne pensez pas? You and I are going to be great friends, Kelleee. I can tell."

Her head went back, as if she was thinking. Then she linked both women. "This party 'as been wonderful, but enough is enough. Otherwise it becomes… how you say… ennuyeux. Let's collect Erin and we can 'ave drinks at mine."

***

Palmer moaned. His body was on fire, and then it was dipped in ice.

"Ssssh." The voice came from his left. A soft hand was stroking his brow. Forcing his eyes open, he squinted through the pale, pink light of the bedside lamp. Roxanne sat on the edge of the bed beside him. 

He tried to speak but another chill passed through him. His teeth began to chatter. "Dry," he eventually gasped, forcing the words out. His lips felt scorched, his throat like dust.

The redhead eased a hand under his head, gingerly helping him accept a drink from the glass of cold water. Some ran down his chin. It was difficult to swallow.

Fishing an ice cube from the jug of water on the white bedside cabinet, she dropped it into a handkerchief. "Just suck on it," she breathed into his ear, holding it against his lips.

"How long have you been here?" he managed to gasp.

She smiled as she touched his forehead. "Since we put you to bed." 

"What… time… is it?"

Her eyes flicked to the luminous bedside clock. "Four in the morning." 

For a good half a minute he lay there, thinking. The feel of her fingers running down to trace the small scar on his neck brought his gaze back to hers. When she eased her hand away, he took it between his bandaged fingers. It looked as if he wanted to speak, but the words wouldn't find their way out.

"Don't worry, you can tell me later," she smiled. She dropped the wet handkerchief onto the bowl on the bedside table. Her caring hands tucked in the blankets around him. "It's important for you to keep warm, Jack. You've got to outrun that fever."

Palmer nodded. His heavy eyes closed as he drifted off to sleep again.

***

Gabrielle's house was overwhelmingly spacious. Large enough to accommodate much more than the group of 'beautiful people' invited, together with the people already there. Goodness knows what time the party had started, but it was clear it was already in full swing. 

Kelli swooned at the sound from the state-of-the-art stereo system. "I love Sinatra," she smiled at her host.

"Doesn't everyone?" the French supermodel grinned. "Looks like we've arrived just as the fun is starting. By the way, there's only one rule, cherie—what 'appens here, stays here."

The blonde model nodded dreamily. Glancing around, she could understand the requirement for such a rule. To her right, three models were taking turns doing lines of cocaine off the coffee table. With each sniff, one pair of hands wrapped themselves around another's neck, drawing them into a long, passionate kiss.

A gorgeous black girl joined them and took her turn with the coke. She grabbed a Latin photographer as he passed and pulled him down beside her. Kelli recognised him from earlier. His hands went to her tits at the same time as hers searched for his cock.

To the right, in the large open living area, different couples had paired off on the make-do dance floor. One girl had her legs wrapped around a tall, thin hunk's waist as they danced and kissed. Kelli thought she was Chinese but it was difficult to be sure through their snogging.

Beside them, three hot models were gyrating against one another to some imaginary beat. Their movements certainly didn't correspond to Sinatra's dulcet tones.

"Sexy, yes?" Gabrielle smiled, delighting in the naïve, shocked look that ran across the blonde's features. "This is just part of your new lifestyle, cherie. This is how supermodels party!"

Her host's pale blue eyes sparkled with mischievousness. The innocence in Kelli's sparkling brown eyes was definitely a turn on! Stopping one of the scantily clad waitresses with an outstretched hand, she purloined cocktails for the three women.  

But her smiled wandered back to Kelli. Everything Erin had told her was true. "Want me to show you around?" she asked, her eyes hinting at a deeper meaning. 

Kelli picked it up immediately. "That would be great," she enthused. If the French supermodel wanted some action, so did she. After her earlier session with Brooke, she was only just warming up.

"You go, darling," Erin drawled. "Brooke and I have already seen around Gabrielle's mansion. It's bigger than Buckingham Palace!"

The three experienced women laughed, clinking glasses with one another as if sharing a private joke.

"Yes," Brooke purred, already a little unsteady on her feet. "And there's Max over there. Haven't seen him all evening. I'm horny again. Need some cock."

Kelli felt the shiver hit her body. Erin had told her Max would be in Milan. A chance to feel that big, black cock inside you, darling, she'd continually pressed home. Maybe tonight, in their hotel suite?

"Other than The Don, he has the biggest and best around here, darling," Erin murmured, her eyes smiling in Kelli's direction. 

"And The Don is by invitation only," the French supermodel laughed.

"Whereas Max is more liberal with his favours," Erin grinned. "I've a feeling he'll be a busy boy, tonight. Don't you?"

With a laugh at the lustful grimace crossing Kelli's features, the Agency Head turned away and began to steer Brooke in the general direction of the black model. 

"See you later, darling," she called over her shoulder to Kelli. "Be good!"

As she turned to follow Gabrielle, Kelly bumped into the black female model who'd commandeered the Latin photographer. The twosome were holding hands and looked like they were heading upstairs. 

"Hello, baby," the dark beauty mumbled. She sexily pulled Kelli in for a long kiss. For a moment, the blonde found herself sandwiched between the beauty and the photographer's hot, toned body. She made no objection when her beautiful assailant's tongue found hers and the man's hands cupped her tits from behind. 

"You were wonderful on the catwalk," the dark model growled. "Come and join Armando and me later."

The photographer winked at her as he pulled his soon-to-be lover away. This was all simply surreal!

Gabrielle tugged her arm. "It gets better," she smiled, waving across at a young man staring in their direction. He gave a huge grin as he pushed himself off the bar, running a hand through his long, wavy, blonde hair.

"Recognise 'im?" the French model asked, taking a smooth draw from the drug-laced cigarette.

"No," Kelli admitted, her eyes taking in the confident stride as the young, blonde hunk headed towards them.

"You're not into racing driving, cherie?"

"Well, no…"

The French supermodel gave one of her sultry laughs. "Only twenty but already a star. Max may have a cock like a donkey, but this one fucks like a superstar. And he 'as such a perfect speciality—"

Kelli glanced at her. "Speciality?"

Gabrielle shone that sexy smile. "Mais oui," she said, stroking a single fingernail across Kelli's bare forearm. "I don't mind admitting I'm talking from personal experience."

"Howdy ma'am," the young driver said, cutting across their conversation. He spoke to the Frenchwoman but was staring at Kelli. Her tits, to be precise. "Good to see you again, Gabrielle, and thanks for the invitation."

The French beauty nodded, her beautifully manicured hand pushing back a strand of dark hair. "C'est mon plaisir, Brad," she growled in that throaty French accent. "It wouldn't be a proper party without the fastest man around. 'Ave you met Kelli yet?"

"No ma'am," he confessed, reaching out to actually shake Kelli's hand.




Palmer Ch. 10



"Such manners," Gabrielle husked, nudging the blonde with her elbow.

"I've been hoping to meet you Miss Kelli," the blonde haired youth smiled. "I was at the fashion show. You certainly made everyone stand up and take notice."

"Really?" Gabrielle teased, her pale blue eyes alive. Her hand slipped to the front of his trousers. "Did Kelli make you stand up, too, Brad?"

Kelli gasped at Gabrielle's brazenness, but the youngster seemed unperturbed. If anything, a dreamy expression of approval covered his face.

"Than… thanks, Brad," she shyly responded, unable to resist a glance at the growing bulge between his legs as the Frenchwoman reluctantly pulled her hand away. 

"Check eet out," the supermodel nudged Kelli. When the blonde's eyes widened in shock, she pulled her hand to Brad's cloth covered cock.

Kelli felt herself blushing. But she couldn't prevent herself from squeezing him through the black trousers. His eyes momentarily narrowed and she glanced at Gabrielle. The Frenchwoman smiled back at her. This was what supermodels did, after all.

***

Palmer lay awake for a short while, allowing his head to clear. The deep sleep had helped, though he had no idea how long he'd slumbered. He was warmer now. His head was beginning to clear. His brain was working again. But he felt weak. Dreadfully weak. 

As his eyes began to focus, he turned to the side. His body jerked as he bumped into a body next to his. Reaching out, his hand found a naked breast.

"Hello," he heard Roxanne's voice. It was close to his ear. "You've recovered quickly. I take it you're feeling frisky?"

He jerked his hand away, embarrassed. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice croaky.

It was a teasing laugh she hit him with. "That's a shame! Your touch felt nice, Jack Palmer. How're you feeling?"

"Thirsty," he answered, feeling his body warm against the body beside him. It wasn't the fever returning. She was so close…

Roxanne reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and helped him drink. He swallowed half the contents. 

"Thank you," he mumbled, taking a deep breath as he licked his dry lips. "That feels better. Thanks for taking care of me." 

"You're welcome," she sighed. "It took some time but we managed to break your fever. A little more rest will have you up and about again in the next couple of days."

"What time is it?" he asked, taking the glass from her and draining the rest of the water.

"It's six in the morning," she answered, sliding the glass back onto the bedside table. 

As she turned back, her upper body was briefly silhouetted in the pale, pink glow of the bedside light. His eyes drank in her nakedness. 

"You were cold," she explained, her green eyes smiling at the look of arousal on his face. "You needed my body heat."

He swallowed deeply. Her breasts were everything he'd imagined. More. His eyes raised to meet hers and found she'd been watching him.

"Why, Jack Palmer!" she exclaimed. "I do believe you're blushing! Don't say you haven't imagined us naked together?" 

His lips opened to confess, but he struggled to find the words. His mind jumped to Kelli. To his fuck with Sandra Wilson. But the women lying next to him was more exciting than anyone he'd ever met. 

When she arched her upper body, he realised she was deliberately allowing his hungry eyes to gorge on her breasts. Crowned with the high, chocolate nipples, they were perfection.

"Touch me, Jack," she told him.

It took a few moments before he reacted. Slowly, his bandaged hand reached across, his fingertips brushing her erect nipples.

"Poor baby," she breathed. "Can't feel too much through a bandage. How about this?"

Leaning across him, she brought her left breast to his mouth. He sucked in the nipple, feeling the inevitable reaction between his thighs. Then she was moving again and his lips closed on her right nipple.

"That's so nice, Jack," she murmured. One hand stroked his hair. The other snaked down his erect cock. "The only problem is this thing. It's been digging into me for the last hour or so. Want me to take care of it?"

***

Each of the downstairs' rooms had seemed bigger than the previous. It took a good half an hour for Gabrielle to show Kelli around. That surprised the blonde. She'd thought the French supermodel would show her the bedrooms. Wanted her to. But it seemed she wanted to explain the rationale for each piece of decoration as they went along.

She had no idea it was a delaying tactic. They'd be reaching the bedrooms when Gabrielle was certain they'd be occupied.

"We'll need to be quiet," the beautiful brunette murmured into Kelli's ear as they reached the top of the stairs. "At this time of the morning, it ees the busiest area of the house."

"Busiest…?"

Gabrielle allowed herself a smug laugh. Was this young woman for real? "Come now, cherie. You can't be that naïve, surely?"

The blonde blushed again, feeling that familiar tingling burst between her thighs. It had an almost constant presence. Only the intensity changed. A moan ripped down the hallway. A woman's moan. "Oh. Yes. I see."

Gabrielle simply smiled as they passed the closed door where the sounds were coming from, leading her to the end of the hallway.

"This is my bedroom," the French star explained, opening a door to a huge living area. The Renoir marble floor was heated and the heavy looking marble furnishings looked like they'd come straight from some glossy magazine.

"Bedroom?" Kelli gasped.

Gabrielle laughed. "Mais oui, cherie. One has to live a luxurious life. Being a supermodel is not easy." 

The young blonde sighed. Was this what she could expect the future to hold? "Everything's so big, so beautiful. You must love living here."

The supermodel gave a long laugh, throwing her head back. "I don't live here, cherie. I use it when I'm in Milan. I have five… no, six houses now."

Kelli's mouth dropped. Did she say six? 

The supermodel answered the unspoken question. "Mais oui. And you will too, Kelli, if you're as successful as I think. The trappings of fame. Work 'ard. Live 'ard."

Gabrielle smiled at the young woman's naivety. Erin had promised to let her 'borrow' the blonde for the night. Part of her continuing education. That body was as perfect as anything she'd seen since Alicia Kennedy. "Mais oui, cherie. Aim big and good things will 'appen."

She wandered across to the large table, picking up the expensive silver container and spilling some coke onto the surface. Separating the powder into two lines on the tabletop, she brushed a loose strand of hair away from her eyes before snorting the happy dust. She loved that moment when the snow lights descended. 

When she offered Kelli the straw, the blonde didn't hesitate. All it took was the thought of the beautiful Frenchwoman waiting to fuck her and she eagerly snorted the line. She tossed her wavy, blonde hair back and pinched her nose as the powerful narcotic washed through her. 

Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. When she felt Gabrielle's hand turning her head, she knew the moment was approaching. She gladly met the supermodel's pouting lips in a casual, over-the-shoulder kiss. Then the Frenchwoman was turning her so that their breasts crushed as their tongues swarmed and devoured one another.

Gabrielle's fingertips teased the blonde's nipples through the red dress, but as the young model groaned, she floated away. There'd be plenty of time later. That was just a taster. First, the aperitif. 

Where was Brad, she wondered?

"What's that?" Kelli asked, her head jerking as a sound echoed around the room. An unmistakeable moan, followed by another.

"I switched the loudspeaker on," the French star smiled. "Sounds like my chambre à coucher is in use."

Kelli looked at her blankly.

The brunette raised a finger to her full, pouting lips. Swaying sexily across the short distance to a large door, she gently eased it open. The moans of pleasure changed to stereo. Kelli's face was a picture. A mixture of delicious eagerness and unbelievable innocence.

"It's okay, cherie," the older model whispered, pulling the blonde into the bedroom. "Brooke and Erin have permission to use my boudoir any time."

"Brooke and Erin…" the blonde began.

The brunette nodded. "Mais oui. From the look on their faces when we arrived, I think Max is een for a busy night."

***

"It's really about time we got it on, Jack Palmer. Don't you think?" It was a rhetorical question. The redhead was already sliding a leg across his hip. "You're still weak," Roxanne told her soon-to-be lover. "So… just relax and enjoy."  

His thoughts weren't on his condition. They were focused on possible discovery. "What if Sandra looks in?" he gasped, his eyes flicking across to the door even as Roxanne's lips brushed his neck.

"So what if she does, honey?" she whispered, stroking her nipples across his tender chest. 

Palmer felt a sudden surge of arousal at the thought of Sandra Wilson waking to their sounds of lovemaking. Of watching from the door. She was some woman. But then, so was the redhead who had him in her hand.

With practiced ease, Roxanne introduced his cock to her pussy. She wiggled her ass as she sank down on him, leaning forward as he gave a long gasp of arousal. When he was ball deep in her, she slithered her mouth across his, the kiss both tender and passionate.

When she eased up onto her haunches, his aroused eyes stared up into hers. The dreamy look that comes with initial entry was etched across his tight face. His long groan turned into a throaty growl as she began to move.

"That hurt?" she asked, watching his face wince with each movement of her hips.

He grimaced, clenching his teeth as a bolt of pain shot through him. The rib was either broken or bruised.

"Want me to stop?" Her soft voice was full of concern.

"Don't fucking dare," he gasped, his bandaged hands moving to grip her hips.

Her lips descended on his again. "That's a good cop," she teased. "Ready to suffer in the line of duty." She moved as if in slow motion, careful to ensure her undulations brought more pleasure than pain. "Let me do the work," she whispered, tracing her hard nipples across his chest again.

Her loving movements were for his gratification, not hers. This was her gift to him. The pain receded. Pleasure took over. She was incredible. The walls of this sexual goddess's sex were creating sensations he hadn't previously experienced. 

"Good, Jack?" her soft voice murmured, instinctively knowing the effect of her loving. She'd pleasured men before, but never with as much tenderness as she'd felt for this man. "Let me take care of you, Jack…"

He growled. Soon, it became a continuous noise. She was taking care of him. Looking up, her half closed eyes smiled at him. The way her head tilted to one side brought an extra surge in his cock. 

"That good, Jack?" she whispered, her muscles contracting to bring another gasp from his lips. 

"What about this?" she teased, easing her hips upwards until just his crown was inside her. Only when he raised his buttocks in search of her clutching sex did she smoothly slid back down. He was sheathed in that wonderful wetness again.

With a soft laugh, she leant forward and licked along the top of his shoulder. "Just think, Jack," her sultry voice whispered, her mouth reaching his ear. "We'll be doing this regularly from now on. And when you feel better… just imagine how much better it will be…"

With a giggle, she sat back up. Picking up her speed, her breasts danced deliciously to the pace of her thrusts. "Still hurts?" she asked.

"Feels… pretty… good… right… now…" he gasped, struggling with each word. He was fully lost, his aching body captured in her sexual spell. 

When he began to boil, she slowed her pace, allowing him to gain a second wind. How the hell did she know he was that close?

Bending forward, she fed him a chocolate nipple. Then the other. "That's good, Jack," she groaned as his mouth went to work.

He thrust upwards, searching for an end to his exquisite torture. "Take it easy, baby," she told him, reluctantly raising her tits from his pleasuring lips. "I know you need it, Jack. Let me take you there…"

Pulling a pillow from behind him, she propped it behind his head. "Want to watch, baby?" Raising herself up on her knees, so that there was no pressure on his body, only his cock in her sex joined them. 

He looked down at their union, where the dark curls of his pubic hair brushed along her oily smooth pussy. Once she had his gaze centred where she wanted, she returned to her slow, rhythmic gyrations, only the clutching walls of her pussy making contact with him.

Maintaining the position, she began to plunge a little faster, her hips pistoning up and down like a well-oiled engine. "Cum for Roxanne," she whispered, as if giving permission.

Her internal muscles clenched on his hardness one final time, coaxing his cum from his balls. He could almost feel his sperm surging through his body, into his cock. His mouth opened as he erupted, but no sound came out. 

***

Kelli's heart almost stopped. Max's nakedness shone in the subdued light as he stroked himself on one of the two king-sized beds resting close to one another. His gaze was on the other bed and it was the action there that made Kelli gasp. 

Erin's arms were spread above her head, gripping the iron rungs of the bed frame behind her. Brooke's head gently undulated between her thighs, her hands holding the shapely legs apart as she slowly licked the Agency Head. The petite model's movements were sensuous. Her tongue continually ran the whole length of Erin's glistening pussy.

Gabrielle pulled Kelli further into the room, across to a green, leather chair, not more than six feet away. Max's cocky smile beamed at them. His nod at the bed suggested they might like to join the two women. 

Kelli bent forward against the back of the chair, pressing herself against it. She needed to steady her shaking body.

"Sexy, mais oui?" the French supermodel breathed, lifting the back of the blonde's long hair to lightly run her tongue along her neck.

Kelli gave a sensuous shiver from the sumptuous touch. Her arousal threatened to burst out of her body. 

Erin's hips involuntarily lifted from the silk sheets with each long lap of Brooke's tongue. Her growls increased each time it thrust inside, and then flicked against her clit.

Gabrielle smiled at Kelli as she made her way to the bed. Continuing to hold Kelli's eyes, she flopped onto the edge and bent forward to suck on one of the moaning woman's apple sized breasts. 

Her gaze remained on Kelli as she gently bit one nipple, then the other. Sucking hard onto the delicious breasts, she dragged as much of the delicious swell as she could into her mouth. The flashing eyes were full of promise for later.

Running a gentle hand through Brooke's raven tresses, Gabrielle stood up and reached behind her. Her light blue dress floated down to pool at her feet. She was naked except for the lacy little thong that perfectly matched the colour of her dress. 

Walking across to Max, she slid her hands over her high breasts, a lingering smile on her pouting lips. Turning to face Kelli, she slid the thong from her body. She was even more perfect naked than she was clothed. 

Everything was tight and feminine, from her perky breasts to her flat, toned stomach, to the gentle curves of her hips. She was shaved bare but for a little tab of black curls, erotically sitting at the top of her slit.

It was as if she was putting on a show for the young blonde. 

She held Kelli's gaze as she crawled onto the bed, then swung around to reverse back onto Max. Reaching underneath her, her eager hand grasped his monster. Setting it against her opening, the supermodel's eyes fluttered shut as she leant forward and edged the crown inside. 

One of Kelli's hands reached for her breast and the other dropped between her legs. The sight of the black cock disappearing inch by inch into the white flesh was the most arousing she'd ever seen. 

For a few seconds, she debated which bed to join. The hand on her shoulder brought her out of her hypnotic spell. Turning her head, she found herself staring into Brad's green eyes.

***

"Thank you." It was a simple word, but it meant so much. Palmer pulled Roxanne's body closer to his as he spoke.

"My pleasure, Jack Palmer," she smiled, running her soft fingers across his smooth chest. She enjoyed his soft growl. "Mmm, someone has sensitive nipples. I'll pay attention to those later."

"Why later?" he joked, feeling his cock begin to unfurl at her touch. 

"Like your enthusiasm, Jack." Even in the dark, the tenderness in her voice came through. Such empathy. "But you need to recover before you over exert yourself. And believe me, I have a lot of over exertion in mind for us."

When he turned into her, his hardening manhood led the way.

"Hey, down boy," her voice laughed. "You've had your fun for tonight. Besides, your wife might object…"

His body tensed. "My wife…"

She quickly intervened, shivers running through her body at his reaction. Was he still in love with her? "Hey, seems like I hit a nerve." 

"No…" He wasn't sure Kelli was the same woman he'd married. Or perhaps he wasn't the same man?

"Sure," she said, unconvinced. She gave a sympathetic grimace, her hand drawing little circles across his stomach. "Want to know what I'm thinking."

"Not sure," he laughed, a little uneasily.

"Sure you do," she told him, running her hand down to his cock. "Just put sparky here away for a second." She turned onto her back, resting her head in the crook of his arm. "I think… your wife's a silly woman for leaving you. But I'm here now. And as long as you want to, Jack, I'd like to see where this goes."

His long sigh reverberated around the dark room. 

"I'm no cop, Jack," she joked. "But that sounded like a sigh of relief."

He leant down to kiss the top of her head. "Miss Perceptive…"

"You have no idea, Jack Palmer," she teased, giving a hearty laugh. "I have intuition coming out of my ears. And I'm just dying to hear your response."

"You are?" he responded, shifting uncomfortably, unclear whether his discomfort was physical or mental. She wasn't saying anything he hadn't been thinking since they'd met.

"Mmmm…" Her hand slid to his half erect cock again. "And I have an incentive for you," she said, running her thumb across the head.

Palmer's eyes grew wide. There was no escaping. But did he really want to escape? "With or without Kelli, you and I have a connection," he carefully said, thinking through his words. "You said that yourself, Roxanne. You affected me that first time we met. I can't explain why."

"Yes," she interrupted, her hand gently stroking the soft skin across his hardness. "I've been thinking about that, Jack. You were on a stake out and yet you accepted my dinner invitation. Against all the rules, I think?"

"And then some…"

"Would you have come?"

He didn't hesitate. "I couldn't have resisted, Roxanne. The first time I saw you, you grabbed me by the balls. Got straight into my heart."

"I'm not sure your testicles and heart are connected," she smiled, her fingers tightening on his cock. "But I get the picture."

"Geez, Roxanne." He couldn't quite believe the resurgence of his cock.

"I like the reaction, Jack. But finish your answer first."

"First?" 

"Don't get cocky," she responded, and then gave a deep laugh. "Mmmm, forget that. Too late." 

Palmer smiled. This woman regularly made him smile. "Roxanne, I thought I'd lost you once. I don't want to lose you again. I'm like you. One hundred percent. I want – need - to work out whether the connection we both feel is simply chemistry. Or something deeper."




Palmer Ch. 10



There! He'd told her! It felt like a great weight had been plucked from his shoulders.

Her full lips on his were like a seal of approval. "Good answer, Jack." Her mouth was now sliding down his stomach. "So what do you say we get this case closed and see where we go?"

"Ugh…"

Roxanne wasn't sure whether the grunted response was as a result of her words, or the lips she had wrapped around his cock. Whichever, when her hand dropped to cup and manipulate his balls, she felt his scrotum tighten and his cock begin to pump. 

Her mouth slurped in everything he had to offer.

***

"Keep watching, pretty lady," Brad murmured, his hands sliding along Kelli's sides. They were heading in one direction only. "Don't you just wish you were over there with them?"

He cupped her breasts through the thin, red material, pushing his groin into her ass. He was already hard. Her nipples reacted to his kneading hands. Her buttocks pressed back into his groin.

His moving hands slid to the top of the dress, pushing the spaghetti straps from her shoulders. As it dropped to her hips, his hands returned to her pendulous swells. The deliciously cool fingers mashed them together before going for her nipples. 

"I've been wanting these beauties ever since you took off your bra on the catwalk," he murmured.

When he bent to trail kisses along her naked shoulders, she slid a hand behind her, grasping his cloth-covered erection. He gasped and pulled her around to face him, his sucking mouth attacking hers. 

A shimmy saw her dress hit the floor. Only the skimpy thong covered her nakedness. 

"Undress me," he told her. His meaning was clear when he pushed her to her knees. His hands worked on his shirt as hers worked on his trousers. He slid one off and kicked the other away. 

Kelli loved a man taking control. The fact that he was a virtual stranger only added to her arousal. Grasping the waistband of his boxers, she yanked them down. His cock was thinner than she expected, but longer than she dared to hope. Her mouth moulded around it perfectly. 

His fingers dug into her hair, keeping her on track. "You sure know how to use those lips, ma'am," he groaned, polite even in this most intimate of moments.

Suddenly, his hands were helping her to her feet. He twisted her body back to face the beds; his hand found the back of her neck and forced her over the low arm of the green, leather chair. Brooke and Erin's moans dragged her attention to them.

The two panting women were tribbing, their contorted faces in perfect sync with their flailing hips. One arm on the bed held them up, the free hand pulling on the other's undulating ass, jamming their pussies tighter against one another. Kelli was mesmerized by the way Brooke's scorpion piercing diddled along Erin's sex; God that must feel good… 

Gabrielle was lying back on her shoulders, her long legs wrapped around Max. The black model was sitting up on his knees facing Kelli, his grunting face fixed on the blonde as he drilled down into the near perfect body underneath him. The French woman was talking to him in her native language, urging him on as her hands squeezed her tits.

Kelli's eyes bounced between beds. Then Brad was pushing her head lower so that she could see nothing other than the seat cushion beneath her. He kicked at her high-heeled feet, pushing them further apart. She was going to be fucked by the young hunk. 

She grunted like the sex-charged bombsell she was. He was in control. Well, that's what he thought. He wasn't. She was. Despite her subservient position, he was servicing her. She could have any man she wanted. She was a supermodel. This is what supermodel's did!

The thought sent another tremble of arousal through her body.

His fingers violently ripped the thong from her. His other hand gripped her hair. All of a sudden, the polite demeanour disappeared. Lost in the moment, she pushed her ass backwards, seeking out his cock. 

His knees eased between her legs, spreading her even wider. Without warning, his thin manhood pushed into her wet opening. A long, slim, knife sliding into her buttery interior. Her tits defied gravity as they jutted erotically in front of her. In two passes, she felt his ball caress her engorged mound.

Kelli could hear the sounds from the two beds, but couldn't see a thing. In an eerie way, it enhanced her arousal. Then Brad began to move. 

Slowly at first, considerate and deliberate, allowing her body to get used to the length of his cock. Like the formula one star he was, he quickly accelerated, racing up through the gears. 

Kelli began to gasp. Helpless and used, that submissiveness was the biggest turn on of her tender years. Life couldn't get better. She was giving nothing, receiving everything. 

When he bent his knees, the blonde hunk pushed a finger into her ass. Oh, my, God! He slid it long and deep, working it in slow circles inside her ass. Was it good… painful… arousing? She didn't know. But when he thrust a second finger to join the first, she detonated. 

Her orgasm made no difference to the young American. The hand on her neck forced her body even further forward, the fingers in her ass probed further, his pencil slim cock continued to pound her. She was cumming again. A gasping cry caught in her panting throat. But when he took her to a third climax, her scream was like a coyote in the wild.

He withdrew without reaching his own release and Kelli began to turn, eager to give him satisfaction. The hand on her neck was firm – rough – holding her in place. When his cock rubbed against her asshole, she knew immediately what he had in mind. His fingers had added to her pleasure, but he'd just been preparing her. 

So this was the 'speciality' Gabrielle had referred to earlier!

Her body bucked, trying to escape. She'd never been fucked in the ass and didn't intend to start now. Her panting voice was a pleading whine. "No! No! Brad! No, please."

His long, thin penis was the perfect shape for his intention. Ignoring the protest, he slid inside much more easily than she anticipated. Suddenly, it didn't feel so bad. It felt different. Tighter. It actually felt good.

He adjusted both their positions to gain the purchase he wanted and when his hand left her neck to grip her hip, she turned her head to stare back at him. Suddenly, she badly needed to be taken like this.

"Yes," she hissed, her face contorting, her eyes half closing with each thrust. "Yesssss."

Brad growled. It came from the back of his throat. Staring back at him, she looked so willing, so wanton, yet so pure. He couldn't hold back. With one final pump of his slim rod in her sweet ass, one final smack of his swollen balls on her greasy vulva, he roared out his climax.

As he dumped his formula one juice inside her, she found herself wondering what it would feel like with Max's thick cock in her ass.



Palmer Ch. 11



Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 11: New beginnings

It was mid morning when Palmer emerged. The additional four hours deep sleep, followed by a cool shower, had left him more refreshed than he thought possible. He felt, he smelled better, and he was done with that bed. Yes, he was still weak, but he'd never been one for lying in bed when he could stand on his feet. 

The sling around his left arm was a pain. The doc had said it needed support, but it had taken some persuading for him to let Roxanne fix it. It restricted his freedom and Palmer hated that.

But the redhead had a way of convincing him what was best for him. He listened to her, she was the biggest factor in re-energising his mind. He glanced across at her when he entered the small living room. If anything, she grew more beautiful each time he saw her. 

As Roxanne watched him emerge, it didn't need words to tell her their lovemaking had left him invigorated, not tired. His smile was enough.

"Well," Donny Webster grinned, as the young cop surveyed the busy room. "Look what we have here. The walking wounded. Ain't you supposed to be in bed for the next couple of days?"

Palmer smiled. A grin from Webster was worth its weight in gold. He appreciated the way Goodwin stood up and allowed him to take his seat. He ambled over to the patterned chair beside the window, beads of sunlight dappling the fabric.

"I'm feeling stronger," he simply said, as if that explained everything. "Besides, we have a case to crack."

Webster nodded, rubbing a hand across his five o'clock shadow. "We do. That's been the focus of our conversation for the last hour. But you won't be part of it, Palmer. You're staying out of action for a couple of days."

The young cop was about to argue, but held his peace. There was more than one way to skin a cat. "What's the plan?" he asked instead.

"We've retrieved the two bodies and are running scans on them. Going to have to call you Wyatt Earp if you continue like this," Goodwin joked.

Palmer's face remained impassive, refusing the barrel-chested cop the encouragement of even a grin at the lame joke. He wanted an update. To understand what was happening. "Fill me in," he said.

The Vice Chief nodded. "If you're right about DeVere," he drolled, "this is big time. And I mean big time. He's a powerful man. Rich, too. Has a lot of contacts. We're putting our heads on the blocks if we go after him, particularly with Homicide still out of the picture."

"If we go after him?" Palmer repeated.

"We're going after him," Wilson chimed in, her eyes sparkling at the thought. "We've done quite a bit of research over the last twenty-four hours, Jack. We're pretty sure we can nail Giovanni to the Savannah shooting when we catch him."

"Unless Wyatt Earp gets to him first," Goodwin drooled in a good-natured way, smiling across from his position against the door.

Palmer ignored him. "Have we got a lead on his whereabouts?"

There was a moment's brief, uneasy silence at Palmer's question. The weary look on the faces that suddenly refused to look at him gave him his answer. It wasn't good.

"I checked out the bookie," Goodwin cut in. "I'm pretty sure it was the Italian who was betting. Couldn't get any further than that, though. Giovanni calls him randomly. The bookie says he's never seen him, nor has any idea where he's located."  

"Same with 'Elvis'," added Sandra Wilson, returning to the room from the kitchen with a tray full of fresh coffee. "Sounds like it's Giovanni he's sold the pills to, but his modus operandi is that he never personally meets his punters."

Palmer pulled a face, accepting the steaming mug. He'd need to find something to eat, too, before too soon. "Sounds like a lot of work," he sighed. "But it seems we're no closer to finding him." 

"Regrettably, that's about it," Webster conceded. 

"So…" 

"So…" Webster responded, his gravely voice regaining some energy. "We keep looking for him. But he's not our only focus."

Palmer's raised eyebrow encouraged him to continue. 

"We've also got a lead on a Harry Bannerman," the Vice Chief said. "He works for DeVere. It looks like he may be the arranger when there's any dirty work to be done. DeVere is clever enough to remain one step removed from everything. I reckon that if we can get to Bannerman, we'll force the link to DeVere."

"You got a description?" Palmer asked, easing his aching body back in the uncomfortable seat. "What does he look like?"

Wilson flicked open her notebook. "Middle aged, slightly balding, fat. Average height."

"That narrows it down," Palmer responded, his tone more sarcastic than he intended. He was becoming more depressed by the second. 

"And there's George Blair."

The four cops all turned to their left. The voice was Roxanne's.

"What?" the Vice boss snapped, pausing mid air after taking a drink from his mug.

"He's in bed with George Blair, too," she repeated. "DeVere. That may be what's behind this."

Palmer's eyes widened. "The next Prime Minister?"

Roxanne nodded.

"Spit it out," Webster responded. This woman knew more than she was letting on.

"I've been with Blair," the redhead said, making sure her gaze stayed away from Palmer. "I think they saw that as a threat to his ambition to be Prime Minister. George told me it was over between us, but I think DeVere wanted to make the ending permanent."

The three cops sat quietly for a moment. Palmer stared across at Roxanne, willing her to meet his eyes. When she did, the worried look on her face tore at his heartstrings. The last thing he intended to do was to cast judgement and he hoped his expression conveyed that.

"A bit late to be telling us," Webster snapped, turning his attention back to the others. "More difficult, but we can add Blair's name to Bannerman's. They're both avenues to DeVere. And guess what—" 

"What?" Palmer unnecessarily asked, his head still struggling to take everything on board.

"This afternoon, would you believe, DeVere and Blair are holding a joint press conference."

"What?"

"That's right," Sandra Wilson confirmed. "The benefit of a few hours research on the computer. DeVere's about to unveil a new theme park of Walt Disney proportions. It's near Trump's development in Aberdeenshire. He's tying Blair into it. Kind of neat, isn't it, with the Prime Ministerial vote just around the corner?"

"I have an idea." It was Roxanne's voice again.

"Which is?" Webster's voice sounded exasperated.

"We go to the press conference. Me, too. If they're looking for me, that's the last thing they'd expect."

"Could smoke 'em out," Goodwin said thoughtfully.

"No way," Palmer blurted before he could stop the words. Webster's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, Chief, but it's too dangerous…" He held up the arm in the sling, wincing as he did. "Look at me. This is what the bastards are capable of. It's far too dangerous."

Webster's thoughtful eyes swivelled around the room.

Roxanne interrupted again before he could make a decision. "Jack, remember what we said last night? Get this case closed and see where we go?"

"See where who goes?" Goodwin asked, staring at one then the other.

The redhead ignored him. "This is a chance, Jack. Maybe the best chance we have. Sounds like you guys are treading water. This could be a chance to make something happen."

"You're willing to try?" Webster asked, turning his thoughtful look away from Palmer and back to the redhead. 

She nodded. "Absolutely."

"That's good enough for me," the Vice Chief barked. "Wilson, find out the time of flights. We don't have much time. And get Taffy Boyd to meet us on route to the airport. Tell him we need to be wired."

Wilson nodded, jumping up from her seat and heading over to the phone. "Four tickets, boss?"

"Five," interrupted Palmer. "I'm coming, too."

***

The sun was streaming into the high ceilinged bedroom, despite the closed curtains. What time was it? Kelli had no idea. All she knew was that she was closing in on another orgasm. It took her a few seconds to focus, and then a little longer to take in what was happening. 

She edged up on her elbows, staring down to the sight of the head between her legs. Gabrielle's black hair had shaken free of its ponytail, bouncing in time with the tongue that was doing delicious things to her body. When her left hand found the brunette's head, Gabrielle paused to grin up at the blonde.

"Don't stop," Kelli murmured. "Please don't stop." 

She chewed on her lower lip as the Frenchwoman slid her tongue back to her sensitive clitoris. Her hips raised a little in reaction to the long, circular, licking motions. With a deep sigh of gratification, her head flopped back on the soft, white pillow. 

Images of Erin floated behind her closed eyes. Then Brooke. Rosalina and Adrianna, too. Life was simply perfect.

The blonde arched her back and lifted her hips against Gabrielle's face. Kelli was reaching her nirvana and it thrilled the French model to be the one delivering her. She rotated her face across the wet, swollen lips. A hand lifted the blonde's right leg over her shoulder and she dove deeper. Slithering her tongue over the moaning girl's dewy folds, she increased the pace of her tongue-fucking.

Kelli's back arched higher. Little, animalistic yelps escaped her parted lips as the first spasms of her orgasm overcame her. Her sex ground into Gabrielle's covergirl face, her trembling buttocks held by the hands that slid under her ass to support her.

The French star lapped at her juices throughout the stinging climax. Eventually, she slithered up the still shuddering, perfect body. The still moaning blonde eagerly accepted her cum-soaked kiss.

"You like that, mon cherie?" the Frenchwoman asked. "Time for you to pleasure Gabrielle," she smiled upwards into Kelli's delicious brown eyes.

Switching position, Gabrielle pushed her ass back against the headboard, gripping the blonde's silken hair and pulling her head to her for another kiss.

Even as their lips met, Kelli's hands were dancing across Gabrielle's perky tits, teasing her nipples from side to side. When the French supermodel let out a throaty growl against her mouth, Kelli dropped her head and swirled her tongue across each hard bud. 

The whimpering brunette allowed Kelli to suckle on her nipples, letting the pressure build between her legs before applying downward pressure on the blonde tresses. Her clit was already standing up and begging for attention. 

The young model didn't need asking twice. She whirled down between the shapely legs, dipping to softly kiss along the Frenchwoman's thighs towards the treasure awaiting her. Her first laps along the sensitive, wet lips rewarded her with a burst of wonderfully tangy juices. 

With exaggerated slowness, her tongue licked around and across the waiting clit, waiting for sweet sounds of surrender before burying itself inside the breathtakingly tasty body. 

Reaching down, Gabrielle held the blonde's bobbing head, pushing her hips upwards to grind her pussy against the hot and willing mouth. When she pulled her legs upwards and back, Kelli took the hint, licking the brunette from her clit to her ass, then back again.

"Oui, cherie! Qui a été incroyable!" 

As she instantly came, the French supermodel poured her juices into the lapping, licking, and sucking mouth. Her ass thrust upwards from the bed. Her fingers pulled on her breasts. Her language changed from French to English and back again. The words meant the same.

Kelli fingered herself through Gabrielle's orgasm, and was close to reaching another of her own when the Frenchwoman's hand covered hers. "Wait, mon cherie. I 'ave something for us " 

Her hand pulled out her prize from under the pillow. Kelli gasped, recalling the way Erin had used her similar double-ended dildo on her.

***

Harry Bannerman was breathing heavily. The killing of Parkinson and his brother had spooked him. If DeVere knew they were dead, and that Palmer had escaped, God alone knew what he'd do!

Harry wasn't a man who panicked easily. This morning he was panicking.

Making a telephone call to the cop had been unusual. He never phoned Willie Dixon. Unable to get any answer from Toby Parkinson's cell phone, he had no alternative. The small time killer had missed his deadlines for checking in with Bannerman. That meant trouble.

To add insult to injury, someone had called him from Parkinson's phone. It was so obvious it was pathetic. A cop was going through all numbers on the cell phone in the laborious process of attempting to identify all contacts.

Bannerman was too smart for the phone he used to be traceable. That wasn't an issue. He'd listened to the heavy breathing on the other end of the line and then cut off the call. The number was now obsolete.

What had worried him more was what had happened to the thug and his brother. His telephone call to the reluctant Dixon had given him the information he'd needed. Yes, the Sergeant had been pissed off at Harry calling him at his desk, but he'd flown to Aberdeen that evening and there was no other way of obtaining the information. 

It turned out that Parkinson was dead. So was his brother. A third body hadn't been found. Not according to Dixon. That suggested that Palmer had somehow escaped.

He'd find out more when he met with the edgy Sergeant on his return. It had taken all of his persuasive efforts during the phone call just to weed out the little bits of information he had. Dixon was a naturally cautious man. 

He'd find out more when he met with the edgy Sergeant on his return. It had taken all of his persuasive efforts during the phone call, just to weed out the little bits of information he had. Dixon was a naturally cautious man. 

That was fine. So was he.

He'd yet to share this information with DeVere. His employer would instantly go into a rage. He knew those tempers well. They didn't happen too often. And he'd never been on the wrong end of one.

It was much better to keep the events to himself. For the moment, at least. DeVere had brought Giovanni to Aberdeen to talk to him about killing the wrong woman. To point the finger. That was just part of it. He'd lured him there with the intention, and expectation, that Bannerman would arrange for his demise. 

Now that the Parkinson brothers had made such a mess of things, he'd take their place. He had no other option. He would – he had to – kill Giovanni. That way, DeVere would be none the wiser. He'd see that Bannerman was fully capable of taking care of problems when they came along. 

Harry knew the Italian was fast and deadly. Like a snake. He was fully aware he'd have to do it quickly. There'd be no second chances. But he had the advantage. He knew where Giovanni would be. It would be unexpected. The Italian hit man didn't know him from Adam.

The automatic in his pocket would do the rest.

***

"You like, cherie?" Gabrielle asked, grinning at the lascivious look on the young model's face.

Twisting around, she slipped her long and shapely legs through the blonde's. Her sparkling eyes trained on the young beauty's as she slowly eased the thick plastic cock into her own wetness. 

Kelli watched spellbound as the Frenchwoman's labial lips erotically wrapped themselves around the thick shaft, until almost half the hard length of the phallus disappeared inside her body. Then she couldn't resist. The blonde reached out and took the surprisingly warm cock in her hand, slowly beginning to fuck the supermodel. 

"Tres bien, cherie," the brunette purred, thrusting back for a few moments. "You learn quickly. But this is even better…"

She wriggled forward, closing the distance between them, the pink, rubber cock obscenely sticking out of her body. Scissoring their legs together, she slid closer to the blonde. Holding her gaze, she fed the phallus into Kelli's wickedly smooth sex. The blonde's lustful moans reverberated in her heart and across her pussy.

"Tres bien, Kelleee," the Frenchwoman purred as she pulled the blonde even closer. The dildo disappeared completely as their hot pussies pressed hard against one other.

She moved gently at first, allowing the blonde to get used to the new sensations. Her wild eyes never left the young woman's. Her own arousal increased with each shift of Kelli's expression.

At first, the young blonde was happy to let Gabrielle do the work. But soon, it became too much. Her head went back. Her blonde tresses bounced on her shoulders. Her shuddering body responded. 

She mirrored the more experienced woman's moves, even dropping her hand to stroke her clit when she saw the supermodel do the same. Both women began to moan softly, the sounds mingling with the sensual slurping of the pleasuring dildo. 

Their undulations increased as they gave in to the oncoming orgasms. Hands gripped each other's ass more tightly. Hips raised further from the virginal white sheets. Feet dug into the mattress as they desperately sought out even more of the delicious friction.

"Cum for me, Kelleee," Gabrielle gasped as she saw the blonde's eyes disappearing upwards into the back of her head. Her own climax was only moments away, too.

The blonde did. Seconds ahead of the brunette. 

Her head jerked back. Her eyes closed. A heavy flush ran up her heaving breasts. With her fingers working frantically on her clit, the low hum changed into a long scream. 

In the back of her mind, she heard her wails joined by the brunette's orgasmic cries. It was all too much and a second, mini orgasm flowed through her spasming sex. She simply couldn't stop cumming.

The sound of applause that ran around the room shocked the recovering blonde. Her weary head jerked around. A naked Max lay on the other bed, stroking his monster. Oh, God! How could she have failed to notice him? He'd been watching since the beginning! 

***

DeVere was a happy man. For a formal press conference, the atmosphere had been amazing. He'd choreographed it perfectly - full of interest and anticipation to begin with, then a carefully executed ramping up of the excitement. 

The press briefing had begun with the use of computer-generated images. Enough to excite, but not inflame. Slowly does it. Take them there gradually. Much more impact that way. 

Press and celebrities alike had been invited to the cocktail party being held in the control room. The mood had begun to build at that point, but was nothing compared to the subsequent atmosphere. Once Amélie's skills at the control panel brought the robot dinosaurs into action, the entire demonstration had simply blown everyone away. 

Dominic had known it would. 

The bubble of excitement had pervaded the entire room as the invited ensemble watched from the viewing window. Then came the clamour to be let loose in the grounds, to actually experience those dinosaurs.

"You're sure they're not real?" was a question repeated time and time again by a wondrous inquisitor. 

DeVere's reply was simple. "Go down and find out for yourself."

His satisfaction was enhanced by the smooth way he'd linked the project into George Blair. The forthcoming vote by MP's was a formality. Dennis Price had done his job well and in return, Dominic had made sure that his sexual needs were well catered for. He'd do the same for his political aspirations.

Dinosaur World would simply reinforce Blair's growing reputation. Today was only the start to the long task of increasing his personal popularity among the populous. That would help to bring Labour back into contention for the next election.




Palmer Ch. 11



He wanted Blair in power for two terms, not one.

Giving the tall, brown haired man the opportunity to address the media was a masterstroke. He'd been well briefed and had allowed him to put his own stamp on the project. 

He'd taken it perfectly, too. But then, playing to the media was one of Blair's specialities. Amid the flashing cameras and microphones thrust into his face, the smooth politician had given his Oscar-worthy soliloquy like Sir Anthony Hopkins in Hamlet.

"Yes, I'm aware of, and have been supportive of, the project since its inception."

"Yes, Dominic and I see eye to eye on this and many other things."

"We believe this will revolutionise the entertainment industry."

"Britain will be the place for millions of visitors."

"Scotland will become a major tourist attraction."

"The impact on the economy will be momentous."

All the while, Blair's wife stood in the background, watching, taking everything in. The smartly dressed woman was no one's fool, but had learnt to allow her husband free reign. Things would change once he was Prime Minister. She had a number of pet projects that would be given the attention they deserved. The aged beauty hadn't put up with his philandering over the years for nothing!

Eventually, the formalities were over. The gates to Dinosaur World were now open. The grounds were available to every eager guest, celebrity and media alike. So was the adjacent, newly built hotel, whose opening for business would coincide with that of the major tourist attraction.

DeVere's sigh of satisfaction was a clear indication that the press conference had proven to be everything he'd required and anticipated. A wonderful success.

***

"So they're the odd couple?" Palmer spat under his breath, having watched DeVere and Blair perform to perfection in front of the excited gathering. 

The lunchtime flights had resulted in their arrival just too late for the start of the press conference, but they'd caught most of the second half.

"They're part of my past," Roxanne murmured, taking hold of his hand. She recognised the jealousy in his tone. "You're part of my future."

The young detective nodded. "I know. But there won't be a future if we don't nail DeVere. You're sure you want to go through with this?"

Roxanne looked into his eyes, her reply direct. "Of course. If I can help flush them out, I want to do that. Besides, you're here to take care of me. I feel safe with you."

He squeezed the hand holding his, and then let it go. They were two reporters, after all, here for a story. That was their cover and reporters didn't hold hands. 

For a second, he thought about discarding the sling. It made him stand out too much. But he realised his left arm was still weak. Common sense won out in his internal argument. If only just.

Then, DeVere and Blair had concluded their session. They were leading the way towards one of the bullet shaped elevators that would take the animated guests to the ground. It seemed everyone was talking at once. 

"We'll stay close to them," Palmer told her. "We can look for the best opportunity to let them to see you." He glanced around at the hordes heading towards the elevators. "Let's take the stairs. It'll be impossible to lose them. All we have to do is follow the media circus. Where there's a camera, we'll find those two."

It took no time to reach the ground floor, though Palmer found the four flights took more out of him than he'd anticipated. Sure enough, DeVere and Blair were both outside the building, giving separate TV and press interviews.

Jugglers, fire-eaters, and people in dinosaur costumes were all roving around the nearby area. Various sounds of the jungle combined with the dinosaur roars filling the air from the myriad of cleverly placed tannoys. 

No expense had been spared. It was the perfect atmosphere. 

Palmer glanced around. He was concerned. The place was almost too big. Too vast. Difficult to control. The nearby trees led to the forest of acres that made up the site. It was dangerous. He'd need to remain constantly close to Roxanne. The young cop wasn't in any mood to take chances.

He glanced at his watch. It was time to check in with the others. Webster's decision to get Taffy to fix them with hand mikes was inspirational, though they'd almost missed their flight as a result. Palmer spoke into his hand. "Where are you?"

It was Goodwin who answered first. "To your left. Got you both in my eyesight."

"The place is too big," Palmer sighed, swinging around to meet Goodwin's eyes through the crowds between them. "I didn't expect this."

"Naw, me neither. Impressive, isn't it. When I get married, I might bring the kids here."

"Married? Didn't you try that already, Alex?" It was Wilson's voice, tinged with sarcasm. She really did have to get her head together about that man.

"Never mind the shit," Palmer snapped, instantly realising his nerves were on end. His voice softened. "It's too big to stay in control out here."

"Maybe. But it also makes it harder for them to spot us," Goodwin suggested. "Whereas we can't miss them."

"Take it easy, Jack." It was Webster's monotonous voice. "You sound uptight. How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine." Palmer resented being asked. He could take care of himself. But was he okay? 

The fever had returned. His legs were shaking. The stairs. The crowd. Not having anything to eat since the flight. None of it helped. Still, there was too much going on to worry about any of that. This was the most important mission of his life.

"Where are you, Palmer?" Webster's voice crackled in the sweating cop's ear.

"Near the entrance. Beside an oak tree with a tannoy half way up it. I have sight of Goodwin."

"Okay, Wilson and I are the opposite side of the entrance. Wait a minute… okay… I can see you and the woman. I've also got a good view of the targets. Let's stay close, children."

***

Marco Giovanni paced across the room. How many times had he done that since his lunchtime arrival? He looked down at the carpet. Surely it was worn from his footmarks?

The DeVere Towers hotel wasn't officially open yet. But today, the entrepreneur had opened several suites to the gaze of the world. It went hand in hand with his entertainment complex. Maximum publicity. That was what the event was all about.

Today, Giovanni had been given the use of one of those suites until DeVere left the conference to meet with him. He had no way of knowing that this was a set-up. Except instinct. Right then, that intuition was working overtime. Something smelled rotten.

DeVere's message had said there was a problem. A big problem. To do with the woman he'd wasted. It didn't say what. What concerned Giovanni was the request to meet in Aberdeen. Even if he'd known where the fuck Aberdeen was, why would he want to go there?

The only reason he'd complied with the request was his knowledge of the press conference. He knew what was going on. It was his business to know. One of the reasons he stayed one step ahead. In his business, that's how you stayed alive.

What concerned him was the location. If it were that important, DeVere would have found the time to meet him in London. Or talk to him over the phone. Aberdeen smelt. And Giovanni had a good nose.

The knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Room service." The spyhole displayed a waiter in a white jacket. 

Giovanni's instincts came into play again. "I didn't order room service."

"I know, sir. Compliments of Mr. DeVere. He'll join you shortly."

The Italian assassin's hand covered the Makarov inside his jacket as he edged the door open. Well, well, well. So that was the game.

He opened it wider. "Come in." His hand stayed in position. Nothing too overt, but he'd be ready when the man made his move. His knowledge of DeVere's closest aides had paid off. He knew everything there was to know about his employer's activities.

And here, pushing the silver tray into the centre of the room, was DeVere's stooge, dressed as a waiter. Did Bannerman think he was a fucking amateur?

"Should I serve the food here, sir," the fat man asked, stopping beside the small, ornate table.

"Yeah," Giovanni agreed, feigning disinterest as he walked across to the window. 

He'd checked out every scenario while he'd been waiting. By standing at this angle, he could pretend to look down on the scene below, yet see the centre of the room's reflection in the small mirror to the side. He had as good a view of Bannerman as if he'd turned round and stared at the man. 

There could only be one reason why DeVere's right hand man was dressed as a waiter. The bastard!

Every few seconds, he glanced across at Giovanni, as if looking for his opportunity. He was sweating, his hands unsteady. He was nervous. Giovanni grinned to himself. The overweight man had every reason to be nervous. He was no match for the Italian. 

"Should I open the wine, sir?" Even Bannerman's voice was nervous. It trembled as he spoke. Gave the game away.

"Yeah," Giovanni answered in that monosyllabic way he had when confronting a threat.

He stayed facing the window, but the corner of his eye was on the trembling man. Bannerman picked up the Cartouche antique corkscrew from the silver tray and twisted it into the bottle of red. He could hardly open it, his hands were shaking so hard.

Giovanni knew why. The bogus waiter was plucking up the courage to act.

With a pop, the cork came free and Bannerman removed it from the corkscrew. He dropped it onto the tray. Even as one hand unsteadily poured the wine into the glass, the other slipped to the outside of his jacket pocket. It felt along the outline. He had a gun.

Giovanni swung around and covered the distance between them. Time to take care of his problem, like he would swat a fly from his window. Even as his smiling face accepted the glass of wine from the shaking hand, he was pulling out his Makarov. 

Bannerman let out a loud whimper as he felt the cold barrel of the silencer jam into the front of his neck.

The Italian's hand dropped into the pocket of the bogus waiter's jacket. With a single wrench, he removed Bannerman's gun. "In five seconds, you'll be dead," the assassin whispered, his voice as cold as stone. "One question. Why?"

A drop of sweat fell from Bannerman's forehead onto the tray of food. 

"Four… three… Why?"

"The woman," Bannerman blurted, looking for a way out.

"What about the woman?"

Bannerman's voice trembled. "You… you shot the wrong woman…"

For a couple of seconds, Giovanni froze. The wrong woman? He'd shot the wrong woman? No! It couldn't be.

Bannerman took advantage of the assassin's confusion. He found the silver corkscrew in the corner of his searching eye; the heavy-set man's hand moved quickly. With all his strength, he plunged the coiled end into his assailant's side.

The Italian screamed in pain, squeezing the trigger of his Markov instinctively. The bullet ripped through Bannerman's jugular vein and came out the back of his neck. A geyser of blood burst from the wound.

Pulling the gun away, he fired again. The second bullet shattered the fat man's brain.

The Italian held onto the table, ignoring the tumbling body as it thumped onto the floor. The corkscrew felt like a hot needle running from his side to his chest. He gasped for breath. 

When he yanked it out, the searing sensation almost made him pass out.

Several deep breaths steadied him. He threw the wine into the back of his throat, as if alcohol would somehow relieve the burning feeling. Fighting back the shock, he headed for the on suite bathroom. Tearing off his jacket and shirt, the jagged hole was beginning to swell at the sides.

Pain came at him in waves. He picked up a washcloth and held it against the wound. His dimming eyes vainly looked around for something to use. Something to keep it in place. 

Pulling his belt through the hoops in his trousers, he placed two hand towels over the reddening washcloth and tied the belt over them. That would have to do.

The water he ran into the small plastic cup was for one purpose. Slipping his hand into his right jacket pocket, he pulled out a small, transparent, plastic bag. There were six red devils. A swallow of water later, there were only four. 

His body fell forward, slumping down against the side of the white bath as the pain in his chest shuddered through him. It intensified to the edge of reason. His body jerked violently. His face crunched up into a cry. He jammed his hand into his mouth, cutting off the scream.

For a few seconds, he struggled to contain the noise attempting to burst from his mouth. Then, the throbbing diminished. It was replaced by the roaring rush of speed. His vision cleared. The pain left him. All that remained was hate.

Three options bounced around his brain. Get out of there and back to London. Find DeVere and talk to him about what had happened. Or blow the bastard's brains out. He chose the third.

***

Kelli had never felt so filled. Max's black cock consumed every inch of her clutching sex. Owned it. She'd waited so long for this. Thought about it for so long. Now it was happening. Sitting over the prone black man, she was able to take her time. Control the pace of their fucking. 

Exact maximum pleasure from the thick monster inside her.

Her eyes closed. Her head tilted to one side. For some time, she concentrated only on her own pleasure. She undulated slowly, allowing the feeling of fullness to flow through her body, her fingers digging down into his chest. Gradually, she became more confident.

She undulated back and forward. Then in circles. With each change, a different sensation overwhelmed her. She'd already cum twice on his cock. It was nothing. There was much more pleasure awaiting.

She eased her hips upwards until just his crown was inside her. When the black model raised his ass in search of her teasing sex, she smoothly slid back down to take the whole of his hardness once more. Her hands raised and ran through her blonde hair. Her back arched. He was hers to do with what she wanted.

Gabrielle slid behind her, the older woman's pointed nipples digging into her back. "You like Max's cock?" she sultrily breathed, her hands sliding across the blonde's thrusting tits. "Soooo beeg…" 

The Frenchwoman licked around her soft ear, whispering something in French she did not understand, but loved. Little grenades exploded inside her. As the brunette's teeth pulled down on her wet lobe, she gasped. Gabrielle's hands kneaded her sensitive swells, pulling on her hard nipples. She could hold back no longer.

Her third orgasm was even stronger than the previous two. She loved this. Losing herself in a sexual haze that was never ending…

Then Max was moving. He effortlessly pulled himself up into a sitting position. If anything, the change of position ensured his cock filled her more completely than she thought possible.

Her hands gripped one another around his broad shoulders. She held on, waiting for him to do whatever it was on his mind. Surely he couldn't split her in two?

The black man's muscular hands cupped under her ass and gently raised and lowered her. Even at her highest point, half of his monster remained embedded. Then he wasn't quite so gentle. When he began to talk to her, she felt that familiar shuddering inside her body again. 

"Do y'know how long I've wanted to fuck that pretty ass of yours?"

Her answer was a whimper.

"Ever since I saw you," he continued. "You've wanted Max's black cock that long, too?"

Her whimper turned into a moan as he bounced her faster on his lap.

"Tell me, honey. You like Max's cock?"

"Ye… yes…"

"Louder, honey. You like black cock?"

Her teeth gritted and the words came out in a low hiss. "Yessss." For a second, she heard the word reverberate around her body. He was fucking her even faster now, bouncing her on his lap like a rag doll.

She was his completely. To do with what he wanted. His cum machine. "Say it," he ordered again. "I want to hear you say it, slut! Do you like black cock?"

"YES! I LIKE BLACK COCK!" she cried out, thrusting her chest against his toned, oily body.

"Look," she heard him say. "Look at Gabrielle."

Her head turned to the side, a low growl coming from the back of her throat. Not even a growl. It was an unidentifiable animalistic sound – a cross between a wail, howl and rumble. Her vision was blurred. Not enough to stop her seeing that the Frenchwoman was leaning back on the other bed, her hand feverishly working between her thighs. 

"She likes black cock, too. You can watch me fuck her later. Would you like that, honey?"

He didn't wait for a response. His hands began to pile drive her down on his cock. It hit parts of her that had never been pleasured before. She came yet again. Came as that animalistic wail hit new highs.

The black model didn't stop. He didn't cum either. He fell backwards so that he was flat on the bed again. This time he pulled her with him, her tits pressing down into his muscular chest.

When the orgasm had washed through her, Kelli found a second wind. She became a fucking instrument, her sex now comfortable with the size and movement of the black machine inside it. Her head dug into his neck while her ass lifted and plummeted, thumping down on his muscular frame harder and harder.

"Oh yes, honey. Fuck that black cock," he groaned.

She did, anxious to take him to his own climax. She wanted – needed – the black man's cum exploding inside her.

Her long, wavy blonde hair bounced around his face. The sweat poured from her body down onto his. The reverberations from her hip thrusts were firing through every nerve end. Her sex twitched as it clamped down in his black monster. 

Oh, God! She was going to cum again… 

Geeeeeeeez! 

She was cumming again…

The cool hands stroking across her ass interrupted her convulsions. It wasn't Max's – his hands were tight around her glistening back. Her sweaty head jerked to the side. Gabrielle was still fingering herself on the other bed. What the fuck? Who…

When a finger slid to her anus and pushed inside, she knew only too well. Her orgasmic tremors went into overdrive at the thought of what was about to happen.

***

Rage swelled up inside Giovanni. He was leaking blood. Given only a short time, his strength would begin to drain from his body, too. He had to act quickly. The blood was slowly seeping through its make do covering and the one size too big jacket he'd stolen from the hotel lobby was only temporarily adequate enough to disguise the wound.

It had taken some effort to make his way from the hotel to the entertainment HQ. Photo sessions were still in full swing. Instinct guided every movement. Standing in the safety of the trees, he was happy he'd be unnoticed - just one of the hundreds of invitees. 

His sharp eyes took in everything. DeVere and Blair were preening themselves in front of the cameras. How much security would the two so-called VIP's have? One, a burly heavy, stood a few yards away to their left. A second, smaller man was keeping himself out of the way a few steps behind. It was good of DeVere to dress them in the green uniforms. Much easier to spot. 

People constantly surrounded them. Cameras covered every move. His chances of success were fading just as surely as he was. Should he cut and run? There wasn't even a decision to be made. DeVere had turned against him. 

He would pay.

The question was more around the first step. Eliminate the bodyguard's, or avoid them? The first was more dangerous but the second more problematical. In situations such as these, he knew his knife would prove as powerful a weapon as his automatic.




Palmer Ch. 11



His decision was made easier when the heavy guard glanced around and slipped to the edge of the trees. When smoke appeared, Giovanni smiled. The security man's nicotine habit would prove his undoing.

Circling back in the trees, the assassin made his way to the guard's location. Standing far enough away from the crowds while he enjoyed his smoke, he stood no chance. The assassin silently moved behind him and the razor-thin, doubled edged knife did the job with a surgical precision. 

Pulling the burly man into the trees was more difficult. He was heavier than Giovanni had hoped and the wound in his side wasn't helping. The blood leaking onto the stolen jacket told him he'd need to act even more quickly than he'd originally anticipated.

His eyes homed in on the scene as DeVere's blonde assistant approached the two men.

***

The heavily accented voice came from the left. "Excuse me for interrupting," the tall, slim woman said, her French accent as usual bringing a frisson of excitement to DeVere. 

Her bright blue eyes stared dismissively at Blair, then swung across to her employer. "I must see you, Dom-en-eek."

"Amélie!" he exclaimed, turning to face her. "Shouldn't you be in the control tower?" 

Her smile was full of meaning. "It ees taken care of for now, Dom-en-eek. But I must get back there shortly. We do not 'av much time."

"We haven't met," Blair interrupted, holding out his hand. His eyes flicked across her body. Slim, pale, no tits. She certainly wasn't attractive, but there was something about her. She oozed sex with every movement, look, word. 

She took the hand, her fixed smile flicking across his face. "Amélie," she simply said.

"George Blair," he responded. "I understand this is all your creation."

"Eet is Dom-en-eek's creation," she corrected. "And do forgive me, but I need a little time with Dom-en-eek."

"Can't it wait?" DeVere asked, already knowing the answer. He'd seen that look before. Nothing would get in her way. 

"Non," she provocatively responded. 

They both knew no one else in his empire would dare speak to him like this. They were both aware he would not have complied in this way with anyone else. They both knew Amélie was different. This was how she was rewarded. It was an unspoken understanding. Had been since they first met.

"I need you, Dom-en-eek," she repeated, a hint of exasperation in her tone. "Now, s'il vous plait."

There was no point in arguing. When Amélie had a need, there was no waiting. But then, he didn't want to argue. The excitement of the day had reached his loins, too. When she swung on her four-inch heels and headed back inside, he followed.

"Your chance to shine, George," he grinned over his shoulder. "Keep those interviews going."

***

Gabrielle's fingers gripped her blonde tresses and pulled Kelli's head up off Max's sweaty chest. Perspiration covered her cheeks and brow. The impact of her regular orgasms still rippled across her face. She looked delectable. 

"Ever been fucked by two men at the same time, my little innocent," she provocatively whispered, jamming their mouths together for a vicious kiss. When she pulled away, she stared into the aroused brown eyes. This was important, she was saying. "It ees an experience never to be forgotten."

Max raised his hips upwards as the brunette kissed the blonde again. Not only did his calculated movement push his thick cock deeper inside Kelli, it raised her ass to the perfect angle for the American, Formula One star.

A second finger had joined his first in preparing her. The feeling as he withdrew them made her gasp, but it was nothing to the sensation of his long, slim cock sliding inside. Stars burst behind her closed eyes. She groaned into Gabrielle's mouth, breaking the bisexual kiss just to breath.

She mewed with every sweet inch. He glided into her tunnel with surprising ease. Even that turned her on. She was hot. She had an ass to fuck!

Kelli couldn't help but push back onto him. She found the movement buried Max's manhood even deeper inside her. Sweat replaced perspiration. Oh fuck, Gabrielle was right. Nothing could have prepared her for the sensation of being filled at both ends.

"Tell me, cherie. 'Ow does it feel?" the Frenchwoman asked as she eased herself back to her viewing place on the opposite bed.

It was an effort to turn her contorted face in the direction of the French supermodel. Max's broad arms stayed around her back, pulling her flat against his chest. Brad had bent his legs a little to provide the perfect angle. Kelli's breath was coming in gasps. The overpowering feeling of two cocks inside her was threatening her very sanity.

Then the men began to move. Slowly. So good…

Max thrust upwards. With each grunt she gave in response, Brad slid further inside. Oh, God, this was too much! The black man began to slowly move and, quickly adjusting to his rhythm, Brad did, too.

Her initial discomfort disappeared. Don't attempt to move, she told herself. She couldn't anyway. Give in to the submission. Give in to these men and their cocks. Just let the two experts do the work. She was Kelli. Kelli the supermodel. And supermodels were made to pleasure and be pleasured.

The two men moved a little faster. In unison. Surely the two of them must have done this before?

 "Oh, God," she found herself growling. It was a weird, reverberating sound, coming from the back of her throat. "Oh, God… Oh, God!"

As Brad slowly drew his cock halfway out, Max drove forward. When the young American slid back in, the black model dropped his hips back to the bed. Occasionally she could feel someone's balls collide against her ass. It inflamed her further.

Then the blonde realised she could move. If she dropped her hips down to meet Max's thrust, she could then push back to meet Brad's.

 "NGH! Oh, YES…" Her gentle movements had brought the underside of her clit alive, dragging it across Max's shaft with every downward pump. "OH, YessSSSSS…" 

The blonde beauty was lost to the world. An uninhibited sexual being whose only desire was to seek out orgasm after orgasm. She ignored any discomfort and somehow gyrated her hips a little faster. Her clit massaged itself on Max's cock. She couldn't breath. 

This was too much. Sensationally, wonderfully, too much!

When both men responded and pumped harder, see-sawing her slender hips between their masculine flesh, she lost it. Her orgasmic scream could have been heard back in London.

***

Blair had risen to the occasion. With DeVere otherwise occupied, he handled another couple of press interviews with consummate ease, suavely positioning himself as the new, great, political hope. 

He would be the one to lead the country back to economic viability. Dinosaur World was the first example of that.

The limelight was his. He gratefully accepted it. Took advantage of it. This was his opportunity to set out his stall. Let the country see what a great guy he was. Yes, he was Labour. But he was more visionary than that. He rose above party politics. 

That was essential if he wasn't to be dragged down into the Party's abysmally low popularity rating. He represented change. Hope for the future. Someone the people could believe in.

As the words smoothly spewed forth, his brain congratulated himself. This was where he wanted to be. Had worked to be. He was on the verge of the Premiership. He'd soon be recognised as a world leader. And it was just the start. It was the beginning of a journey that would eventually lead to Sir George Blair.

It was then that he saw her. Roxanne! She was standing on her own. Staring straight at him. It wasn't! Could it be? It was! It was her! What the hell was she doing here? Did she know about what DeVere had tried to do to her? She must! Yet there she was, as beautiful as ever. Looking at him. Smiling at him.

His suddenly greying face jerked across to his wife. Had she seen anything? He stumbled over a couple of words. Had she noticed? Did she know why? He floundered, panic setting in. 

"Let me rephrase that," he said, attempting to extricate himself from the tongue twisting position he'd put himself into. His eyes went back to Roxanne. She'd gone! The beautiful redhead was no longer there. 

His eyes frantically jerked around. She was nowhere to be seen. Had he imagined it? What the fuck was going on?

***

Palmer grinned at Roxanne. From their position at the back of the onlookers, they were hidden from George Blair. But the look of panic on his face was available to them both. He was spooked.

"Well done," he whispered to the redhead, bending to plant a soft kiss on her cheek. "Look at him. Look at his reaction. He knows all about what's going on."

She nodded, a wave of emotion washing across her face. She'd shared only wonderful moments with that man. She'd hoped he knew nothing of DeVere's intentions. His reaction told her otherwise.

"You okay?" Palmer asked, taking hold of her shaking hand and softly squeezing it. He knew this was an ordeal, albeit a necessary one.

"Yes, Jack. I'm okay," she smiled, holding her heaving body in check. DeVere had tried to murder her. George Blair knew. What about Erin? The American woman know, too? Her entire past was crumbling in front of her. It made the future even more important. 

"Listen closely," he spat into his hand mic. "Blair's seen Roxanne. He's spooked. Badly spooked. Stay close."

"Where's DeVere?" came Webster's reply. 

"I was kinda wondering that myself," Palmer responded. Where was the man? This was his moment. His show. Why would he have vanished like this? Something felt wrong.

***

Giovanni knew DeVere well. There was only one reason why he would have voluntarily left centre stage. Left behind the opportunity to show off in front of the world's press. That reason had been two steps in front of him as he'd re-entered the building. Amélie!

His body was shivering despite the sweat spewing from his pores. He was not well; he had a decision to make. Take out DeVere quickly or get out of there.

He edged forward. The answer was inside the large, white-faced building. DeVere was inside. With his whore. He'd never have a better chance of taking out his new target. It was possibly his only chance. The blood seeping through his shirt was beginning to show on his jacket. The wound was numb now and the pain in his chest had vanished. 

That wasn't good news. He urgently needed medical treatment.

A couple in his eyeline stopped him in his tracks. His gaze fell on the woman. She was familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place her. What was it? He couldn't afford any loose ends. He'd seen her before, he was sure of that. Where? The recollection set off alarm bells. 

FUCK! How could he be so stupid? He hadn't seen her before. He'd seen her photograph. Roxanne!

No! No, it couldn't be! He'd killed Roxanne. Blown her away. She was dead. He'd seen to that. Bannerman was right. He'd wasted the wrong woman. That was why DeVere had tried to kill him. The stupid bastard. If they'd talked, the Italian would have gone back and finished the job. The fucking bastard had panicked!

He pulled out his automatic. Finish the job now? No! That was stupid. The woman meant nothing to him any longer. DeVere was his target. His only target. He knew where to find him.

***

"Jack!" Roxanne exclaimed. "That man. He was staring at me. Look at his eyes."

Palmer glanced across. The man had turned and was hurrying in the direction of the building. He wasn't able to see his eyes, but he did see the automatic being sheathed in his pocket. They'd hit pay dirt! It was Giovanni! It had to be.

"Giovanni," he shouted into his hand mic, watching the assassin's shuffling gait, as if his movement was restricted. "He's heading back inside the building. Goodwin get here now. We're beside the—"

"I can see you," the barrel-chested cop responded. "I'll be with you imminently." 

Palmer smiled. Roxanne didn't know what was on his mind, but if Goodwin stayed with her, that would allow him to go after the gunman. 

***

Giovanni put the receptionist that faced him in her mid forties. Her hard face told him she wasn't going to be a pushover. He'd have her eating out of his hand before too long. He'd need to. It wouldn't be too long before he left a bloody trail across the floor.

"Ciao, beautiful donna," he beamed.

A cold stare she shot back. He'd need to work harder. "Yes? How can I help?"

"I'm looking for Mr. DeVere."

"I'm sorry, but…"

Giovanni interrupted even before she could finish her objection. "He told me to meet him in here. I'm afraid I'm a little late."

"He told you…?"

"Sí, beautiful donna. My magazine is the best in Italy. It will take the story of Dinosaur World and spread it across the whole of Italy. With photographs, too, of course." 

"Leading magazine in Italy? Photographs?"

The Italian assassin gave a soft bow. "Sí. My photographer will be here soon. He is the very best." He shot a look over his shoulder towards the entrance, before leaning conspiratorially forward towards the small desk. "My magazine loves beautiful women. I hope you can leave your position for a few moments when he arrives. He will want photographs of you, bella. No doubt."

"Me?" She ran a hand through her hair, stage-shock in her eyes. "Me?" she repeated. "Are you sure? He'll want photographs of me?"

"Sí, bella. You will appear on our pages all across Italy. Maybe you'd like to freshen up before he arrives?" Another glance towards the entrance conveyed an impression of urgency. "He will be here soon."

The woman was on her feet almost before he could finish. "Yes. Perhaps a quick visit to the restroom…"

"I'll wait here," he smiled, flashing Italian eyes that communicated nothing but warmth.

His mind was working even as she scurried away. He knew DeVere's operation inside out. He did with all his clients. He was nothing if not professional. Not only did that include a detailed knowledge of the layout of the operational centre, but an intimate knowledge of DeVere and Amélie's dalliances.

Dalliances? He gave a snort. 

He was only too aware that right now, the two of them would be fucking each other's brains out. And it was likely to be in one of the private offices he knew were to the back of reception.

As soon as the receptionist moved out of sight, he made his move through the barrier. Once he reached the offices, his ears would lead him towards his target. 

***

"Yes… 'arder Dom-en-eek. 'Arder."

On her back on the small desk with her legs either side of the sweating man was uncomfortable. But the feet Amélie Pascal pressed against the wall behind him, gave wonderful purchase to receive his thrusts.

"Fook me Dom-en-eek… So good… Fook me—"

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, dragging his head against her shoulder. His crew cut tickled her skin. It was difficult to know exactly who was fucking who.

DeVere's eyes dropped down her body. The small tits and long nipples staring at him from her semi open blouse rippled under their exertions, like pebbles on a pond. Her gasps increased with every thrust. She levered her ass higher, the desk literally creaking under them. 

DeVere looked back at Amélie's face, a crazy look on his blood red eyes. He hadn't realised quite how much he needed this, too. "You wanted to be fucked, you bitch," he growled, ramming his cock so hard into her that she grunted at the force. "So how's this…?"

Her eyes were manic, widening with each vicious thrust she took. Her body was on fire. He was fucking her the way only Dominic DeVere could. She needed it like a drug. But then he was a drug. Her drug.

"God, yes… Dom-en-eek," she cried as they rutted away. This was so good, even better than usual.

One hand dropped to his balls, squeezing one and then the other, preparing to wring the cum from him. Her feet settled flat against the wall as her internal muscles began to take him there, the last bits of sanity leaving them both.

***

The banging against the wall, combined with the breathless groans and gasps, had taken Giovanni directly to their location. 

From his position beside the small window in the door, he'd watched the two unsuspecting lovers rutting like animals for the last couple of minutes. They had no chance anyway, but waiting until they reached that most exquisite of moments would seal their fate. 

Looking down, he saw the blood spotted on the floor. He was leaking too much. Get this over with and get out of there. It was a shame about his condition. Otherwise he'd have fucked her before leaving. Now, she was an inconvenience to be immediately eliminated. 

The assassin timed his entrance to perfection. The silenced Makarov felt cool in his hand. Neither of his targets heard the door open. Their orgasmic groans disguised any faint click it made. 

The Frenchwoman saw him first. Her eyes opened in surprise. Widened in understanding. The horror on her face as she saw the automatic in his fist was an aphrodisiac to him.

He put the silencer against DeVere's forehead even as the grey haired man followed Amélie's gaze. He'd barely begun to turn. When Giovanni pulled the trigger, the traitor's body convulsed with a huge shudder. Turning sideways, the bullet in the blonde Frenchwoman's throat cut off the scream before it could escape her mouth.

***

Palmer waited five minutes until Webster and Sandra Wilson confirmed they were covering the rear of the building. When the Vice Chief's voice spat in his ear, he decided to make his move. Goodwin should have accompanied him, but the young cop wanted the barrel-chested cop to protect Roxanne. 

He wasn't about to take any more chances.

Instinct told him that Giovanni and DeVere were meeting. Presumably they were deciding on their next moves. If he could catch the two of them together, it would be sufficient to haul them both in for questioning. Tie them both into Savannah's death. Bannerman would soon join them in custody. 

By separately interviewing the three suspects, they'd be able to identify any inconsistencies in their stories, before they needed to hand the case over to Homicide. That would leave Briggs nowhere to go if the suspected crooked cop attempted to protect any of them.

It was then he saw the assassin, hurriedly exiting the heavily glassed front entrance. 

The Italian paused for a moment, his eyes sweeping across the crowd in front of him. It took him only seconds to see Palmer. The man who'd been with Roxanne. Even as their eyes locked, he'd turned to his left, heading towards the surrounding trees.

He was moving uneasily. As if he was in pain. Did some sort of injury hamper him? Palmer had noticed the slight limp when the Italian had entered the building. Now, it was much more pronounced.

Pulling his arm from the sling to give himself more freedom, he hurried after the assassin. Even as he moved, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the limping man as he weaved through the trees. Dodging trees and leaping over the underbrush with an agility that surprised himself, he pulled his automatic. 

Suddenly, he was struggling. He'd moved too quickly. The previous damage to his body was kicking in. The fact Giovanni seemed hurt, too, evened the odds.

His momentary pause saw the assassin disappear from sight. Damn! Palmer was a sitting duck. He swung to a halt beside a large oak tree, listening for any sound of movement. He stood quietly, every sense focused on finding a clue to the killer's whereabouts. 




Palmer Ch. 11



There was only silence. Crouching, he inched forwards. His eyes darted everywhere as he tried to stay under cover. Was the assassin watching him? Two cracks from the right gave him his answer. 

Bullets from a silenced pistol sliced the air.

Palmer dropped flat onto the moss-covered grass, letting out a grunt as his left arm bumped into the root of the tree. A wave of nausea ran through him; he wasn't in as good a shape as he'd thought. As the dizziness swept over him, he hoped the assassin was badly hurt. Otherwise his own odds weren't good. 

He had no chance to contemplate the thought further. The sound of snapping twigs told him Giovanni was on the move again.

A double shake of his head helped clear a little fuzziness as he scrambled to his feet. He headed after the sound. When he reached a paved drive, he raced across it. The pine trees across from him would provide better cover.

He paused again, listening for further movement. Only the crackle of Webster's voice interrupted the stillness.

"Where are you Palmer?"

"Chasing our man."

"You were told to keep Goodwin with you."

Palmer ignored the jibe. "I'm at the south leg of the estate, near a paved drive…" he began to explain.

"Stay there," Webster barked. "The bastard's killed DeVere. And a woman. He's too dangerous for you to go after him alone. Especially in your condition."

"He's injured, too…"

The crackle got louder. "I don't give a fuck. You stay there. We'll be with you inside a couple of minutes."

The movement Palmer caught out of the corner of his eye diverted his attention from the Vice Chief's voice. Giovanni had darted for the protection of some shrubbery to his right. Was he moving again? If he waited for Webster, the Italian would get clean away.

Alternatively, he might be crouched, immobile, waiting for the cop. There was only one way to find out. If the assassin was waiting for him, as good a marksman as Palmer thought, it wasn't the best tactic. But he had to find out…

He leapt from his position in the underbrush. His body was in full view as he lunged to his right. At the last second, he pivoted and dived to his left. His face grimaced in pain as his body jarred against a tree. 

The ploy gave him his answer. Two more spits, two more cracks in the air, the bullets digging up the earth just in front of his face. 

"What the fuck?" came Webster's voice.

"He's got me pinned down," Palmer responded. "I need to know if he's lost or if he knows where he's heading. Is there a way out from here?" 

Webster's pause lasted only a brief second. "There's a gate to the car park a few hundred yards to your left."

That was it! "Head there," Palmer gasped, wiping his face with the back of his hand, his concentration solely on the area in front of him. His eyes darted from one pocket of shadows to the other. "That's his destination. Head him off."

It was as if Giovanni could hear every word. Maybe he could? There was sound and movement again. The assassin was on the move. Palmer had no choice other than to follow. Once in the car park, the assassin would quickly disappear. It was now or never.

He crouched and crawled forward, pushing through the shrubbery. Damn, where had that waist-high fence come from? Every muscle and joint in his body pounded with pain. Cramps were beginning to develop everywhere. He hadn't realised how weak he really was. 

Don't think about them. Don't acknowledge them.

He lurched to his feet, his automatic drawn, and swung over the fence. It was only as he landed that he realised he'd made a dreadful error. The assassin hadn't ploughed on ahead. He was waiting for him. Two more bullets spat past his head. 

Move, move, screamed the voice in his mind as Palmer lurched to his knees, then to his feet. He spun into the cover of a tree at the precise moment a bullet hit his left hand.

His scream of pain split the air, blood erupting from the wound. Damn, if Webster and Wilson didn't get there immediately, there was nothing to prevent the Italian making his escape now.

In that second, he realised the assassin had different ideas. Instead of making his way to the car park, Giovanni had turned back, as if intent on finishing the man who was standing between him and freedom. 

Half crazed, he stumbled across the open space towards the stricken cop. Another couple of shots spat past Palmer's head. 

The young cop desperately returned fire. The first two bullets were wayward, but the third exploded in Giovanni's chest. The assassin fell, rolling over towards the bordering pine trees. 

Palmer hauled his aching body upwards and was on him in seconds. His foot lashed out, kicking at Giovanni's body in an attempt to make him release the gun pointing towards him. The assassin twisted to allow him to take the blow, grabbing Palmer's leg, pulling him down. 

They both fired at the same time.

***

Kelli groaned softly under the pleasuring tongue.

Only two days after her wonderful success on the Milan catwalk, here she was tied and spread-eagled on a king sized bed in the luxury Shangri-La Hotel, Tokyo. The Japanese businessman had made it his personal mission to bring her to yet another orgasm, this time with just his tongue and fingers. He was closing in on success.

The original plan had been for Erin to accompany her to the Japanese capital, to cement the future deal involving her three models that guaranteed millions of dollars for the Agency. Dominic's unexpected death had changed all that.

A traumatised Erin had confided in Kelli that his demise would have no effect on the Agency. It was in her name, as were several millions that Dominic had insisted she maintain in a Swiss bank account. Money wasn't a problem, she'd explained. Everything would carry on as usual, but she needed Kelli to fulfil her obligation to Tony Mizato.

"Make him happy darling," Erin had told her. "You know what that means…"

Kelli knew only too well. The final words she'd overheard Erin tell the small businessman outside the marquee reverberated around her mind. You'll never experience a better fuck…

The commitment the Japanese millionaire had given to her after their marathon fucking session was unexpected, but it had turned her first visit to Japan into a life changing experience. Sharing the whirlpool bath together, he'd told her he wanted a face to launch his new business venture. 

He explained that the already established 'Peach John' was the Japanese version of Victoria's Secret – a mail order lingerie brand exceptionally popular among Japanese girls. His plan was to challenge and overtake that brand – becoming the biggest seller throughout Asia within two years.

Mizato Lingerie would quickly become a household name, and he wanted her, Kelli Palmer, to become the face synonymous with the brand. She would be the signature name that would lead to success.

'Peach John' used Japanese models, of course, and so would he. But having a European supermodel to spearhead his campaign was the masterstroke that would make the difference. Japanese girls adored the European and American modelling scene. Having the newest and sexiest of supermodels to promote the line would guarantee success.

It also guaranteed Kelli, personally, millions of dollars. He'd sort the details out with Erin. She didn't need to worry about those.

Her cooes weren't only the work of the pleasuring Oriental tongue, as good as it was. They were also the product of the thoughts flowing through her voluptuous body. This was it. This really was it! The big time! She, Kelli Palmer, had reached the big time!

Or maybe she wasn't Kelli Palmer anymore? Maybe she should change back to her maiden name? Plenty of time to think of that—

At long last, she was beginning to believe everything that was happening to her. The two most important facets in her life had become her career and sex. She wasn't sure in which order, and had quickly realised that didn't matter – they fit so well together. 

The sex this afternoon had been incredible, even before Tony's announcement. What Brooke had suggested had been bang on the nail. Japanese men—they fuck like there's no tomorrow…

The small Japanese man, with the wispy grey hair and strange little beard, had done just that. Over and over again. 

Even so, there was no way she'd had ever agreed to being tied up. Not until he'd told her about Mizato Lingerie, that was. After that, she'd agree to anything. He'd taken his time, tying her left wrist to one bedpost and her right wrist to the other. Letting her experience the feeling of submission. When he'd done the same with her feet, she'd felt as vulnerable as she'd ever been in her entire life!

Three fluffy pillows under her peachy ass had completed his masterpiece. Then, in stark contrast to his frantic fucking technique, the Japanese master's tongue and fingers had pleasured her in slow motion. Exaggerated long laps along her labia, figure eights drawn around her clit, her juices consumed like a fine wine.

Like a pot simmering on a stove, he'd kept her just below boiling point.

Every time he felt she was about to detonate, he'd left her wetness to suckle her breasts until she'd calmed down. He was a violinist in control of his instrument, plucking its strings like one of the finest classical musicians in the world. The instrument was her body. 

And it was now out of control.

"Ngh!" she moaned, her mind emptying itself of all thoughts. The breaking tide crashed against the waterfront rocks. She arched her back as she peaked, hands and feet pulling against the ties, her head rolling from one side to the other against the thick pillow.

Life just couldn't get better—

***

"How are you?"

Palmer opened his eyes. Roxanne was smiling at him. She looked wonderful in a pink and white chequered shirt that hugged her figure. "Where am I?" he woozily asked.

"Hospital. You've been here for three days."

He nodded, listening but struggling to take in the words. "Giovanni?"

"Dead."

He nodded a second time. As his eyes flicked around the small, white room, the smell of disinfectant filled his nostrils. He pulled a face. "Don't think much of your perfume."

Roxanne's laughter filled the air. She took his raised hand and squeezed it. "Well, Jack, that's a good sign. Humour. We've been worried about you." 

His eyes smiled as they ran across her face. "You look tired," he eventually said.

Her smile was as brilliant as he remembered. "I've been here three days, too. You didn't think I'd leave you, did you, Jack Palmer?" Bending forward, she softly kissed his lips. "You won't get rid of me as easily as that…"

THE END