1 comments/  6735 views/  2 favorites

Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 01

By: hal_tee



Chapter 1 — SUNDAY — Dubai Fashion Show

Jack Palmer stood on the mezzanine, high above the stage, watching Roxanne stride sexily across the catwalk. He was away from the main hub of celebrities, but was still close enough to be able to savour his girlfriend as she strutted her stuff. 

His girlfriend! Even after six months together, he was still in disbelief. 

Roxanne Lopez had been a household name in fashion circles before they'd become an item. Since then, she had introduced him to a new, sexier, world full of late night parties and beautiful people. The trouble was, there were times he felt like a fish out of water.

He loved Roxie, but the differences in their lifeStiles had become clearer and clearer as time went on. Incompatible? He hoped not. But no matter how much he tried, he was never going to fit in with her 'celebrity' friends. They seemed to prioritise having a good time above everything else. 

Nor did he care for the seedier side of the world Roxie inhabited. His years as a detective in the London Met's Vice Division had shown him the negative side of the fashion industry, and he was beginning to think that prostitution and drugs were the norm, not the exception.

Or was his judgment still clouded by the Dominic DeVere case? The fashion entrepreneur had been manipulating the political scene using laundered money that had been made from his illegal activities. Palmer and the team had eventually blown the case apart, but at what cost? Despite their success, the powers that be had decided to cover their own inadequacies. 

After the shoot out with one of the most dangerous assassins in Europe, the Commissioner of the Met had been put under pressure by the current Government and Palmer—despite his heroic efforts—had been forced to resign and sign documents to confirm he'd never publicly discuss the case. 

The only consolation was that he'd met Roxanne during the investigation. He'd saved her life, in fact, and they'd fallen in love. Once he'd been released from hospital they'd begun to build a new life together, but quickly realised they needed to find work again. He'd become a private investigator and Roxie had returned to the modelling industry she knew best.

He glanced back towards Roxanne as she reached the end of the catwalk. Her glossy red locks were dancing loosely around her tanned shoulders and she'd adopted that sexy model-pose that always made his cock lengthen—her shoulders back, breasts thrust forward and one hand on her hip. 

The collective eyes of the audience were focused on her as she posed for a moment, before turning and returning the way she'd come. He couldn't help but smile in admiration. This beautiful woman with such a stunning figure and sparkling personality was all his. Perhaps he'd feel less nostalgic after they'd made love later? He usually did. 

Making love to Roxie always made him feel better.

He took a sip of water as he watched her head off-stage, thankful for the air-conditioning. Outside, the desert heat was a blistering 105. He was told that was chilly for Dubai in the summer. But the ridiculously hot weather wasn't a factor where there was money to be made. The fashion-modelling world was even more about the money than it was about the sex. 

The irony was that he'd spent his entire working career fighting that sort of sleazy world and now he was part of it. 

*

Nikolay Volkov's Dubai office could best be described as masculine. The furniture was contemporary, mainly things made of black leather, but the desk that dominated the room was all dark wood and steel. 

Right now, the Russian was putting it too good use. His immaculate trousers were around his ankles and his tailored shirt was bunched up at his waist, while the firm hand he'd placed in the middle of the woman's back held her bent forward over the desk top while he fucked her. 

His personal secretary was a sophisticated woman with a body to die for, even if there wasn't much between her ears. She'd actually resisted his early advances for some time—she had been only recently married, after all, and would never dream of cheating on her husband.

Then he'd introduced her to the decadent lifestyle for which he was famed. She'd first succumbed after a party-cum-orgy in Monte Carlo and he'd fucked her again on his private yacht moored off the Bahamas. After that, she was his whenever he wanted. It had been worth the wait. Not only had she displayed a wild side he could never have imagined, she had shown herself to be an insatiable bitch. 

"You like that, Angela?" he murmured, as he slowed his pace. 

If he wasn't careful, he was going to blow. This amazing woman was so fucking tight. 

"Ngh ... fuck ... yes," she gasped, her breath a harsh rasp. 

Volkov grinned. Her upper class accent came through even when she was cursing. He imagined it would be how English royalty spoke when they were on the job. Perhaps he'd have a chance to find out one day? 

His successful international Modelling Agency was an essential part of his vast business empire and he'd be using the week to promote it further. The Russian's achievements had been built on gradually expanding his activities world-wide, and the Dubai Fashion Show was a natural next step. 

But it was so much more... 

The surreptitious deal he was striking with Sheikh Amir bin Khalid would provide access to the key people across the region who could deliver the favours he needed. The amount of bribes needed were chicken feed compared to the potential rewards, but those inducements were all the more powerful when they were accompanied by an additional 'sweetener'. 

That's where his girls came in. What man, however influential, could resist the opportunity to fuck a world famous model?

He smiled at the thought, and then glanced at his reflection in the mirror opposite his desk. It wasn't just models who proved to be great fucks. His secretary was every bit as uninhibited. For someone with such a posh accent, Angela could be such a slut. 

It was such a sexy combination. 

She caught him looking at their reflections in the mirror and smiled coyly. Her white blouse was unbuttoned and he'd yanked her pink bra above her pendulous tits. They bounced erotically with each of his thrusts. Her tight black skirt was rucked up to her hips, and her skimpy black thong stretching to its maximum around her ankles as she spread her legs even further for him.

With a growl of acknowledgement, he slid both hands under her hot body, cupping her ripe tits as she pumped that curvy ass back into his groin. There wasn't any doubt about it—she was getting to him now.

Would Roxanne Lopez be as good a fuck as this woman? He'd be finding out soon...

The redhead was the latest addition to his stable of models and her recruitment had been quite a coup. She'd been one of Europe's best known models before the situation with Dominic DeVere had unravelled and word had it that she had subsequently given up her modelling career.

Getting her onside had been an unexpected accomplishment. 

Volkov knew that she'd been DeVere's number one girl, one who could be relied on when a particularly important client needed 'attention'. She might think those times were behind her, she was mistaken. Once he'd taken care of that ex-cop boyfriend of hers, he intended to use her the same way.

The first step would take place in less than an hour, when he would introduce her to the initiation ceremony he adopted with all his new models. Once she'd given him what he wanted, he'd have her heading down the slippery slope he loved so much...

*

Final outfit, Roxanne thought. Make this one count! The stylist had made sure the strapless tube dress hugged her full curves just as the designer had intended. It molded to her full tits, barely covering her caramel nipples. One slip and she'd be exposed, although such a finely crafted dress wasn't going to slip.

Work it, girl, she told herself as she took her place behind the screen at the beginning of the catwalk. She breathed through her nose, finding her inner Zen. Her yoga was paying off.

Large cutouts on either side of the bright orange and red dress exposed most of her tapered midriff, dipping low along her hips. The dress was short, too, although Kaeko had extended its length with more of the gossamer material that bounced and swished around her long legs—covering without really covering at all.

Adrenalin surged down her superb body as she stepped once again onto the long, black stage. She didn't know how much she missed these kinds of moments until they had disappeared.

The past six months with Jack had been blissful, but deep down she knew she was becoming restless. She'd fallen in love with him, something she'd never have thought possible, and for a time that be enough. But when Nikolay Volkov had called and made his offer, her need to resume her career had struck her like a thunderbolt. 

Jack had been great about it. She knew what he thought about the modelling business, and who could blame him after his experiences? But denying her calling was like denying herself sex. In return for his support, she'd been careful not to get too caught up in it, staying away from the parties and nightlife and treating it—as much as she could—like a 9-to-5 job.

Yet as she drew everyone's eye with her stroll down the catwalk, she knew it was anything but. A model had to work some seriously long hours. Thank God that Jack was able to be there with her. 

The cheers that accompanied her entrance made her body surge. Surrounded by so many rich, influential and beautiful men and women were supercharging her libido. Last night, she had to force herself to go to sleep after fucking Jack for five continuous hours. And even now, her pussy was swollen with anticipation of more sex later tonight.

She stopped at the end of the runway, posing for the bay of cameras. She knew Jack was out there, somewhere. That sent a sizzle down her spine.

Her nipples were hard and visible through her tight top. She didn't need to glance down to know that. Thrusting her chest out even harder, she smirked at the crowd before spinning, gliding and flouncing off the platform. By the time she reached backstage, she was practically overheating with lust. 

She was going to have to find Jack before the cocktail party and temporarily sate her need. Maybe a blow job! That would do for starters. The main course would follow when they got back to their room.

*

"I'll take a Cosmopolitan," a woman's sultry voice asked to Palmer's right. 

He'd been waiting for Roxanne for the past hour and after two drinks and not a whole lot of food, he was feeling the effects of the alcohol. Roxie had texted him an apology, explaining that she'd been caught up in some media blitz, but would be there shortly.

Glancing sideways at the woman, he immediately recognized her as an African model that had walked the runway shortly before Roxie. Her name was Jade, he remembered, and her fabulous body put some of the thinner models to shame. But then, he'd always preferred curvaceous women. 

"Hello, baby," she said, greeting Palmer with a smile as their eyes met. 

"Hi," he responded lamely, trying not to stare. "I'm sorry, I'm just ... erm ... waiting for someone." 

God, that was even lamer.

"Let me guess," she said, her mischievous smile widening. "You're looking for that special someone and I fit the bill?" 

When his face instantly coloured, she let out a delightful laugh and ran her long fingers down the slope of her heavy cleavage. 

"Well, what do you think? Do you approve?"

Palmer tried but failed to keep his eyes on her face. Her dark breasts provided a wonderful contrast to the white camisole top. His throat was dry. 

"Don't look so worried," she said, laughing again. "Roxie texted me earlier and asked if I would keep you company." 

She made a show of looking up and down his lean frame.

"And that's going to be my pleasure. I like the rugged, handsome type. You remind me of Superman."

Palmer shrugged. If he had a pound for every time he'd been told that, he'd be a rich man.

"I could be one of your adversaries," she teased, as she accepted her drink from the bartender. "How about you call me 'African Jade'? I like that. No-one has the power to escape my clutches, not even Superman."

Palmer ran his hand through his dark hair, for some reason suddenly imagining Superman and 'African Jade' locked in an embrace. It didn't help when the woman leant forward on the bar, one leg out straight, and the other bent enough to push her tight ass out. Her short black skirt barely covered the tops of her thighs.

"So, did you catch the Kaeko Miyamoto show?" she asked, taking a sip of her pink liquor.

"I did," he answered, grateful for the sudden change of subject. His cock had been slowly unfurling with every word. "It seemed successful."

"Oh, you have no idea!" she said gleefully. "The critics are already giving us rave reviews, and we're only on day one." 

Setting the drink down, she shot him a confidential look and draped her hand over his arm. This close, her glistening skin smelled like coconut

"Truthfully, I think a lot has to do with your new girlfriend. Roxie's return is being treated like the Second Coming."

She gave a sly smiled as she saw his proud reaction to the mention of Roxanne's name. If he knew where his precious girlfriend was now, he wouldn't be feeling so self-righteous. That thought made her chuckle. 

"She's put Volkov Modelling in the spotlight," she softly added. "And that has to be good for the fashion world as a whole."

"You know Volkov?" he asked, feeling himself tense up at the mention of the Russian's name.

"I do," she nodded, batting her long, dark lashes. "But then everyone knows Nikolay Volkov." 

She laughed to herself before continuing. 

"Mind you, he thinks he's God's gift to women. "Hugh Hefner in his prime. You just have to know how to handle him."

"And you do?"

Jade raised her eyebrows as she gave him a knowing smile. 

"I know hot to handle all men," she teased. "But as for Volkov, let's just say I know what he's capable of."

She let the remark hang between them as she ran her hand through her thick curly hair. It was like reeling in a fish. He'd want to know exactly what she knew about Volkov and would come to her looking for answers. In the meantime, her next move was already planned. 

*

Roxanne sat quietly on the couch, listening to Nikolay Volkov as he paced the floor. The Russian multi-millionaire had frosted blonde hair with dark highlights, a week-old growth of facial hair, and a body as slender as a knife. The sort of look she'd always found attractive.

But it wasn't his looks that were preoccupying her thoughts. It was the lucrative contract he was dangling in front of her. So far, she'd signed with him specifically to do the Dubai Fashion week. Now he was offering her a longer term contract, one that was worth more money than she could ever have dreamed about. It would safeguard her and Jack's future. 

But there was a price to pay...

Every top model who had ever worked for Volkov had paid it. The initiation ceremony was well known in 'inner' circles. It was the Russian's way of flexing his muscle, ensuring his models gave him the respect he craved. The dilemma was making her head heavy with anxiety. If she refused him, she could wave goodbye to her future career, to financial security. And if she succumbed, then she was risking her relationship with Jack. 

"It is your choice, Roxanne" he was telling her now, carefully bringing his hands to his trousers and slowly unbuckling the belt. "The contract is here to be signed. But first I need your show of loyalty."

She watched almost hypnotically, a mixture of horror and fascination in her eyes as he began to expose himself. The room was silent but for the clink of its clasp and when he drew the zipper of his trousers down and pulled out his dick, he was semi-erect and already impressive. 

"Your choice," he repeated, his Russian accent thick and commanding as he fixed his steely gaze on hers. "Make it now."

Roxanne felt her heart leap into her throat. She wanted to speak, to object, but no words would come out. Every decent fibre of her being was telling her to turn around and walk out, but that wicked voice in the back of her mind was insisting that this was a small price to pay. She loved Jack, but the voice pointed out she was doing this for him as well as her.

If she did as she was told right now, commit this one lewd act, she could then get back to Jack, her new life and start to rebuild her career. 

With that final thought in mind, she took two hesitant steps towards him. Her eyes avoided his as he rested his hands on her shoulders and pushed her downwards. You've done this so many times before, she told herself as she sank to her knees. This is just one more. 

"That's it," Volkov commanded, his voice full of anticipation. "Show me how a supermodel sucks dick..."

Roxanne acted mechanically, wrapping her fingers around his thick girth and dipping her head. A surge of disgust ran through her and she almost gagged as she took him between her lips. Get it over with, she told herself, and get back to Jack, her love. This was a means to an end, nothing else. 

But ... then ... instinct kicked in. 

The Russian mogul was so hard, hard for her. In these moments she'd always felt that she was the one with the power, not the man. That thought had never failed to turn her on. Tightening her fingers around his veiny flesh, she dipped her head again and swallowed as much of his hardness as she could. 

"Fuck, yes, like that..."

Volkov's hands tightly gripped her wavy red hair, holding her there as he pushed himself in and out of her mouth. 

She knew instantly from the taste that he'd had sex recently. Very recently. But that realisation didn't deter her. If anything, it excited her. She cupped his testicles with her right hand, rolling them in her palm as she sucked him. When he groaned out loud, she lowered her head further to take each of his balls between her lips. 

"Oh yes," he gasped in surprise. "I knew you'd be this good."

Yes. Yes, she was this good. And as soon as she was finished here, she'd be using her skills on Jack. He was going to love the surprise she had for him.

When Volkov started to thrust between her lips, she knew it was his way of wrestling the control back from her. She wanted to tell him to ease off and let her do the work but that was impossible with her mouth so full. She gave up trying to direct his thrusting hips and instead sucked harder, leaving him nowhere to go other than to explode in her mouth. 

Reaching both hands behind him, she gripped his ass as she took each burst as best she could, swallowing hard before accepting the next offering. 

It was only when he had nothing left to give that she slumped back against the desk, panting from her exertions and the emotion of it all. Had she really enjoyed it that much? She bashfully looked up to see Volkov tucking his dick back into his trousers. His satisfied grin made her blush.

"You were everything I expected," he murmured, breathing deeply as he smiled down at her. "Once my lawyers have drawn that contract up, we'll have to put your other skills to the test..."

*

"Speak of the devil," Jade said, glancing over Palmer's shoulder.

He turned and followed her gaze. Roxie had entered the room, with a guy who had his arm around her waist. He wore a black suit that shimmered with a tinge of something metallic. With his short-cropped hair, unshaven face, and designer shades, he could have been a blonde Bono.

"That's Volkov?" he asked, instinctively knowing the answer. 

He hated the Russian instantly.

"The one and only," Jade breathed.


Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 01



Roxie smiled demurely when she saw him, but there was something else present in her expression. Other people might not have noticed it, but he did. A tinge of embarrassment? Why? Because she was with Volkov? 

"Don't they make a lovely couple," Jade teased, softly chuckling in his ear.

Palmer felt the shot of jealousy hit his guts at the words, but then Roxie was disengaging herself from the Russian. She whispered something to him before hurrying across the room towards Jack. 

"There you are," she said, almost over-cheerily. "Thanks for watching him, Jade. I appreciate it."

"My pleasure, Roxie," the black model replied, resting a playful hand on Jack's shoulder. "I'm always happy to take your place when you have other things to attend to..."

Palmer couldn't help but notice the quick glance that passed between the two women, even if he didn't understand it. Roxie's face had instantly turned red and there was definitely a frisson of sudden tension between them. Was Jade upset that she was getting all the attention from the media? If she was, the smile she gave Palmer disguised it well.

"Besides," she went on. "We've agreed that we're going to star in a movie together—Superman and African Jade. Mind you, I think it's going to be of the adult variety. Would do you think, Jack?"

Palmer's eyes shot wide with surprise. He knew Jade was teasing him but even so, his cock was unexpectedly reacting again. His gaze sought out Roxanne's, who rolled her eyes at him.

"She's always like this," his girlfriend explained, leaning in closer and kissing him on the cheek. "So I suggest you put your tongue back in your mouth, Jack Palmer. It's a dead giveaway..."

The two women giggled, but then silence descended for a brief moment. It was the uncomfortable sort that suggested there was more to the conversation than met the eye. Roxie exchanged another glance with Jade, before swallowing hard as she snuggled closer against him.

"You haven't said anything?" she nervously asked the other model.

Jade shook her head. Roxie could have been referring to her illicit encounter with Nikolay Volkov, but she knew there was something else on her mind. She knew that because it had been her idea.

"Of course not," she said, batting her eyelashes at Jack. "I thought that you'd want to tell Jack all about our surprise for him."

Palmer looked from one woman to the other and back again. Roxie's expression contained a hint of embarrassment, whereas the African woman was clearly enjoying the moment.

"A surprise?" he asked suspiciously. "What?"

Roxanne snuggled even closer into his body, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I know you've had to put up with a lot, what with me returning to modelling, travelling out here to Dubai," she said, curling an arm around his waist. "I was talking to Jade about it at rehearsals ... and ... well, she suggested something..."

Palmer glanced across at the other model again. Those fingers of hers were stroking along the slopes of her ebony coloured cleavage again and she raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow as she met his gaze full on.

"Roxie didn't think you would go for it," she breathed, moving closer so that both women were now pressing their warm curves into his body.

He hoped that the inadvertent reaction inside his trousers wasn't becoming too evident, but nothing escaped Jade's attention. She grinned at Roxie as she surreptitiously brushed her fingertips against the growing evidence.

"See, didn't I tell you," she said to the still-nervous redhead. "Your man is going to love what we have in mind."

Turning to Jack, she grinned at him like the proverbial cat that had got the cream.

"Ever had a threesome before, Jack?" she wickedly asked.

A flurry of confused emotions hit Palmer like a sledgehammer. Surely she weren't being serious? He and Roxie had never even playfully discussed something like this. Why would his girlfriend come up such an outlandish idea, out of the blue? He'd thought she'd left those days behind her.

But then, she hadn't come up with the idea. Hadn't she just told him it had been Jade's suggestion, not hers? Suddenly, his two drinks and empty stomach were really making things difficult. 

"I hope you really are Superman," Jade whispered huskily, brushing her fingers across his bulge again, but more firmly this time. "Because this black woman takes a lot of pleasing..."

*

Palmer was in a waking dream as he walked through the halls of the seven stars Burj Al Arab hotel. He still wasn't sure about this. Yes, he was straight-laced, always had been. This went against everything he'd ever believed in. And yet his cock was rock hard at the thought of what was about to happen.

It helped that walking ahead of him were two of the sexiest women he'd ever set eyes on. They held hands as they walked, swinging their pert asses for him, each leg crossing in front of the other. Model walk.

Jade slipped the key card into her lock as they reached her suite, and Roxie took the opportunity to tug his arm. Her eyes were full of apprehension.

"You sure you're alright with this, Jack?" 

Palmer didn't trust himself to speak. Instead, he gave a curt nod. Even when confronted by the assassin at DeVere's new theme park, he hadn't been this far out of his comfort zone. 

What red-blooded man would turn down the chance of sex with two beautiful women? And yet it was Roxie he loved. Why did she feel the need to share him with anyone else? What did that say about their relationship? He had no idea if he was all right with it... 

She took his hand as they followed Jade into the large suite, squeezing it as if to say, It's okay, everything is okay. It's only sex.

The African model led the way towards a pair of double doors and, as she reached them, she peeled her camisole top over her head. The way her full breasts bounced was tantalizing. When she shimmied out of her short black skirt, she was practically naked, attired in just a barely-there g-string. 

Her voluptuous body gave truth to the hourglass expression and Jack's eyes narrowed in silent appreciation as they ran lustfully across the contours of her large breasts. They hung perfectly on her curvy frame. Her hard nipples grew long and hard out of her small areola and their chocolate colour melded perfectly with her dark skin.

For the briefest of moments, he forgot about Roxie standing next to him. Until she touched his hand, that was. When he glanced towards her, his girlfriend's dress was pooled at her feet and it was only her skimpy cream thong that protected her modesty. Had he ever seen a more beautiful sight?

Both women moved towards him, breasts swaying seductively, each taking hold of a hand and guiding him through the double doors towards a large bed in the centre of the room. It was piled high with pillows and cushions. 

Roxanne sat him on the edge of the satin sheets, the look in her eyes reaffirming that it was okay, but it was Jade who slid onto his lap. The action was so seamless it felt like the two of them had done this before. Jack's stomach lurched, as it always did when he thought about Roxie's past. He accepted that she'd moved on, but it didn't erase what had happened.

She climbed onto the bed behind him, planting kisses along his neck at the same time as Jade's mouth closed on his. Her kiss felt strange, more demanding than Roxie's, but he gradually returned it as the two women's combined fingers opened the small buttons on his white shirt, one by one.

He shivered in arousal as Jade pulled his open shirt away. Her cool fingers ran across his chiselled pecs, tracing their way across the hard contours. 

"Just like Superman," she chuckled.

Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief as she took his hands in hers, watching the inevitable reaction on his face as she carefully placed them on her breasts. They were full and round in his palms. She held his hands there until she felt him fondle her of his own volition, squeezing her flesh as his thumbs stroked across her hard nipples. 

With a knowing smile, she reached down for the zip on his trousers. 

*

Nikolay Volkov sat in his large office, shades closed, lights dimmed, feet on his desk. He was stroking his erection as his eyes stared at the action on the large screen fixed onto the wall. Jade's bedroom was everything a bedroom in a seven star suite should be—high ceilings, luxurious and opulent furnishings and a bed large enough for three people to fuck in. 

He'd arranged for the feed to be placed there earlier today.

One of the things he loved most about his African model—in addition to her fabulous body and the uninhibited way she fucked—was that she always followed his instructions to the letter. The threesome had been his idea, although he hadn't really expected Roxanne to agree when Jade had suggested it to her. So much for her new found resolve.

It was the second step to driving a stake through the heart of her relationship with Jack. The first had been the blow job she'd given him earlier. He'd recorded that, too, and would use it when the time was right. 

This recording was more for his own pleasure, although it would be well received—for the standard fee, of course—by some of his richest and most influential friends back in Russia. And if his plans for Roxanne didn't work out as expected, he could always threaten to release it on the internet. He'd learned a long time ago that it invariably paid to have a contingency.

Roxanne was watching uneasily as Jade fucked her boyfriend, although Volkov noticed that her right hand was working between her legs. It was exactly the state he wanted her in. Confused and aroused.

Her discomfort suggested that she must be truly in love with the cop. Otherwise why would it be such an uncomfortable experience for her? How times had changed! The redhead had arguably been the greatest call girl of them all, and sessions like this would be second nature to her.

In the long run, she would eventually thank him for helping her return to what she did best. In his experience, a leopard never changed its spots, and he was watching the evidence. Of course, he would benefit immeasurably, too. He had some powerful clientele who would be persuaded to put business his way in exchange for spending a night with this beauty.

He shifted in his chair. It was like watching his own porn movie, with Jade both directing and taking the lead role. 

The angle of the camera was eye level, but the feed was good. It was behind the floor to ceiling mirror that sat opposite the windows and had been worth every penny he'd paid to have it installed. He'd never seen a woman fuck with such abandon as Jade, not even Roxanne. Like most African women, she used the whole of her body during sex. Maybe Jack Palmer should be thanking him for the unexpected opportunity? 

He continued to steadily jerk his cock as he watched her—reverse cowboy style—gyrating like a lap dancer in the ex-cop's lap. Her hands were in her curly black hair, the backwards arch of her body emphasizing the way her large tits bounced erotically with every sexual movement. 

Using his free hand, he flicked up the volume without missing a stroke. Jade was talking to Palmer as she fucked him.

"Come on, Jack, harder. Fuck this little black girl harder..."

The Russian smiled to himself. As far as he could see, it was the model who was fucking him. She was never still. Palmer had gripped her slim hips to steady himself as her curvy body rotated in tight little circles in his lap one minute and then pounded down on him the next. 

A wicked smile was on her face as she glanced towards the hidden camera. The Russian understood. It was her way of telling Volkov that everything was under control...

*

Roxanne's stomach fluttered uncontrollably as she watched her boyfriend fuck Jade. The three of them had been making love for a couple of hours now and Jack had amazed her with his stamina. He'd cum inside each of them, but the blue pill that Jade had fed him had done its job and aided his recovery. So had the sight of her and Jade together, she guessed.

The two women had got it on whenever he'd needed to rest and Jade had been quick to show her why they'd always been good together. They'd fingered and tongued each other to more than one orgasm, and Roxie was ready for more. But it was one thing for the two of them to fuck each other in front of an important client—they'd been paid to do that several times in her past life—and quite another infront of Jack. 

Despite the way he'd thrown himself into the session, she couldn't help but wonder what he was really thinking...

Not only that, her thoughts had been a contradictory mixture of eroticism and fear ever since they'd reached the suite, and they'd begun to spiral out of control when Jade had first gone down on Jack. 

It had only been a few hours since she was between Nikolay Volkov's legs, doing the same thing, after all. Guilt had immediately kicked in.

Even so, her hand continued to work between her thighs as she watched Jack's tight white butt flex as he thrust downwards inside the African woman. Jade's legs were wrapped around his waist as she humped back and the contrast in colour between them was as sexy as fuck.

Fuck it, she told herself. Tomorrow was another day. She'd face the music then. Right now, her jealousy and her need was colliding. 

Moving from the chair to the bed with all the grace of a cat, she grabbed Jade's curly hair in her right hand and pulled the woman's head towards hers. The heated kiss was long, wet and passionate. Twisting onto her back, she curled an arm around Jack's neck, replacing Jade's lips with his. This kiss was no less fervent but it was filled with as much love as it was lust.

"My turn, darling," she told him, moving her body between his and Jade. It took seconds to fit him inside her. "Show me how much you love me, Jack..."

*

Sweaty and exhausted, Palmer returned to the room after his visit to the bathroom. The smell of sex and excitement still hung heavily in the air. It felt sad to him that Roxanne was no longer the only woman he'd been with since he'd divorced Kelli.

Roxie was the most sexual person he'd ever met until tonight, but Jade had almost proven her equal. It wasn't just her voluptuous body. Her black curly hair, sultry dark eyes, classical cheekbones and thick red lips were the stuff dreams were made of. 

She looked like an African Goddess and she fucked like one.

Neither woman's appetite had diminished in the slightest since they'd entered the bedroom and the more sex they had, the more it seemed they wanted. They were writhing on the bed together, taking it in turns to scissor the other and reach another orgasm. Had he ever seen a sexier sight?

And yet his arousal was mixed with a feeling of melancholy. 

It was easy to see how beautiful models were seduced into this sort of lifestyle—easy money, late night parties, exotic locations, beautiful people and incredible sex. It helped the rich and powerful to pull the strings, using dispensable people in their quest for even more wealth and influence.

The thought stuck in his craw as he caught the African woman smiling carnally over at him. She'd adjusted her position so that Roxie's head was between her black thighs now, and she curled one leg over her left shoulder as he watched them. Her gaze stayed on Palmer as she wantonly pushed her hips upwards towards his girlfriend's sucking mouth. 

It felt as if her dark eyes were silently baiting him, sending out another challenge. Roxie can't resist this black pussy. Can you? 

His cock began to flex again as she crooked a finger at him. Her other hand was stroking Roxie's damp red locks, holding her head in position as she began to slowly push her hips upwards.

Despite himself, Palmer pushed his aching body away from the bathroom door. When he headed towards the bed, they both knew the answer. He couldn't resist. In spite of everything he'd just rationalised with himself, the need to fuck the black temptress one more time was overwhelming.

Any more thinking could wait until tomorrow. 



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 02



Chapter 2 — MONDAY — Unexpected Developments

It was surreal. Jack Palmer was sitting in the hotel's sumptuous breakfast room, listening to Roxie and Jade chat casually about the Fashion Show. It was as if last night's full-blown threesome had never taken place. Did every woman treat sex as offhandedly as these two? He couldn't get his head around it. 

The women had ordered yogurt and fruit and he suddenly felt like a glutton with his pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Roxie was snuggling against him in the booth and although he could occasionally feel her warm green eyes staring lovingly at him, for once he avoided her gaze. They had some serious talking to do. 

He couldn't deny the arousal he'd felt throughout their mind-blowing sex last night. It was easy to understand how people were seduced into that sort of lifestyle. But why did Roxie think it was right for them? She'd promised she had put the wilder side of her past behind her, so why had she gone along with Jade's suggestion? They didn't need anyone else in their relationship—and that meant he needed an explanation from his best friend and lover. 

But he wasn't going to knee jerk. He knew he was on edge as a result of Roxie's return to modelling and he still hadn't come to terms with that decision. 

He'd never deny her what she wanted, but who could blame him for being extra careful after the way the DeVere case had exploded in their faces? It had cost him his career in the London Met, and he had yet to be convinced that Nikolay Volkov was anything other than the same sort of low-life who preyed on others. If his instinct was correct, then his girlfriend's new contract with Volkov Modelling could be in danger of exposing her and them to that world again.

He glanced at Jade while the two women chatted happily. Despite his concerns, the stirring in his loins was instant. The African model was braless under the yellow tank top and her thick nipples were making firm indentations against the material. What man in his right mind could resist such a vision? 

He hadn't been able to. 

He'd fucked her last night, and she'd fucked him. He'd never experienced anything quite like that. His lovemaking with Roxie could be just as wild, but there was always an undercurrent of the love between them. With Jade, it was sheer carnal sexuality. The act was everything. 

Sometimes Roxie had joined in during their coupling and at others she was content to watch, smiling encouragingly whenever he glanced at her. She'd even masturbated infront of them as Jade had gyrated on him, driving his sexual need ever higher. Then they'd reversed their positions, and he was making love to Roxie, as well as Jade. Despite his years in the Vice Division, the two women had used their combined bodies in ways he'd only dreamed about.

And when he'd needed to rest, the two women had eagerly taken over. Their fabulous bodies had been sheathed in perspiration as they'd pleasured one another, sexual equals as they'd succumbed to orgasm after orgasm...

He shifted on his chair. Goddamit, he was rock hard again.

"What do you think?" he heard Roxie's voice say.

He glanced up to find both women looking at him. Damn, he'd been so engrossed in his thoughts of last night that he hadn't realised she'd been talking to him.

"Sorry ... what?"

The two women laughed together.

"You were miles away," Roxie said.

"I know where," Jade chuckled, resting her chin on her palm as she gazed at him across the table. "Which of us were you mind-fucking, Jack? Me, I hope."

She laughed out loud as the blush hit his cheeks, although this time Roxie didn't join in. The redhead brushed away an errant strand of hair from over her left eye as she sent him a bashful look. She understood the conflict inside him.

"Now I know why you stayed in retirement so long," Jade purred, turning to Roxanne. "If I had a man with stamina like Jack, I wouldn't come out of my bedroom for six months, either!" 

Jack felt his girlfriend tense, but Jade wasn't letting up. 

"Six months is a long time, Roxie. What made you drop out of the limelight?"

It wasn't an easy subject to talk about. A good friend of Roxanne's had been brutally murdered in her apartment by a killer who was looking for her. It had been a case of mistaken identity. He'd been hired by Dominic DeVere—Roxanne's employer and former lover—a man Roxie had thought she could trust. Palmer had rescued her from the subsequent carnage, but nearly lost his own life when the whole sorry affair had ended in a violent shootout with the assassin. 

"It's just hard ... dealing with it. Even now," Roxanne eventually said, her voice faltering. "Savannah was a good friend of mine." 

"Ah, yes, Savannah," Jade sympathetically nodded. "Such a tragedy, she was so young."

"Just nineteen..." 

Roxie had explained to Palmer that she'd seen so much of herself in the young model and had taken Savannah under her wing when they'd worked together. It was still difficult to believe that such a terrible thing could have happened to someone so beautiful, so sweet...

"Did they ever catch the burglar?" Jade asked.

The tears instantly began to form in the corners of Roxanne's green eyes. 

"No," she meekly said.

Because of the political ramifications, the murder had been spun as a burglary gone wrong. It was necessary, they'd told her, but the guilt was still a heavy burden. That feeling would never go away.

"Anyway," she continued, wiping away a tear with her fingertip. "After that, I just needed to take some time off and think about my life. It puts things in perspective, you know? I had it all, or so I thought. The career. The money. The trendy lifestyle. I thought I was unstoppable. Then I came home and ... and..."

Palmer gave her a comforting hug. Despite his reservations over their long night of sex, moments like this reminded him of how he'd fallen in love with this beautiful redhead. Six months had passed since the case had exploded in their faces but he knew it would take much longer than that for her to be able to cope with the series of events. Especially as she still blamed herself for Savannah's death...

"It turns out I'm just as human as the next girl," she said, sucking in her breath. "But luckily I met Jack. He's the best thing that ever happened to me."

Palmer felt his stomach wrench at the words. Roxanne was the best thing to happen to him, too. He just didn't want anything to spoil that. Instinct told him that last night's lovemaking, Roxie's new modelling contract and Nikolay Volkov himself were all barriers to their future happiness.

"Jack saved me," Roxanne added, giving a nervous laugh.

She pulled him into a soft kiss, and then snuggled her body against his again. Her boyfriend hated the hero worship talk, but she would be dead now if it wasn't for him.

"I was assigned to her case," Palmer simply said, stepping around the details.

"Her case? Like, you're a social worker?"

The quip broke the tension that was settling over the table, and even Roxie managed a smile.

"That's a good one, Jack," she smiled. "You're my social worker, yes?"

Palmer chuckled with her, and then planted a kiss on her forehead. The look of love in those sparkling green eyes always melted his heart.

"I was on the London Met's Vice squad," he simply said.

Jade's expression didn't change. That was unusual. Palmer invariably saw some kind of reaction when he disclosed his former profession. That suggested the African woman already knew. Roxie had told her? He made a mental note to check that with his girlfriend later. 

"Was?" Jade asked.

"Mostly, I work for myself nowadays," he said, leaving it at that.

He'd successfully created a new career as a private investigator in recent months. It had gone well, and he had even done a few jobs as favours for Sandra Wilson, the new Head of Vice. She'd been an integral part of the DeVere investigation and they still remained good friends. 

"A man of mystery," Jade simply said, her smiling eyes staying on his. "I like that, but I'm afraid it's time for me to go."

Her breasts swayed provocatively inside her yellow top as she pushed to her feet. The same breasts that had bounced so sexily on her frame as she'd gyrated on his body last night. His cock instantly began to grow again and he made a silent promise to himself that nothing like that was going to happen again. 

"I have to run a few errands," she breathed, leaning across Roxie towards Palmer. "And I'm sure you two lovebirds have things to do."

He tried to turn his head so that her departing kiss would find his cheek, but a quick tilt of her head ensured that their lips briefly met again.

"'Til next time, Jack Palmer," she sexily murmured, with a flirtatious smile that seemed to promise everything.

*

Roxie's weren't the only set of eyes glued to Jade's tight ass as she swayed across the room. The stunning African model was working it in the way that only she could—a hint of casualness, a tinge of savoir faire and a heavy dollop of sexuality. Every man's gaze, and quite a few women, too, was glued to that curvy body as she made her way out of the restaurant.

When she glanced back at Jack, her smile quickly faded. It wasn't the frustrated expression on his face that made her breath catch, it was the looked of disappointment etched on his chiseled features.

She understood instantly. 

She'd understood the moment she'd pulled him to one side before they'd entered Jade's suite. He hadn't answered when she'd asked if he was okay with it, but she'd known from the way he'd looked at her. 

Why hadn't she put a stop to things there and then? She'd been having her own reservations, after all. Her past might have been littered with her sexual exploits working for Dominic DeVere, but she'd promised to leave those days behind her after she'd met Jack. When Jack had hesitated, why hadn't she told Jade she couldn't go through with it? 

The answer was obvious to her, even if she didn't want to admit it. The thought of another encounter with her African friend had given her a huge adrenalin rush. And involving Jack had made it legitimate, this time.

It was the second mistake she'd made yesterday. Even now, after her non-stop night of making love with Jack and Jade, she could still feel Nikolay Volkov's thick cock in her mouth. The salty aftertaste of the fashion guru's cum still lingered. If she could turn the clock back and start again, she would change everything about the day. What was it about returning to the modelling circuit that impaired her judgment like this?

"I'm sorry," she meekly told Jack, reaching out to clasp his hand.

"Why, Roxie?" he simply asked.

The way his usual warmth had left his voice made her cringe. It happened rarely, but she hated it when he was disappointed with her. A dozen excuses jumped into her mind but they were just that. That left only the truth...

"It was a stupid idea," she eventually confessed, taking a deep breath. "I wanted to reward you for everything you've done for me. That's all."

"Like that?"

This time she defensively crossed her arms over her breasts.

"I know ... I know..."

They complimented one another in so many ways, but she would always have a more liberal attitude to sex than Jack. His outlook had been conditioned by his experiences in the London Met. He'd seen the way sex had been used as a weapon to corrupt others—by men like Dominic DeVere.

She, on the other hand, had grown up using sex as a tool to advance herself. Okay, she wasn't proud of her past, but she wasn't ashamed of it, either. Working for Dominic, and had brought her a lifestyle beyond her wildest dreams, until it had all turned sour. Thank God that Jack had been there to save her when DeVere had betrayed her and then tried to have her killed...

Was that the sort of man Nikolay Volkov was? 

Everyone in the business knew the Russian was a master of bending others to his need. She'd just chosen to ignore that part of him in her desire to resume her modelling activities. Lightning couldn't strike twice, could it?

She stared unhappily towards Jack again. She didn't want this conversation, and certainly not in the full glare of the restaurant. But she wasn't going to run away from it either.

"It was stupid," she repeated, trying to find the words to defuse the tension building up between them. "I'd been talking to Jade about how wonderful you were, and how understanding you've been about me resuming my modelling career. When I said I wanted to find a way to thank you, she suggested—" 

Her words tailed off as he snorted. She normally loved staring into those dreamy eyes of his, but right now they were staring at her in disbelief. 

Please don't look at me like that, Jack, she thought, not like you're disgusted with me.

Shuffling along in the breakfast booth, she snuggled into his body and rested her head back against his chest. That way she could continue without having to look him in the face.

"She thought—well, we both thought—that this would be a special way to reward you. I realise now that it doesn't make sense, but Jade seemed so certain that it would work that I went along with it..." 

She tailed off again as she felt his body tense against hers. But instead of getting angry with her, he tenderly took her hand in his.

"Jade doesn't know me, know us," he softly said. "I'm not going to deny that last night was an unforgettable experience, but I don't want sex with other women, Roxie. You've always been all I've needed." 

"I know," she quietly said, trying to repair the damage. 

She swung around so that she could face him, touching his face with her fingers. For a moment they just stared at one another, and then she leant forward to kiss him on his lips. 

"Jack, if you don't know by know that you're the only person for me," she lovingly told him, "then I guess you never will. Last night was silly and I've apologised. It will never happen again, I promise you that. Okay?"

She saw his eyes soften instantly.

"I love you," he whispered. 

"I love you, too, Jack," she murmured, kissing him again.

She cursed herself for putting them in this position. But if any good had come from it, it was that she was determined never to compromise their relationship again.

*

Tony Yamamura entered the impressive building and made his way towards Nikolay Volkov's Dubai office. The Russian had an unfortunate sense of timing. Yamamura's early morning flight from England had just landed and his girlfriend was waiting for him back at their hotel. 

Michelle could get herself in a right bitchy mood when she was deprived of sex. Not that the young Japanese man was under any illusions. Michelle had a tendency to quench her needs with any hunk in the immediate vicinity when he wasn't around. As it happened, he wasn't an innocent in that respect, either. They both fucked whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted, but still came back to each other. 

Their relationship was based on more than just sex. They were business partners, too, and soon, they'd be millionaires...

That was if everything went to plan. Taking on someone as powerful as Nikolay Volkov was fraught with danger and he'd had to tread carefully so far. The Russian was an astute businessman and a former member of the Russian Mafia. But Yamamura was confident he would soon have the upper hand. His scheme to undermine his employer was falling into place and when Volkov discovered what had happened, it would be too late. 

Both he and Michelle wanted the same sort of extravagant lifestyle that the Russian enjoyed. Volkov had more money than he could ever spend in a lifetime, partly made for him by men like Tony Yamamura. So why shouldn't he have his own cut of the action? He wanted the same power and influence, the same number of houses across the world, the private jets, yachts, and the beautiful women... 

It wouldn't be long now!

There was very little about Nikolay Volkov's business that Yamamura didn't understand. The young Asian go-getter had made a point of fully immersing himself in the Russian's activities as he'd moved up the hierarchy, all with one ultimate goal in mind. By understanding and eventually copying the multi-millionaire's business model, he'd be able to set up a similar franchise and gain the rewards he knew he deserved. 

That approach was starting to pay dividends now. Volkov knew someone was undercutting him but had no idea it was Yamamura. Soon, he'd have fully established himself as a serious business rival and when that happened, he and Michelle would have everything they'd ever wanted.

"Tony," Volkov greeted him, as he closed the office door behind him.

He spoke in that dull Russian accent that Yamamura hated so much. His tone gave absolutely nothing away. 

Boris stood quietly next to the window in the far corner of the room. No-one knew of his second name. The blonde-haired German was Volkov's private bodyguard and was rarely on show like this. He would normally be found in the background, watching over Volkov like a guardian angel, ready to step in if anyone or anything threatened the Russian. Why was he here?

"Good flight?" Volkov asked.

Yamamura nodded deferentially. It had been a very good flight and the young woman he'd been sent to accompany to Dubai had exceeded his expectations. He'd already made plans for incorporating the brunette into his new activities, once he'd stolen her out of Volkov's clutches.

"The flight went well, but I'm unsure of its value," he lied, keeping a straight face. "I have my doubts about the woman."

"Jennifer Finney?"

"Indeed," Yamamura said, containing his surprise.

How did Volkov know her name? Moments like this reminded him never to underestimate the Russian. His attention to detail was legendary. 

"And these doubts, Tony? Tell me more."

Yamamura glanced across at Boris before replying. The bodyguard's face was impassive. Was he even listening to the conversation?

He smiled when he glanced back at Volkov. He somehow needed to put the Russian off the scent. Jennifer Finney was a knockout and would be perfect for his and Michelle's operation.

"Oh, she's attractive enough," he slowly answered. "And she's intelligent, too. But your models are the crème-de-la-crème, Nikky. The world is full of beautiful women, but how many have the sexual presence to make it to the very top?" 

Volkov nodded as he sauntered to the small bar in the middle of his office. He casually refilled his glass, but had clearly decided against offering the Asian a drink. He preferred to keep his employees in their place. It was another characteristic of his boss that Yamamura hated.

"It's a long way to bring someone you have doubts about, Tony," he softly said, turning back to fix him with a steely stare.

"She came highly recommended," Yamamura answered, with the slightest shrug of his shoulders. 

He wanted to mix a degree of reverence with a calm confidence.

"But my standards and your standards are so much higher than others. We want only the very best, Nikky, yes? The photo shoot tomorrow should tell us a lot more."

"Photo shoots cost money," Volkov softly murmured. "If the woman isn't what we want, cancel it."

For the first time, Yamamura came close to losing his composure. He had several good reasons for wanting Jennifer Finney as part of the shoot.

"I did contemplate that, Nikky," he hurriedly lied. "But Clinique are paying all the costs, so it won't cost you a cent. And who know the woman may surprise me yet. So as she's here..."

His heart was in his mouth as he awaited Volkov's response. If his persuasive argument failed, he'd just have to proceed with the shoot without his boss's agreement. But that was a dangerous option.

The Russian took a large Havana cigar from the top drawer of the drinks cabinet, carefully unwrapping the cellophane as he thought. Snipping the end, he lit the cigar and then twirled it in his fingers so that it burned evenly. With a final flourish, he took a slow draw and blew the smoke out into the empty air. It seemed he'd made his decision.




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 02



"Clinique are paying all the costs?"

Yamamura nodded. The crisis was over.

"The contract with them is watertight?" 

"Absolutely," Yamamura replied, smiling inwardly.

Volkov had no way of knowing what he'd arranged. Who was the clever one now? This time the glance he gave Boris was a self-satisfied one.

"I negotiated it personally," he added.

"Indeed you did," the Russian observed, blowing a smoke ring into the air. "Okay, let's go ahead with it. But if the girl is no good, she can pay for her own flight back to England."

Yamamura nodded respectfully. This was getting even better. He'd tell Volkov she had underperformed and that would be that.

"As you wish, Nikky."

The Russian allowed a second smoke ring to curl upwards as he strolled back to his large black leather chair.

"Who else are you using at the shoot?" 

Dammit. He'd wanted to keep that part to himself. He almost lied, but his brief hesitation had already given the game away.

"Michelle Park," he softly replied. "She won season two of Supermodel. I thought she'd compliment Jennifer Finney's looks perfectly."

"You did?" Volkov said. 

There was a subtle edge to his voice that made Yamamura wonder if their secret was out. And yet he couldn't know that she was Tony's girlfriend, could he? No, they'd always been careful to protect their connection.

"I don't think I've met her yet," Volkov went on. "Arrange that for me, would you, Tony. I'd like to assess her capabilities personally."

It wasn't a request. It was an instruction. And it meant one thing. He'd go through his 'initiation ceremony' with her at the meeting, and sometime afterwards he would fuck her. Just as he did with all of his models. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing? After one encounter with Michelle, he'd want more. Tony had never known anyone quite so persuasive as his girlfriend. That would give her the opportunity to get closer to him.

Keep your friends close and your enemies' closer... 

"Of course," he softly answered, with a sly smile. "That will be my pleasure, Nikky." 

*

As soon as they were back in their hotel room, Roxie reached for the zipper of Palmer's jeans and yanked it downwards before he could stop her.

"Let me make it up to you," she urged, knocking his hand away as he tried to grab her wrist. 

Popping open the waistline, she guided her hand inside. To her delight, he instantly began to grow in her hand. What had she been thinking to let Jade share this? It was hers. All hers.

God, she'd been so stupid. And right now she wanted him so badly! 

She momentarily relinquished her grip on his manhood so that she could drag her tee shirt over her head. Her breasts bounced playfully as she shook her wavy red hair and then she was releasing her skirt and leaning back against the door behind her. She was so giddy with need that she almost fell over as she slid her thong down her shapely legs. 

"Well?" she asked, raising her hands above her head and arching her naked body for his inspection. "Can you think of any way I can make amends, Jack?"

His hypnotised eyes followed her movements as she slid her fingers across the impossibly smooth skin of her clean-shaven mound. Then he was stepping closer, revelling in her arousal. Last night was forgotten.

"I love you, Roxie," he grunted, jamming his lips over hers.

He began to undress as they kissed, but she stilled him by taking his still-hard length in her palm again. 

"You don't have time to take your clothes off, Jack Palmer," she rasped. "If you don't put this thing inside me right now, I think I'm going to scream."

Her ass pushed backwards against the door as she guided his cockhead to her wet opening. Wrapping one leg around his waist, she eased half his shaft inside her. When she raised her other leg, her heels finding purchase in the swell of his ass, it slid the rest of the way inside. 

"Oh, fuck," Palmer gasped.

He had to stiffen his legs to maintain his balance, his large palms cupping her smooth asscheeks and holding her in position. 

"You better believe it," Roxanne gasped. She was so turned on that she was already moving on him. "It's just you and me this time. You and me forever, Jack. Now you'd better fuck me like you mean it." 

When her teeth found his earlobe, it was as if she'd pulled the trigger. They both needed this time alone and the way they quickly got to the heart of the fuck began to erase all of the doubts they'd discussed after breakfast.

"Yes, like that, Jack," Roxie encouraged, tightening her legs around his body. "Just like that..." 

It was as if they were exorcising last night from their minds and bodies as the fuck quickly turned frantic. All of a sudden they were going at it like two rabid animals, each quenching their thirst by giving to the other. 

The sound of her asscheeks banging against the wooden door was almost erotic, and their breathing became more laboured as they both gained a second wind. Roxie tightened her slender arms around his neck, giving herself more purchase to fuck back as Jack began to pound her. 

After a while, perspiration began to drip from both their bodies. But neither cared. They were lost in their own needs. 

For Roxie, it was all about re-affirming her love for her man. Her arms curled even tighter around his strong shoulders, giving herself more purchase to respond to the way he was pumping inside her. Hard deep strokes! The sound of his animalistic grunts was almost as much a turn-on as the feel of his hardness ferociously pumping inside her. 

Had he ever been this way before, going at her like a man possessed?

For an awful moment it entered her mind that he must be thinking of Jade again. The African model had a way of getting into the minds of the men she fucked. No, please no, he couldn't be...

And glory be, as if to confirm it, he was groaning out her name. 

"Roxie ... Roxie ... Roxie..."

His throaty grunts meant only one thing. He was on the verge. She grabbed one of his hands and dragged it upwards so that she could feed his index finger between her wet lips. 

"Cum for me, Jack," she mumbled. "Cum in me..."

He climaxed the very moment she began to suck his finger like a cock. 

Roxie threw her head back and wailed out her approval. The sensation of him releasing inside her was like gaining absolution for her sins. She wailed again with each ejaculation. He was coating her insides with his creamy tribute and he couldn't stop. A wave of happiness surged through her. Even after last night, he couldn't stop! 

His explosions triggered her own orgasm and she gripped his shoulders more tightly as the intense climax ripped through her needy frame. 

God, she so loved this man...

*

Nikky Volkov watched thoughtfully out of the window as Tony Yamamura headed towards his waiting taxi. Despite the oppressive heat, it had actually begun to rain. How fitting. His calculating brain had already put two and two together and he didn't like the answer it produced. 

"What do you think, Boris?" he asked his bodyguard.

When the blonde German shrugged his shoulders, Volkov smiled to himself. He hadn't hired Boris for his brains.

He turned back to the window as his mind kicked into gear. At one time, Yamamura's loyalty couldn't be questioned. That's why the Russian had promoted him to such a prominent position. He'd given him so many opportunities to better himself, but greed was a self-defeating creature. Some people always wanted more. He hadn't wanted to believe the rumours that had found their way back to him, but nor could he ignore them. And their discussion had just confirmed their validity. 

He hadn't needed to specifically ask the questions, nor had it been necessary to read between the lines. All he'd had to do was look Tony Yamamura in the eye to see that his trusted lieutenant was turning on him.

First there was the issue of Michelle Park. Yamamura was using her in the photoshoot because he wanted to further her career. So why not be straight about it? Volkov wouldn't have objected. He'd known the two of them were an item for some time, despite Yamamura's extensive efforts to disguise their relationship. 

The Russian hated secrets. It meant people had something to hide. That's what had put him onto Yamamura in the first place. 

Then there was the fact that his Asian employee was personally flying one of America's hottest porn stars into Dubai tomorrow. He wasn't bringing Bree Jensen there just to fuck her. There had to be more to it than that. He'd taken great pains to disguise her arrival from everyone, including Volkov. That was unforgiveable.

The clincher was this woman—Jennifer Finney. The Russian knew everything about her there was to know. She had every quality needed to become a top model, so why had Yamamura pretended otherwise? It didn't matter. The key issue was that he'd lied. But that wasn't the only problem. Tony Yamamura had gotten lazy. If he knew what Volkov did about the wannabee model, he wouldn't have allowed her to get on that plane. 

He'd take good care of the woman when the time came ... just like he was going to take good care of the man who had just left his office.

He leaned back in his plush leather chair and closed his eyes. He didn't have all the pieces of the jigsaw yet, but he'd take action when he had. Threats had to be snuffed out at the first opportunity. Boris would normally be his first port of call on occasions like this, but he had the feeling this was going to be more complicated. 

Reaching forward, he picked up his phone and hit speed dial. It paid to be prepared.

"I may need you here, Sergii," he said, once he heard the familiar voice answer.

"Where is here?"

"Dubai."

"When?"

"Fly in tomorrow. I'll make the usual arrangements."

"For how long?"

"Until I need you, of course. You'll stay in your hotel until I call again. Things will be clearer over the next forty-eight hours." 

"Understood. And the money?"

"The usual fee will be in your bank account later today, Sergii. For now, that's all you need to know."

*

The shrill ring of his telephone woke Jack Palmer as he dozed on the bed. Roxanne had quickly showered after their lovemaking and left him to rest while she'd headed off to rehearsals. Her energy amazed him. He'd thought her absence would give him some thinking time, but he'd fallen asleep almost as soon as she'd left their room. 

He pushed his weary body up on the bed as he answered the call, and was fully alert within seconds when he recognized the unexpected voice on the other end of the phone.

"Sandra?"

Sandra Wilson had been an integral part of the London Met's successful but ultimately bloody investigation into Dominic DeVere. The subsequent break-up of their team had hit her hard, and she would have refused the offer of the Head of Vice position had it not been for Palmer's intervention. Someone trustworthy was needed to safeguard all the work they'd all carried out to that point, he'd persuasively explained. 

Wilson had constantly kept in touch with him since then, seeking out his advice whenever it was needed, and asking him to help her out from time to time on cases she couldn't be seen to officially touch. 

No doubt that was the reason for today's phone call...

"Jack," she cheerily replied. "It's good to hear your voice. But you sound tired. Is life in the fast lane catching up with you?"

A wry smile creased his lips. She wouldn't believe him if he told her.

"I get by," he settled for saying. "But I take it this isn't just a social call. What's up, Sandra?"

"You were never one for small talk, Jack," she chuckled. "But it's true. I do have something of interest for you. Particularly as I read that Roxanne has signed up with Nikolay Volkov, yes?" 

Palmer felt his stomach clench. Was everything he'd feared about to come home to roost?

"Okay, I'm listening..." was all he said.

"We've been looking at the Russian's European operations for a while," she continued, her voice business-like. "Don't worry, we don't have a single thing on him. But the names of his top models constantly crop up with other people we're interested in."

"I knew it," he snapped, clenching his teeth.

Wilson picked up on it straight away.

"Knew what, Jack? You've got something on him?"

Palmer paused. Instinct was one thing, facts were another.

"I don't have a thing on him, Sandra," he reluctantly said. "Other than one of those feelings I've come to trust. I haven't met the guy yet but I've seen him around. I don't like a single thing about him."

"We don't either," Wilson agreed. "But we both know how these things worked. Sexual favours offered in return for business deals. Look, this could all be innocent, but on the other hand we may have stumbled onto something real, here."

Palmer didn't answer at first. He had to control the bile that rose up in his throat. This was déjà vu. Volkov could be using his modelling agency as a fucking prostitution ring!? He'd kill the bastard if he tried to involve Roxie.

"And you're telling me this because of Roxanne's connection with him?" he eventually asked.

"No, not exactly. We've actually got someone close to getting a job working for Volkov."

Palmer hesitated, confused. What was Wilson asking?

"So let me get this right, Sandra. You're saying that Nikolay Volkov is up to something, that his modelling business could be a front for something more sinister? There's no proof, but you're sufficiently interested in him to send someone undercover as a model."

"That's about it in a nutshell," Wilson agreed. "I see you haven't lost your touch."

"Very funny," Palmer snapped, grinding his teeth in frustration. 

This was confidential information, so he had to be careful how much he told Roxie. No, that wasn't it. He didn't give a shit how confidential it was. If she was in any sort of danger, he needed her to know. But equally, he didn't want her to think he was trying to pour cold water on her new career without anything to back it up. Despite their lovemaking session less than an hour ago, things were delicate enough after last night.

"Why don't you just spell out what it is you want from me, Sandra?"

"The woman we've planted will have arrived in Dubai now. Volkov's people are interested in signing her as one of his newest models, but that's not going to happen, of course. I don't want her getting too involved in anything. Her job is just to sniff around, get a feel for how he operates and then report back."

Palmer shook his head to himself. Did they never learn? Whoever it was would be out of her depth when dealing with someone of Volkov's calibre. He was surprised that Wilson of all people should take such a risk.

"You're fucking crazy, Sandra."

"Probably," she agreed, without even a hint of amusement in her voice. "I've been having second thoughts about it ever since I signed it off. That's really why I'm calling you, Jack. If she runs into any difficulties out there, can she call on you? Unofficially, of course. I just need someone on the spot to steer her in the right direction."

"You want a babysitter?" he asked, a bit incredulously. "I've never heard anything quite that stupid. Besides, I don't work for the Met anymore." 

"No, not babysit," she emphasised, ignoring the tone of his response. "Jenn won't need that. I'd just like her to have someone experienced to call on if she needs to talk anything through. You know, someone on the doorstep, so to speak. Like you used to look out for me when I first started in the Met..." 

"That was a long time ago."

"But you kept me on the straight and narrow. Look, Jack, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't need this favour. It's simple. If Jenn's having problems and can't speak to me, will you help out? What do you say?"

Palmer paused. Did he really have a choice? He'd always looked after Wilson's back and wasn't going to stop now. Besides, maybe this way he could gain some inside information on Volkov. That would give him a better chance of looking after Roxie's best interests.

"You know the answer, Sandra," he softly said. "Give her my details and tell her I'm here if she needs me."

"I already have, Jack," Wilson chuckled. "Her name is Jennifer Finney."

*

Jenn Finney stared at the fabulous view out of her 5 star hotel window. She'd stripped to her underwear—a black Freya Deco underwired moulded half cup bra and matching thong. She'd purchased the lingerie especially for the undercover operation. She had to look the part, after all. 

She only wished that her confidence matched her stunning appearance. For the first time since she'd flown into Dubai, she'd begun to have serious doubts as to whether she could pull this off. She'd been full of self-belief when she'd volunteered for the assignment. Not only was she finally getting her teeth into something meaningful, but the case sounded glamorous, too. What girl wouldn't want to play out the part of a successful model?

Now, reality was kicking in and she was feeling felt extremely vulnerable. 

She'd been told that she was beautiful and had a fabulous figure—that was one of the reasons Sandra Wilson had chosen her, after all. Darn, it was about the only reason. She had no experience in this kind of thing. But there were beautiful women everywhere she looked around here. She couldn't compete with the sophisticated models all around her. 

What made her think that Nikolay Volkov would take her seriously? And if he didn't, her task would be over even before it had started. Part of her wanted to rush back to England before she was found out. 

One of Volkov's men had accompanied on the flight from London, a good looking Asian guy with a crew-cut and a crisp, linen suit. At first she hadn't understood why she'd been assigned a chaperone, but it had soon become clear that Tony Yamamura was there to check out every detail of her story. 

She'd answered his questions in as much detail she could, thankful for the thorough briefing that Sandra Wilson had given her. She must have passed the test, because halfway through the flight he'd turned from quizzing her to explaining what was in store once they reached Dubai.

When he'd mentioned the photo shoot, she'd nearly passed out. No-one had said anything about such a thing. Wilson had expected her to be there for a few days, mainly on the fringe of activities, where she could chat to some of the other models and work out what was going on. 

"We like to throw our models in the deep end," Yamamura had casually explained. "It's that sort of business."

That was when her insecurities had started to kick in.

The shoot was for a new line of lipstick, apparently, and she'd be working with another more experienced model. If the shoot was successful, she'd be offered a contract immediately. 

"If not, Jenn," her chaperone had continued, "at least you'll have had an enjoyable few days in Dubai."

She hadn't had an opportunity to call Sandra Wilson yet, to explain what was happening, or get in touch with the contact she'd been given. Jack Palmer. That name at least gave her a little confidence. Palmer's name was still held in high esteem in the Met.

Turning away from the hotel window, she took a sip from the large vodka martini she'd just had delivered to her room and then exhaled a loud sigh. 

Clinique was producing a lipstick line that was supposed to 'volumize' a woman's lips. Yamamura had said they were searching for models that needed no help from lipstick at all. 

"When we saw your photographs, it was clear you fit the bill perfectly," he'd said.

She turned towards the mirror and touched her mouth with her fingertips. She'd been complimented on her full lips before, although never from anyone in the fashion world. It made her feel special. Leaning forward, she planted her lips on the thin mirror and then admired the lipstick outline she'd left on the cold glass. It looked pretty. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 02



The last thing she'd expected was for things to start moving this fast, but perhaps she could pull this off after all?

*

Tony Yamamura looked into his girlfriend's manic eyes as he thrust down into her. She licked around his neck as she tightened her legs around his back, forcing him deeper. She really was a dirty bitch. 

"So, Nikky Volkov wants to fuck me, does he?" she queried.

She clenched her vaginal muscles around him, confirming that the idea had increased her arousal even further. 

He'd told all about his conversation with Nikolay Volkov and how the Russian wanted to meet her. They both knew what that meant. The idea hadn't fazed her at all. Sex was as natural to Michelle as breathing. She was more concerned with her boyfriend's ability to close the deal with Sheikh Amir bin Khalid. She was a material girl, after all, and that arrangement was the key to their future prosperity.

"It'll be like a black widow spider eating her mate," she grunted, staring up into his narrowed eyes. "Just get that deal with the Sheikh finalised while I'm keeping him occupied..." 

Yamamura bent down to kiss her, but at the last minute she tilted her head bit down on his lower lip instead. He gasped as he painfully dragged his lip away from her teeth. She was a wild, sexy bitch in this mood. 

"But then I'm part of that deal, too, aren't I?" she gasped, running her hands through his crew-cut. "I'm going to be a busy girl, aren't I?" 

Tony had thrown in a night with her as an incentive for the Arab billionaire to sign the deal. Michelle was perfect for the assignment.

She twisted on the bed like a cat, slithering from underneath him before he could object and repositioning her body over his. 

"How about this new girl of yours," she teased, clutching an apple-sized breast in each hand as she sank down on him. "How about we include her, too? Two for the price of one. I'm sure the Sheikh would like that..."

"It's too early..." Yamamura told her. 

Not that the idea hadn't occurred to him, but it would take time to fully integrate her into his plans. Unlike Michelle, some girls needed to be gently coerced. He'd already placed Jennifer Finney in that category.

"The Sheikh is too important for us to take chances."

"Okay," she moaned, eliciting an upward whimper as she slowly gyrated on her Japanese boyfriend and business partner. "I guess Michelle will just have to give full value for money. How am I doing right now, baby?"

"Just fine," Yamamura grunted, wincing in pain as she ran her fingernails down his chest.

Michelle through her head back and laughed. She couldn't decide which would be the sexiest situation—fucking the Russian or the Sheikh. There was a delicious piquancy to being with Volkov. She and Tony were about to take half of his business empire from him, after all.

But the Sheikh came from a different culture, and that excited her, too. It was even said that he might have some Royal blood in him. The thought of fucking Middle Eastern royalty was a real turn-on.

Leaning backwards, she rested her arms on Tony's shins and gave an impression of a jackhammer as she pounded down on him. Her grunts with each short, fast downthrust mingled with his throaty moans and he reached for her hips in an attempt to steady her movements. 

Otherwise he was going to blow...

She slowed down briefly and pushed forward so that she could take hold of his wrists. Forcing his arms down either side of his head, she licked her tongue around his neck.

"I'll let Volkov fuck my hot pussy first," she whispered in his ear. "Then Sheikhy..."

Michelle Park loved to talk dirty. She knew what it did for most guys. Tony was no exception.

Leaning further forward, she pressed her pointed breasts into his sweaty chest as her tongue found his neck again. For a moment he thought she was going to tease him again but then, without warning, she jerked her hips down hard. Once, twice, three times. 

Yamamura tried to speak, but then she was repeating the action, again and again, until he couldn't hold back.

When he came, he spurted like a geyser.



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 03



Chapter 3 — TUESDAY — Jenn has her photoshoot

Tony Yamamura had hired the top of the range limousine specifically to impress the stunning looking blonde he'd just picked up at the Dubai International Airport. 

For someone who'd just stepped off an eight hour flight, Bree Jensen looked remarkably fresh. In a tailored white jacket, matching short skirt and a pair of Michael Kors pumps, the Swedish beauty looked more like a model than one of the best-selling porn stars of all time. 

But that's what she was. And Yamamura had a business proposition for her. That's why he'd invited her to Dubai, all expenses paid.

All the pieces were nicely slotting into place. Soon he would have outwitted Nikolay Volkov and although the Russian would be desperate for revenge, what could he do? The deal he had struck with Sheikh Amir bin Khalid would see Volkov expelled from the country, leaving the lucrative UAE markets to Yamamura.

"So, what is this all about, Tony?" Bree asked, settling back into her seat as he poured her a glass of champagne.

Her make-up was applied well but not overdone, and her glossy, platinum hair was half back and sophisticated. She fluffed it up as she looked at him, waiting for his answer. 

"I think the two of us can help one another out," he said, handing her the glass of bubbly.

"How do you figure?"

"Some of your girls seem to be getting a lot of publicity these days..."

Bree rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her drink.

"It's no secret that adult performers sometimes turn tricks. All those girls work out of Vegas, so it's no crime. I'm not their keeper, but I'm also not going to apologize if some well-known, married sports star wants to get his kink out with them, either."

"Relax, Bree. I'm on your side," he said, with a comforting smile. "It's because of their extra-curricular activities that I'm interested."

"Is that so?"

Tony studied her as he touched his champagne flute against hers. She'd only entered the adult movie industry a couple of years ago and people were already comparing her to this generation's Jenna Jameson. He had seen her films and could only agree. 

"So why don't you tell me more about your interest?" she asked, leaning back into the expensive leather seat.

Yamamura glanced along her long legs. They were crossed neatly in front of her, beneath the short black skirt. She uncrossed them as he watched, revealing a sliver of flesh above her black silk stockings. 

"Let's just say I'm a long time admirer of women with your sort of talent," he told her, trying to pull his gaze back to her face. "And as it happens, I have a need for those sorts of skills."

The blonde threw her head back and laughed out loud. 

"You have a way with words, Tony," she murmured, allowing the skirt to slip even further away. "You brought me to Dubai just to fuck me?"

Yamamura felt a reaction to her words. Or was it the bare flesh above the top of her black stockings that was making his cock lengthen? It was a shame he'd have to leave her as soon as they reached her hotel. He needed to talk to Jennifer Finney before her shoot.

"Not exactly," he confessed, subtly adjusting his position on the leather seat to ease the pressure inside his tailored trousers.

"Then what?" Bree asked, briefly returning his attention to the matter at hand. "Tell me exactly what you need and I'll see whether I can help?"

Yamamura nodded. The blonde bitch was every bit as sexy as he'd expected her to be, but it was important to conclude his business before he considered any other benefits.

"Straight talking suits me fine," he agreed, meeting her gaze again. "I'll shortly be concluding some business discussions that will enable me to establish my business interests across the Middle East. To begin with I'll need some extra help in, shall we say, servicing some of my potential clients around the region." 

The blonde laughed heartily. 

"Servicing your potential clients?" she murmured, dropping her hand onto his leg as she turned full on to face him. "Lordy-be, Tony, don't you know that those sorts of services come at a price? Are you sure you can afford what I have to offer?"

He snorted defiantly. "Money's not an issue." 

A slow smile spread across Bree's full lips. For a moment she just stared at him, as if making sure they were on the same wavelength.

"I'm pleased to hear that, Tony," she whispered, moving closer.

Her sultry smile widened as her right hand moved along his thigh. It was an obvious manoeuvre but an effective one, too. His cock instantly reacted as her fingertips lightly stroked his crotch. 

"So you didn't just invite me here to fuck me?" she asked, as she moved closer to him. "And I so enjoy fucking..." 

Yamamura felt her breath on the side of his face as her fingers moved to the zip on his trousers. Her baby-blue eyes were staring at him provocatively, telling him that sex was her calling card and she knew how to use it. When she yanked the zipper downwards and sneaked her hand through the opening, he gasped. 

"So, what exactly do you want, Tony?" her husky voice breathed in his ear.

"You, and up to a dozen of your friends, Bree," he croaked, trying to maintain his composure even though her fingernails were dragging across his boxer-covered stiffness. "All big names in your industry, women would be willing to fuck who I want, when I want and where I want..."

"That can be arranged," she whispered, as if he were simply asking her for dinner companions. Her hand freed his hard shaft from his trousers as she spoke. "That's dependant on the price we agree, of course. I'm sure a man like you understands that women in our particular vocation don't come cheap." 

Yamamura snorted disdainfully.

"I told you that money's not a problem." 

"And I told you I'm pleased to hear that, Tony," she smiled. Her breath caressed the side of his cheek as she closed her fingers around the base of his manhood. "In that case, it seems we have a deal." 

Dipping her head without warning, she teasingly ran her tongue along his throbbing hardness before staring back up again.

"Would you like to agree the figures right now?" she softly asked, smiling seductively at him with those big baby-blue eyes. Her tongue flicked across his length again. "Or would you like a sneak preview of what's on offer?"

*

Michelle Park glanced at her watch. Her boyfriend would have made contact with Bree Jensen by now. That meant the final piece of their jigsaw would have fallen into place. She was looking forward to meeting the porn star blonde later, but before then she had a busy day in store.

Roxanne Lopez had a heavy day planned, too, starting with rehearsals for this afternoon's catwalk extravaganza. She'd arrived early so that she could make the most of her time, and was surprised to find another model in the dressing room when she returned from make-up. 

"Roxie," Michelle Park said, allowing the name to roll off her tongue. "The two supermodels meet at last."

Her almond-shaped eyes ran up and down Roxanne's body as she spoke, as if she could see straight through the thin white robe. 

Roxie smiled sweetly. Michelle Park may have been the winner of season two of Supermodel, but she had a long way to go before she could be considered to be in the supermodel category. The young woman was considered to be a bit of a diva, but Roxanne had long ago learned to make her own mind up when judging others.

"It's good to meet you, Michelle," she replied, keeping her voice neutral. 

"And you," the Korean American woman responded, checking her out again. "So, you're the new addition to Nikky's stable? How did the initiation go?"

The blood instantly rushed to Roxanne's cheeks. No-one spoke of such things, ever. Although every girl was aware of Volkov's demands when he signed a new model, it was accepted as something that went with the territory. Careless talk could break relationships.

With Jack being so sensitive after their session with Jade, it was the last subject she wanted to discuss. Maybe Michelle's reputation for being catty with other models was well deserved, after all.

"Oh, silly me," the woman giggled, theatrically covering her mouth when Roxanne blushed. "That talk is taboo, isn't it? Anyway, you're back in the fold now. So you won't need to suck his cock again, not unless you really want to, of course."

Roxanne ignored the jibe and headed over to the rake of clothes. Okay, she'd given Michelle a chance. But now she knew the rumours were true. 

"You're here with your boyfriend?" Michelle asked from behind her.

Roxanne felt herself tense. "Yes. Why?"

"Well, you know," the young model said, stepping infront of the rake and unbelting her robe. "We're all friends together here. I'd like to meet him. See if he's my type."

She let the robe drop to the floor, leaving Roxanne with a rear view of her nudity. Although she had an athletic rather than curvy frame, she was hot, that was for sure. She didn't have an ounce of fat, her round ass was firm and high, and her toned back swept up to meet her long dark hair.

"Does he like Asian girls like me?" Michelle asked, swinging around to face her.

It was difficult not to respond to the teasing, but Roxanne wisely kept her counsel. The young model was trying her hardest to evoke a reaction from her, so why give her that satisfaction? 

"Or perhaps you do?" Michelle continued, resting one hand on her hip and posing unashamedly for the redhead. 

Roxanne couldn't help but drop her gaze to those apple-sized tits and spectacularly high nipples. They were proud and erect and—well, yes—definitely suckable. A mischievous smile touched the edge of Michelle's lips when she caught her checking her out and Roxie cursed inwardly. The last thing she wanted was to send out any misleading signals. 

"Have you ever fucked an Asian girl?"

The question sent another flood of colour to Roxie's cheeks. She'd once had a nuru massage from two older Asian women in a high-end London Health club. Even for someone as experienced as she was, it had been an amazing couple of hours.

"I'm very happy with Jack, thanks," she countered, turning away from the naked sight infront of her.

"You should try it," Michelle told her, sauntering close behind and breathing on the back of her neck. "Fucking is an art in Korea, you know, especially between two women. And I've been well trained..."

"I have no doubt," Roxie said, glancing at the young model over her shoulder. "But as I said, I'm very happy with Jack."

"He doesn't have to know," Michelle whispered in her ear. "I have a photo shoot this afternoon. That always gets me hot to trot, if you know what I mean. I could use a little help."

Roxie stepped away from the Korean American temptress and took a seat in her designated chair at the dressing table. The young model was trouble and she wasn't going to have anything to do with her.

"Of course, there are other ways of taking the edge off," the young model went on, moving to the dressing table next to Roxanne's.

She opened the top draw and pulled out a pink baggy, spilling some of the powdery contents out onto the top of the table. Using a card to carve two rows, she then rolled a bill and did a line. Sniffing sharply, she rubbed her nose and offered Roxie the bill.

"Shit, this is good stuff," she murmured, licking her lips. "You've got to try it."

Roxanne shook her head. "No, I don't think so." 

"Why not?" Michelle petulantly asked. "I know you're not a coke virgin..." 

"What I am, and what I'm not, is my business only," Roxie emphatically told her, giving the naked model a dismissive look. "Thanks for the offer, but if you excuse me I have to get ready for the rehearsals. Good luck with the shoot."

*

Jack Palmer had spent most of the morning sightseeing. He'd left Roxie to her rehearsals and decided to use the time to check out Dubai. He'd get back in time for the late afternoon show, and in the meantime he needed the opportunity to think things through.

Built right out of the desert, the city was like a mirage. Only instead of being sustained on heat and imagination, everything was expensive and it needed money to stay afloat. With the world economies wilting in the global recession, the place was in danger of disappearing as quickly as the illusions. But corruption thrived where there was a need for money. And where there was corruption, there were pretty women. They were everywhere Palmer looked.

The rawness from his threesome with Roxie and Jade was beginning to heal, even if the encounter remained at the forefront of his mind. But Roxie had given him the explanation he needed and, even if she had been misguided, he was trying to put the encounter him.

It was his telephone conversation with Sandra Wilson that was now troubling him most. If he'd learned anything in his years as a detective in the London Met's Vice Division, it was that there was no smoke without fire. Volkov was using his modelling agency as a cover for other illegal activities. There was no other realistic explanation.

That meant Roxie was in danger.

So why hadn't he told her about his and Sandra Wilson's telephone conversation? First, he didn't want to alarm her. Nor did he want her to doubt his sincerity. He'd told himself that he needed more facts to go on before he could share his suspicions with Roxie.

That required a meeting with the undercover cop, Jennifer Finney. He had no option other than to wait until she contacted him, but he'd listen carefully to everything she had to say when she did. Sandra Wilson had asked him to do nothing more than 'babysit' her, but he was prepared to get involved if necessary.

Roxie's welfare was the only thing he cared about.

*

Jennifer Finney was becoming more and more nervous as time ticked by, so much so that she had to stop herself from chewing her polished nails. Her make-up artist would blow a gasket if she screwed up the white tips of her French manicure, especially after he'd done such a wonderful job. 

Roy's tone, outrageous fashion sense and mannerisms suggested he was gay, but she'd quickly discovered he was a genius at hairdressing and make-up.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he asked, turning her chair to the mirror when he'd finished styling her short dark hair.

Jenn gave a surprised gasp of approval as she stared at her reflection. He'd transformed her appearance completely. Was it really possible that someone like her, a girl next-door type from a little English village, could look this glamorous?

"I love it," she beamed at him, happily teasing her silken hair in her hand. "You're a genius, Roy."

"So true," he chuckled, loving her enthusiasm.

And then he was back to his task, his fingers working her face like an artist worked a painting. The way he applied the make-up carefully and then brushed away the few blemishes she had was amazing. 

When he'd finished, he let her see herself again.

"Da-dah!" he playfully exclaimed.

Her eye-liner was black and much thicker than normal, framing her beautiful brown eyes in an almost feline way. But it was her mouth that stood out. Naturally enough considering the purpose of the shoot, she realised. He'd paid particular attention to her full lips, using the Clinique lipstick line to 'volumize' them. 

The result was incredible.

"I love it," she gleefully told him, testing the effect by giving a provocative pout into the mirror. "Perfect,"

"Perfect, indeed," came a voice from the door.

It belonged to Tony Yamamura and his sudden appearance precipitated an immediate return of her nerves. She'd carried out some small-time modelling jobs before—Sandra Wilson wouldn't have given her this assignment otherwise—but nothing in this league. 

The Met had even put her through her paces with a crash course in modelling before she'd left England. But this was different. This was a photoshoot. Could she pass the test? 

She had to, for the sake of the assignment, herself and for her career.

Her husband hadn't wanted her to join the police force and the ensuing arguments after she'd enrolled had been never-ending. She didn't have any regrets about leaving him, though it had been a difficult decision at the time, and she had purposefully avoided contact between them since. He could be violent when he was angry. 

Divorce papers had been signed through the post and after that, it just was easier to put him out of her mind and concentrate on her career. The problem was that she'd never quite fulfilled her potential.

This case was the opportunity she'd never thought would come. 

"You look wonderful, Jenn," the Japanese man told her, stepping just inside the room. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," she told him, taking a deep breath. 

It was only a half-lie. She had been feeling good until he'd arrived. What girl wouldn't under Roy's tender ministrations? But now that he had left the room—leaving her and Yamamura by themselves—all of her self-doubts were returning.

"You're ready for me now?" she nervously asked.

"Almost," he told her, resting his frame against the door behind him. "I need to go over a couple of things before the shoot."

He took a couple of steps into the room and smiled reassuringly as he flopped down in the chair next to hers. 

"The other model will adopt the more senior role in the shoot. What I want from you is to follow her lead. That natural, innocent look is perfect. So let Michelle introduce you to our world, and everything will be fine. Think you can do that, Jenn?"

"Of course," she replied, more cheerily than she felt.

Please God, let everything be fine...

"Even if something seems way out there, I want you to go with it. Without question. The camera captures any hesitation. Remember that."

"Sure."

She nodded eagerly. That was something, at least. Having a more experienced model to work with was a Godsend. Her brain had frozen up, but she was prepared to do whatever was asked of her.

*

Nikolay Volkov sat next to his host in Sheikh Amir bin Khalid's luxurious private residence that lay in the heart of the city. Outside of the large windows, despite the time of day, flood lights illuminated the vibrant, green lawns of cut grass—unheard of in this arid climate. 

Inside the room, sumptuous, woven textiles and luxurious pillows spun of purple silk and lined with gold thread—like those the two men were lounging on—were spread out haphazardly, emphasising the wealth of this unique palace. 

The Sheikh had called to meeting to discuss some of the 'finer points' of the contract already agreed between them. That could only mean one thing. He wanted to renegotiate. And yet, until a few days ago, he had been content to follow the Russian's lead throughout their negotiations. 

His sudden change in attitude had switched on Volkov's antennae, and that in turn had led the multi-millionaire to look more closely at Tony Yamamura's activities. The conclusion had been as obvious as it was a huge disappointment. He had rewarded Yamamura with all the trappings of success only to find that his Japanese lieutenant was attempting to usurp him. His visit to see the Sheikh confirmed his suspicions, although neither man would refer to Tony Yamamura specifically. 

The trick was to read between the lines. 

In a normal world, such a business meeting would usually have involved their advisers and perhaps their legal teams. In bin Khalid's universe, such normality didn't exist. The three attractive women that lay around the room in a partial state of undress were neither solicitors nor accountants. They were concubines.

Heavy-lidded, Nikolay Volkov glanced across the room towards the doe-eyed beauty curled on a sofa. Her gold robe hung loosely from her slender body and a mocha-coloured nipple peaked out, just at the edge. One hand had drifted between her legs as she lazily surveyed the two women spread out on a divan opposite her. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 03



The blonde's curvy body was entangled with that of a brunette, while the two of them were exchanging soft kisses.

Leaning forward, Volkov sucked a slow drag off an opium pipe. His eyelids rolled back as the initial wave of pleasure rolled through him. He had to hand it to the young Sheikh. He had yet to meet his equal as far as decadence was concerned. 

"So..." he said, his voice oozing out his throat in an elongated drawl. 

God, he felt good. The opium high wrapped him into a warm cocoon of bliss. Everyone should hold business meetings this way.

"What exactly was it you wanted to discuss, Amir?"

"The contract, of course," the Sheikh answered. His tone was soft and persuasive. "In the light of recent events, it is important to ensure the terms remain acceptable to both parties."

"Recent events?" Volkov softly asked.

"Indeed," bin Khalid answered. "Recent events."

That was as far as he was prepared to go, but the remark gave the Russian the information he needed. There was only one reason for the Sheikh to look for a better deal now. He'd been offered an alternative. And that confirmed everything Volkov needed to know...

In some ways, the situation was his own fault. By driving such a hard bargain with the Sheikh, he had opened the door for Tony Yamamura. But at least the Japanese man's treachery had been flushed out. Soon, he would pay for his sins and that would be that. 

He glanced into the shallow pool infront of them as he thought things through. The clear light-blue water reflected the body of the doe-eyed girl draped on the sofa opposite. Her gold satin robe had fallen away completely from her upper body and she had raised one of her ripe breasts to her mouth, circling the mocha-coloured nipple with her tongue. 

Forcing his hazy gaze away from the provocative sight, he turned his attention back to Sheikh Amir. All that remained was for him to outbid Yamamura and his plans were back on track. The additional cost wasn't an issue. He could afford to pay substantially more and still remain well ahead of the game.

"You know I'm fully appreciative of the help you're providing, Amir," he murmured, in his most conciliatory tone. "If you believe I've understated the value of that support, I'm prepared to correct that mistake as a matter of urgency."

"I would expect nothing else between men of such integrity," the Sheikh smiled, happy that they understood one another. "To demonstrate my intentions to keep to my side of the bargain, my people are drawing up another contract as we speak. I'll tell them we've agreed the revised fee."

Volkov nodded. It would show weakness to enquire how much extra this was going to cost him. He'd know soon enough.

Negotiations over, his gaze returned to the women. They were together on the backless couch now, giggling a little as their fingers stroked across each other's bodies. It was impossible to tell which belonged to whom. 

"Tell me this," the Sheikh mused, following the Russian's gaze. "Which of my nieces do you find the most attractive?"

Volkov had to chuckle. He loved that description. His eyes rolled back to the 'nieces'. Each of them was observing him closely—their pupils shrunk to pin pricks—waiting eagerly to see who he chose.

As he paused, one of them swung her legs to the rug-covered floor, the bells on her golden anklet advertising her movements. Her toenails were painted red and she had four toe rings on. With an exaggerated roll of her hips, she posed happily for the Russian as she descended into the pool, sending ripples across the still surface.

Taking her cue, the brunette was the next to seek the limelight. Pushing herself up, she leaned across the blonde woman and kissed her deeply. Volkov felt his dick respond as he watched the blonde shift on the couch, lewdly spreading her legs as their tongues lapped and swirled.

"All of them," he said, so focused on the unfolding action that he barely looked at the Sheikh. "I like all your nieces."

"As you wish," his host smiled, bringing the women back to attention with a single clap of his hands. "I just hope you have a healthy appetite..."

*

Tony Yamamura was in a good place. He'd used his time working for Nikolay Volkov to understand every aspect of the Russian's way of operating. Now he—with Michelle Park, his girlfriend—was ready to start out on their own. They would hijack Volkov's plans for Middle East domination and then gradually expand their business dealings. 

Money had been his biggest problem. He hadn't originally anticipated just how much was needed for a start-up operation, but now he had a number of Oriental backers lined up to provide all the funding he needed. The only stipulation was for him to pull off the deal with Sheikh Amir bin Khalid, and that was pretty much guaranteed now. 

The next issue was to build up his own bevy of models. Michelle had approached some established models, coyly suggesting that they transferred their allegiance from Volkov to a 'new, global modelling agency'. But that couldn't be achieved overnight, and his agreement with Bree Jensen was designed to buy him more time.

Sex was a powerful weapon in the business world, and Volkov had successfully used his models as sweeteners to clinch business deals for longer than Yamamura could remember. Now he was about to trump him. What was better than spending a night with a well known model? Fucking a high profile porn star, of course! 

He'd be personally putting Bree through her paces later tonight, in his hotel suite. So would Michelle. His girlfriend had insisted on joining in on the action. But first, he had a photo shoot to attend to.

Along with Michelle, he was going to use Jennifer Finney at the forefront of influencing potential business contacts his way. He'd realised the brunette's potential the moment he'd first seen her at Heathrow airport. It was like God had reached into his mind, took all the traits of his fantasy woman, and made them flesh. 

The best part was that she didn't know how attractive she was.

He'd negotiated the photo shoot personally with Clinique, albeit on Volkov's behalf. Unbeknown to the Russian, he'd used his own name on the contract. The client had no idea of Volkov's involvement, and that gave Yamamura free reign to manipulate the shoot the way he wanted. That was another essential part of his plan.

With those lips, a lipstick campaign was the perfect way to introduce Jenn to the world and once she became a household name, her value would quadruple. But that was only part of it. 

He and Michelle were also using the shoot to test the brunette's limits. His girlfriend could seduce the Pope if she was given the chance, so the aspiring model wouldn't have a chance once Michelle turned up the sexual heat. And once they had her in their clutches, everything else would be so much easier...

*

Jenn Finney checked herself in the mirror on the set. Her unbelievably short strapless white dress was practically moulded to her curves. And it was low cut, too. Her tits were practically spilling out. She wouldn't have dared wear it anywhere else but here in the studio. 

If Sandra Wilson or any of the guys in the team could see her now, their eyes would pop out. She felt like the sexiest woman in the Universe. Was this really her?

"You look great," Tony Yamamura told her, as he handed over another glass of wine. 

That made three, but she took it instantly. The alcohol was doing a great job of calming her nerves.

His eyes wandered across her curves as she gulped half of it down. Normally she hated men checking her out so obviously, but right now she didn't mind at all. If someone as important as the Japanese man fancied her, then she must look good. 

"Thanks," she told him, and then giggled.

The wine was definitely going to her head! She finished the drink with another gulp and then giggled again as she looked at the lipstick on the rim of her wine glass. 

"Oops. Looks like I'll need to fix that."

"Roy will fix you up," Yamamura said, smiling broadly as he refilled the glass. 

Another? A fourth? No way. She was already tipsy. But she took another sip, all the same.

"Come on," he said, his gaze dipping into her cleavage again as he took her arm. "Let's familiarise you with the set."

Like her outfit, the background was pure white. Roy had explained earlier that they needed it that way so as to provide a better focus on the colour of their lips.

"I'd like you to meet the model you're working with," Yamamura said, guiding her across the room towards a dark-haired girl. "Jennifer, this is Michelle Park."

"Hi," she said, smiling happily. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Michelle returned, her almond-shaped eyes running up and down the brunette's body. 

If anything, Tony had understated the young woman's characteristics. The sexy naïve innocence he'd mentioned was written all over her expression. Her fabulously tanned body—with those large breasts, wide hips and enviously narrow waist—was made for sin. And her dark hair, deep brown eyes, pouting red lips and freckled skin all added to her attractiveness. The bitch was a wet dream. 

This was going to be fun...

*

Standing pigeon-toed in her spiked heels, one hand clasped around her forearm and the other touching her hair, Jenn had never felt more vulnerable in her life. Her big eyes blinked at Tony Yamamura as she tried to hold herself together.

"Relax," he softly said, nudging her arm. "In that dress, you look like the hottest woman on God's earth." 

A surprising feeling of warmth flooded through her body at his unexpected words. She was little Jennifer Finney from England and this high flying young Japanese executive was telling her she looked like a million dollars. Not only that, but it felt like every person on the set hadn't been able to keep their eyes off her.

How amazing was that?

"You're ready?" he asked.

She nodded. That way he wouldn't hear the tremor in her voice. Michelle was already on set, posing for some test shots. The Korean American beauty looked like she'd been born to do this.

"The client wants sex-appeal with an elegant veneer," he told her, staring emphatically into her eyes to make sure she understood. "When a woman wears this lipstick, it has to match the way she is. I want to capture her various moods—from sexy to shy, confident to demure. Michelle will lead the way. Your job is to follow her. Okay?"

Jenn nodded again. She'd thought she could do this, but the way Yamamura's eyes were devouring her tits was producing the inevitable reaction. The way her hard nipples were pushing through the white material of her dress was embarrassing. 

"We're going to do some solo shots first, starting with Michelle," he reassured her, casually sliding an arm around her waist.

Somehow, it felt comforting. 

"This whole campaign is about your face, your lips," he told her, holding her warmth close to his. She could feel his gaze on her cleavage again. "But you have to use this sensational body, too. Let it come naturally, but I want you to think sex, nothing but sex."

The heat of his words began to pump through her body in time with the stroking motion of his hand. It was gently running from the middle of her back down to her butt and back again. If he was trying to turn her on, he'd succeeded. Did all models feel like this during a photo shoot, or was it the impact of too much wine?

*

Half an hour later and it was Jenn's turn to go solo infront of the camera. Tony and Michelle stood at the side of the set, close enough to observe her performance and yet discreet enough not to interfere. She was projecting everything that Yamamura had asked—shoulders back, those fabulous breasts thrust forward and one hand on her hip as she pouted at the camera.

"She's good," the model whispered to her boyfriend. 

Yamamura nodded. "If she could just get over her anxiety, she'd be incredible. But in a way, that's part of her appeal. She exudes the kind of sexy innocence that most women have felt from time to time."

"Not me. Never."

Tony Yamamura glanced sideways at her out of the corner of his eye.

"No ... not you, my dear! But then we both know you're an exception to the rule. You're full on sexy, and you know it, whereas this girl has no idea how hot she is. She's a natural. I saw it instantly."

"Maybe," Michelle murmured, unwilling to give anyone too much credit. She pushed closer, practically draping her body around her boyfriend's. "How far do you want me to go with her?"

"Good question," he mused thoughtfully. "We don't want to scare her away, but I want to scratch underneath that surface, see what we find."

"If you want my opinion," his girlfriend hummed, "we need to push her all the way. She either has it in her or she doesn't and, with what we have in mind, the sooner we know the better."

Yamamura pursed his lips as he thought. Michelle could be very direct at times, and he understood where she was coming from. But Jenn was special, and if he was going to turn her into one of his leading escorts, he needed to take one step at a time.

"Not yet," he told her, this time firmly meeting her gaze. "Tease her. That's all. We can then pick up the pace at tomorrow night's party."

"Ah, yes, Tony, your boss is throwing his usual bash," Michelle said, in delight. "I'll get to meet Nikolay Volkov at last."

Her lips puckered seductively as she gently brushed her fingers against her boyfriend's groin.

"Do you think he's going to fuck me at the party?" she chuckled, giving him a squeeze. "I'll be sure to tell you all about it afterwards."

*

It was an hour later and Jenn was feeling the need. She was really feeling the need. Michelle was such a natural infront of the camera and she'd tried to follow her lead. The problem was that the model kept leading her down sexual cul-de-sac's from which there was no escape. If she draped her body against Jenn's again in such a blatantly sexual way, she would scream. 

She had posed with other women before, small-time stuff, but had never felt as turned on as this. At first Michelle had just whispered small compliments to her—about her shiny hair, her pouting lips, and her 'hot' body. But then, as the camera continued to click around them, the compliments had turned to questions.

They were subtle at first. Had she ever been with another woman? Would she like to? Would she like Michelle to teach her how Asian women made love? And then the questions had turned to suggestions. She'd described what she'd like to do to Jenn. In the most basic of terms. Things that made Jenn's cheeks burn...

She told herself that the more experienced model was just doing her job. They wanted her worked up so that the Spanish photographer—Isobel—got the shots she wanted, didn't they? Well, it had worked. She was more aroused than she'd become in a long, long time.

"One final session," Isobel eventually called, seemingly letting her off the hook. But the accompanying instruction threw her. "Everyone else off the set, please. Just the two models."

The command threw Jenn. There were only a handful of people around, anyway, and after a few minutes of shooting she'd even forgotten they were there. What was the problem? 

The answer came as soon as everyone, Tony Yamamura included, had trooped out of the room.

"Okay, off with the dresses, ladies! Right now!" 

Jenn stared at her incredulously, but Michelle didn't hesitate. Her slim fingers went right to zip at the back of her dress, shedding the skimpy garment fluidly at her feet. 

Jenn gasped at the sight. She was no lesbian, and didn't really consider herself into women, but this woman was built like a tigress. Her wide eyes couldn't stop themselves from travelling along the contours of those small, perky breasts, all the way down to the narrow strip of dark hair that adorned her compact, and very wet, labial lips. 

Jenn wasn't the only one that was aroused!

"Why?" she stuttered, pulling her brown eyes back up to the model's face, and then looking questioningly at Isobel. "I don't understand."

"It's traditional at this stage of a shoot," Michelle interrupted, raising a manicured eyebrow at her. "Don't worry, the photographs will be tasteful."

Jenn felt her face colour. "Tasteful?"

"Trust me," Isobel murmured confidently. "This way, I can fully enhance the effect of your lips without other distractions. All of the shots will be from your neck up. It's the lipstick we're promoting, remember?"

Yes, but if that was the case then why...

The question faded on Jenn's lips as she realised the two women were staring at her, waiting. It was her turn, the look on their faces was insisting. She didn't understand, but neither could she afford to be precious. She was here for a reason. Besides, she was proud of her body, so why should she be ashamed of revealing it now? 

That's what models like Michelle did. 

Closing her eyes, she released the clasp of the white dress and allowed it to pool at her feet. Unlike the other model, she wore a little g-string that was just enough to cover the slight rise of her mound. That was staying where it was!

*

"Hot, isn't she?" Isobel asked, with a suggestive smile. 

They'd taken a quick break while the Spanish photographer fiddled with a couple of cameras, and Jenn had taken the opportunity to pour herself some more wine. Isobel had quickly joined her, accepting a glass and then nodding across towards Michelle. 

"She's pretty, that's for sure," Jenn agreed, leaving it at that.

The sooner this was over and she could get back to her hotel, the better. Watching the naked model sauntering casually around the room, occasionally smiling at her with those full, pouty lips and almond shaped eyes, was doing nothing to calm her raging libido.

"Glad you think so," Isobel told her. "It's time to get it on..." 

Jenn felt her heart twitter at the words and hurriedly finished her drink. The copious amounts of alcohol she'd assumed seemed to have calmed her nerves, but it had the opposite effect on her body. Was it really this warm in the room?

Isobel went straight to work.

"Michelle, I want you to put your arms around Jenn. That's it, face each other. Right there, hold it."

The Korean American model's arms felt soft where they touched her skin. When she glided her fingers across her back, down to her hips, Jenn shivered. But she didn't have time to compose herself.

"Right, Jenn, I want you to put your arms around Michelle's neck. A little higher. Elbows down ... there!"

Jenn did as she was instructed, feeling her nipples harden further as they came in contact with the underside of the other woman's breasts. Could Michelle feel that? Was she feeling the same way? When their eyes met, she knew that she was. Her heart skipped a beat. 

"Michelle, lean in," Isobel continued. "Like you're going to kiss her. Let the camera see those lips." 

Jenn's throat went dry as Michelle tilted her head to one side, dipping her face forward. She could feel the young woman's shallow, hot breath on her lips.

"There, hold that! Perfect! God, that's great! Hold it! Keep holding it."

Jenn's muscles ached. She was tense enough anyway, and holding such a sensual pose was making her even stiffer. 

"Okay, I've got it. Now, I want you to repeat it, only this time—" 

Isobel paused to switch out her film. 

"This time, Michelle, I want you to get behind her. And Jenn, I want you to look over your shoulder, like you're about to accept a kiss."

"Sure," Jenn breathed, feeling a little buzzed.

She was trying to sound confident, like she did this all the time.

"And Michelle, cover her tits with your hands," Isobel suddenly added, snapping her camera shut. 

"My pleasure," the hot model whispered huskily, grinning happily.




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 03



Jenn's nipples came to life again when the model's warm hands cupped her breasts and she exhaled a heavy breath of air as she tried to regulate her breathing. It was coming as fast as her pitter-pattering heartbeat.

"Yes, just like that. Now, get into it, girls! Just touch those perfect lips together, like a little over the shoulder kiss."

Jenn saw Michelle's lips widen as she turned her head towards her. She could see her waiting tongue just inside her open mouth. The young model slowly licked it across her lips as she whispered breathily.

"Go ahead ... Kiss me ... I know you want to."

Jenn felt light headed. Was this really happening? With the arousal she was feeling, and the wine she'd consumed, it was all too much. But when she gave in and moved closer, tilting her head to touch those pouting lips with hers, Michelle pulled fractionally back at the last moment. 

"Tony is going to make you a star," she murmured, keeping her smiling mouth a fraction of an inch away. "All you have to do is obey the rules and enjoy the ride."

With that, she turned her body so that it pressed into Jenn's and curled one hand around the back of her neck. When their lips finally came together, the Sapphic kiss was softer and yet far more demanding than any man Jenn had ever been with.

Michelle's hand held her head in place as one kiss turned into two, and then three. Suddenly, they began to make out like rabid animals. 

Jenn could feel herself growing dizzy from desire. Kissing another woman did this to you? The feeling of her breasts pushing against her own was a thrill she'd never anticipated, but all of a sudden the feeling of Michelle's nipples scraping against her skin, her smooth sex rubbing against her thigh, was too much. 

She was here in Dubai for a reason, and this was way beyond her brief. 

When she finally yanked her head away, Michelle's pouting lips were smeared with lipstick from both their mouths. It somehow created such a wonderfully wanton, slutty look. Jenn realised that her mouth would be the same and inexplicably found that another sudden surge of arousal hit her. Even though her face burned with embarrassment, she thought Michelle was going to kiss her again. Wanted her to...

But Isobel came to her rescue.

"Alright, I have everything I need," the photographer's voice came from the side of them.

This time it was panic that surged in Jenn's body. She hadn't realised that the Spanish woman had been clicking away during the whole encounter. If those photographs ever found a wider audience, she could kiss her career goodbye.

For a moment she couldn't speak. She just stared wide-eyed at photographer, then Michelle and then back again.

"You did great," Isobel reassured her, with a knowing smile. "And if I'm a representative sample, you've already got me wanting to buy the lipstick. Tony's going to be delighted with you."

*

Nikolay Volkov's mind worked in a cold, logical manner. He didn't have time for sentiment. Establish the facts. Consider all options. Then take the necessary action to eliminate the problem—immediately and ruthlessly. He'd trusted Tony Yamamura. Tony Yamamura had betrayed him. There was only one solution.

Once he'd returned to his office from his encounter at Sheikh Amir bin Khalid's palace—all three girls had been very good, but the blonde was exceptional—he'd reassessed every detail and arrived at the same conclusion. Tony Yamamura had to be eliminated, but in a way that couldn't be traced back to the Russian. 

That was why he was in the centre of Dubai now, taking the early evening open-top Big Bus tour. Boris was seated three rows behind him, keeping an eye on proceedings, just in case. 

At first glance, the man who had casually taken a seat next to Volkov seemed to have no connection with him. They were simply two tourists, coincidentally sharing the same bus tour. No-one would think anything else. No-one would realise that the few words they were about to exchange would be in Russian.

"I flew in immediately, as requested," the shaven-headed man said, his accent thick and strong. 

"I should hope so. I'm paying a fortune," Volkov said, his cold eyes appraising the assassin through his shades.

Not only did the large sunglasses offer protection against the still bright sunlight, they guarded his anonymity, too. 

"You're paying what I'm worth, Mr. Volkov," the assassin said through gritted teeth. "We both know that."

"Don't use my name," Volkov snapped irritably. "Not even when we speak in Russian. I'm not paying for stupid mistakes."

The assassin nonchalantly shrugged and glanced out of the window to his left. For a moment, neither man spoke, not until Volkov's anger subsided. 

He'd employed this man through a contact of a contact, who assured him that he met the specifications laid down. He had asked for someone expendable, who wouldn't be missed in the event of the job going wrong. He'd also asked for someone who wasn't blessed with the greatest intelligence. Vladimir Kazakov met both criteria. 

The shaven-headed man embodied all the qualities expected from someone who had worked for the Ukrainian mafia—single mindedness, the strength of a bull and a vicious determination to succeed. Those qualities were necessary if he was to take care of Tony Yamamura. 

That would be the last job he ever undertook.

Volkov had already manufactured evidence to suggest that Yamamura and Kazakov had met before. Not only met, they had unfinished business between them. A gambling debt. That information would be found at the scene of the crime, beside both bodies.

The plan was foolproof. Nikky Volkov would be nowhere near the scene when the killing occurred, he would make sure he had a cast-iron alibi, his contact with Kazakov was untraceable, and a motive would be left for the two deaths. Perfect!

"I want a down-payment now, comrade," Kazakov suddenly muttered, "and an extra twenty thousand once the job is completed."

"We have already agreed the terms," Volkov quietly said, glancing in the opposite direction. 

"I'm renegotiating," Kazakov said, turning to stare at the Russian. "You want Vladimir's services then you have to pay for them.

"Look the other way, for fuck's sake," Volkov snapped.

Any conversation between them couldn't be understood, but he hated taking even the slimmest chance of someone putting them together.

He paused for a moment to allow his temper to settle. Boris would be watching them closely and he didn't want his bodyguard thinking he had an issue. He didn't. Everything was under control.

He surreptitiously pulled a buff coloured envelope out of his pocket and slid it onto Kazakov's lap. The money inside was counterfeit, but the assassin wouldn't know that. And the extra twenty thousand was irrelevant. The numbskull wouldn't be around to collect it. 

"You strike a hard bargain," he lied, pulling his baseball cap down more tightly on his head. "But I want the contract carried out tomorrow at the time and place I specify. That's crucial."

Kazakov nodded gruffly. "Then you'd better give me the details, comrade."



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 04



Chapter 4 — WEDNESDAY — A problem solved

Nikolay Volkov was awake early. It was a habit he'd never been able to break. The Russian only needed four or five hours sleep to get by, although he'd hardly slept at all last night. His plan was set to go and everything had to fall in place like clockwork.

He'd driven himself to his office, calling Angela on the way. He'd needed some stimulation, and right now his personal secretary was well on her way to providing it. He placed one hand onto the back of her head, tightening it in her jet black hair as she mouth-fucked him. Damn, this woman was good. Every bit as good as any he'd ever had—with just a couple of exceptions.

Jade and Roxie were the crème de la crème.

He'd built his empire from a humble beginning into the multi million pound organisation it was today—remarkable for a business originally founded on prostitution. Since then, although sex remained as the cornerstone to his success, he'd learned that there were more lucrative ways to use his better-known girls. 

The party arranged for tomorrow night would see another couple of money-spinning contracts agreed—deals he had been working on for some time—and his supermodels would be used as incentives to finalise each of those complicated business deals.

But there was one important piece of business that needed taking care of before then. Maintaining his grip on Angela's hair, he picked up his phone with his other hand and hit speed dial. 

"Sergii," he said, when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. "You received my instructions?"

"I did."

"Everything is clear?"

"It is."

Volkov nodded contentedly to himself and reached across Angela's bobbing head. Dammit, if she kept sucking him like that, he'd cum soon. And he hadn't fucked her yet. He opened the small silver box, wetting his finger with his tongue before scooping up the white powder. He rubbed it across his lips before dragging his secretary's head upwards and smiling encouragingly into her fevered eyes.

"Open up," he softly told her, nudging her lips with the side of his finger. 

As her mouth obediently widened, he scooped up another finger-full of the white powder and rubbed it across her gums. It mixed with the saliva hanging from her hungry lips. Like the sexy bitch she was, she eagerly sucked on his finger like she had just done on his cock. 

One day, he'd fully initiate her into the delights of cocaine, but maybe not yet. One step at a time. Besides, he had something more important on his mind right now. The recent interests he'd established in Columbia had added narcotics into his business mix—and soon he would have the Middle East market, too. 

That's why it was so important to erase Tony Yamamura's threat.

"Vladimir Kazakov could be dangerous," he said, back into the phone. 

"You have nothing to worry about," the voice replied. "The plan is foolproof. Kazakov kills Yamamura. I kill Kazakov, and plant the evidence. I won't fail you."

Volkov nodded contentedly as he ended the call. Sergii hadn't let him down yet He never would.

With a throaty growl, he turned his attention back to his secretary. Angela was deep-throating him now and the bitch had him on the verge of blowing. Gripping her hair more tightly, he slowly tugged her head upwards so that he could look her directly in the eyes.

"Time to fuck," he simply said.

*

Jenn Finney checked the time on the illuminated bedside clock. Was it really that early? She hadn't slept at all, had she? Well, yes, she must have dozed off a few times. Her vivid dreams were testament to that. Dreams that had taken her to places she shouldn't have gone...

Part of her was embarrassed over what had happened during the shoot yesterday. She'd never even thought about being with another woman before, let alone kissed one. But then, Michelle Park had been persuasive. Very persuasive. 

Remarkably, the heated session had worked to her advantage. Her cover had held up and she'd successfully negotiated the photo shoot. Who would have thought that possible? The question was where she went from here, and the answer made her shiver with anticipation. 

What better way to move forward than to use her connection with Michelle Park?

Sandra Wilson had told her to get close to Nikky Volkov's operation, see how it fitted together. Now that she was accepted as the new girl on the modelling scene, who better than the Korean American model to give her the inside track on the way things worked? She'd won season two of Supermodel, after all. She was one of Volkov's top models. 

Okay, Jenn would have to be careful not to compromise herself. She was a cop, after all. Michelle was clearly bisexual and seemed attracted to her. What would happen if she wanted to take things further? But then, every girl had flirted with guys from time to time and kept them at arm's length, so why not with a woman? Nothing was going to happen between them and if she gained the information she wanted, the end justified the means, right? 

Her heart beat faster as her imagination began to take hold. There wasn't any denying that the kiss between them had been hot. What would it feel like to make love to another woman? She'd always wondered. With a teasing slowness, she fed her right down between her partly-open thighs and began to stroke herself... 

*

Tony Yamamura was brought out of his sleep by the lustful noises coming from the two hot and very naked women next to him. It felt like Michelle and Bree had been making love all night, in between their bouts with him. 

It was morning now and they were still going at one another?

He wasn't sure whether their desire was driven by pure sexual attraction or the need to establish control. Michelle could be abrasive at times. Whenever she perceived another woman as a threat, she turned into a sexual dervish that devoured everything infront of her. And yet so far, Bree Jensen had proven every bit her sexual equal. 

Pushing up on the bed, his eyes remained glued to the unfolding action beside him as he began to jerk his cock. Michelle was straddling the blonde now, holding her straight leg up across her shoulder as she rubbed their cunts together. Both women were grunting, panting and he felt like he was both watching and starring in his own porn movie.

It was just a shame that Jennifer Finney wasn't in the bed with them. Michelle had taken great delight in describing the way her teasing had led to their heated make-out session in the studio. That told him everything he needed to know about the brunette. He'd soon have her working for him—after he fucked her, of course. 

That delight wasn't far away and the mouth-watering thought made his cock grow even harder in his palm. Suddenly, it was all too much. What was he doing watching these two highly-charged women fucking one another when he could join in the action? 

Using both hands to push up onto all fours, he quickly moved between them and found Bree's warm lips with his own. But then Michelle was pulling his head away and curling an arm around his neck. She was competitive even over a kiss. 

Then all three pairs of lips were finding each other—wet, sticky and hot—exchanging saliva as their three tongues lapped together. 

When the women separated and pushed him onto his back, he decided to go with the flow. Why not let them control the action? Bree's hot lips found his again as Michelle climbed across his lap. With a possessive glance towards the blonde porn star beside her, his girlfriend teased him with her tight pussy before settling over his cock. He gasped out loud as she sank down on him. 

"Don't forget who'll always be number one," she rasped, glancing at Bree again before turning her attention back to her boyfriend. She licked his chin lewdly as she tightened her internal muscles around him. "Let's show this bitch how a real woman fucks." 

Yamamura almost laughed over the absurdity of her constant need to prove herself. But that was Michelle. His girlfriend would never change. And that need also made her the sexiest bitch on God's earth. When she stretched her frame, his half-laugh turned into a throaty growl. Hands clenched behind her head, she held her long black hair high on her scalp—posing for him, posing for Bree Jensen—as her athletic body began to gyrate on his like a stripper. 

Fuck! This was going to be a wonderful day...

*

Jack Palmer was sitting with Roxie at a corner table in the hotel's restaurant. They were refueling their batteries with a light breakfast after their early-morning lovemaking session. Even under normal circumstances, they couldn't keep their hands off one another. But they'd both been on heat since their threesome with Jade.

He smiled across the table at his beautiful girlfriend. Even at her most casual, with her black baseball cap pulled down over her long red locks, she couldn't have looked more stunning. 

Maybe that was why he'd finally told her about his conversation with Sandra Wilson? Despite his best intentions to keep the discussion to himself, for a while longer at least, she'd known something was on his mind. She always did. When she'd asked, he'd just come out with it. 

They'd spent the last hour talking about Wilson's suspicions, turning them inside out in an attempt to make sense of it. There was nothing concrete, but then Palmer hadn't had anything substantial on Dominic DeVere when the London Met had started their investigation into the late businessman. And look how that had turned out...

The look of concern in Roxie's eyes told him that she'd been reliving some of those moments as they'd talked. But even so, her sudden pronouncement took him completely by surprise.

"I'll see out the rest of the week here," she told him, pushing a loose strand of red hair behind her ear and then nodding her head as if reinforcing the conclusion she'd just come to. "Then I'll look for employment elsewhere."

For a brief moment, he just stared into those beautiful green eyes. He hated the modelling world. He wanted to keep her out of Volkov's sphere of control. But ... this was her lifeblood. If she was going to leave it behind there had to be more to the decision than just impulse. He didn't want her to have any subsequent regrets.

"Oh, don't think I'm giving up modelling forever," she chuckled, reading his mind in the way that only she could. "I don't think I could do that, Jack. But maybe I could freelance. There are always lots of possibilities there."

"Why, Roxie?" he simply asked.

She smiled reassuringly at him for a few seconds before answering. 

"I've no idea whether Sandra Wilson is right about what Nikky is up to," she softly said, reaching across the table to touch his cheek with the back of her fingers, "but that's irrelevant. A couple of things have happened recently which have made me reconsider what's best..."

Palmer's eyes narrowed as he waited for her to elaborate. She hadn't said anything about any concerns. Was it their encounter with Jade that was making her rethink?

"Such as?" he asked.

Roxie shook her head.

"They're not important, Jack. The thing is, after everything that happened with Dominic DeVere, I should never have signed with an agency again. Any agency. Men like Dominic and Nikky Volkov think they own the women who work for them, and to a large extent that's true. They hold their models careers in their hands, after all. But I never want to be in that position again."

Palmer nodded. He understood. Some of his girlfriend's scars from the DeVere case would never go away. When a server headed across towards them, asking if they wanted another coffee, he shook his head. They were coffee'd out. 

"It's decided," Roxie decisively continued, as the server moved onto the next table. "I'll see out this week's contract, Jack, but that's it. I'll tell Nikky of my decision and then make a few phone calls. But I was thinking. After you've made contact with this woman—Jennifer Finney, you said?—why don't I talk to her, too? If she's posing as a model, then maybe I can help her, too?" 

"Whoa," he firmly said, pushing back in his chair. He didn't want his girlfriend anywhere near this. "I don't want you involved, Roxie."

"Is that right?" she snapped back, although there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Look, Jack, if you're going to help out Sandra Wilson, then I'm going to help you. Besides, it's no big thing. I'll just see what I can do. Two heads are better than one in this situation, yes?" 

She laughed out loud when he pulled a face. They both knew there was no changing her mind once she was set on something. 

"Good..." she told him, removing her black baseball cap. 

She shook out her red hair. Even the way it bounced around her shoulders was sexy. 

"Now, why don't you take me back to our room?" she said, wiggling her eyebrows sexily. "By my reckoning, we have an hour to kill before I need to be out of here. Any ideas?"

*

The expression on Vladimir Kazakov's face had changed to a steely smile of anticipation. He lived for moments like this, especially as the target was Japanese. He fucking hated Asians as much as he hated Arabs. If he had his way, he'd rid the world of every one of them. 

Still, after this killing there'd be one less to worry about. 

Afterwards, he'd find one of the whores frequenting the hotel and sate his needs before it was time to catch his return flight to the Ukraine.

He hadn't expected Volkov to give in to his demands for more money so easily. That annoyed him. Maybe he should have asked for more? When it came down to it, big-time or not, every single one of the people he'd ever worked for had been scared of Vladimir Kazakov. Why? Because his reputation preceded him, that's why. They all knew what he was capable of. That meant he always had the upper hand.

This contract was clearly important to Volkov, so there had to be a way of squeezing more money out of the deal. He'd done it before, to a couple of minor league Ukrainians who'd thought they were better than him. The bastards had soon found out otherwise.

No-one fucked around with Vladimir Kazakov...

The five-star Jumeirah Zabeel Saray was a luxurious beachside hotel and he'd spent the morning checking it out, working out who did what, where and when. It hadn't been difficult. The people who worked here were so fucking stupid. They were so deferential to guests it almost made him puke. 

He'd discovered that Yamamura's room was at the far end of the twentieth floor, conveniently opposite a room that had become vacant that morning. The Gods were smiling on him. He'd waited until one of the hotel staff had entered to clean the vacated room and then followed him inside. It had been like stepping into a luxurious palace. This was how these people lived? 

It made him hate them even more.

The hotel cleaner was in the bathroom now, a bullet in his brain. That hadn't been strictly necessary, but why not? It relived some of Kazakov's anger. 

His uniform didn't quite fit the Ukrainian assassin, but it would do. Once he'd changed clothes, he'd taken his usual pill. It always raised his senses to the level he needed for moments like this. 

It made him feel like a God. He was a fucking God. He was the one who decided who lived and who died.

There were two women with Yamamura in his room. That hadn't been difficult to establish. He'd bribed a chambermaid earlier. Another fucking Arab. 

If Yamamura exited with the women, he'd have to take them all out. There was no other choice. Yet in some ways, that would have been more satisfactory. It would prove to Volkov that Vladimir Kazakov was the one who made the decisions here. 

So he'd been pissed again when he'd observed the two women leaving together. Especially as the speed was kicking in and his nerve ends were jangling with excitement. 

He had surreptitiously watched them make their way along the corridor towards the lift. They were both attractive, even the Asian whore. Maybe he should have walked in on the three of them, blown the Japanese bastard's brains out, and then taken turns fucking her and the blonde before disposing of them in the same way? 

It was too late for that now.

All that mattered at this point was to take care of his target and then figure a way to put a squeeze on Volkov.

*

Tony Yamamura glanced at the clock. It was almost midday, not that he really cared. He was exhausted. Even for someone who prided himself on his fitness, he was aching in places he didn't know he had. Had he ever been with two such demanding lovers?

But it wasn't his physical condition that was on his mind right now. It was the telephone conversation he was having with one of his contacts back in England. He'd just taken a shower and had started to shave when the call had come through. He nearly hadn't answered it. And now he was being told things that jeopardized all his plans.

"You've got to be mistaken," he snapped, trying to maintain his cool. "Are you sure?"

"There's no mistake." 

Even over the telephone line, the embarrassment was clear in his contact's tone. Yamamura paid his people well for the jobs he asked them to do. How could they have fucked it up at this stage, especially with everything slotting into place. The timing couldn't be any worse. 

He wanted to shout down the line, express his anger, but recriminations wouldn't help right now. There'd be plenty of time for those later. Until he sorted out this mess, he needed a clear head.

"Tell me again," he rasped, holding the phone in the crook of his neck as he re-tied the white towel around his slim waist.

"The London Met's Vice team are investigating Nikky Volkov's activities in England," the voice told him. "It's being kept hush-hush for now and—"

"Has my name been mentioned?"

"Not to my knowledge. Currently all they have is their suspicions about Volkov. But who knows what they'll come up with?"

Yamamura pursed his lips. His initial reaction was that the news was disastrous, but he was rapidly rethinking. Perhaps there could be a way of turning this to his advantage?

"And you say they've put someone in undercover?" 

"That's right," the voice confirmed. "I don't have a name yet, but all the indications are that it's a woman. I'm working on it."

"Find out," Yamamura said. "Call me back as soon as you do. There's a lot riding on the outcome of this week. I can't afford any slip ups." 

"Will do."

He tapped his lips in thought as he ended the call. Despite his request, the answer was staring him in the face. 

Jennifer Finney. 

It had to be. And if he was right, this could prove a blessing. For as long as she remained unaware she'd been rumbled, he and Michelle could use her position to their advantage. By feeding her incriminating information on Nikky Volkov, he could undermine the Russian. That would leave Yamamura to establish himself in Volkov's place. 

What could go wrong?

*

Nikolay Volkov gazed happily around the ostentatious room. It was his second visit to Sheikh Amir bin Khalid's luxurious private residence in successive days. Yesterday had been necessary to rescue the contract he had previously agreed with the Sheikh. Today was the alibi he needed as the contract on Yamamura's head was delivered.

The room was familiar, with its sumptuous, luxurious pillows, sofas and the pool in front of them. But this time there were several pipes, one each for the four occupants. The combined effect of the opium Volkov had already consumed, along with the sitar music that filtered through the arabesque-etched columns and arches above them, added to the decadent feeling pervading the atmosphere. 

There were two women in the room with Volkov and the Sheikh. One was blonde and the other was ebony skinned. Both were beautiful. The Russian had fucked Ayesha in this very room yesterday and he was looking forward to a repeat encounter.




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 04



His eyelids rolled back as he sucked another slow drag off his opium pipe. He could feel the effect as he released the smoke from his lungs and let his eyes flutter shut for a moment as the hedonistic rush went straight to his brain. When he turned his attention to the African woman, Jade was smiling contentedly back at him.

Her sculpted black body seemed to glisten with oil, like she was stepping from the set of one of Volkov's photo shoots. Such raw, carnal beauty...

She had made herself comfortable on the large sofa next to Ayesha, knowing that they were required to provide a spectacle before the main course. They were already naked, of course. Her voluptuous black body provided a wonderful contrast to Ayesha's alabaster white. 

As he watched, she turned to the blonde and gently pulled her in to a long, wet kiss. It was like they were all alone. No watchers. Just the two of them. Their hands gently caressed across each other's curves as one kiss turned into another, before Jade eventually glanced at Volkov again. She gave him her signature smile. 

One that asked, "Is this what you wanted?"

It was a rhetorical question. The African supermodel turned her gaze on the young Sheikh as she spread her legs before her soon-to-be blonde lover. Ayesha licked her lips as she watched the movement, and they parted in a silent gasp as Jade ran her fingernails over her smooth mound. When she spread her labia with her index and middle finger, Volkov felt his cock lengthen in his tailored trousers.

"Come feed..." she huskily told the blonde.

Ayesha sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she shivered with excitement. She glanced quickly towards the two watching men and then turned her attention back to the offering infront of her. Leaning forward like a hungry animal in the wild, her tight ass high and head low, she dipped her face right into Jade's pussy, pausing to admire before running her tongue along the woman's glistening folds.

"Yes, my dears," the Sheikh muttered.

His cock was tenting his white robes. He took a hefty drag from his pipe before loosening the garments with his free hand, pulling them away and releasing his thick manhood to his fingers.

Jade spread her fingers contentedly through Ayesha's thick hair, as the blonde's tongue attended to her. When she sank back onto her elbows, Volkov smiled to himself. Not only was this the perfect alibi, but it was pure beauty. Just like the recording of the coupling between Jade and Roxanne that he'd masturbated to only the other night.

The time wasn't far away when he would be fucking the red-haired beauty himself. Afterwards, he would send Palmer a tape of the encounter. That would end his and Roxie's relationship for ever.

*

Time for action. Vladimir Kazakov lived for these moments. 

He'd cleaned everything in the room with one of the crumpled towels he'd taken from the bathroom. No point in leaving fingerprints. That was for fucking amateurs. Slipping his sunglasses back down over his cruel eyes, he checked his appearance in the mirror next to the door. The reflection grinning back at him had the look of a man who believed he could do anything.

Quietly checking up and down the empty corridor, he exited the room and placed the 'do not disturb' sign on the protruding handle. The employee's body wouldn't be discovered until much later in the day. Kazakov would be on a plane to the Ukraine by that time. 

He made his way towards the lifts at the opposite end of the corridor, casually but constantly looking around him with each nonchalant step. Gazing upwards, he checked the floor numbers on the yellow illuminated screen. Both lifts were on the ground floor. Good news. He wasn't going to be immediately disturbed. 

Pulling his Makarov from his jacket pocket, he held the gun upwards as he fixed the silencer onto the barrel. This time there was nothing casual in his gait as he retraced his steps towards Yamamura's room. It was full of purpose.

The room door that unexpectedly opened to his left took the assassin by surprise. What the fuck! For a couple of seconds, he met the gaze of the newcomer. The elderly man smiled at him and gave a courteous nod of his head. Until he saw the gun, that was. 

Then his expression changed to one of shock.

Kazakov didn't give him time to think. Raising the Makarov in the blink of an eye, he brought it down on the side of the man's neck before he could react. The blow sent his body crumpling to the floor, his torso inside the room but his legs in the corridor. 

Kazakov instantly stepped past him, gun raised, ready to put an end to whatever threat was waiting for him. He gave a soft sigh of relief when he saw the room was empty. Within seconds, he had the unconscious body pulled back inside. The guy had seen him and could identify him. That gave him no option, but first things first...

He'd take care of his primary target and work back from there.

*

Ayesha was gripping Jade's head, cradling her cheeks in her palms as she bucked her white hips upwards. She was cumming. And cumming hard.

The African model continued to lap at her until the after effects of the orgasm began to settle, and then grinned across at the two masturbating men as she entwined her legs with Ayesha's in a scissor position. She clearly wasn't finished with the blonde.

When she reclined backwards to give her greater purchase to work their bodies together, sex on sex, Nikky Volkov felt his head become lighter than air. The high-grade opium had already hit him hard, but nothing like the earth-shattering sight of Jade putting on a show. 

This woman was simply irresistible.

Soon, her glistening black body was twisting, writhing and humping against the blonde's alabaster white skin, leaving Ayesha nowhere to go other than to submit to yet another climax. One that was preparing to sweep through her like an unstoppable wave in the ocean... 

She began to grind back, reaching for Jade's curvy hips to increase the friction as the feeling began to consume her. At the last moment, she tossed her long, blonde hair and gnawed on her lower lip, in an unsuccessful attempt to prolong the bliss. But her African lover's gyrating body was too much for her. 

When the climax hit her, she screamed like a banshee.

Instantly, Jade's triumphant gaze turned towards Sheikh Amir bin Khalid, as if seeking his approval. The way his hand was jerking up and down his impressive length was all the confirmation she needed. 

Pushing her perspiring body off the sofa and onto the floor, she began to crawl across towards him on all fours. She looked like a predatory animal seeking her prey, except that this one had full breasts like two pieces of ripe fruit that swayed erotically underneath her as she edged closer.

When she reached the Sheikh, she pulled his hand away from his cock and licked her tongue up and down its full length.

"That's impressive," she mouthed upwards. "Want me to take care of it?"

*

Returning outside to the corridor, the silence was just as it should be. It was just as well. Anyone who got in Vladimir Kazakov's way now would also end up as a corpse. His eyes flicked both ways as he crossed the short distance towards Yamamura's door. Holding the gun in his right hand, he knocked twice. Sharply.

"Room service."

The door opened within a few seconds. The guy standing there, with a white towel around his waist and shaving cream covering his chin, had a surprised look on his face. 

"I didn't order room—" he began to dismissively snap, only to stop in his tracks as he saw the semi automatic pistol in Kazakov's hand.

"You didn't?" the assassin muttered, pushing the end of the barrel against Yamamura's forehead. "My mistake."

The startled Japanese man whimpered in fright. 

"I don't keep money here..." 

"Let's discuss that inside the room," Kazakov rasped.

He couldn't afford to be disturbed again. Placing his free hand on Yamamura's shoulder, he twisted him in the other direction and pushed him twice until they were in the centre of the room. 

"I have no valuables here..." Yamamura began again, as the assassin placed the gun against the back of his head.

Kazakov ignored the plea. "Kneel down, and do it now."

"But—"

The rabbit punch the Ukrainian gave into the small of Yamamura's back shut him up and sent him to his knees. 

"You talk too much," he snapped, giving his target a stinging blow to the ear with the side of the barrel. 

The blow split his skin open, drawing blood that spurted from the wound and ran down Yamamura's neck. 

"You think I'm here to rob you?" he rasped, leaning down on one knee.

He placed the barrel of the gun against the side of the Japanese man's head. Part of him wanted to prolong the agony, but he was concerned that he could be running out of time.

"I'm here on other business," he snarled. "Look at me."

He wanted to see the look in Yamamura's eyes when he shot him, but the terrified man was bending forward now, trying to stem the flow of blood from his neck. 

"If you're wondering," he drawled, smacking the whimpering bastard with the side of his barrel again. "It was Nikolay Volkov who sent me. I just thought you'd want to know." 

He pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet was sufficient to kill Tony Yamamura. The second was just for kicks. That familiar surge of invincibility flowed through the Ukrainian's veins as he stared happily at the corpse.

"My name," he said proudly to himself, "is Vladimir Kazakov. I'm the best in the business."

"The best in the business doesn't leave the room door open behind him," came an unexpected voice from behind Kazakov.

He froze. The voice was little more than a whisper, almost mechanical in tone, as chilling as the cold metal that pressed into the back of his skull.

"Let's understand one another," the voice continued, pressing the gun barrel more firmly. "If you as much as blink without my permission, I will kill you instantly."

Kazakov nodded. 

"Good," the voice said. "As one professional to the other, I will do you the courtesy of explaining what is about to happen. Yes?"

Kazakov nodded again. Very slowly and very deliberately, this time.

Sergii watched him closely, ready to pull the trigger at the slightest indication of defiance. He knew that Kazakov was trying to work out how he could gain the upper hand. He was wasting his time.

"I think I prefer you on both knees, please," he went on, strutting around Kazakov's half-kneeling body so that he could face him. "That's better. The problem is that you've outlived your usefulness, Vladimir. Mr. Volkov has just been using you all along."

A scowl appeared on Kazakov's face at the mention of Volkov's name. That was understandable. Sergii nodded for emphasis. 

"What we have here is a stand-off," he continued, his face impassive as he delivered the news. "When the police arrive later this afternoon, they'll find both your bodies. One gun in your hand and the other in Yamamura's. It will look like you've simultaneously shot one another."

Kazakov's scowl turned into a frown as he tried to take it all in. In some ways, Sergii felt sorry for him. They were two of a kind, after all. But business was business. This man would have no compunction in doing the same to him if the boot was on the other foot.

"After I shoot you," he explained, nodding across at Yamamura, "I'll position your and his body to give that exact impression. Two people pulling the trigger at the same time."

"Why?" Kazakov growled, speaking at last.

He kept his head bowed slightly, but his gaze was staring upwards. Those dark eyes were full of hate.

"Because Nikolay Volkov wants it so," Sergii said. "And he's paying me good money, not counterfeited like yours."

He paused as Kazakov's scowl returned. 

"You didn't know?" he asked. "Tut-tut, Vladimir, that's really basic stuff. Still, it's all an irrelevance in the circumstances. The story will be that Yamamura and you are enemies caught up in a gambling conflict. Mr. Volkov has given me some gambling slips, forged documents, IOU's, each to be placed in specific locations around the room. The story has to be believable. Yes? And it will be."

He could see from the desperate expression on Kazakov's face that he was going to make some sort of move. He would have done the same. No matter. This would all be over on a few more seconds. He raised his gun and placed it against the Kazakov's forehead.

"Time to say goodbye..."

*

Nikky Volkov watched contentedly as the young Sheikh spread his arms out either side of him and groaned out loud. 

Jade was pumping her head on his enormous cock, using the back of her throat to massage the soft, fleshy head. He understood exactly what his host was experiencing. But this was only the apéritif. 

His grin widened as she twisted her fabulous body, rising up onto her knees as she let the cock slid from her mouth. But her fingers remained firmly wrapped around the root. It was covered with her saliva and the way she stroked it with both hands as she admired the glistening flesh was almost poetic.

Glancing downwards into Ayesha's smiling eyes, Volkov pointed at his own cock. It rose from between his thighs like a mini tower. 

The blonde had been sitting between his thighs, as if waiting for permission to join in the action. Licking her incredibly full pink lips, she pushed his hardness to the left, dipping her head and running her tongue around the base before lapping at the shaved skin. Her gaze didn't leave his as she took him into her mouth and he stroked her silken locks in encouragement.

He gave a throaty purr as she began to please him. She'd learned enough about what he liked from their encounter yesterday. 

For a while, both men smiled at one another as their women worked on each of them. Both had their own techniques. Both were specialists in their own rights. And both were eager to please. And there was all the time in the world to enjoy the fruits of their labour.

Eventually, it was Jade who broke the spell. Dragging her full breasts up the young Sheikh's body, she straddled his lap and curled her fingers in his hair. She wanted to fuck.

Volkov twisted his fingers in Ayesha's blonde hair, dragging her head upwards before roughly flipping her over onto her stomach. If it was time for the Sheikh, it was time for him...

Ayesha widened her legs to accommodate him as he half-crouched and half-kneeled behind her. His hands settled on her hips as her labial lips part around his head, and then he was slowly pushing his hardness all the way inside her. Remarkably, she seemed to be cumming even before he was fully buried. The sexy bitch...

Gripping her blonde hair again, he yanked her head back as he began to fuck her. To really fuck her. Establishing his control. As alibis went, this had to be one of the very best.



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 05



Chapter 5 — THURSDAY — The Aftermath

Jack Palmer emerged from the hotel into the bright sunlight and adjusted his sunglasses as he glanced around. To the casual observer, he was a hotel guest looking for his wife as she relaxed by the pool. 

But there was more to it than that. 

Jennifer Finney had phoned him early that morning, in a state of shock. The news of Tony Yamamura's death was just emerging. After a brief discussion, he'd suggested she move hotels. Sandra Wilson would have to foot the bill, but having her stay at the same seven stars Burj Al Arab hotel as Roxanne and him made sense.

As agreed, she'd telephoned him again as soon as she'd arrived and settled in her room. They'd arranged their first meeting in the pool area outside and he'd sent Roxie down first. That way, it would look like they were two women who had casually bumped into one another by the pool. 

Glancing around the sumptuous pool area, he saw that they were already laughing and chatting together. 

At first sight, he immediately understood why Sandra had chosen this woman for the assignment. Jennifer Finney was a knockout. Her cream coloured designer bikini, with its delicate gold lace-work on the straps, contained a body every bit the equal of any model he'd seen here. She was beautiful, too, with jet black hair and full, pouting lips. 

It reminded him, not for the first time, of the different world he'd entered out here. Full of beautiful women everywhere he looked.

She glanced at him through her pair of ridiculously oversized Gucci glasses as he approached. Palmer couldn't help but smile to himself. Maybe that was trying too hard to look the part? 

"Hi," he said to Roxie, as he came up behind his girlfriend.

Like Jenn Finney, she was half-sitting up on her lounger. Her tiny checked bikini left nothing to the imagination and he felt an instant reaction as he looked down the perfect landscape of her body. When he lovingly rubbed her bare shoulders, her skin was burning to the touch under the midday sun.

"Hi, darling," she casually replied, turning her head to smile at him. "This is Jenn. She's staying here, too."

Palmer made a show of shaking Jennifer Finney's hand, but couldn't stop his eyes from finding her cleavage when she leant forward. That string bikini top barely contained her large breasts. 

He took the spare lounger next to the two women, the pretence over. They could speak freely now. There wasn't anyone else within hearing distance of them, but even so he kept his voice low. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Her large brown eyes were wide as she lifted her sunglasses. Without them, she looked even more stunning. Her large brown eyes were searching as she tilted her head to look at him. She'd been hyper on the telephone earlier but she looked calmer now. 

"Better, thanks," she softly said. Her voice was even, although he could detect a hidden tremor there. "I feel happier now that we've made contact, Jack. Thanks for helping me out."

Palmer nodded. Her words had tumbled out one after another when they'd spoken on the phone, as if she couldn't get them out fast enough. Now they were calm and measured.

"Everything was such a shock when I heard the news," she continued, twisting in the lounger and shielding her eyes before dropping her shades back over them. "Tony Yamamura was my contact. I talked to him yesterday and now he's dead. I can't believe it."

"What do you know about the killing?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Hardly anything. I don't know anyone else here, apart from Michelle and Isobel. I've yet to meet Nikolay Volkov. More than anything, I'm unsure where to go from here."

Palmer nodded and scratched the back of his neck. "You've spoken to Sandra Wilson?"

"Yes. She suggested that I should wait until more details of the killing emerged, try and work out exactly what happened. Take it from there. But she said I should talk to you, first. Get your take on it."

Roxanne sent her boyfriend a wry smile. Even though his career at the London Met had ended so dramatically, they were still relying on him for help. 

"How exactly did you find out about Yamamura's death?" he probed.

"I was supposed to be meeting up with Michelle this morning but she telephoned to cancel. She sounded like she was pretty shaken up. I know from the photoshoot that she and Tony were very close."

"Michelle?" Jack asked, glancing at Roxie.

"Michelle Park," she softly answered, pulling a face. 

The reaction was unlike her. Roxanne was rarely judgmental. 

"She's one of Nikky's models," she explained. "She won season two of Supermodel. Some of the other girls say it's gone to her head."

"She was very friendly to me..." Jenn cut in, feeling a faint blush tinge her cheeks at the confession. 

For a moment, she thought about adding something but decided to leave it at that. She didn't want to advertise what had happened at the studio.

"We did the shoot together," she tailed off.

"You've done a shoot?" Palmer asked, raising an eyebrow.

"For Clinique," Roxanne interrupted, with a beaming smile. "I spoke to Izzy, the photographer. She spoke very highly of you, Jenn."

"She did?"

Jenn shivered, thinking of the kiss. Had Isobel mentioned that small detail? Fortunately, there was nothing in the way the redhead was looking at her that suggested she was any the wiser. 

"She thinks you have it all," Roxie confirmed, her green eyes sparkling enthusiastically. "And believe me, Izzy is a great judge. If you ever decide on giving up your career in the Met, fame awaits..."

The two women laughed out loud together, but then Palmer was talking again and he was all business.

"If the shoot was that successful, Volkov isn't going to pass up on the chance of adding a new model to his stable," he said. "Someone will get in touch with you, and soon."

He tapped his fingers on his teeth as he thought.

"Look, Jenn," he went on, leaning forward on one arm. "If you ask me, Sandra Wilson's plan was flawed from the start. You can't play around with men like Volkov. He's far too dangerous for that. And Yamamura's death has added an extra element of risk." 

"But..." Jenn protested. 

A whirlwind of emotion filled her head. Disappointment, hurt, bemusement, flabbergast. All of it at once. It had all been going so well until she'd spoken to Michelle this morning.

"It's true," Roxie interrupted, reaching across to take her hand. "It's not a reflection on you, Jenn, believe me. I've dealt with men like Nikolay Volkov in the past and they'll stop at nothing to get what they want. That's why I've changed my mind about signing the contract he's offered me. My advice is not to go anywhere near him."

Jenn didn't respond. She just sat there, looking shell-shocked. She'd been full of self-belief when she'd volunteered for the assignment. She was finally getting her teeth into something meaningful and this case was going to enhance her career. Now she was being told that she'd completely wasted her time coming to Dubai. 

"I'm just giving it to you as I see it," Palmer said, backing off slightly. 

It might have been tough for her to hear, but he wouldn't be doing her any favours by pulling any punches. Still, he hated to be the cause of that crestfallen expression on her face.

"But this is your case, Jenn," he conceded. "All I can do is offer advice. Just think about it. Then we can decide on where you want to take it."

*

Michelle Park had spent part trying to come to terms with the news. Tony was dead! It was shocking. She'd even shed a few tears. Almost. But she had learnt a long time ago that emotions were a luxury she couldn't afford. 

In some ways, she was going to miss him. He had a good sense of humour, despite his serious side, and he had aspirations. She loved men with aspirations. He had contacts, too. Once she had come to her senses, she had telephoned them, one by one, to see whether any of them could shed any light on what had happened. 

No-one could.

She might not be the sharpest tool in the box, but that didn't make sense, even to her. Someone had to have knowledge of her dead boyfriend's gambling debts, didn't they? 

Or had the brainless bastard been as proficient at hiding his addiction from them as he had with her? Fuck! She'd worked so hard with him to set everything up the way they had and now, because of his mindless stupidity, it was all going to be snatched away from her. 

But ... she was nothing if not practical. 

Any thoughts of usurping Nikolay Volkov had vanished into thin air and Bree Jensen was already on a flight back to Vegas. 

Her task now was to ingratiate herself with the Russian, make herself indispensable to him. She'd done it with other guys—Tony Garza and his father, Leo—so why not Volkov? Then she'd work out a way to turn things to her advantage again. 

And her back-up plan was on the coffee table infront of her. She had pulled together every single document that she and Tony had prepared over the past twelve months. Some contained details of their plans, and those would have to be destroyed for fear of falling into the wrong hands. That was okay.

But others, especially the dossier they'd built on Volkov's illegal activities, would come in useful if things got sticky in the future. Thank God that Tony had insisted they keep their relationship secret, but if the Russian ever did get wind that she and her dead boyfriend had been plotting against him, he'd want revenge. 

That scared the shit out of her. 

*

"You asked my opinion," Palmer remarked down the phone line. "So now you have it." 

Despite his calmness, his exasperation was evident in every word. Maybe he shouldn't have made the call to Sandra Wilson? Roxie had advised him against it. She thought it was unfair on Jenn. But it was the young brunette he was trying to protect. The more he'd thought about what Wilson was doing, the bigger a crock of shit it became. 

He had no reason to doubt Jennifer Finney's qualities as a cop, but even an experienced professional wouldn't have been able to pull off what Wilson expected. Volkov was dangerous. What the fuck had she been thinking in letting loose a relative rookie on such an assignment?

"There's nothing to be gained by having her here, Sandra," he repeated, for the third time during their lengthy conversation. They must have been talking for over an hour so far.

"I understand everything you're telling me, Jack," Wilson softly replied. 

Her voice had an air of resignation to it and he understood why. She wanted to nail Volkov in the same way that he had Dominic DeVere. But he was an experienced cop and he'd had Wilson's back-up with that investigation. Jennifer Finney was out here on her own. If the manipulative Russian got his claws into her, he wasn't sure she'd be able to cope. 

"So?" Palmer replied, trying to contain his frustration by leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other.

"So, I'll bring Jenn home in the next day or two. But ... in the meantime, I have one more favour to ask."

Palmer couldn't help but grin to himself. That was typical Sandra, always wanting just a little more. 

"I'd like the three of you to attend the party that Volkov's throwing tonight. Pick up anything you can, but more to see who else is there. Whether there's anyone we recognise, something that might give us a clue as to what he's up to next."

Palmer sighed. Was she really that desperate?

"That's a long shot, Sandra."

"I know, I know. But I badly need a break. And, well, there's something else..."

He felt his heart begin to beat faster. There was more? If there was something more concrete that would help them take things forward, why had it taken her this long to raise it? And yet, even before she said it, he somehow knew what she was about to divulge.

"Yamamura's death," he simply said.

It was clear from the soft exhalation of breath down the line that he'd hit the nail on the head.

"How did you know, Jack?"

"Instinct. Tell me what you have."

"It's more what I don't have. The story is that Yamamura had a gambling addiction and he and the other guy he killed had crossed swords before. Yamamura owed him money, and he'd gone after it."

"So?"

"I can't find a single shred of evidence that Tony Yamamura has ever been involved in gambling, let alone run up big debts. Nor can I find any connection between him and this other guy ... er, Vladimir Kazakov is his name. In fact, I have so little on Kazakov it's as if he didn't exist. All of which makes me wonder..."

"Some kind of set-up?"

"Possibly, Jack."

He paused to consider the implications, before thoughtfully continuing.

"Yamamura worked for Volkov, I know that much. So what we're speculating is that maybe they had a fall-out? If Volkov wanted to get rid of him for any reason, this would be the perfect way."

"My thoughts exactly," Wilson agreed. "I have a contact inside the Dubai police, don't ask how. He's based at their Al Rashidiya station, but has managed to get himself involved in the case. He'll get an unauthorised copy of the official report on the killings to me tomorrow. If that leads us down a blind alley, and you guys draw a blank at the party tonight, we'll call it a day."

Palmer nodded to himself. Another day wouldn't make any difference as far as Jenn Finney was concerned, and it would give him more time to think things through. Not that it would change the outcome. It would take months of painstaking surveillance to get anything of substance on Volkov. Out here, that was an impossible task. Dubai was a different environment, a different culture and different rules.

"Okay, Sandra" he agreed, "we'll speak again tomorrow."

As he ended the call, Roxie entered the room from the bathroom. She'd taken a hot bubble bath while he was speaking to Wilson, but had followed his side of the conversation through the open door. 

Dressed only in a fluffy white towel, she looked amazing. Was he the luckiest man ever? She brushed her fingers through her damp red locks as she smiled in his direction and it was clear to see what was on her mind from the way her green eyes sparkled at him. 

Walking towards him, almost in slow motion, her gaze stayed locked on his as she slid between his knees. She smelled like fresh scented flowers and he could feel his stomach begin to roil with desire.

"Sandra gave you plenty to think about?" she asked, those beautiful eyes staring up at him as her hands floated to his trousers.

He nodded. "Sorta, although I'm not sure any of it will take us much further forward. The thing is—" 

The finger she put to his lip shushed him. Then her hands were working on his belt, unbuckling the clasp before drawing the zipper down. His thick girth rose majestically as she teased it from his boxers. 

"There'll be plenty of time to tell me later," she teased, stroking him with both hands. "Right now, it feels like this beautiful thing needs a good home..."

With that, she slowly pushed up to her feet and took a step back. When she reached for the knot of the towel behind her and dropped to her feet, his breath caught. Was there a more beautiful woman in the world than his girlfriend? If so, he'd yet to meet her. 

"I take it you approve?" she teased, as her long fingers searched lazily for her navel, slowly, lightly, brushing around it.

Her other hand slid upwards to cup her right breast. Her skin was soft and her caramel nipples stood out like knobs on an old fashioned radio. She twisted one with her fingers, while her left hand slithered downwards between her legs, stroking her smooth sex.

"I've been thinking about this for the last hour," she breathed, taking a delicate step forward and climbing across his body.

They both grunted out loud as she sank down on his manhood. His aroused stare was that of a hypnotised man as she tightened her muscles around him, trapping him, holding him there, her willing prisoner in a maelstrom of eroticism.

"Sit back, fasten your seat belt and let me do the work," she continued, kissing around his neck as she slowly began to gyrate. "This is going to be a long, comfortable, ride..."

*

As Michelle Park soaped her body beneath the hot spray of her shower, a wicked voice inside her whispered, "You can do this. You can turn this to your advantage. With your talents, you can have Nikky Volkov eating out of your hand. Men can be so predictable where sex is concerned. Even someone as influential as the Russian..." 

It was an impish thing, that voice. It had been with her since childhood. It was with her when she first learned to masturbate, and then later when she'd had her first cigarette, her first taste of alcohol, her first joint, her first fuck. It was the naughty voice that had long ago subsumed the good girl in her. Good girls were losers!

She and Volkov had met before. He couldn't have forgotten that, could he? Like all his other models, she'd sucked him off as part of her initiation. She remembered it only too well. She'd never felt a man flex his will upon her so strongly. And yet, when she was on her knees before him, his rigid cock glistening wet with her saliva as it slid in and out of her mouth, she remembered thinking that he was at her mercy. 

As powerful as he was, it was her mouth that he was getting off on.

As the recollection brightened in her mind, the soapy scruff from her luffah sent little electric jolts through her as she passed it over her nipples. They tightened into little points. She set it down, switching to her hands to spread the liquid soap across her curves. 

In her mind, she could remember how his bright blue eyes had drunk her up as he loomed over her. So possessive. So dominant. That made her sigh with pleasure, and the little voice inside her whispered, "just keep your head, and everything will work out just fine." 

As if in celebration, her right hand crept along her flat stomach, down into the juncture between her legs. She brushed her fingers across her swollen clit, which had already emerged from her hooded sex. She had full, puffy labia that remained tight-lipped, even when her clit was fully engorged. She liked the clean lines of her pussy and had been shaving herself bare even before it had become all the rage in fashion.

It was only a couple of days ago that Tony had mentioned the photoshoot and Volkov had responded by asking to meet her. They'd known why. He wanted to fuck her, that's why. And tonight, at the party, he was going to get his chance.

That thought sent her arousal even higher. Resting her slender back against the cool tile wall, she yanked the showerhead from its perch and directed the hard spray directly across her cunt. A moan eased from her lips, and for once her mind was blissfully empty but for the sensations of the pulsing nozzle and her playful fingers. That was the way it had always been. When she was with a man or woman, she thought of them. When she was with herself, she thought of nothing.

Her climax arrived almost instantaneously. Had she been that worked up? Her back arched back away from the wall as she came, rolling her head back along the wet tiles as she thought about the dirty things she would be doing after tonight's party with the Russian fashion guru.

As she made her way back into the bedroom, she could hear the unmistakeable sound of her second mobile phone ringing. That was strange. Not many people knew that particular number...

*

Nikolay Volkov loved life. He loved his models. He loved the way they looked in and out of clothes. He loved the way their skin could feel so smooth it was like running your fingers across silk. He loved the way they made money for him, either carrying out their 'official' modelling duties or providing the 'additional services' to an influential client in return for business favours. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 05



Most of all, he loved fucking them.

But right now, it wasn't one of his models attracting his attention. It was Angela, his oversexed personal secretary. The sophisticated woman had a body to die for, even if she wasn't blessed with the greatest intelligence. And he had just spent the last couple of hours devouring it. 

Now, she was getting ready for the party. Her jet black hair moved gently on her shoulders as she dressed herself in the classic lingerie. He didn't need to touch it to know the black lace was soft and expensive. And watching her roll the nude-coloured stockings along her shapely legs brought a stiffness to his cock that should have been resting after their tempestuous afternoon of sex.

She clipped the stockings into her suspender belt, turning her taut ass towards him as she set her foot upon a chair. Was she teasing him again? The matching thong scooped between her legs, sheer enough that he could make out the padded contours of her vulva.

She hadn't yet fastened the gossamer bra, letting her large breasts hang free beneath her like ripe fruit ready for picking. And she was smiling at him over her shoulder as she watched his reaction.

"I think we have something on our mind," she provocatively teased him. 

Volkov smiled. He loved hearing that upper class accent but, more especially, he loved hearing it during their sex, when she was begging him to fuck her harder. 

When she straightened, he could see that her large nipples were hard. She was excited again. Her full lips were perfect for dick-sucking. Not to mention how well she could use her pendulous tits to get him off. But time was short and the questions in his head needed resolving before tonight's party.

"You're insatiable," he said, in his barely-there Russian accent.

"For you," she responded, fixing her lacy bra beneath her pendulous breasts. 

He shot her another smile before turning away from her and flipping his phone open. He'd taken care of Tony Yamamura. Sergii had subsequently eliminated Vladimir Kazakov. But now he had two other targets. Not that either would require the same extreme measures. His method of dealing with these two thorns would be more subtle.

The first was Michelle Park. She had been Yamamura's girlfriend, and they'd kept that secret. From him, from others. What did that mean? It could be innocent enough. Or...

Or she could have been involved in Yamamura's plan to usurp him. Unlikely, but possible. Either way, he intended to find out. Then he'd decide exactly how he was going to deal with her. Before then, she would help him help resolve his second problem. The stills from the Clinique photo shoot had given him the idea. That kiss. 

Jennifer Finney was a cop in the London Met. Yamamura had been so stupid he hadn't even done his background checks correctly. As a result she was here in Dubai, within touching distance of him. That meant the threat had to be removed. Eliminating her could bring more issues than it resolved, so he would go with the alternative.

Besides, this way would be much more fun. Discrediting a cop always was. He'd get Jade to set her up at tomorrow's party with one of the Sheikh's men. All captured on secret camera, of course. The video would prove an instant hit on the internet when he released it. One of the London Met's detectives being fucked by one of the people she'd been sent to investigate. They'd become a laughing stock. 

He flicked through the names on his phone and then pressed call. Michelle Park had no idea that he had her personal number.

"Hello?" she answered.

He hadn't been sure what to expect in her voice, evidence that she was distressed at Yamamura's death, perhaps? If so, he was surprised. Her tone was more full of itself than she had a right to be, a voice that admired itself. This woman wasn't grieving. 

"Michelle, my dear. It's Nikky Volkov. How are you?"

He could almost hear her breath catch, and the short period of hesitation before she responded confirmed she was shocked to hear his voice.

"Nikky!" she exclaimed, quickly responding. "How wonderful to hear from you."

It wasn't just shock he could sense in her tone. Fear was present, too. Did that mean she was fully aware of Yamamura's plans? 

"I was calling to see how you are," he went on, making a point of softening his normally demanding tone. "After the terrible news. I know you and Tony were close."

His voice was soft, but there was an accusation there. Maybe even a threat. 

"Close? No. Well, yes..."

There was that give-away hesitation again. 

"In a business sense, of course we were. I've just done a photoshoot under his direction for Clinique. His sudden death has been a shock to everyone on your team. How are you, Nikky?"

"Oh, you know, life goes on," he said, grinning to himself at the quip. "For some of us at least." 

The silence down the line was deafening. He could only imagine the expression on her face. If she wasn't afraid of him before, that emotion would be kicking in now. Time to lighten the mood.

"I actually saw the results of the shoot, Michelle," he said, putting on a more comforting tone. "I wanted to tell you they were excellent. The client is very happy with you—and with me, of course, for supplying such a beautiful model."

"Really?" she gushed, the enthusiasm in her tone obvious. She clearly responded to compliments. "Thank you, Nikky. I so wanted to impress you."

He grinned at her subservience. Her reputation as a diva preceded her, as did her fiery temper. But in his company she was just like all his other models. A sexy, flirty woman who did what she was told.

"And you have impressed me," he reassuringly told her. "I assume that, despite the dreadful news, you will still be able to attend my party tonight?"

This time there was no hesitation.

"Yes. Yes, of course. I couldn't let you down, Nikky. You know that." 

"That's wonderful, Michelle, because I think it's about time you and I got to know one another better, don't you?"

"You do?" she asked, her voice rising in anticipation. "I'd love that, Nikky."

"Me, too," he softly said. "Starting tonight..."

He left it at that and ended the call. He needed to get inside her mind, see what she knew, and would probably do that after fucking her... 

The thought made his cock lengthen again and he glanced at Angela. She was about to fasten the tight little black dress she'd slipped into. That would be such a waste when he was practically standing to attention again. When he caught her eye, he crooked his finger.

She playfully rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what was going through his mind. She always did. That was one of the things he loved about her. Without a word, she slipped the dress from her shoulders and let it pool around her ankles. 

Volkov let out a soft gasp under his breath. That skimpy black lingerie clung to her curves. If ever there was a body made to fuck, this was it.

He unzipped himself as she unfastened her bra. Her large breasts bounced as they came free and as he dragged his cock out, the thought of a nice tit-fuck occurred to him. But right then and there, he needed her pussy. She understood. 

Giving a gurgle of pleasure, she slipped her thumbs into the panties and dragged them down her legs, leaving her naked except for the stockings and suspender belt. The swollen lips of her already full vulva were glistened with need as she crawled up onto his lap like a cat, impaling herself on his cock with well-practised ease. 

Volkov roughly gripped her jet black hair so that he could hold her face a fraction away from his. 

"Do you remember when you first came to work for me," he rasped, tightening his grip in her silken locks. "You turned down my advances, told me you were only just married. You were shy and demure then, yes? You said you would never dream of cheating on your husband."

His grip tightened further in her hair, jerking her head back to illustrate exactly who was in control. 

"But look at you now," he growled. "Just a regular bitch in heat."

Angela blushed. She couldn't help it. They both knew how much this talk turned her on. 

"You know why," she told him, in that upper class accent. "Because you corrupted me..."

Circling her arms around his broad shoulders, she slowly began to push downwards, taking him deeper inside. For a moment he thought she was about to kiss him, but at the last minute her teeth were mischievously biting down on his lower lip.

"Now why don't you corrupt me again, Nikky," she whispered into his mouth as she began to jerk down faster. "Just like that first time..."

*

The Ukrainian assassin had changed his mind at the last minute about flying home. He needed time to think. He'd carried out his contract at the Jumeirah Zabeel Saray hotel exactly as Nikolay Volkov had wanted. But the way things had turned out had set him wondering. 

Retirement? Was that really an option? 

He'd been thinking about it for a while, but there was something he needed to take care of first. Then there was the money. He needed enough to help comfortably continue with his lifestyle. Women, alcohol and drugs all had to be paid for, after all. But now, well, he was beginning to think that opportunity was knocking at his door...

He'd booked himself into one of the cheaper Dubai hotels in an effort to buy himself some time. But thinking wasn't the only thing on his mind. He had a huge sexual appetite. He had made a conscious effort to stay away from the Asian and the Arab prostitutes—he fucking hated Asians and Arabs—and instead, he'd found a young Mexican woman. 

Conchita was her name. It was the only English she knew. 

She was a real looker, with thick dark hair, wild eyes and a soft, dark skin. He loved that expression of innocence, too, although the way her fingers were working furiously beneath her legs as she masturbated for him belied the look. She was talking to him as she played with herself, although he couldn't understand a word of her native language. 

But he knew from the way those dark eyes flashed at him that she was talking dirty, telling him the things she was going to do to him.

He was half-sitting and half-lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard. She was on the chair opposite him, with each leg wantonly hooked over the arms of the chair, her cunt fully exposed to his gaze. He could see her glistening pink labia through the thatch of thick black hair and that made him lick his lips. He loved thick pubic hair.

Her left hand was behind her, resting on the top of the chair over her head, while her right hand was frantically rubbing her cunt.

The bitches he paid for sex usually went through the motions, but this one was different. Conchita was definitely into it. She was moaning now and the throaty sound had him growing even harder inside his trousers. When she saw how big his Ukrainian dick was, her eyes were going to pop out. And when she felt it inside her, she'd beg him for mercy.

Keeping his gaze firmly on her working fingers, he began to unbuckle his belt. When he unzipped his trousers and pushed them down his thighs, he could see her eyes follow the movement. As he expected, she couldn't contain a gasp when he pulled his semi-erection from his boxers. 

"Well, what do you think?" he triumphantly asked, speaking in Russian. It didn't matter that neither of them could understand the other. The meaning was clear. "Big enough to tear you apart?"

Fisting the hard flesh with one hand, he smiled as she hesitated. Part of her wanted to continue with her masturbatory show, but another needed what he was offering, and needed it right now. 

"Come here," he snapped, ending her uncertainty. "Come and get it."

She understood that instruction all right... 

Quickly pushing up to her feet, she brushed a hand through her dark hair before crossing the short distance towards him. She had a slender body, small breasts and that wonderfully thick bush. When she reached the bed and tentatively sat beside him, he slid his free hand through her locks and yanked her head towards his monster. 

He moaned as she took his dick between her wet lips. That felt good. His hand tightened in her hair, though he knew it was unnecessary. She wanted this as much as he did. When her tongue began to flick along his hardness like a snake searching for its prey, the moan thickened. 

She might look innocent, but the way she took his thick girth deep inside her mouth confirmed that she'd done this many times before. The head of his cock was touching the entrance to her throat. One of her hands reached for his ass, her fingernails digging in, whilst the other dropped to caress his balls. She was worth every penny he was going to pay her. 

His fingers dug into her scalp, displaying his growing pleasure. Encouraged, she took his thick cock deep into her throat. And she did it easily. He moaned again, reaching for her hair with both hands now. The bitch was really into it. Could he really be close, this quickly?

Yanking her head up, he held her gaze. His eyes spoke to her, telling her to be careful. Whether she understood or not, she nodded. But that didn't stop her from eagerly going back to work again. 

This time her young eyes stayed on his so that she could measure his response, and she teasingly took him to the edge a couple of times before easing off. But when he began to buck his hips against her face, they both knew it was the moment of truth. 

They both faced their own dilemmas. He wanted to spurt all over that pretty face, but then his need to be inside that young cunt was overwhelming. She wanted him to explode between her young lips, but he was so big—and she needed to experience that monster inside her.

Pulling back, she wiped the back of one hand across her lips before turning away from him and settling across his lap. That way they could both watch their reflections in the mirror on the opposite wall. 

Her hand reached under her for his saliva-covered dick and her lips curled in pleasure as she placed the mushroom head against her opening. For a few seconds, she contented herself by teasing him with her delectable flesh, but soon the need was too much. When she lowered her needy young cunt over his hardness, the Ukrainian shuddered as her moist folds parted around him. 

Remarkably, she bottomed out on him, her snug little pussy swallowing him whole. Was such a thing possible? 

Falling back against his chest, she pulled his hands around her and onto her perky tits. She began to talk again, to his reflection in the mirror, as she gyrated on his huge dick. The way she undulated reminded him of a stripper in one of the lap dancing clubs that he so loved. When one of her hands went up to her thick hair, holding it high on her head as her peach-like ass made tight little circles in his lap, he almost lost it. 

Gritting his teeth, he redirected his hands to her slim hips. He wasn't going to last much longer and intended to show her how a real man fucked before he gave in to the inevitable.

Her words came out faster as he began to pile drive her down on his lap. He could hear them vibrate in the back of her throat. She went with him, flexing her legs and bouncing back up as he slammed her up and down on his monster of a dick. He could feel it burrowing deeper and deeper into her cunt, penetrating as far as he could possibly go. 

And she wasn't talking any longer, she was whimpering... 

His forearms burned from the effort. Sweat poured from his forehead. And still he slammed her up and down, over and over. Her perky tits bounced with his thrusts and she was gasping for air. 

Without warning, her expression suddenly changed. Her body stiffened. Her eyes rolled in her head. He could feel her orgasming on him. And he could hear her. Her whimpers had changed into a wail...

The Ukrainian felt his dick grow even further at the sound—women who let loose when they came always did it for him. Gripping her hips more tightly, he began to fuck her again—a thrusting machine intent on making the hot young bitch wail even more loudly.

"Cum," he rasped in his native language. "Cum again..."

She was like a rag doll on his lap as he increased the pace. Her head was thrown back against his shoulder. Her dark hair swayed on her head and her tits bounced manically. Her hands took a death-grip on his hips behind her in an unsuccessful attempt to steady herself, her nails digging into his flesh and drawing blood. 

And then she was there ... letting loose again ... her wails becoming louder as the second climax swept through her.

The feel, the sound, and sight of their reflections in the mirror across from them were suddenly too much for the Ukrainian. He detonated inside Conchita's sweet young body like a rocket powering skywards. And once he started, he couldn't stop, his hips twitching with each explosion as her slick muscles tightened and her cunt sucked burst after burst out of him.

Neither of them moved for a few minutes, just resting. Both exhausted. Both bodies covered in perspiration. 

This would be his life when he retired, he mused happily. A life full of sex, drink, drugs ... and more sex. What could be better? But he needed to take what was his first. And satisfy his honour at the same time. After that, the world was his to do with as he wished.



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 06



Chapter 6 — THURSDAY NIGHT — Volkov throws a party

The Smoke Stack was a tall and narrow club, designed to resemble the inside of a bloated factory tower. The building from the outside was made of darkly tinted glass, although even from a distance the gyrating silhouettes of dancers could be seen on every level of the club. It was the perfect location for one of Nikolay Volkov's parties. 

"Cute effect," Roxie commented, pointing to the white smoke spilling off the roof of the club. "Dry ice, maybe?"

Palmer shrugged. He didn't know. He didn't care. 

Despite the agreement he'd reached with Sandra Wilson, he couldn't help but feel the evening was a waste of time. He'd do everything she'd asked of him, but knew that the only serious way of getting any meaningful information on someone like Volkov was to get close to him. Really close to him. 

Jennifer Finney might be a good cop for all he knew, but she didn't have the necessary experience to go undercover against the devious Russian. If anyone could it was Roxie, but that thought gave him the chills. He wasn't about to allow anything that stupid to happen. 

He glanced at the two women as they walked side-by-side into the club. Each was beautiful, in her own right. He still hadn't become used to the way Roxie dressed, but put that down to the conservative element in him. Her pinstripe white sheath dress was both classical and sexy at the same time. He'd been so mesmerized by the plunging neckline that it had taken a while to fully appreciate how short it was.

Jenn's outfit was equally stunning. The champagne-coloured halter dress covered just enough of her full breasts to remain on the right side of decent. Even so, her tanned cleavage looked like it wanted to burst out of a plunging neckline that was held in check by a keyhole clasp. She could more than match any model there tonight.

The dimly lit club's interior was circular, and opened all the way up to the roof, save for the ringed platforms that marked each of the seven stories. Low-lying tables dotted the far side, each decorated with a hookah and a group of beautiful models. Everywhere else was filled with excited people dancing to the throbbing electronica.

The sweet smell of the hookah's flavoured tobacco assaulted Palmer's nostrils as soon as they were inside. His Vice Squad instincts quickly kicked in, his senses processing the smell quickly before dismissing it. There was possibly some hashish mixed in, but more likely than not they were clean. At least on this floor. 

He'd reserve judgement until he'd explored the rest of the club.

"Okay, let's circulate," he said to his two female companions.

He should have felt the luckiest guy in the world to be chaperoning two such beautiful women. But the sense of foreboding that had been steadily growing on their journey to the club was hard to shake off.

*

Roxanne watched Jack head away across the room and then grinned at Jenn. He was the sexiest guy in the world when he went into full-investigative mode. They'd agreed to separate once they reached the club, see what information they could individually gather, and then meet up again later in the evening.

For a while, at least, she intended to remain at Jenn's side. She could sense how nervous her new friend was, although that wasn't the only reason. She was feeling nervous at the thought of bumping into Nikky Volkov here, especially after her 'initiation'. And he wasn't going to be happy when she told him she wasn't signing the contract. 

Grabbing Jenn's hand, they headed towards the glass-capsule elevator that slowly crept up and down the wall of the cylindrical club. One of Volkov's security men was stationed in front of it, but he stepped aside as soon as he recognised Roxanne.

"Miss Lopez," he nodded in awe, immediately summoning the lift. "Good to see you again."

"And you, Gerry," she smiled, ignoring the way his gaze flickered across her body, and then covered Jenn Finney's too, just for good measure. "Is there any particular floor you'd recommend?" 

"All different, all the same," he said with a shrug. "The bedrooms are at the back of the top floor."

"Thanks," Roxie smiled, and then pulled Jenn in with her when the lift doors opened. 

"Bedrooms?" Jenn asked, her eyes wide. "Does that mean what I think it means?

"Sure does," Roxie replied, giving her a wry smile.

A shiver ran up her spine. Bedrooms were an essential part of nights like this, especially where there were rich and influential clients to be cultivated. She'd been in quite a few during her Dominic DeVere days. Had regularly been the centre of attention in some...

*

Jenn felt the nerves bounce around her body as the lift slowly carried her and Roxie up the side of the club. She told herself to feed off them, that they would make her stronger. They were the same nerves that had told her she couldn't pull off the role of a model when she'd first arrived in Dubai. 

Yet she had. So maybe she could pull this off too? 

She didn't want to head back to London without something for her efforts here. It was important to her and her future career that she proved her value. Besides, Sandra Wilson was relying on her.

She felt stupid for showing surprise over the bedrooms. Of course there were bedrooms. This was the world she'd stepped into, one was part of now. It felt like she was in a parallel universe, one that was inhabited and dominated by men like Nikolay Volkov.

And, until yesterday, by Tony Yamamura... 

That thought sent a cold shiver through her core. Roxie must have felt her reaction, because she squeezed her hand reassuringly as they stepped out of the lift. 

"Are you okay?" the redhead asked.

"Sure," Jenn said, with a slight nod of her head.

She'd been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she wasn't even aware of which floor they'd stopped on.

Hopefully, she would be able to make contact with Michelle at some stage this evening. She still felt like the Korean American model could be her key to getting the information she needed on Volkov and his activities. But there had to be others here tonight who could help her. She intended to seek them out.

"Come on, let's get ourselves a drink," Roxie suggested.

Jenn followed her, watched the sexy way the redhead's ass move in her tight dress, admiring the way the pinstripes followed the rich curves of her hips and thighs. She seemed to glide across the floor lazily with that model-learned stride, one foot in front of the other, slender hips swaying. 

With Roxanne, everything seemed to come naturally. Would she ever feel as confident as that?

The music didn't seem quite as loud up in the bar area on the other side of the room—she could hear herself think—but the sweet smell rising off the hookahs was much different. Stronger. 

Much more illegal? 

This floor was completely different to the one they'd just left, although the decadent atmosphere was just as heavy. What had Gerry, the security guy said about each floor? "All different, all the same..."

This one was made up almost exclusively with gossamer curtained alcoves around the side and a small but very busy dance floor in the centre.

Once they had their drinks—Cosmos—they casually wandered around the fringes of the dance floor, deciding on their next steps. When they passed one of the alcoves on their right, Jenn felt Roxie stiffen. 

The curtains were partly open and two models were taking turns doing what looked like two lines of cocaine off the table infront of them. The blonde model had just taken a hit and tossed her long, wavy hair back, pinching her nose as the powerful narcotic washed through her.

"Shit, that's good stuff," she commented to the other, before noticing the two women watching them. "Want some?"

Roxanne shook her head disapprovingly as she swung around on her heels.

"You've done it?" Jenn asked, those big brown eyes wide again.

"Once upon a time," the redhead reluctantly said. Drugs and modelling went hand-in-hand, after all. "Those days have been behind me ever since I met Jack."

She glanced towards the dance floor. It was full of attractive dancers flailing their bodies to the heavy music. Beautiful models had always known how to let their hair down. One of the women, a young blonde, was particularly noticeable as people created space around her. She was dancing with an Arab guy at least twice her age.

Her tight ringlets swayed on her shoulders as she flung her sexy body around to the hip-hop beat, while her partner's hands were all over the taut expanse of skin between her little silver cami top and her black mini-skirt. It was scandalously short and fluttered about her thighs with each confident sway of her sublime hips.

"That's Sarah Ellis," Roxie whispered conspiratorially, sipping at her cocktail. "She's a young up and coming model, anxious to please."

Just how anxious quickly became clear. When she pulled the man's head down to hers and whispered something into his ear, he nodded happily and then allowed Sarah to pull him off the dance floor. 

"You were wondering about the bedrooms," Roxie murmured, with a wry smile. "I think they're about to see some early action.

*

Jack Palmer wandered across to one of the nooks by the smoky glass windows on the second floor. He'd spent time on each of the seven floors now, casually checking out who was there and listening in to the various conversations. The only common denominator was that the news of Tony Yamamura's death had spread rapidly. Not that his demise had stopped people from enjoying themselves. Even those who knew Yamamura still seemed to be in party mood. 

Three beautiful women were talking next to the windows near him. The table beside them was littered with martini glasses filled with various coloured liquids. One of them—an attractive brunette who reminded him of Penelope Cruz—smiled brightly in his direction and waved him across.

"Jack, join us," she cheerily greeted him. "We all want to meet you." 

When he got closer, the second model with her whispered something to the third woman. It drew a laugh. Palmer felt his cock tighten, pretty sure that her comment was sexual. 

"I'm Isobel," the Penelope Cruz lookalike told him, offering both cheeks for a kiss. 

Her slinky gold dress shimmered in the strobe lights and accentuated rather than hid her curves. It was practically impossible not to check out that healthy cleavage. When his eyes returned upwards, there was a cheeky smile on her face. And yet it was a smile that seemed more genuine than any other he'd received tonight. Did he know her?

"I'm a friend of Roxie's," she explained, stroking his forearm. "I've photographed her a few times. She's told me all about you."

Of course! This was the 'Izzy' that Roxie had mentioned. She'd also been the photographer at Jenn's Clinique shoot.

"Ladies, I'd like you to meet Jack Palmer," she said, leaning close enough for him to feel her body heat. "Jack, this is Françoise and 'Faye,'" she added, laughing at some inside joke. "Girls, this is Jack Palmer, Roxie's latest beau." 

"Does he speak?" Françoise teased, eyeing him up and down. 

Her accent was French, but Palmer had figured as much without having to hear her speak. From her dark, wavy hair fashioned with short bangs across her high forehead, to her round face adorned with sculpted cheekbones and an elegant nose, she just looked ... French. 

"Trust me, he doesn't need to speak," Faye chuckled, her dreamy eyes narrowing as she gave him the once-over. "Jade has told us all about him."

The two women burst out laughing again, while Isobel sent him a good-natured smile.

"We're all impressed with what we've heard, Jack," Faye went on, dipping a finger in her glass and then making a show of stirring it in the cocktail before seductively sucking on it. "And want to know when it's our turn."

Palmer didn't colour easily, but he felt his face redden. There was temptation everywhere in Volkov's world. And while he'd—finally—come to terms with that night with Roxie and Jade, the thought of it being discussed among other models didn't sit easily with him.

"A man that blushes, Jack Palmerrr," Françoise chided in that sexy French accent, elongating his surname. "How unusual. Tell me, Jack, do you dance as well as you fuck?"

"I don't—" he began, but suddenly the two women had hold of a hand each and were pulling him towards the dance floor.

"Don't tell," Françoise interrupted him. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a tempting smile. "It's much better to discover these things for ourselves, mais oui?"

*

"I don't think I've met your friend," a sultry voice said behind them. 

Roxie turned to see Jade beaming at her. The model looked as hot as ever in a cream trapeze dress that made her black skin look like midnight. She looked extra-beautiful in a room of beautiful people.

"Jade!" Roxie exclaimed, running her gaze across her friend's fabulous body. "You look stunning in that dress. "Gaultier?"

"Thank you," the African model said, delightedly. "You've always had a good eye. You look beautiful, too, lover. So does your friend. Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"This is Jenn. She's an up and coming model. Keep your eye on her."

"I've had it on her all night," Jade teased, turning her dark, smouldering eyes on the brunette. "Hi, baby, you are stun-ning!"

"Hi," Jenn self-consciously grinned back.

She was getting used to being complimented this evening and her confidence was building with each greeting. But even so, having someone this hot flatter her was almost embarrassing.

"Great party," she added, more to deflect attention away from her appearance.

The guys in the office would never believe she could wear a dress as skimpy as this one to a party. Heck, they'd even have trouble believing that someone like her could actually fit in to a party like this.

"Indeed it is," Jade said, flicking her fingers through her dark hair as she laughed. She held up her glass. "May nights like this never end!"

The three women clinked their glasses against each others, toasting the words, and then Jade was talking to her again.

"You did that Clinique shoot with Michelle, right?"

Jenn nodded. A few people had mentioned the photo shoot tonight. It seemed that word got around very quickly in these circles.

"Shame about Tony," the African model added, pulling a face. "Not that I ever had that much to do with him. But we've all had run-ins with Michelle. Right, Roxie?"

Roxanne pursed her lips.

"Jenn and Michelle got on just fine at the shoot," she settled for saying. "And from what I hear, Clinique were delighted with the outcome."

"I heard that, too, Jade said with a smile. "So, we have a new star amongst us." 

"I don't know about that," Jenn said bashfully.

Her comment drew a hearty laugh from the other two.

"Jenn, honey, let me give you one word of advice," Jade told her. "In this business, rule number one is never, ever turn down a compliment. It creates the wrong impression."

Jenn grinned back at her. She'd never been comfortable with compliments, not even when she'd been a little girl. 

"All advice is gratefully received," she said, with a smile.

"And rule number two," the ebony skinned model added, pausing momentarily while she took another sip of her drink, "is never to take advice, especially from me."

All three women laughed out loud at the quip.

"Look," I'm going to see if I can find, Jack," Roxie suddenly said, giving Jenn a meaningful look.

She had no intention of seeking out her boyfriend, but she and Jenn had just agreed it was time to go their separate ways when Jade had interrupted them. They'd give it an hour of socialising before meeting up again and comparing notes.

"Can I leave this girl in your capable hands?" she said, glancing at Jade.

"Only if you want her corrupted," her friend said, chuckling out loud as she kissed Roxie on her cheek.

She watched the redhead head off across the floor, before turning to Jenn.

"Just look at the way she moves her ass," she said, her voice almost a purr. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?" 

Jenn nodded. "She's beautiful."

"And bi," Jade mischievously added, with an exaggerated wink, "So, if you have any thoughts about her and Jack, my advice is to go for it. I can tell you from personal experience you won't regret it."

Jenn's big brown eyes widened. She felt shell-shocked. Was this woman being serious? She'd been with Roxie and Jack?

"It's true," Jade chuckled, bouncing her eyebrows suggestively. "They make a great team. The thing is, Jenn, casual sex is a way of life in this business. We're all beautiful models, right? Why shouldn't be take advantage of what the good Lord gave us? If you've any hang-ups about sex, you're in the wrong industry, honey." 

"I don't have hang-ups," Jenn quickly retorted.

She didn't. Did she? She could just be a little bashful at times. Her experience with her ex-husband had taught her to be careful with men.

"Then you and I are going to be great friends," Jade said as she hugged her, making sure to push her full breasts against her new friend. "Now, as you're the new girl on the block, tell me if there's anything I can help you with. Anything you'd like to know about the business?"

Jenn's pause lasted only a couple of seconds. Was this the opportunity she'd been looking for?

"Well, I was wondering about Nikky Volkov," she asked casually, looking again at Jade, whose dark eyes were warm and inviting. "What he's like, you know?"

The African model's grin widened like the proverbial Cheshire cat. She plucked an olive from her glass, rolling it on her tongue and then crushing it between her teeth before responding.

"Well, honey," she slowly said, stepping even closer. "You're asking the person who knows him as well as anyone..." 

*

Nikolay Volkov stood at the bar on the club's top floor, enjoying his glass of Scotch. Boris stood by himself at the other end of the bar, trying but failing miserably to blend in with the surroundings. The blonde German was exceptionally good at his job, but had no social graces whatsoever. Not that it mattered. It paid to have Boris around, but Volkov doubted that he'd need his bodyguard tonight.

He'd spoken personally to each of the key contacts he'd invited to the party, kept the business discussions brief but to the point, and then ensured their individual needs would be looked after by the red-hot model he had lined up for each of them.

Now he was free to concentrate on other matters. 

He'd despatched Jade to meet up with Jennifer Finney, the undercover cop, and set her up with a well- built guy brought in for the purpose. When it got out that one of the London Met's detectives had taken drugs and been fucked by a small-time local crook, her reputation would be destroyed, as would the Met's.

She'd arrived at the club with Roxanne and that irritating boyfriend of hers, Palmer. He still had big plans for Roxie, but she was of secondary importance tonight. Michelle Park took precedence...

The Korean American model was sauntering across the floor towards him right now, shooting him the sexiest of smiles on the way. He still hadn't made up his mind about her, but he needed to form a view very quickly. If she was a threat, he'd stamp on it instantly. If not, well, maybe he'd bring her into the fold.

She was no supermodel, despite the title she'd earned. She didn't have that ... diamond quality. And by all accounts, her fifteen minutes of fame had gone to her head. He could see the attitude in the way she walked towards him. It was written all over her arrogant poise as she approached; the one that said: I'm the shit and any man should consider himself lucky just to look at me.

That reputation was why he'd allowed her career to meander along. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 06



However, she definitely did have something about her. Watching her now, she looked like sex on legs as she strolled towards him, in a tight black tube-dress that stretched along her hard body. 

"Drinking alone, Nikky?" she asked, her throaty voice a mixture of confidence and sex.

"I was waiting for you," the Russian replied, swirling his glass on the bar top. 

"Waiting for me?" she asked, raising a playful eyebrow in his direction. "I like that thought. So, I'm here now, what do you intend doing with me now you've found me?"

He smiled. She was direct, and that was a characteristic he'd always admired. And while she wasn't supermodel material, she certainly was fuckable. Very fuckable. She was up for it, too. His cock was growing in his trousers just from the way she was looking at him.

"What am I going to do, Michelle?" he repeated, with a cold smile. "What would you suggest?"

She reached for the drink in his hand and took it from him. Watched his expression over the rim of the glass, she took a sip of his Scotch before replying.

"I was rather hoping you were going to fuck my lights out."

Volkov smiled. He sent a glance towards Boris—one that told him to relax and enjoy himself—and then smiled at the young model.

"I think that can be arranged," he said, with an arrogant air.

*

Palmer was sweating heavily. What man wouldn't with two hot women gyrating on him? Faye was in front of him, grinding her body in a way that would give a saint dirty thoughts. She tossed her long blonde hair, keeping a hand on the back of his neck and her eyes on his face the whole time. He felt like the only guy in the room.

Behind him, Françoise was doing equally dirty things with her body. She held him close with a hand on either hip. He felt her body gyrate up and down his. Those tits on his back were making it difficult to keep his erection at bay.

"I need another drink," he eventually said, when the last song came to a close. 

He'd been trying to excuse himself for ten minutes now.

"Hurry back," Faye shouted after him, as he shrugged away her half-hearted attempt to keep him there. 

He nodded, grateful that they were allowing him to get away from them. With each previous attempt, they'd circled him so that it was practically impossible to escape.

"Persistent, aren't they?" Isobel asked, as he returned to the bar. It seemed she had waited for him.

"Very," he answered, giving her a relieved smile. "You didn't want to dance?"

"I don't do threesomes," she playfully said, and then laughed heartily at the pained expression that crossed his face.

"Sorry, Jack, I couldn't resist that. But I won't mention it again. Here, I got you a drink." She handed him a flute of champagne and took a sip from her own as she glanced back towards the dance floor. "Unless you want to get back out there again?"

He followed her gaze. As the music had changed tempo, the two women began to freak. It was an amazing thing to witness. 

Françoise reached for the clasp in her hair, releasing the dark waves of long, shimmering tresses like a stripper. She tossed it forward, resting her hands on her knees, tits spilling out of her black-haltered dress, and then threw her hair back as she straightened up. Leaning into Faye, they spun as their bodies linked, teasing and twisting as they bounced to the hip-hop. It felt that their shoulders and hips were moving in time to a rhythm designed to make every man hard. Even the sheen of sweat on their skin was sexy. 

"I think I feel more comfortable here," he told Isobel, with a wry smile. "I felt like a fish out of water, out there."

She laughed with him, her sultry Spanish gaze staying on his.

"A fish surrounded by two predators, maybe?" 

He suddenly realised just how attractive she was. That cleavage was calling his eyes again and despite himself, he found himself wondering what she would look like naked. When he coloured at his self-imposed guilt, Isobel seemed to realise it too, in that way that women did. Her eyes flickered with amusement.

"It's okay, Jack, you can relax," she softly said, tossing him an impish smile. "I respect Roxie and you're safe with me. So ... why don't you get us another drink before your two friends return from the dance floor? Then you can tell me all about you."

*

"So tell me about Nikky Volkov?" Jenn asked as she and Jade found a spot near a window. 

The bass of the Smoke Stack's dance floor had grown even louder as the night had gone on. Add to that the din of the beautiful people around them, and it made it difficult to hear herself think, let alone speak. Then there were the hookahs. Jenn could swear she was getting high just from breathing in the smoky atmosphere.

"You seem preoccupied with Nikky?" the African model asked in amusement. "Mind you, all the newest models are. They think that if they let him fuck them, it will guarantee success."

"I'm not thinking that at all," Jenn instantly protested. "I don't want to fuck him. I just wondered what he was like."

"Don't want to fuck him?" Jade laughed. "Honey, it's a pre-requisite if you work for him. Just ask Roxie. All I'm saying is that it's one step at a time. There are a thousand wannabee-models and only a selected few make it."

Jenn's lips parted in a silent gasp at Jade's words. It was pre-requisite to fuck him? Just ask Roxie? No, that couldn't be true. She and Jack seemed so happy. But then, the African model had already let slip about their casual attitude to sex. And the rumours about the redhead's background were rife in the Vice Division, despite the blanket of confidentiality thrown over the DeVere case.

"I'm just interested in how things work," she responded, choosing her words carefully. She wasn't sure how far she could push it. "Modelling is one thing, but from what I've seen in my short time here, a lot more is expected."

Jade raised an eyebrow, and added a sultry smile.

"It's really not that difficult, honey. The top models do whatever it takes to get to the top and stay there. Nikky looks after us and we do as we're told, whatever it takes. There are a lot of women who are beautiful like you, have the sort of body you have, but the question is, how much do you want it? How far are you prepared to go?"

Jenn felt goosebumps break out across her body. Who knows where this conversation could lead if she kept it heading in the right direction.

"I want it," she said, confidently holding Jade's interested gaze. 

She was close to making a breakthrough, she could feel it. All she had to do was convince this woman that she would do whatever was necessary to fulfil her modelling ambitions.

"How badly?"

"More than anything," she said earnestly, quickly adding, "It means everything to me."

Jade stared at her for a few moments, those dark appraising eyes looking like they wanted to get into her mind. Could she see through her, Jenn wondered? Could she tell what was going on in her head?

"Maybe," she eventually said, her smile showing a row of perfect, white teeth. "Tell you what, why don't I take you for a quick tour around the top floor? That's where all the action is, after all."

*

"Vodka tonic?" Nikolay Volkov asked, crossing the contemporarily furnished room to the fully stocked bar. 

Michelle Park didn't respond immediately, and when he turned back to her, he discovered why. Her eyes were full of arousal as she leant back against the far wall, watching him.

"I'd rather drink your cum," she replied, her gaze narrowing.

He couldn't help but smile. There were only a handful of his models that could get him hard without touching him. She'd just added herself to the list. He could practically feel the power radiating around him as she stared lustfully at him. He loved that feeling, like he was unstoppable.

"You are one sexy girl, you know that?" he breathed.

Even through her dress, he could see her nipples rise. If her connection with Tony Yamamura was innocent enough, maybe there was a way to incorporate her in his activities, after all? A hot young woman this keen to give a good impression would go down very well with his clients.

"You've no idea just how sexy," she drawled, pushing her tight body away from the wall. "But I think you're about to find out."

Her fingers went to the straps of her dress and with a sexy shimmy it was quickly pooled on the cherry, hardwood floors beside her feet. Her see-through pink bra matched her skimpy thong and the right strap fell from her shoulder demurely. She ignored it as she slid her right hand down into the front of her panties, letting him watch as her knuckles curled beneath the silk material. 

She sighed, biting her lip as she stroked herself. Volkov thought his cock might explode there and then. When she withdrew her fingers and held them up, they glistened with her juices. Slowly, she brought them to her mouth, slowly sucking each in turn.

"A girl who likes to get right down to business," he softly said, carefully bringing his hands to his trousers and slowly unbuckling the belt. The room was silent but for the clink of its clasp. "I like that." 

"Oh, I promise I won't disappoint," she provocatively told him, hooking her thumbs into her thong. "I'm going to be the best fuck you've ever had." 

Volkov licked his lips as he unzipped himself and fished out his cock. Could he be any harder? The olive-hued bitch sexily licked her lips as she stared at his erection, and then she was sauntering across the room towards him. Half-way there, she hooked her thumbs into her panties and pulled the garment over the gentle curve of her hips and down over her thighs. 

He began to jerk himself as his gaze devoured her naked body. Her perky breasts sat high and proud with all the grace of youth and her cleanly shaved pussy was already wet with anticipation.

"Want some help with this," she huskily murmured, dropping to her knees before him and wrapping one hand around his girth. 

Those almond-shaped eyes stared up into his, the kind of look an animal gives its prey just before it springs into action, he thought. Then her lips parted further and she was taking his thick manhood deep into her throat.

Volkov had to grip the edges of the bar behind him as her skilled mouth took him as far as she could. The probing could wait a little, he told himself. For now, he needed to take full advantage of this vision of carnal sensuality.

*

Jade took Jenn through a security door and along a wide hall, lined with alternating, bevelled doors. 

"The bedrooms," she told her. "If you play your cards right, you could be here soon in an official capacity. One of Nikky's chosen few. But if you're not committed, tell me now. We can end the tour here and you can get back to your friends."

The stunning brunette stepped straight into the trap, just as Nikky had said she would. She'd be so desperate to get something on the Russian that she'd play her cover for all it was worth. The only question was exactly how far would she go?

They'd find out in the next half an hour.

"I'm one hundred per cent committed," Jenn blurted.

Jade smiled in response. It felt like the brunette couldn't believe her luck, finding someone who was willing to give her the inside track. 

"Nikky will be happy to hear that," she said, stopping at the last door on the hall. She smiled at Jenn as she fished out a silver key and opened it quietly. "I wonder if anyone's at home..."

The door opened into an enormous living room, twice the size of her own. The floors were glossy cherry wood. The rich looking furniture was dark wood, stunning against its white upholstery. It was like a page out of a Crate & Barrel catalogue.

"Well, well, looks like our luck is in," Jade whispered, reaching down and picking up a discarded black dress. 

She heard Jenn's breath catch as her gaze quickly searched the room. A tiny g-string sat on the floor in the middle of the room. It looked like whoever was there had begun to fix a drink at the bar, but had left that behind, too.

She put a finger to her lips for quiet, and then quietly crossed the room towards an opium pipe on the desk. This part had been Nikky's idea, too. Without so much a glance at Jenn, she took the pipe in one hand, leant forward and sucked a slow drag.

"Mmm, that's good," she purred, her voice oozing out of her throat in an elongated drawl. She turned her head towards Jenn. "Your turn, honey..."

She watched as the brunette's cheeks went red and her heart fluttered. She was wondering how she could get out of this, but they both knew she couldn't. If she refused, her cover was blown. 

Taking the opium pipe in one hand, she leaned forward as Jade had done and took a quick, tentative suck. 

"Another," Jade told her, standing behind her and resting her hands on her shoulders. Her fingers stroked along that beautifully soft skin as she spoke. "One more to get the full effect."

The young woman hesitated for a few seconds, making Jade think she was about to refuse, but then she was repeating the action. Beautiful!

The African model watched as Jenn's eyelids rolled back as the initial wave rolled through her. Then she smiled. The opium high was wrapping both her mind and her body into a warm cocoon of bliss.

"That's it, honey," Jade whispered, taking her arm. "Come on, let me show you another reason I love this place." 

She unlocked one of the connecting doors as Jenn struggled to cope with the drug-induced rush, and then pulled her into a dark room without any windows.

She could tell from Jenn's expression that the opium was really kicking in. And it was as if she could read the brunette's mind. It would be like all her insecurity, all her doubt, was being washed away. In the darkness, she would feel empowered. She'd be thinking that she getting the low-down on Nikky Volkov under her cover as a model. Models did these things, so why shouldn't she?

"This is the viewing room," she exclaimed, no longer whispering. "Don't worry, it's sound-proofed."

When she pulled open a black curtain, she heard Jenn gasp. On the bed, facing the two-way mirror, were Nikky Volkov and Michelle. Flipping a switch, the room was filled with the sound of the couple's loud fucking. Jade couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy. The bitch Asian model was dewy with exertion, her sinuous muscles dancing as she rode Volkov for all she was worth.

"Sexy bitch, isn't she?" she murmured, glancing sideways. 

Jenn nodded and licked her pouting lips. Jade could see the arousal flooding through her body like an unstoppable wave. Her nipples were pushing through her dress like two organ stops. The opium would have fully kicked in now she'd soon be gagging for it. 

It was just a shame that Nikky wanted her set up with Habib. She would have happily spent a few hours with this beauty herself.

"That could be you," she said, stoking her soft fingers along Jenn's back. "Showing Nikky how much you want to be part of his team. You'd like that?"

She felt Jenn shiver as she scraped her fingernails along her bare skin. It would be so easy to seduce her, right now. But she had her instructions and people crossed Nikolay Volkov at their peril.

"Look at them," Jade encouraged again, resting her chin on the brunette's bare shoulder as they watched.

She had to admit it, as much as she disliked Michelle Park, the girl was good in bed. Her hands were clawing into Nikky's chest, her perky breasts bouncing as she increased the pace, and her tight buttocks flexing magnificently with each circular gyration.

"Sometimes a girl just needs to get fucked," Jade huskily whispered in Jenn's ear. "Come on, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

*

"I finally get to meet my British counterpart," Alicia Stiles said as she sipped from a glass of champagne. 

Roxanne had been about to go and look for Jenn when they'd bumped into each other. The brunette had been gone too long. But when she'd seen the All-American supermodel, she just had to talk to her. It was unlike the redhead, but she was even feeling a little star-struck. Everyone aspired to be Alicia Stiles. She was a mega-star and had been a fantastic success in yesterday's Victoria's Secret runway show. 

"I wouldn't go that far," she modestly protested. 

Counterpart was a bit too much.

"Why not? We both hit the spotlight around the same time. We both work for Nikolay Volkov. And if anything, you're a hell of a lot prettier than I'll ever be."

"Now you're just humouring me," Roxanne said through a smile. 

Yes, they had both been successful in their modelling careers. But Roxie had been much more than a model when she'd worked for Dominic DeVere. She'd been his top girl, the one he went to when he had a client who needed 'attention'. If Alicia Stiles had fucked half the men she had, she'd be embarrassed. 

"You host Supermodel, Alicia," Roxie went on. "And you have your own line of perfume that I just happen to be wearing tonight."

The American model waved a dismissive hand, but her face creased into a smile all the same. 

"It's great perfume," she chuckled. "But that doesn't contradict what I'm saying. I'm also older than you, Roxie. I'm twenty eight. That's practically a grandmother in this business."

Roxanne burst out laughing and had to put a hand over her mouth. Was he golden-haired supermodel being serious? She was as desirable now as she'd ever been, perhaps even more so. 

"In that case, just about every guy here tonight wishes you were their granny," she laughed. 

Alicia laughed heartily, too. But then her face turned more serious.

"Did you hear about Tony Yamamura?"

Roxie nodded. "Tragic."

"They say he'd run up a lot of gambling debts with this Ukrainian. When he'd come to collect, they shot one another. Tony wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but I never had any problems with him."

"Me neither. Although I didn't know him that well..."

"Well, let's talk about happier things," Alicia murmured, taking another sip from her bubbly. "You've signed with Nikky, I take it?"

"Just for this week."

Alicia seemed taken aback. For a moment or two she just stared at Roxie.

"That's all? The rumours are that you're officially one of his leading models now?" 

Roxanne bashfully shook her head. She wasn't looking forward to her conversation with Volkov, but it had to be done.

"A contract offer is on the table," she said, with a shrug of her tanned shoulders. "But I won't be signing."

"Be prepared for a fight," Alicia said, nudging her with her elbow. "Everyone knows how Nikky likes to get his own way. So, have you another agency lined up?"

"I'm done with agencies," Roxie told her, sweeping some red hair away from her right eye. "I was thinking of freelancing."

"Freelancing?"

The beautiful All-American supermodel stared at her thoughtfully again, and then slowly nodded her head.

"I have a great idea."

"What?"

"I think you'd be great at co-hosting Supermodel with me..." 

Roxanne gasped. Supermodel? It was the biggest thing on television in fashion circles. It's audience was world-wide. She shook her head disbelievingly. Was she really hearing this?

"But it's your show, Alicia," she blurted. Since the mega-star had taken the show over from Gabrielle Dubois, ratings had gone through the roof. "You've made it as popular as it is. Why would you want a co-host?" 

"Commitments, dear. I need someone to share the load with while I launch other interests. It's been on my mind for a while. I just needed to find the right person, and now I have. We both have the credentials. We complement one another. We're both household names in the fashion world. You'd be perfect."

She paused, letting the implications sink in. When she continued, her voice sounded like she'd just woken up.

"I have another idea..." she said, her eyes sparkling now. And then she laughed. "It must be all this champagne. Look, we're shooting the season premiere of Supermodel in two days. Why don't you come on as a guest judge? If it works, we can talk about turning it into a regular spot."




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 06



Roxanne could feel the instant tingle of anticipation running through her body. She knew that getting away from Nikky Volkov was a good idea, and yet she couldn't help but wonder what the future held for when she did. This could be the answer. It was perfect.

"You're absolutely sure?" she asked, just to make certain.

"Of course. I'll have to clear it with the producers, but it won't be a problem. They'll go nuts for the idea. Think of the ratings!"

*

Jack and Isobel were close to finishing their chat. They'd talked about a variety of subjects other than the one he valued most. He'd tried to tease out information on Nikky Volkov, but the Spanish beauty had neatly sidestepped each of his attempts. 

She clearly knew more than she was letting on, but was happy to steer a middle course through his subtle and not-so-subtle questioning. 

He could only hope that Jenn and Roxie had been more successful at eliciting information tonight. He could see his girlfriend chatting to a woman across the room right now. It was Alicia Stiles, Isobel had told him, one of the most famous supermodels still treading the catwalks. 

In truth, he was looking forward to getting back to their hotel. The evening had been a waste of time, as he'd expected, and anyway he still wasn't comfortable in this sort of pretentious environment. Frankly, he'd had enough of the deadly combination of heavy music, incessant smoke and the endless chatter around him.

Although, truthfully, that wasn't the only reason. Isobel was as tactile as she was beautiful and her slender fingers made continual contact with his hand or arm most every time she spoke. His arm had long ago begun to tingle with excited familiarity with each touch—and not just his arm. Maybe it had something to do with his earlier dancing with Faye & Françoise, but h could feel himself stir in his trousers every time Izzy's smouldering dark eyes looked in his direction. 

He and Roxie would be making love pretty much as soon as they returned to their hotel room.

"A water please," he said, leaning against the bar. 

Perhaps that would ease the heat inside him? Just until they got back to the hotel, at least.

"You've really impressed me, Jack," Isobel said. 

She was leaning next to him, with her elbows on the bar, but facing out. He glanced at her, sneaking another peak into her tanned cleavage. Yeah, he was definitely going to make love to his beautiful girlfriend very soon. 

"Roxie's very lucky," she continued. "And so are you, of course. If you ask me, you make a perfect combination."

"Thank you, Izzy," he replied, gulping down the water before asking for another. 

"Just stay away from Jade," she added, shooting him a look. "I know she's a good friend of Roxie's, but believe me, she's bad news."

He turned towards her so that he could look directly in her eyes as she elaborated. She met the gaze full on, but softly shrugged her pretty shoulders.

"That's all you're getting from me," she said, a soft smile touching her lips. "You're the ex-cop. Work it out. And I'm not just talking about sex."

"Look—" he began, but a frown was creasing her brow as her gaze diverted over his shoulder.

"Talk of the devil," she slowly said. Then she was touching his arm again. "Don't move. Stay where you are..."

He did as he was told, although forcing himself not to look was excruciating. He could see that her gaze was locked onto something.

"What?" he impatiently asked.

"I can't imagine its good news," she softly said, giving him permission to look with a slight incline of her head.

He followed her gaze towards Jade. She and Jenn were about to enter the lift, along with an Arab guy. For a moment Palmer wasn't sure if the three of them were together, but as they stepped inside he could see that the guy's hand was rested on Jenn's ass like it belonged there. What the fuck was she up to?

*

Michelle Park was flying high. Really high. She had no idea how many orgasms she'd had, but who the fuck was counting anymore? Why bother when she had this man's cock filling her. She was exorcising the ghost of Tony Yamamura and establishing a new future for herself.

The King is dead. Long live the King.

She was on her back, her legs bent back and up over Nikky Volkov's strong shoulders as he drilled down inside her. The weight of his body compressed her even more, driving his cock deep into her cunt. 

She had to admit, he had incredible stamina. Sucking him off and letting him cum in her mouth had helped. He was able to last so much longer now. Take her so much harder.

"Fuck me, baby. Fuck my hot pussy," she moaned. 

God, she loved to talk dirty. She knew what it did for guys. Tony used to love it. So would Nikolay Volkov.

"Harder," she snapped, reaching up and gripping his tussled blonde hair with her slim fingers. "Do me harder, baby."

He was nearly there. She could tell. Could see it in his sparkling blue eyes. His heavy balls slapped harder against her tender sex, forcing a heavy grunt with each thrust. But the bastard was trying to hold back. No-one held back on Michelle Park, not even this man.

"You're close?" she rasped.

"Yesss," he hissed, his face tightening into a cringe. 

"Then do it!" she snarled, crossing her ankles behind his head and squeezing her internal muscles around his cock. 

He couldn't resist, going off like a depth charge and filling her slick Asian walls with wet, satisfying heat. This was what she wanted. His cum. She purred happily, dirty-talking to him again until he'd finished firing inside her. Then she rolled on her side beside him, panting heavily. Hot sex was the first step towards making a man hers, and she knew how important it was to keep this particular man happy. 

She was wondering if he'd be ready for action again soon when he suddenly took her by surprise.

"Who exactly is Bree Jensen?" he asked out of the blue.

She closed her eyes and tried to stay cool, although she knew her lips had pursed tightly. Fuck! He knew about Bree? She could have lied, but she suspected he already knew the answer to the question. Her best course of action was to come clean. How else would he trust her?

"She's a porn star..." she responded nervously.

Volkov laughed. Michelle didn't like the sound. She started to feel hot, and it wasn't due to sexual energy this time.

"I know that," he calmly replied. "What I want to know, my dear, is what the connection between her and Tony was."

"Oh, I see," she said, acting innocently. "I thought you knew. Tony brought her here from Vegas. He said you'd asked him to. Weren't you hoping to use Bree and some of her friends at a couple of parties or something?"

She kept her tone level. And calm. Even she would have believed what she was saying, and she knew she was lying.

"That's what Tony told you?"

"It's true, isn't it?" she asked, keeping a straight face.

"And what did he tell you about the deal he was trying to set up with Sheikh Amir bin Khalid?"

She felt her right leg begin to twitch and forced herself to keep it still.

"Who?"

"Sheikh Amir bin Khalid. He's the reason we're here in Dubai, as I'm sure you know, my dear. Tony was putting together a business deal with him, wasn't he?"

"I've never heard of him," she lied again. 

It was a calculated risk, but she couldn't think of anything off the top of her head that could connect her to the Sheikh. 

"But if Tony was putting together a deal for you, he never mentioned it. Mind you, the bastard could be secretive when he wanted."

He ignored the jibe.

"But you and Tony were in a relationship, yes? He must have mentioned something."

He knew they were in a relationship? Fuck. She really was entering dangerous territory now.

"You'd be surprised," she began, as casually as she could. "People know I was only trying to get in with Tony because I thought he could help my career. The sex was good but not much else. He was hard work at times, always seeming to have one thing or another on the go, but he'd never tell me anything. I was going to dump him after the Clinique shoot."

Her heart was in her mouth when she finished speaking. She had to make her story sound believable, but had she said too much?

"The Clinique photo shoot, yes," Volkov mused, leaving it at that.

He was clearly pondering on what she'd said. If it had been any other guy she would have flown into a tantrum, but she choked that feeling back. That would never do in the situation. She needed something else to help authenticate her story.

"But there is one thing..." she said.

She twisted around so that she could lie on his chest, her almond-shaped eyes vstaring upwards into his. There wasn't a single thing in his gaze that gave a clue to what he was thinking.

"Yes?" 

"Yeah," she muttered, trying to control the beating of her heart. "I asked him if Jenn and I—you know, the girl who did the shoot with me—could do more work together. She's hot, if a bit naïve, and I know you have a couple of clients where we'd fit in really well together. But, the thing is, he said t she wasn't going to sign for you."

"He did?"

That was better. From the tone of his voice, she'd piqued his interest.

"Yeah. I asked him why, because she did a fabulous job at the shoot, but he just said he had other plans for her. I didn't understand. What plans, Nikky?"

She saw his eyelids flicker. It was a good sign. She had him confused. He might have wondered about her and Tony's relationship, but she couldn't help but think she was playing this scenario perfectly.

At first he didn't say anything. He continued to look at her with interest, her eyes thoughtful. 

"This girl, Jennifer Finney," he eventually said. "Tell me everything you know about her."

*

Jenn allowed herself to be led back up to the bedroom area. She felt like she was a cloud in the middle of a windstorm. She floated, but was unable to control her direction or her movement. It was just as well that Jade was helping her. Her body still tingled from the opium hit, and she wasn't quite sure who this guy was.

And yet the curious thing was that, although she knew she needed a clear to obtain the information she needed on Nikky Volkov, her body wanted to feel that opium rush again. She saw how it could be so addictive. She felt warm inside, like she could do anything. 

The other thing was that, whoever this guy was, he thought she was a famous model. It was quite a compliment. So why shouldn't she act like one? He was hard to control, though. He'd kept staring at her tits and pawing her ass whenever he'd got the chance. 

"I'll leave you and Habib to get acquainted," she heard Jade say.

It took a moment to realise they'd stopped outside one of the bedrooms, at the other end of the hall this time. She was unlocking the door as she spoke.

"I need you to show him a good time. Then I'll make sure you get to meet Nikky tomorrow, yes?"

Yes, that's what she wanted. To meet Nikky Volkov. All she had to do was show this man a good time. She just had to work out a way of doing that without compromising herself. What was his name again? Habib. But Habib what?

She thought they'd start with a drink and chat. That would give her a chance to clear her head and compose herself. But instead he was pulling her through the tidy living room and into the bedroom, practically slamming the door behind them in his urgency.

"Someone's eager," she quipped, trying to keep it light. "How about we have a drink first?"

"Habib doesn't drink alcohol," he snapped, and then he was pulling her into his arms.

The movement took her by surprise and when she felt him press against her, she realised that her skin tingled. In her mind's eye, she could still see and hear Nikky and Michelle fucking. She looked up at Habib, blinking to try and clear her head. He was quite good-looking, with his swarthy complexion and dark eyes that danced with need. 

"You are so hot," he whispered in her ear, nibbling along her jaw, down the side of her neck. 

Geez, that felt good. But she had to find a way of slowing him down. 

"Wait," she tried to tell him, but then his lips had found hers.

She was trying to resist, wasn't she, but their tongues were entwining as her fingers began to unbutton his shirt.

She caught her reflection in a full length mirror over his shoulder. It was like watching two strangers going at it. His shirt came off, floating to the floor. God, he was like an Adonis: a perfect, male upper body. And to make matters worse, his hard cock was pressing against her through his trousers. It throbbed. 

She moaned, feeling his fingers draw open her halter. The top of her dress fell to her waist, exposing her breasts. Then his hands were on her, taking each of her breasts in his dark palms, sampling their shape and firmness as if he was handling two pieces of fruit. 

Part of her knew that she should have done something to stop him. But instead she felt his touch run all the way down to her wet sex. When his thumbs flicked over her erect nipples, she choked back a moan, and when he dipped his head to take one in his mouth, she was all but lost. She clung to his full head of back hair, drawing him closer even as she fought to get away. Control was slipping away somehow. If she didn't stop this now, she'd never get away. 

Not until she felt his cock inside her...

You can't... the voice of her conscious sounded feeble. Illogical. Why couldn't she? She was here pretending to be a model. This was what models did. And it was taking her closer to Nikky Volkov... 

Her knees buckled against the edge of the bed behind her. Suddenly, she was sitting. Even more suddenly, her fingers were opening Habib's trousers, feeling his pulsing excitement beneath her hands.

She looked up along his swarthy, muscled body, the toned contours of dark flesh. Her left hand traced his six-pack just to see if this visage was true. It was. His abs were as real as the thick cock he was pulling from his boxer-briefs and offering to her.

She bit her lower lip. Sandra Wilson would be appalled if she knew she was doing this. She shouldn't. She wasn't going to. And yet her right hand was stroking him even as her mind warred. God, he was thick. 

When a bead of pre-cum dribbled out across the swollen head of his beautiful member, he placed a hand on the back of her head and pulled her forward. Her heart skipped a beat. Could she get her mouth around him? She had to try.

She kept her aroused brown eyes on his face as she sucked him. She was making him grunt. She was causing those muscles to flex. Such power. All hers. This is what models did. She was a model now.

And yet, even as the thoughts went through her mind, she caught sight of herself in the mirror again. Oh God. Reality hit her. She couldn't do this, she really couldn't. It was the drug inside her that had led to her lack of self control. This was wrong, so wrong...

"I can't," she cried, tearing her mouth from his erection. "I'm sorry."

The back of his hand hit her across the face the instant the words left her lips. Then his hand was in her hair, dragging her head back.

"No..." she cried out, even as he tried to force his cock back between her lips.

It was at that moment that the door to the bedroom flung open.

*

"Get off her," Palmer boomed, as he took in the scene. 

Jenn was on her knees, wiping some blood from the corner of her mouth. Her assailant stood over her, a virile-looking Arab with his erect cock thrusting from between his thighs. 

"Who the hell are you?" the man said, glancing at him in annoyance. With his clipped beard, his sneer fit his face perfectly.

Palmer didn't bother answering. Jenn's dress was practically hanging off her and she had her hands across her naked breasts, protecting them. He stepped between them and helped her pull the dress back in place and then for good measure pulled off his jacket and threw it over her shoulders to cover her.

"Hey!" the guy shouted, grabbing Palmer's shoulder and swinging him around.

When he swung a wild punch, Palmer ducked and then turned to face him full on. He could feel the rage rising in him. This man had struck Jenn, and this woman was his responsibility. Sandra Wilson had asked him to babysit her and he hadn't. Not well enough. She was inexperienced and it was his fault that he'd allowed her to get herself in this compromising position.

"Back off, buddy," he snapped, but the guy threw another punch, catching him on the side of the head. 

Palmer swayed with the blow to lessen the effect and then put all the furious aggression he was feeling into a punch of his own. His hard right connected with the guy's jaw, stunning him as he fell back on the bed.

"Stay away from her!" Palmer barked at him, finding Jenn's shaking hand and pulling her toward the door. 

Another guy was standing there, a smoothly dressed young Arab with shaggy, bedraggled hair. He was built like a wrestler, easily two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, and he looked menacing. Palmer had no idea where he'd come from, or how he'd got there so quickly. But he could tell they were in trouble. 

"Don't," he warned the guy, holding up the palm of his hand.

The guy gave a smug smile as he held up his fists. 

"Then just leave the woman and go—"

Jack threw a punch but the bear of a man barely flinched at it. It caught him flush on the chin, but didn't even stagger. Snapping his head back to look at Palmer, he smiled again. 

"You're going to pay for that..."

He stepped forward threateningly and reached for Jenn, but Palmer pulled her out of his reach. The guy reacted by throwing a punch that caught him the ex-cop off balance and then landed a couple solid blows to his face before he could react. 

But despite his size and power, he was picking on the wrong man.

Jack went for his knees, knocking him down. They rolled together and then somehow Palmer was on top, returning the favour. Clamping his knees around the guy's broad chest, he let his fists drum down against the man's smug face, leaving him with a split lip and a bruise that would turn his eye black in the next day or two. 

"Let's get out of here," he snapped to Jenn.

If this guy had a go at him again, his sheer strength could win the day.

Rising to his feet, he heard a string of Arabic behind him. The first guy, the brave bastard that had hit Jenn, had recovered and was back on his feet, back in the action. This time he had a knife in his hand. But the smile on his face as he pointed it at Palmer disappeared when the vase cracked against the back of his head. 

He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Palmer looked towards Jenn, who stood pigeon-toed in the middle of the room, shocked at what she'd just done.

"Good shot," he told her, wringing his hand. It was swollen. "Now, let's get out of here before anyone else shows."

The wrestler with the shaggy, bedraggled hair made a feeble attempt to grab her leg as they stepped over him, but she quickly moved to one side. When he tried it again, she swung around and kicked him in the stomach.

"Easy, tiger," Palmer told her, smiling at her resilience. "I think we've both had enough for one night."

Then they were out of the room and into the hallway in seconds, to find a worried Roxie hurrying towards them. They quickly made their way towards the lift before any of them spoke.

"Are you okay?" Palmer asked Jenn on the downward journey, touching her red cheek.

"Look at yourself in the mirror, Jack, then ask me again," she giggled.

He smiled sideways at Roxie. The brunette hadn't lost her sense of humour, despite her experience.

Stepping into the warmer night air at street level cleared his head a little, although he still felt the adrenalin running through him. He hailed a taxi as Roxie checked on Jenn, and then turned towards him again. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 06



"You're shaking!" she said, as she put her arms around him. 

She collected his head in her hands and pulled him into a hard kiss, holding him tightly until the impatient honking of the taxi brought them out of their embrace. 

"Our hero," she quipped, glancing at Jenn and then back at him. "Always rescuing women in distress. You okay?"

"I think I might have broken my knuckles," he quipped, showing her his swollen hand. "Nothing serious."

She shot him a sympathetic look.

"I'll take care of those knuckles when we get back to our hotel," she promised, "and anything else that might need my attention..."



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 07



Chapter 7 — FRIDAY — Making plans 

Roxanne Lopez was contemplative as she watched the purple-white smoke twist off the end of Jennifer Finney's cigarette. The brunette had told her she'd given up smoking a while ago, following her divorce, but after last night's events she needed a comfort blanket. 

Roxie understood why. A long time ago, she'd been like Jenn...

She still found it difficult to believe that Jade had manipulated Jenn in such a way. She'd always thought of the African model as her friend, but she was seeing her in a different light. And the ramifications were weighing heavily on her. It had to be Nikky Volkov who had put Jade up to this and there could only be one reason why. 

He knew that Jenn was an undercover cop. 

How? The Russian had connections everywhere. Was there anything he didn't know? That thought scared the shit out of her. 

It was probably Volkov who had been behind the threesome with Jade. Anything else was too much of a coincidence. She just hadn't yet worked out why. To drive a wedge between her and Jack? It almost had. And it could end their relationship if Jack ever found Volkov had coerced her into sucking his cock. Would she never learn?

But that wasn't her immediate concern. She was worried for Jenn. What was Volkov up to? Was he trying to compromise her, and the Met, make an example of her? Or was he simply trying to coerce her into becoming one of his escorts? It could be either of those things.

Thank God for Jack's intervention. No wonder she loved her boyfriend so much. Jenn might need a comfort blanket but she didn't. Who needed one when she had her own hero to look out for her?

He had still been asleep, face down, when she'd left their room this morning. He hadn't even stirred when she'd showered and dressed. She'd headed straight to Jenn's room and invited her down to breakfast. It would give them a chance to chat things through, woman to woman. She reasoned that the brunette probably needed that. 

"It feels like I've been out of my depth ever since I set foot in Dubai," Jenn suddenly mumbled, when they were seated. "And last night proved exactly why."

They paused as a waitress came over and took their order. Roxanne asked for a round of mimosas and a fruit parfait. Jenn requested the same.

"Don't beat yourself up," Roxie told her when they were alone again. "I've been around men like Nikky Volkov long enough to know how manipulative they can be. Besides, I'm the one that left you with Jade. I'm going to have it out with her when I see her. What she did was horrible, but I'm sure that Nikky was behind it."

Jenn nodded slowly. 

"I've been thinking about that all night. You think he knows I'm a cop?"

"No doubt about it."

"But how? Did I give myself away?"

Roxanne gave an ironic laugh.

"I doubt that, Jenn. Nikky has people everywhere. He probably even has contacts inside the Met. Jack said that sort of thing was rife when he worked there, and I know that Dominic DeVere did. We never ever got to the bottom of that. I'd say that someone tipped him off and last night was an attempt to compromise you."

"He very nearly did," Jenn hoarsely whispered. "Jade got me to take a hit from an opium pipe and after that I just couldn't think straight. Then she showed me one of the bedrooms from some sort of viewing room. Nikky Volkov was there with Michelle Park."

"Michelle!" Roxie exclaimed, her eyebrows knitting. "That's unusual. I didn't think she was in the inner circle."

Jenn shrugged her shoulders. 

"I don't know," she said. "The effect of the opium had hit me by then. And watching the two of them in bed ... well, it just got to me, you know?"

Roxanne nodded her understanding.

"Believe me, I know," she sympathetically agreed. "I've been in those situations before, Jenn, and more than once..."

She left the statement hanging. Sometimes it was difficult to believe exactly what she had got up to in those days. At the time, it had all seemed so normal. She'd fallen in with Dominic DeVere almost by accident and had soon become his favourite girl. After that, he'd saved her for important assignments. 

She'd even felt special at times...

"You always seem so strong," Jenn said, reaching out and stroking Roxanne's hand. "I wish I had been. But it was difficult to think straight and I kept telling myself I didn't want to blow my cover. I'm supposed to be a model, after all. Jade made it all seem so natural."

"She's very good at that," Roxie said, pulling a face.

They fell silent when their waitress returned with their order, each preoccupied for a moment with their own thoughts. 

"She's your friend?" Jenn asked, when they were alone again.

"Some friend," the redhead answered through gritted teeth. "I thought she was. You know, Jack's always been suspicious about the modelling world and I've kept telling myself it's because he doesn't fully understand it. But maybe he's right. There's corruption everywhere."

"He's a good man," Jenn said, with a warm smile. She squeezed Roxanne's fingers. "It's rare to find a real man's man, but with a tender side, too. My ex-husband was a bastard, pure and simple."

"I'm sorry," the redhead empathised, "and you're right about Jack. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me. He saved my life and he captured my heart. I just wish I'd been able to show him the good things associated with the fashion world. His experiences have been the opposite. And here we are again..." 

She shot Jenn a melancholy look. But then she smiled.

"And yet," she said softly, "I'd never have met Jack were it not for the DeVere mess. He saved me in more ways than one. I'm a very lucky girl."

"I agree," Jenn said warmly, and they both laughed.

*

The assassin stood in front of the rectangular mirror in the small bathroom, his palms face down on the cool counter beside the sink. He stared at his reflection, seeing the brooding need in his dark eyes. The scar on his face was new, a relic of his last desperate fight for life. 

His heart was palpitating from the pill he'd just taken. He had a busy day planned and would need to be at the top of his game. 

For a moment, the smooth cream walls of the bathroom closed in on him and he shook his head to clear the feeling before turning on the cold water tap. Filling his hands with water, he checked his reflection once more before splashing it on his face. 

That felt better.

The woman he'd picked up last night lay on the bed in the adjacent bedroom, her empty eyes staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't intended to kill her, but when she'd found his gun and began to ask questions, he'd had no choice. Today was too important to take chances.

He would leave her body there when he left the hotel. Like yesterday, he'd exit surreptitiously without paying. He'd got the whore to book the room in her name and no-one had seen him when he'd entered. They wouldn't even know he existed. 

He glanced at his reflection again. The sullen face staring back at him looked a little scruffy. Maybe it was just that he needed a shave? He'd have to smarten himself up before he left the room; put on one of the shirts he'd stolen from the upmarket gentleman outfitters he'd visited yesterday. Dubai was full of well groomed men and the last thing he could afford was to look out of place.

He would contact Volkov later tonight. No, make that tomorrow morning. Give him time to think overnight. 

Once the trap had been set... 

The Russian would be shocked when he heard the news, wondering what was going on. The bastard wouldn't have a clue. He'd let him stew on it until morning and then make the call. 

Once Volkov realised who he was dealing with, the multi-millionaire would have no alternative other than to pay the money he demanded.

*

"Am I interrupting anything?" 

Both women looked up to find Jack Palmer smiling at them.

He had been alarmed when he'd woken up to find Roxie gone, but then he'd put in a call to Jenn's room. When she hadn't answered, he'd put two and two together and headed down to the breakfast area. 

"Of course not, sweetheart," Roxanne said, grinning back at him. Her white knight had finally pulled himself out of bed. "Please join us."

He took the vacant chair next to his girlfriend, kissing her soft lips before glancing at Jenn. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked, checking out the side of her face. The redness had almost gone, although there was still a little swelling there from Habib's blow last night. "Sore?"

"A little," she replied. "But what about you? You look kinda rough."

They all laughed. One side of Palmer's face had several abrasions from the fight, and the bandage wrapped around his swollen hand was tinged with blood.

"All in a day's work," he quipped, deflecting the attention.

"He has marks all over his body," Roxie explained, smiling lovingly at him. 

She traced her index finger along the downward scar that ran across the side of his neck.

"You see that one?" she asked Jenn. "He got that one when he was a kid. He told me about it the first time we met." 

"You asked me about it," he corrected, smiling warmly at her. Not for the first time, he reminded himself how lucky he was to have her as his girlfriend. "You wanted to know if I'd won the fight."

"And you proudly told me that you had," she countered.

Jenn smiled at them as she listened to the exchange. The warmth in Roxanne's voice spoke volumes, every bit as much as the twinkle in her eyes. These two were very definitely in love. She wondered if their love life was every bit as cosmopolitan as Jade had hinted, but doubted it. It had to be just another attempt to put her off guard.

"I told you it added a little character," Roxie continued, her green eyes digging into his. "And then I said that I liked men with character."

"That's just as well," Palmer joked, touching a particularly nasty wound on his cheek. Habib must have been wearing a ring. "I have a feeling that I might have added even more character to my looks."

He glanced at Jenn, more comfortable with turning to business mode than talking about himself.

"Has anyone been in touch with you after last night?" he asked. "Jade, Volkov, anyone?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I haven't heard a thing. I was telling Roxie how stupid I felt. When Sandra—"

"Sandra Wilson doesn't need to know the full story," he interrupted her, "Only the relevant details. And despite everything that happened, we haven't a single thing on Volkov other than he's a nasty piece of work. But then we already knew that."

"Do you think I was deliberately set up, Jack?" Jenn asked wistfully.

"No doubt about that..."

He paused to order himself some coffee when the waitress headed to their table. He didn't need to eat right now.

"Your cover is blown and they're trying to get at you. It serves no purpose for you to stay in Dubai any longer, Jenn. In fact, it's dangerous for you to be here. When you speak to Sandra Wilson, my recommendation is that you ask to go home. Until then, I don't intend leaving either of you ladies on your own for long. Okay?"

Jenn stared at him unhappily. 

"Look, Jack, I might have messed things up last night but—"

"It isn't about you," he firmly said, meeting her gaze as he cut her off. 

He didn't want any misunderstanding. 

"Getting through that photo shoot was quite an achievement and who knows, you might have got further had it not been for Yamamura's death. But you were on a hiding to nothing from the start, Jenn. Volkov knows your identity and that means you're a threat to him. This is a man who doesn't mess around. He removes threats."

She sat quietly for a moment, those big brown eyes flicking from him to Roxie and back again as she considered his words. 

Roxanne saw her dilemma and reached out to entwine their fingers.

"You should be proud of yourself, Jenn," she encouragingly said. "You've got a big heart. But for what it's worth, I agree with Jack. This is a foreign country and the Met has no jurisdiction here. What else can you achieve? The time is right to let this one go."

The brunette eventually nodded. It mightn't be what she wanted to hear, but it was clear her friends were talking good sense. For a moment she didn't reply, and then she pushed up to her feet.

"Well, I'd better get going. I need a shower before I speak to Sandra. Maybe I'll feel better after that. But I'm grateful for all you've done, Jack, and thanks Roxanne for our chat." 

"Same," the redhead said. "We'll catch up later." 

The women hugged, and then Jenn walked away.

*

Michelle Park was walking out of her bathroom when her mobile phone rang. She was naked except for the small white towel wrapped around her damp hair. The number was blocked and she paused for a brief moment before answering. Could it be?

"Hello?"

"Hello, my dear."

The smooth voice that greeted her down the line confirmed her suspicions. The Russian's accent was unmistakable. 

"Nikky, it's so good to hear you again."

Her throat warbled and she fought back the knot. She'd thought that fucking him last night would be help show her commitment to him, but he'd left her suddenly after taking a phone call. He was pissed with something, although he hadn't explained why and she hadn't been able to find out afterwards, despite checking with various people.

She still wasn't sure that he believed her story about her and Tony. That made her fearful. Despite the incriminating information she and Yamamura had gathered on the Russian, this was a man you didn't want as an enemy. 

"I have a task for you," he told her, without any preliminaries. "Well, a couple of tasks. I know you won't disappoint me."

"Of course," she quickly agreed, with as much enthusiasm she could muster. 

It was in her interests to agree to whatever he wanted. The closer she got to him, the safer she would feel.

"How can I help?"

"The model you worked with on the shoot, Jennifer Finney. I've seen the photographs. You looked good together."

"Thanks," she said, waiting for the punch line.

He hadn't called her to offer his congratulations. That was for sure.

"I want you to meet up with her again. I need you to find out why she's in Dubai, what she knows about me. Do you understand?"

She tried to disguise her hesitation. Find out why Jennifer Finney was there? She was a young model hoping to make it big. Wasn't she? This was interesting. What the fuck did she have to do with the Russian? 

"Yes ... yes, of course."

"Once you have that information," he went on, taking her agreement as granted. "I want you to seduce her. Fuck her. Judging from the photos I've seen, that shouldn't be too onerous a task. I will specify the time and place. I hope I make myself clear."

Michelle's heart caught in her mouth. Something significant was happening here and she might well be able to use it to her advantage.

"That will be my pleasure," she quickly replied, walking out onto the balcony. 

A couple were having breakfast on the balcony next to hers. The guy's eyes nearly popped out when he saw her. She'd forgotten she was naked. But instead of turning away, she stood there as she waited breathlessly for further instructions from the Russian, allowing the stranger's eyes to feast on her unabashed nudity. 

"Tomorrow," Volkov said.

His voice was flat and hard. That irritated her. How could she pick up any clues from such a cold tone? 

"I'll have things arranged by then," he continued. "In the meantime, I've arranged for a car to pick you up at the hotel in approximately ten minutes. Be ready."

"That sounds good," she murmured huskily, disguising her panic.

Ten minutes? She hadn't even put on her make-up yet. 

She gave a sexy smile to her admirer on the next balcony and gave a sexy sway of her ass when she headed back into her room. She might be apprehensive about meeting him again, but she'd fuck the Devil if it was to her advantage. The closer she got to him, the safer she'd feel. But his next words took the wind out of her sails.

"I have an assignment for you," he added, his harsh tone indicating it was an instruction, not a request. "Think of it as more of an audition. It's one that I want you to pass. Don't disappoint me."

He abruptly ended the call before she could respond. 

She'd only talked to him for a few minutes and he'd left her bemused. Audition? What did that mean? Seduce Jennifer Finney? Why? But she didn't have time to think it through. She needed to get ready before the car arrived. Whatever he had in mind, she hoped it involved sex. She needed to relieve some of the tension she was feeling.

*

"Jade is a snake," Roxanne told her boyfriend. "Nikky Volkov might have set it up, but it was Jade who did his dirty work. When I see her, I'm—"

"My advice is to stay away from that woman, Roxie," Palmer interrupted. "And stay away from Volkov, too. He'll know of our involvement in foiling his plan and he'll be cooking up something else. Tell the truth, I'd rather all three of us were heading back to England on the same plane."

"Jack..." she started to protest, but he held up his right hand.

"I know, Roxie," he reluctantly said, his jaw setting. "You have to see through your obligations here. But throughout the rest of our stay, think of me as your personal bodyguard. I don't want you going anywhere outside of this hotel without me. Nor does Jenn."

"You really think it's that serious?" 

He didn't reply, but the earnest look on his face gave her the answer. Jack didn't do drama. When he made a point, it meant something. 

"Okay," she told him, "but it's not all bad news. I spoke to Alicia Stiles last night. She still models for Nikky and other leading agencies when it suits her, but she mainly freelances. And guess what? She's asked me to co-host Supermodel with her."

Her tone grew a couple of octaves as she gave him the news. Her green eyes shone with excitement.

"This is the break I've been looking for, Jack," she continued, speaking faster, more enthusiastically. "No more agency work. No more modelling, except where I pick and choose. Television could be a new career for me. What do you think?"

She looked so happy that he couldn't help but give her a big hug. She wouldn't be this energized unless the opportunity was something special.

"It sounds fantastic," he grinned. 

"It is Jack, believe me," she garbled. "I'm going to be a guest judge first, and if that works, they'll offer me a contract..."

She paused, pondering on whether to give him her next piece of news. There wasn't any point if he was set on leaving Dubai as soon as he could. But on the other hand, she knew what it could mean.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at her suspiciously.

She quickly jotted a telephone number down on a slip of paper and glanced around her as she handed it to him. 

"What's this?"

"It's Nikky Volkov's personal mobile number," she said, her beautiful eyes still sparkling. "One of the new supermodels—Devi, from India—was bragging at the party about having it. She owes me a couple of favours and I managed to wheedle it out of her. Any use?" 

Any use? Volkov was likely to have a couple of mobile phones, but if his luck held then this could be a major breakthrough. The question was, did he want to become involved?

*

An excited party of tourists had just arrived at the five star Ritz-Carlton hotel. The assassin stood towards the back of them and to the casual observer, he would appear as one of the group. That was what he wanted, to blend in with the crowd. But his gaze was peering past them towards the hotel entrance.

The woman he now knew to be Michelle Park was standing there, positively glowing in a short, floral patterned dress that had everyone turning their heads. He hated Asians, but even he had to admit that this one was hot. His cock was lengthening just from looking at her. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 07



But she wasn't the main object of his interest. It was the man beside her. It was impossible to miss Nikky Volkov's blonde bodyguard, Boris. He was taking Michelle's arm and escorting across the front of the hotel towards a black Lincoln. 

Moving on instinct, the assassin slipped away from the group of holidaymakers and headed towards the taxi stand. Fortune was shining on him. No-one else was in the queue. He slid into the backseat of the first cab as Michelle and Boris climbed inside the Lincoln.

"Follow that car," he said, pulling out a roll of bills.

He peeled off more than it would cost to drive the length of New City. What did it matter? He needed to make sure they kept the Lincoln in sight and all the money he was using was counterfeit. 

"Be discreet," he snapped. "There's more of the same if you don't lose them."

"Yessir!" the happy driver smiled, taking the cash without a second glance.

That was typical of an Arab. He fucking hated them as well as Asians.

His attention remained on the black Lincoln in front as they pulled into the heavy traffic. It was darting around some cars as if it knew it was being followed. But with more money at stake, the assassin's taxi driver was following diligently. 

There wasn't a problem. Or was there? Fuck! The Lincoln had turned abruptly and his driver had missed it. Stupid bastard! 

"What the fuck..." he spat out, but his driver was sending him an over-the-shoulder grin.

He stayed parallel for a short time and then navigated into an alley that split through the shadow of a couple high rises. When they hit sunlight again, the Lincoln was two cars up. They were back on its tail. Maybe the bastard driver knew what he was doing after all? 

He relaxed back in his seat as they settled behind the Lincoln on the main thoroughfare. There was little chance of losing it now.

*

Michelle Park fidgeted a little as she stared at Boris, opposite her. He had a curious smile on his face as he watched her. She wondered what it meant. Like all men, he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering up and down her tight body, taking in the huge expanse of thigh she'd deliberately left on display as she'd crossed her long legs. 

She returned the smile and then glanced out of the tinted window, reflecting on her conversation with Nikky Volkov. She was pondering what his interest was in Jenn Finney. That puzzled her. And she was wondering exactly where the Lincoln was taking her. But more than anything, she was thinking about his cold, dominant tone. 

Had he discovered the truth about her and Tony? Her boyfriend had offered her to Sheikh Amir bin Khalid as a reward for signing the contract with him. That worried the shit out of her. It was the one, single fact that tied her in to the deal... 

She glanced at Boris again. He sat quietly in his white linen suit, one leg crossed over the other, the smile on his face not touching his eyes. It would have been impossible to know what he was thinking ... except for the way his gaze was all over her again, lingering on the short hem of her dress and the deep shadow of her cleavage. 

He was fucking her with his eyes.

She gave him one of her sexiest smiles. The one that said she was the hottest woman in the world and she knew it. Play the game. Use him to find out what Volkov was up to.

"Where are we going, Boris?" she murmured, taking the initiative. 

His gaze rose from her legs to her tits, and finally reached her face.

"Mr. Volkov has arranged for us to visit one of the Sheikh's clubs," he told her, in his thick German accent. 

"Why?" she sweetly asked.

His smile returned. God, he was dumb, but she wasn't going to get much out of him. Not unless...

"You know, Boris, I think you and I could be really good friends" she said, suggestively raising an eyebrow.

His eyes narrowed and a puzzled frown crossing his face. They both knew she was a cut above the women he'd normally associate with.

Michelle smiled again, showing a row of straight, white teeth. 

"You know," she persuasively said, leaning across towards him. "I love men like you, men who have power..."

Her right hand dropped into his lap. Beneath his pressed trousers, his manhood bulged.

"I bet you have lots of stories you can tell me," she half-whispered, reaching for his zipper. "About your boss and what he gets up to. That sort of power thing always turns me on."

She held his gaze as she carefully eased the zipper down. The German's body stiffened but he made no move to stop her. When she fished out his cock, she was happy to find it more than filled out her palm. 

"I want to hear those stories, Boris," she smiled, keeping her expressive gaze fixed on his as she lowered her head.

His eyes narrowed further as she licked her lips and he gave a gasp when she curled her long tongue up and down his thick shaft. 

"That's it, baby," she hissed as his body crunched into the leather as he reclined. "Relax..." 

Tossing her dark hair, she swallowed half of his girth with consummate ease. By the time she'd finished with the moron, he'd tell her anything she wanted to know. 

*

You're being paranoid, Jack Palmer told himself.

He'd stayed in the lobby after breakfast, making the call off his mobile phone in a private section of the atrium. It was unlikely that Nikolay Volkov had bugged his and Roxie's room, but he wasn't leaving anything to chance. The Russian would be aware of his background, and he'd know that it was Jack who had foiled his attempt to compromise Jenn Finney. That made Palmer as big a threat to him as the undercover cop. Instinct, cultivated by many years on the Vice squad, told him not to take any chances.

Roxie's initiative in getting Volkov's number left him with a choice to make. He could ignore the gift and simply support his girlfriend while she completed her Supermodel audition tomorrow and then return to England. That was the easiest choice, and the safest. It allowed him to babysit Jenn, too. Volkov would try again, he had no doubt about that.

But the cop in him wanted to go after Volkov. He could still protect Roxie and Jenn while following up the lead. He had enough time on his hands, so why not see where it took him?

He'd made the call to the only person who could help him and left a message on Taffy Boyd's phone. Inside a minute, he'd succinctly explained what he wanted. It took the Welshman half an hour to return the call.

"Jack, boyo," his deep accent boomed. "It's been a while."

Taffy was working in Narcotics when he'd surreptitiously helped with Palmer's investigation into Dominic DeVere. They had grown up together and Jack knew his overweight friend was the best wireman in the business, bar none. He still felt responsible for the way it had all ended, with Taffy being transferred to some stick-in-the-mud hamlet where it was impossible to use his own initiative. 

"Too long, Taffy," he replied, smiling happily to himself. It was good to speak to his friend again. "How are things?" 

"Life lurches from one piece of excitement to the next in the hotbed known as Llandudno," the Welshman grunted. "That's why I was so happy to hear from you, Jack. It sounds like you have an interesting problem on your hands."

"To put it mildly," Palmer wryly retorted. "Can you help?"

"Can I help?" Taffy chortled. "Is the Pope catholic? But listen, Jack, you know my part in this will come free of charge. But to do what you want, well, that could be expensive."

"I understand," Palmer said. He was going to try and persuade Sandra Wilson to meet the cost. "How much, Taffy?" 

He whistled when the Welshman gave him an estimate. That was practically an entire year's worth of surveillance budget when he was in the Met. 

"What exactly will that buy?" 

"A ghosted mobile, Jack," Taffy explained. "It rings when the original rings. And it'll light up when there's an outgoing call. You'll be able to listen to and record every single conversation that takes place."

Palmer pursed his lips. Now that was impressive. 

"Is there any chance of detection?" he asked, thoughtfully. "Will the person know someone's eavesdropping?"

"Not unless they have access to some more advanced spyware than I have. And I assure you, such a thing doesn't exist."

"That sounds great, Taffy," Palmer said. 

A sense of relief ran through him, together with the surge of adrenalin he always felt when back in action. But he had to get Sandra Wilson's agreement before he could take this any further.

"I'll get back to you in the next few hours and let you know whether it's a runner," he continued "Once I've spoken to Sandra."

"That's fine with me, Jack. It'll be good to do business with you again, boyo. And give her my love. And tell her if she's still unattached, all she has to do is look me up." 

*

The cab driver pulled up to a curb, across the street from where the black Lincoln had driven in.

"What is this place?" the assassin asked, leaning on the seat infront of him and glancing at the building opposite.

"Ah, that's ... what do you foreigners call it? A gentlemen's club?" the driver laughed.

He pulled a cigarette out of his glove compartment and lit up without even asking. His passenger felt like grabbing it from his fingers and stubbing it out in his eye.

"See how there's no sign on the building?" the man went on, allowing the smoke to escape from his nostrils. "There's not even an operating front door. That tells you the place is exclusive."

"Exclusive?"

"That's correct," the man said, shooting him a toothy smile. "They take the word 'private' seriously in there, my friend." 

The assassin felt the irritation surge further in him. He had no choice other than to wait out here until Boris emerged, even though that only increased the danger of discovery. He reached inside his jacket for his Makarov gun. He'd have to kill the driver, of course. He had no choice.

"But if you really wanted to get in," the man suddenly said, sending another cloud of smoke into cab. "I may know a few people..."

The assassin snapped his head up and took his hand from his gun. The driver had a dark goatee, a shaggy head of hair, his teeth were yellow and his eyes were blood shot. But that smile suggested he knew something. Maybe he would let him live after all?

"How much?"

The guy shrugged. "My friends, they're not cheap."

The assassin slowly nodded as he pulled out his wallet. He counted off what he thought was more than a fair price but when the man laughed, he doubled it. It was counterfeit, after all. The taxi driver took the cash, counted it carefully, and then reached for his phone.

"Sayid, it's Raj. I've got a special request..." He laughed at whatever was said. "Yeah, you got it ... uh huh ... we're just outside..." 

There was a lot of jabber that the assassin couldn't understand and that made him feel uncomfortable. Was he going to get in or not?

"Of course, of course," the driver continued. "Very well, yes..." 

He flipped the phone shut and nodded. 

"Okay, you're clear to go," he said, and then held up the wad of notes he'd just been given "I hope you have a lot more where this came from, because it's not cheap in there..."

The assassin nodded and then stepped out of the cab. Money was no object. The momentarily blast of fresh air was welcome, even if it came with a wave of heat.

"Tell them Sayid sent you," the driver shouted, before driving away.

He watched him go and breathed deeply to calm himself. Once his heartbeat returned to normal levels, he descended the short flight of stairs towards an unmarked door. He'd visited a few establishments like this in the Ukraine. Except that there were real women back in his country, not the bitches he'd seen in this country.

He knocked and a slim woman answered, wearing something more appropriate for an Awards Show than behind a back-alley door. He tried not to sneer.

"Hello," she smiled, bowing her head deferentially. 

She wore a headscarf, although judging from the plunging neckline of her dress, it wasn't for modesty. 

"May I help you?"

"I was told to mention Sayid's name," he snapped.

Her dark eyes broke into a smile. 

"Of course. Please, follow..." 

Turning away from him, her dress was entirely backless, and her dark skin was covered in tattoos of men and women engaged in very lewd acts. Her eyes smiled at him as she glanced over her bare shoulder.

"There are rules," she explained as they arrived before a cherry wood paneled elevator. "First and foremost, anything you see here does not leave here. This includes 'celebrity sightings.' We don't exist, Mr..."

"Smith," he answered, staring her down.

She smiled sweetly as she pressed a button in the lift. 

"Of course, Mr. Smith..." 

The motors switched on and slowly carried them upwards. 

"You're free to watch anything on stage. Private dances can be arranged with the girls themselves, as well as any ... extras..."

"Extras?"

"Extras," she repeated without offering further explanation. Wasn't it obvious? "We provide private rooms, should you need one, but our clientele is discreet. Most forego that amount of privacy. They prefer to enjoy the ... shall we say... more liberal atmosphere."

The doors of the elevator slid open before he could respond. 

"Welcome to paradise, Mr. Smith," she said, stepping to his right and swinging her arm forward.

The sumptuous room formed an oval around a large stage made of polished alabaster. Three dancers spun and twisted on silver-gold poles in various states of undress. Others performed in the laps of the stage-side watchers, who were sitting in black leather armchairs.

And there was more. The outer ring, raised up on its own landing and separated by a polished, wooden banister, seemed to be where the real action was. Lined with plush, purple and maroon couches, the upper landing offered a bit more privacy with a lower light level and gossamer curtains between each booth.

In one, a guy was receiving a very enthusiastic blowjob from a girl wearing nothing but a silver-sequined g-string. In another, he could see the naked buttocks of a black man who was thrusting enthusiastically between the legs of a naked blonde, sitting on the couch. 

"Would you like to sit in a booth, or down along the floor?" the veiled hostess asked. 

He glanced around and caught sight of Boris and Michelle Park settling into a booth at the other side of the room. To their left was an empty one. 

"There," he told her, pointing to the vacant booth. "That one."

"Excellent taste, Mr. Smith," the woman smiled. "That particular booth is one thousand Euros and includes a private dance."

The assassin blanched at the price. It was extortionate and even though money didn't matter, he hated anyone taking advantage of him. But this wasn't a time for making a fuss. Gritting his teeth, he reached for his wallet and paid her what she asked. 

She bent her head in thanks and silently took him to his booth

"Syrah will be along shortly," she told him, once he stepped inside. "She'll take care of all your needs..." 

And with a soft smile, she left him. 

He turned to the gossamer curtains on his left. The flimsy barrier was all that separated him from Boris and Michelle Park. He could do it now, kill the bodyguard and then the girl for good measure. That would only add to Volkov's confusion. The timing was perfect.

He removed his Makarov from his jacket pocket and held the gun upwards as he fixed the silencer onto the barrel. The exhilaration he always felt moments before the kill ran through him. All he had to do was push the curtain aside, step into the next booth and...

*

Michelle Park sized up the pock-faced Arab who had just entered her booth. He was in his thirties, had slicked-back brown hair, and was smartly dressed in a light, designer suit. He also had a cocky swagger that suggested he was someone important. 

"So, how do you like my club?" he asked her, ignoring Boris and taking a seat between them.

She glanced at the bodyguard. As usual, he had a blank expression on his face, but the look in his dark eyes suggested he would like to throttle the newcomer. Men were so transparent. She'd given him one blowjob and he was becoming jealous. Still, that was a good sign. He'd soon be telling her everything he knew about Nikky Volkov. 

"You own it?" she asked, turning her attention back to the dark haired man in the designer suit. "I'm impressed."

"Not exactly," he murmured, resting his hand on her thigh and lightly stroking his fingernails across her skin. "The Sheikh owns the club. I manage it for him. That's why you're here. For your audition..."

"Audition?"

That's what Volkov had said.

He threw his head back and laughed at her puzzled expression.

"A private joke," he explained, pushing back up to his feet and nodding at the stage in clear view through beyond the thin rail that guarded the front of the booth. "My name is Kamal. Welcome to my world."

Michelle smiled pleasantly as she stared past him. She'd been in a few decadent clubs in her time, but nothing quite like this one.

A blonde dancer had suspended herself by her legs from one of the poles, running her hands across her perfectly formed tits. Another was languidly sliding her tight oiled body down the pole across from her, legs spread high above her head. 

Between them, a brunette was naked on the stage, lying on her back with her legs spread open. She had a silver pearl piercing that dangled from her clitoris. Running her fingers along her perky breasts, they found her cunt as she arched her body up off the stage. Only the heels of her feet and her shoulder blades touched.

"I'm sure this is a world you'd feel very comfortable in," Kamal said, arrogantly sauntering back towards his chair.

When he sat down again, he patted his knee. The meaning was clear and Michelle ignored the look Boris was shooting her as she slid from her own seat and settled into the Arab's lap. She still didn't quite understand what was going on, and wasn't going to rock any boats until she did.

"Tell me something..." Kamal continued, hooking one arm around her waist. 

"What would you like to know?" she asked.

His free hand dropped to her leg, pushing her thighs apart. When his probing fingers stroked under the hem of her tiny dress, she spread her legs a little to accommodate them.

"Do you fuck as enthusiastically as you suck cock?" he condescendingly asked.

She didn't flinch as she continued to meet his conceited stare. There was no chance of him intimidating her, if that was his intention. She'd eaten men like this for breakfast.

"Do you really need to ask?" she quietly replied, opening her legs even wider so that his fingers could stroke along her already damp thong. "Or would you like a demonstration?"

*

The high-heeled footsteps approaching his booth saw the assassin quickly return the Makarov into his jacket pocket, temporarily at least. 

"Hello," a sultry woman's voice said as she stepped inside the thin rail.

The scantily clad brunette was beautiful; there was no doubt about that. Her full lips, glossy black hair, dark almond-shaped eyes and rich mocha coloured skin made the perfect combination. She was carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"Another five hundred," she casually told him, standing just inside the booth.

"For champagne?" he snapped.

"For champagne, a lap dance, and what follows afterwards," she grinned, stepping forward.

She placed the bottle and glasses on the small side table before slipping comfortably into his lap. Her hand slithered across his face, gently guiding him to look at her. 

"My name is Syrah," she told him, her full breasts pressing comfortably against his chest. "And I promise you won't be disappointed."




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 07



Her voice was cool and yet husky at the same time.

She pushed up from his lap and reached for the champagne bottle, taking for granted that he'd agreed the price. She poured two glasses, handing one to the assassin.

His gaze swept along her body as he took it. The black top was smaller than most string bikinis, and her extremely short black wrap skirt gave more than a hint of a metallic silver thong. Her legs were long and, like the rest of her exposed skin, shimmering with body lotion.

"Didn't I tell you that you wouldn't be disappointed?" she asked, following his gaze as she posed for him. 

Raising both her hands above her head like a belly dancer, she rocked her hips in time with the music that filled the room. Her breasts spilled out of her little top in every direction and the dangling string of colorful gems in her pierced navel danced as if on a string. When she released her short skirt in one fluid motion, it pooled at her ankles, exposing her mouth-watering globes of her tight ass clad in nothing but the thong.

"Well?" she asked mischievously, tossing her black hair over one shoulder and then bending at the waist. "Is it worth the money?"

The sexy woman braced her beautiful body on the assassin's knees as she treated him to a view of her deep cleavage. She flipped her hair between his thighs, then up and behind her, before spinning easily into his lap, facing away from him. When she pressed her body back into him, she smelled fresh, spicy and intoxicating. 

Reaching behind her, she released the tie of her top and pulled his hands to her naked breasts. Her erect nipples burned into his palms. 

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder with those large, almond-shaped eyes as she planted her high-heeled feet on the floor, grinding her toned ass against his groin. His cock began to grow with each sultry movement. When her tongue flicked across her full lips and she began to grind faster on him, he began to gasp. 

His hands tightened on her tits but then she was gyrating off of him, smoothly peeling her loosely hanging top from her body as she turned towards him. Her full, olive-hued breasts were magnificent. He tried to tell himself he was here on business, but when she crawled back into his lap, he conceded that Boris could wait for a short time, at least. 

He was going to fuck the bitch until she begged him to stop.

She rolled her body across him, making sure to caress the valley of her breasts across his perspiring face. One knee either side of him, she began to move on his cloth covered cock again. Fuck, he was so hard. With each grind, the silver thong pulled against the plump folds of her sex and shifted lower and lower on her mound. She was bare and silky.

"Want me?" Syrah whispered, her moist breath fluttering against his face as her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt.

She smiled knowingly as he nodded. Of course he did. Her tits pressed against his chest as she eased herself down between his legs. Her slender fingers found his zipper, yanking it down, and then she had his trousers open and his raging manhood in her hand. 

"Want me?" she whispered again, swirling her tongue across his crown. 

The assassin shuddered, feeling his balls swell. Yes, he wanted her. Badly. The pill he'd taken earlier made him feel superhuman and soon he'd have this bitch baying like a banshee. But first, he was going to let her show him what a good little cocksucker she was. 

*

"This changes everything, Jack," Sandra Wilson conceded. 

She'd spoken to Jennifer Finney first, for over an hour, and then telephoned Palmer. The first call had been official, but this one was equally as valuable. She'd trust Jack with her life.

He and Jenn had separately avoided the intimate details of the seduction attempt, but both of them had made Wilson aware of the effort to compromise her. The London Met's Head of Vice had been as surprised as them to discover that Volkov had rumbled her cover.

"It had to have come from your end," Palmer insistently told her. "Which means that Jenn's in danger of you leave her here. Get her back to England, Sandra. There's nothing more she can do here."

"That makes sense," Wilson slowly replied, but Jack could tell that her brain was whirring.

"Of course it does," he responded. "Look, she wants to do the impossible and trap Volkov for you, Sandra. But we all know that's not going to happen. Not in Dubai. The Met has no authority here and Volkov is too slippery to be caught out." 

"But there have been developments, Jack."

He paused and glanced at Roxie. She was sitting in the chair by the window, a magazine in her lap, but watching him closely. He had the phone on loudspeaker so that she could hear every word. It was important that she understood everything that was going on.

"Go on," he said.

"I told you I had a contact in the police force over there," Wilson resumed, speaking a little more rapidly in her desire to share her findings. "The official report on the hotel shootings has been finalised. It will indicate that the position is as suspected—two gamblers who killed one another when they met up." 

Palmer felt his stomach churn. Instinct told him he wasn't going to like what Sandra Wilson was about to tell him.

"But..." he said.

"The facts around the killing don't match up with that verdict, Jack. They're concealing that two more bodies were found at the hotel that afternoon. In nearby rooms. One was an elderly guest and the other was a hotel employee."

Palmer clenched his teeth. Why would there be other killings if this was a face-off between two gamblers? He glanced at Roxie again. Her legs were crossed, and he knew from the way her right foot was swinging back and forth that she was nervous. The situation was bringing back lots of memories for her. Most of them would be bad.

"Not only that," Wilson continued. "It seems that there was a fight in the room, quite a violent confrontation it seems. Some furniture was broken. Other was rearranged in the wrong place. And there was blood on the carpet. The two dead bodies were rearranged in position, to make people think it was a simple shoot out."

She paused to let the implication sink in. 

"And you're telling me the official report makes no mention of the other deaths, Sandra? They're supporting the original story?"

"That's what I'm telling you, Jack. And here's something else," she added. "The official report shows the other deceased to be Vladimir Kazakov. The documents found in the room show that he and Yamamura to have a history of gambling debts. Neat, yes? And his fingerprints are all over the room. File closed. But, get this, the formal identification of the body showed that the other guy wasn't Kazakov. It was another assassin. Sergii Baranov. Complicated, huh?"

Roxie pushed up from the chair, smoothing her ponytail as she looked at him. She'd had enough of killings with the Dominic DeVere case. With an arch of her eyebrows, she walked across the room and slid an arm around Jack's waist and snuggled into his chest. It was as if she needed to feel the warmth of his body against hers. 

He held her close as he thought it through. Okay, get your mind into gear, Jack. What exactly is going on here? What is it? Work it out! Fit the pieces together. 

"Sandra..." he thoughtfully said. "This has all the hallmarks of a contract killing. That meant Volkov is behind this, he has to be."

"Is that instinct, Jack? Or do we have something more concrete."

"Of course it's instinct. But it makes sense. Volkov fell out with Tony Yamamura and had him removed. To distance himself from the killing, he made it look like they were engaged in a gambling dispute."

"I'm with you so far..."

He paused as Roxie shivered against him and slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her even closer.

"They could have fallen out over some kind of business deal, and that arrangement also someone high up in Dubai society. That's how he's able to influence the police report. As it stands, he's officially in the clear..."

"I buy all of that, Jack. But the rest makes no sense. How do Kazakov and Baranov fit into this?"

He hesitated again. It was a good question. Kazakov and Baranov were both expendable, everyone was in Volkov's world.

"We need to work that one out, Sandra," he told her. "Would it help if we were able to put a trace on Volkov's mobile phone and listen in to all of his calls?"

"Funneee..." she began, but then paused.

Palmer had a good sense of humour, but his tone suggested that he wasn't joking this time.

"How?" she asked.

"The how is easy," he told her, smiling at Roxie as she stared up at him. "The question is how much. Want to know?"

*

Michelle Park grunted as she leaned forward, hands resting on the thin rail at the front of the booth. She could feel the heat of Kamal's body behind her as he thrust inside her. 

His heavy balls were slapping against her sodden clit. Fuck, that felt good. She tightened her fingers around the edge of the rail as he retracted, drawing a half breath before he lunged back into her, harder than before. The rail creaked in protest.

"You're so tight," he huffed, as his driving hips picked up speed.

"And you're so big," she lied, turning to look back at him over her shoulder.

Not that she was unhappy with his size. She was used to huge cocks, but he was bigger than average. And he knew how to use it.

Boris had left the booth almost as soon as she'd gone down on Kamal and taken him between her lips. He was pissed with her, but he'd know she had no choice. He of all people would realise that when Nikky Volkov set something up, you went along with it. She'd make it up to the blonde bodyguard in the Lincoln on the journey back to the hotel. And again in her room. That's when she'd pump him for information.

Kamal's hand went to her dark hair, gripping it tightly and jerking her head back. Her fevered gaze fell on the stage infront of them.

A tiny brunette was being fucked by a man with rippling muscles and the swarthy skin of a Dubai resident. He had a shaved head, wide shoulders, and he was kneeling on the edge of the platform as he thrust his hips in long strokes. He was hot, Michelle decided. Maybe she could fuck him, too, after she was finished with the Arab.

She lifted up on the balls of her feet, pushing her ass up higher as Kamal became rougher. The muscles in her legs screamed, growing tight. This man might be a cocky, arrogant bastard, but he was a good fuck. And she had to admire his stamina. 

"Uh, uh, uhhh geez...!" 

Her face twisted as another orgasm shot through her. They were coming regularly now.

She bit her lower lip, attempting to stifle her scream, not that it mattered to her lover. He kept fucking her through the climax, his thrusts coming so hard she had to go up onto her toes. 

He pushed down on the small of her back, shoving her against the rail with each forward pump, driving his shaft even deeper. 

"You like that, bitch?" he snarled, his previously smooth voice now throaty and guttural.

Michelle turned her head to look at him again, sending him a message. No man ever got the better of her. She kept her gaze on his as she tightened her internal muscles around his cock. The movement took him by surprise and he cried out something in Arabic.

She did it again. And again. He was gritting his teeth now. When he started to groan, the meaning was unmistakeable. Her clutching pussy was bringing him to his orgasm and there wasn't a thing he could do about it, no way he could escape the inevitable!

When she tightened her muscles again, he did his best to hold his orgasm at bay. But he was fighting a losing battle. She suddenly began to pump back on his cock, so fast that he was taken by surprise. Thirty seconds later, his balls begin to tighten. She detected it, too.

Immediately, she pulled forward, off him. Turning her body, she sank down between his legs just in time to catch the first blast of cum in her eager mouth. Her graceful fingers stroked his juice-slick cock as he came, milking him as she swallowed every drop he had. 

When she released him, she sat back and smiled up from her position at his feet with the look of a satiated feline.

*

Vladimir Kazakov had carefully followed Boris out of the building. The blonde bodyguard seemed careless, not bothering to check what was happening around him. That was an unforgiveable error. Kazakov wasn't careless, but he was angry. He'd been about to fuck Syrah when he'd heard the German leave the booth next to his.

Boris stomped his way to the same black Lincoln that Vladimir had followed to the club. There was no sign of the driver, who clearly wasn't expecting his passengers back yet. That was good. 

The German opened the rear door of the car and climbed in, slamming it behind him. He was probably going to jerk himself off, Vladimir thought. What poor bastard visited a strip club and watched the action without getting any himself? 

He checked around him and listened intently before easing himself forward. Dropping to his haunches, he stealthily covered the short distance to the car, like a crab, taking care to stay out of sight of the rear view mirrors.

His need for revenge was intense. Syrah's blow job had him ready to explode more than once before her experienced mouth had eased off, prolonging the exquisite torture. He'd be fucking her brains out now had it not been for Boris. He owed the bastard for that. He owed him too for being associated with Nikky Volkov. Had it not been for Sergii's gun jamming when the assassin was about to kill him in Tony Yamamura's apartment, he wouldn't be here to tell the tale. 

He had just managed to overcome Sergii in the fight to the death that had ensued, and then he'd swopped clothes and identities. 

After that, he'd set up the two bodies exactly the way Sergii had explained when he'd been gloating, and then planted the evidence as Volkov had apparently instructed. The Russian would believe Vladimir would be the one who had been killed. 

He'd never be any the wiser until Kazakov contacted him. Then he'd panic enough to pay him the money he demanded. Enough to retire. Otherwise he would kill him, too.

He watched as smoke spiralled into the air through the open car window above him. Boris had lit up a cigarette. It would be the last thing he ever did. 

"Hello, comrade," he sarcastically said, as he raised himself beside the open window.. 

Boris's eyes widened when he saw him and his hand instinctively reached for his gun.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Kazakov quietly said, placing the barrel of his Makarov against the German's forehead.

Boris looked sideways at him, but his eyes were darting around, searching for a way out. There was none.

"Before I kill you, I have a couple of questions," Vladimir calmly said.

He needed to understand Volkov's movements tomorrow. 

The bodyguard nodded, but Kazakov could see from the look in his fearful eyes that he had no intention of complying. That was unfortunate. Boris raised his hand into the air, away from his gun, but then frantically stubbed the glowing cigarette between his fingers into the back of the Ukrainian's left hand.

Vladimir cried out in pain a nano-second before his Makarov flickered into life. The silencer kept the noise down to a spit. 

"Bastard!" he snapped, licking the burn on the back of his hand as Boris slumped forward out of the window, a lifeless expression on his face.

He smacked him once across the cheek with the butt of his gun, delighting in the gush of blood, before turning away.



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 08



Chapter 8 — SATURDAY — Plusses and Minuses

Michelle Park tossed her long, glossy hair over one shoulder and stretched her toned body to the limit. Her black, sleeveless tee rose with the movement, betraying the flat band of olive-hued skin around her midriff. She smiled at Jenn Finney, well aware that the beautiful brunette couldn't help but sneak a furtive look.

The area around the hotel's rooftop pool was out of bounds to everyone other than the two of them this afternoon. Nikky Volkov had seen to that. That left her plenty of time to complete her task.

During their telephone conversation late last night, the Russian had surprised her with the news that Jennifer Finney was an undercover cop. She was a detective with the London Metropolitan Police, sent to Dubai as part of an investigation into his activities. 

All he wanted, he'd rasped, was for her establish what the cop knew about him and then seduce her. The cameras hidden around the pool area would do the rest. Do that, he'd persuasively explained, and he had big plans for Michelle. He always rewarded loyalty. 

The problem was that she wasn't sure if she could trust him. That meant she had to think things through very carefully.

His voice had been agitated when they'd spoken. She could tell that Boris's murder had rattled him. It had shocked her, too. What the fuck was going on? First, it was Tony Yamamura. Now, Boris. The two deaths had to be connected and that worried her, too. If Nikky Volkov ever sussed out her involvement with Tony then she could be next...

For the moment, she decided that going along with him was the best approach. The file she and Tony had complied on his illicit activities could be her way out if he tried anything, but she had to find a way of using that without being implicated. 

Perhaps Volkov himself had given her the answer? The undercover cop beside her might hold the key. 

She'd called Jenn Finney first thing this morning and arranged for them to meet at lunchtime. The brunette had eagerly agreed and Michelle knew why. She wanted information on Volkov. But that wasn't the only reason. The woman was attracted to her. She'd seen it in her eyes at the photoshoot and had confirmed it with the kiss. 

She intended to use that attraction to her advantage.

Making sure that Jenn was watching, she grasped the bottom of her tee, crossing her arms in the process, and peeled it over her head. Her tiny, black string bikini top barely housed her perky breasts, and the skimpy matching thong left little to the imagination. She looked hot...

The young brunette did, too. The woman was adorable. Like a living doll with her big brown eyes and stunning face. And that turquoise blue, haltered bikini displayed her fabulous body to perfection. How could someone with a body made for sin be that shy? Or was that all a pretence? She intended to find out during the next few hours.

Glancing sideways at Jenn, she sauntered to the edge of the glass-still pool and winked at her before diving majestically into the water. She swam a fluid lap before returning to the lip of the pool and pulling herself up so that she could sit on the edge. 

"I love the sun," she said, stretching again as the water cascaded from her fabulous body. "It always makes me feel horny. 

With an exaggerated smile, she reached behind her and untied her bikini top. Her gaze found Jenn's again as she dropped the wet garment on the hot deck surface beside her. 

"Come and sit here with me," she huskily told the brunette. "I think it's about time you and I bonded."

*

Jack Palmer had fingered the ghosted mobile in his pocket throughout the morning. He hadn't been able to stop. It was like a compulsion, as if it would fall out and he'd lose it if he didn't check it on a regular basis.

Sandra Wilson had agreed for the Met to fund the device and Taffy Boyd had acted instantly on receiving Jack's call confirming they were to go ahead. The Welshman had promised the mobile would be waiting for him at the front desk before breakfast, and it had been. 

The whole thing felt very James Bond to Palmer. In his days there, undercover operations in Vice usually involved nothing more than growing a beard and wearing a wire. Very occasionally, they'd get a GPS tag to follow a car, but funds were always an issue. So possessing a phone that not only tapped into Nikky Volkov's personal mobile, but also behaved like his without the outgoing signal, was something else.

He had escorted Roxanne to the television studio for her appointment, satisfying himself that everything was kosher before leaving her. She wasn't sure how long the filming of her episode of Supermodel would take, but with an early afternoon start and dinner scheduled in, it was likely to be another long day. In the unlikely event of Nikky Volkov turning up— Supermodel had nothing to do with him, but who could be sure?—Roxie was to phone him immediately.

To his annoyance, Jenn had left a message on his mobile phone earlier to say she was following up a lead. She'd be back at the hotel sometime later, she'd said. That made him nervous. He'd told her not to go anywhere without letting him know, but she was desperate to make a name for herself. That spelt trouble...

Meanwhile, the absence of the two women left him with some free time. He intended to use it to the full.

*

Nikky Volkov pushed a hand through his close-cropped hair as he paced up and down the room in his spacious suite. He had no idea who had killed Boris, or why, but he wasn't going to stand for it. It had taken a long time to build up his business empire, and if anyone thought they were going to fuck with him, they were badly mistaken. 

They'd end up like Tony Yamamura.

Volkov couldn't work out a motive for Boris's death. Nothing had been taken, not his credit cards or even the money in his wallet. That suggested it was either personal—it was easy to make enemies in that business—or that Boris had been targeted... 

The Russian swallowed the remaining contents from his glass, feeling the bourbon burn his throat. He stopped his pacing to pour another and then took a large Havana cigar from the top drawer of the drinks cabinet. He unwrapped the cellophane slowly before snipping the end and lighting up. With each twirl of his fingers, it began to burn evenly. Only then did he take a long draw and allow the smoke to spiral upwards as it escaped from his nostrils.

His free hand slammed down on the top of the cabinet. Why now, when he was so close to pulling off the biggest business deal of his life? Everything was going so well and he was about to expand his influence into the Middle East—the most lucrative market of all. 

He'd taken care of Yamamura's threat and had plans to quickly cut Roxanne and that boyfriend of hers down to size. And he'd soon be able to blackmail the undercover cop. After Michelle completed her task, she'd do exactly what she was told if she wanted to preserve her own and the London Met's reputation. 

He glanced down at one of her photographs infront of him, taken at the Clinique shoot. For a cop, the woman was stacked. Oiling those fabulous tits up and fucking them was the first thing he was going to do with her. It wouldn't be the last.

He sat down on the large couch beside the huge window. Taking another long sip of bourbon from his glass, he threw his head back and savoured the taste. Okay, he needed to decide what his next steps were. The obvious action was to contact Sheikh Amir bin Khalid, but the last thing he wanted was for his new business partner to interpret that as a sign of weakness. That contact would be a last resort.

He had a couple of security people he could rely on during the rest of his time in Dubai. Neither of them was in the same league as Boris, of course, but together they would provide adequate support.

His phone rang and he grunted to himself as he picked it up. He'd instructed his new bodyguards to head straight across to his suite for a briefing and it seemed they'd arrived.

"Yes?" he snapped into the receiver as he picked it up.

"Comrade Volkov," the cold voice at the other end of the telephone said.

It instantly sent a cold shiver down the Russian's spine.

"You know who this is?" the voice continued.

"Yes." 

Volkov's tone was hoarse. Vladimir Kazakov's thick Ukrainian accent was unmistakeable ... but he was supposed to be dead. In that instant, everything made sense. Fuck knows how had it happened, but that must have been Sergii's body they'd found with Yamamura's.

"It seems that you're employing the wrong people, Comrade," Kazakov told him sarcastically. "You sent Sergii to kill me and look what happened. Boris was no match for me. And yet you wanted Tony Yamamura killed and I carried out the contract perfectly."

Volkov didn't respond. He was trying to stay calm but his heart was racing. This brute of a man was more dangerous than he thought. 

"And how did you pay me, Comrade?" the assassin snorted. "With counterfeit money. Sergii told me everything before I killed him."

His voice went quiet and it was only his heavy breathing down the line that confirmed he was still there. 

"So, would you like to hear how I see things?" he eventually continued, without waiting for a reply. "You tried to cheat me and you tried to kill me. That is going to cost you ten million Euros."

He paused again, as if waiting for a reaction. There was none. 

"I have enough information about Tony Yamamura to make sure you go to prison for a very long time,." he went on, unable to resist gloating "But you won't face prison, Comrade. Would you like to know why?"

Volkov gritted his teeth. Anger seeped out of his pores. How could Sergii have fucked this up? The man was supposed to be a professional. Kazakov was an amateur by comparison, that's why he'd carefully selected him for the task. It should have been straightforward enough to take him out. And now the bastard was talking to him like he was a worthless piece of shit. No-one spoke to him like that. 

"Because either you will pay me the money within twenty four hours, or I will kill you. It's that simple. I'll kill you and cut out your heart. Now listen carefully to me, Comrade. This is what I want you to do..."

*

Jenn gave a nervous laugh as she pushed up from her lounger. The heat in her body grew further as her brown eyes swept across Michelle's newly bared breasts. With just a skimpy thong to protect her modesty and her dark hair wet and slicked back, the young Korean American woman made a very tempting sight. 

She was aware of Michelle's eyes all over her body as she walked to join her. That excited her. Her blue bikini was skimpier than anything she'd dare wear at home and her nipples had already announced their presence by pushing through the thin material. And it wasn't just her nipples that were feeling the effect of Michelle's approving gaze. Her sex was tingling in anticipation of what might lie ahead.

She tried to ignore the feeling as she sat down next to Michelle, sliding her feet and calves into the warm water. 

Sandra Wilson had agreed with Jack that it would be better for her to return to England sooner rather than later, but if she could get this woman to help her, she could gain a valuable insight into the Russian's activities rather than heading home with her tail between her legs.

"There's something I've been thinking about ever since our shoot," Michelle softly told Jenn, leaning into her as she settled. 

Her right hand strayed playfully along the brunette's soft thigh as she turned her head to look at her. Jenn instantly felt her pulse quicken. She'd had a few thoughts since then, too. She'd even masturbated to some of them.

"What's that?" she asked, trying to avoid that searching gaze.

But Michelle waited patiently until Jenn nervously met her glance. When she did, she batted her long lashes at her before tilting her head to one side and dipping her face forward.

"You have the most fabulous lips," she murmured, closing the distance between their mouths in what seemed like slow motion. 

As their lips touched, the feeling was both sensual and erotic. 

The kiss started soft but grew more demanding, and when it eventually ended Michelle's dark eyes flashed sexily at Jenn. She leant her forehead on the brunette's, their eyes finding one another's again for a few sexually charged moments. And then they were kissing again, but this time making out like rabid animals. 

"You're a great kisser," Michelle huskily murmured when they eventually came up for air. 

"You too," Jenn shyly confessed, panting heavily. 

Every inch of her body was tingling and she pushed off the edge, her curvy body sliding into the water to cool off. She submerged herself completely and when she reappeared, she slicked her wet hair back over her scalp as their eyes found one another again.

"I love that sexy innocence of yours," Michelle sexily whispered. 

She shifted position so that she could place her hands on the hot decking behind her and sit back on her palms—reclining in a way that emphasized her glistening skin and toned figure. 

Jenn found it impossible to keep her gaze away from those naked breasts. They sat high and perky with all the grace of youth and her dark nipples looked like they were begging to be sucked. She began to wonder how they'd taste in her mouth.

Damn ... had she really just thought that?

"Can I ask you something?" she said, deciding that she needed to break the sexual tension. 

Her mind was on fire and if she didn't move the conversation forward, she'd be in danger of following her instincts. And they were already demanding another kiss... 

"Of course," Michelle answered, stretching out her long legs. She sexily rested a foot on each of Jenn's shoulders as the brunette stood in the water, facing her. "Anything. What would you like to know?"

Jenn shivered again as the woman's toes began to gently massage her hair. It would be so easy just to go with the flow...

"I want to know about Nikky Volkov," she said, taking hold of Michelle's ankles with her hands and somehow resisting the urge to lick her wet tongue along the smooth flesh. "And what to expect from him if I make it as a model..."

*

Jack Palmer decided to go for a jog along the golden beach to clear his head. It felt good to exercise, despite all the energy he'd been spending in the bedroom. Roxie had always been deliciously insatiable but running on the heavy sand was a different kind of exertion.

It also gave him a chance to catch some sun. He tanned naturally, but was paler than usual after the slow recovery from his gunshot wounds following the bloody climax to the Dominic DeVere case. The usual London winter hadn't helped, either, so a little sun was appealing. 

But more than anything, it gave him the opportunity to think straight, to work things through in his mind. Now that he had the ghost mobile, he was drawing himself into Sandra Wilson's investigation. Part of him—the cop part—was happy with that. He was buzzing again. Yet at the same time, another part would be happy when he and Roxie had all returned to England. This case was nothing to do with him.

His long run helped him realize just how appealing the surroundings were. The crystal clear water was blue and transparent as he ran along beside it.. He could make out the shells and pebbles around his toes. The sand was fine, golden and warm. 

And for those holidaymakers who were swimming just off the beach, they were basking in hotter waters that they'd find anywhere else. 

The natural surroundings weren't the only things that caught his eye. They'd created a paradise here. The beach was perfect, with small, lazy waves, like it was almost too much effort to swell and recede in the heat. Couples walked hand-in-hand in the gentle surf and waiters ferried drinks and checks to the women occupying the loungers.

They were hot, young and beautiful; and were mainly attired in bikinis that wouldn't be legal on most beaches back home. To his surprise, others were topless and there was the occasional nudes. He was happy that he'd worn sunglasses. It made it less obvious when he found himself staring more at the tanned flesh covered in oil. 

Perspiration was dripping from his forehead and he glanced down the hotel-lined crescent of the beach as he stopped to regain his breath. How had life led him here? How did he get lucky enough to meet Roxanne, even if the circumstances left a lot to be desired? To not only date her, but to get her to fall in love with him? 

He'd had similar thoughts when he first met his ex-wife, but even after three years of marriage, he'd never felt the same deep connection that he had with Roxie. They were united on a profound level.

And as an added bonus, she fucked like a goddess...

He finished his exercise by joining the swimmers, enjoying the way the lukewarm water counteracted the heat of the sun. Cooled off, he made his way back to his beach towel before heading back to the hotel. But just before he could leave the beach, he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Jack?" 

Pausing, he pushed his damp hair back over his scalp and found Isobel smiling at him. It was the first time he'd seen her since they'd met at Nikky Volkov's party at the Smoke Stack. 

"Izzy!"

The Spanish photographer was standing about ten feet away, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she smiled at him.

Unlike the majority of the sun-worshipers, she was dressed in tight, athletic exercise gear. The racer back top was nothing more than a sports bra and he'd seen Roxanne wear boy-shorts that covered more than the matching exercise shorts this woman had on. Together they emphasized her large breasts and wide hips, which made all of the exposed skin seem even more slender than possible. 

When a smirk formed beneath Isobel's dark Ray Bans, he realised he'd pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head when he finished his swim. He'd been caught out fair and square as he took in her appearance, openly staring at her hour-glass body. 

She made a show of lowering her shades along her nose, her dark eyes glimmering above the brim. They flicked up and down his own dripping body. Her coral lips curled in approval. 

"If you get to look, so do I," she teased. "Not bad yourself."

He blushed deep red and then they both laughed. 

"I'm sorry, you just caught me by surprise," he apologised, jamming his sunglasses back down over his eyes. 

He felt safer that way, especially as he was wondering how someone could be so slim and yet have such wonderfully large breasts. 

"Out for a run?" he quickly asked, changing the subject. "No shoots or runway shows or anything today?" 

"Just finished my run," she told him, running one hand through her dark hair. "No, I have a free day. So, want to go for a drink? I need a shower, but can be ready in thirty minutes or so."

He nodded. The relentless sun was drying him off and he was once again feeling overheated. A drink in a beachside café sounded perfect. 

"Sure, I'd enjoy that," he said, glancing at that ridiculous body again. 

She was a photographer? How could she not be a supermodel when she looked that good? 

"Great," she answered, shooting him a wide smile. "Meet you at the hotel café in thirty minutes."

*

Roxanne didn't know what to expect. She'd done commercials and a few spots on various talk shows, but nothing as involved as a full production television show. And running a few minutes behind seemed to have thrown the staff into a fit of activity. The set was some kind of runway-television show hybrid, with large cameras on booms and more staff that she'd typically see at a fashion show.

Within a few minutes of entering the studio, the make-up assistant had taken her by the elbow. She coaxed her into her dressing room as a nerdy looking production manager barked out advice and instructions she barely heard. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 08



"Need to smile all the time, even when you're not being filmed ... red light means taping ... read from the tele-prompter, but sound natural..." 

He had a pair of large headphones resting around his neck and would occasionally pause to listen, holding it up to his ear like a DJ. It made things even more disjointed.

"You'll be fine," the petite make-up artist reassured her as they swept into Roxanne's private dressing room.

The production assistant nodded, although at first it wasn't clear if he was acknowledging something heard in his headphones, or what the make-up girl had said. Then he broke into a smile and nodded more enthusiastically. 

"You'll be great," he told her. "And you're in good hands with Dawn here."

The girl at her side gave Roxanne a pixie-cute smile and bounced the sculpted arches of her dark brows. She had short, dark hair that curled around her chin and brilliant blue eyes, accentuated by her black-framed glasses. She had naughty librarian written all over her. 

"Okay, Rich, time for you to shoo," she said, with the hint of a lisp. "Ms. Lopez is needed on set in an hour and a half, and I'm sure you've got something else do to."

"Right," he nodded, suddenly looking sheepish. 

He looked like he was about to say something more, then shut his mouth and left abruptly.

"He seems a little frenetic," Roxanne remarked as she took her seat in front of the bulb-lined make-up stand. I didn't think I was late!" 

She knew she wasn't. She and Jack had fucked last night and again this morning, but she was too professional too miss her cue. She'd arrived fifteen minutes before the time Alicia had told her.

"You weren't," Dawn confirmed. "He just likes to make everyone feel that way. Anyway, compared to the other celebrity guests we've had on here, you're very early. That makes a nice change."

Even with only six months since her 'retirement,' it was strange for Roxie to hear herself referred to as a 'celebrity.' She'd almost grown used to the quieter life with Jack. Almost.

Make-up took even longer than she'd expected. Longer than even the most audacious of modelling shoots she'd been on, and yet the end result wasn't overdone. It was just right for television.

"I need to hire you, Dawn," Roxie praised, smiling at the cute girl in the mirror as she admired the work. 

She had accentuated her high cheekbones and long lashes for television in the subtlest of ways.

"That's a deal," Dawn giggled. "If I got to work on faces like yours every day for the rest of my life, I'd be in heaven."

She had large, expressive eyes, and unsurprisingly wore her dark mascara well. It went perfectly with her black-framed glasses.

"Most of the celebrities can be pains, that's for sure," she added, giggling again as she began to brush out Roxanne's long, red hair. "Divas before they have a right to be, if you ask me. Not all are bad, I guess, but the good ones are usually eliminated early."

"Really? How long have you been working for this show?"

"Since the beginning, actually. I was a high fashion make-up and hair stylist before the show, but I like this a lot more. I mean, metallic eye shadow has its time and place, but all the time?" 

Roxanne had to agree, thinking about her more outrageous shoots. 

"So this is what, season seven already?" Dawn went on. "Shit, when you put it like that, I sound old!"

Roxie laughed. The girl certainly didn't look her age. She'd put her at twenty-one at most. 

"So, which host have you liked the best so far?" she asked.

"Oh, Alicia. Totally. She's cool and sexy yet has somehow not let it get to her head. At least that's how she comes off ... I have no idea what she's really like, of course. She's a pretty private person."

Roxanne nodded. The blonde supermodel had hit it big just as Roxie was breaking into the modelling scene. She'd signed a contract with Nikolay Volkov and attached her name to Swelter, a perfume that was still top selling. Based on her experience so far, she had to admit she liked Alicia, and looked forward to working more closely with her.

"You're a lot like her, you know," Dawn added, a warm look in her big eyes. She pushed her black-framed glasses further up her nose. "I think the two of you will gel perfectly."

Roxie's green eyes smiled back. The thought of appearing with Alicia was both nerve-racking and exhilarating. She was used to the fame, but the hosting a season of Supermodel was reserved for the upper echelon of the modelling world. The elite of the elite. And yet, if she was successful, this was the compromise that would help her leave modelling agencies behind and help resolve her and Jack's differences.

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls," she quipped. 

Dawn just grinned back and went about her work. By the time she was done, Roxanne's hair had been transformed. Her normally thick, wavy red locks were now as straight and flat as a blade. Her bangs were brushed and pinned to pass dramatically across her forehead and left eye, giving her a femme fatale look that went so well with her darker than usual eyeliner.

"Ta da!" the cute make-up artist announced with a flourish.

Roxanne flipped her hair a little, half expecting it to hang frozen and immobile with all of the product that had been applied. Like magic, the shimmering tresses glided about her back and shoulders like a matador's cape. 

"You're awesome!" she exclaimed.

"And you're beautiful," Dawn's soft and sweet voice replied. "Now, we'd better get moving."

*

Michelle smiled sensually at Jenn Finney. The moment of truth was close. It felt like the brunette wanted this to happen as much as she did, but the last thing she wanted was to push things too fast and scare her off. She had to keep the young cop off guard. 

"Oh, I can tell you lots of things about Nikky Volkov," she casually said, with a toss of her hair. "Some good, some bad, some dangerous..."

She let her words hang there for a moment. Dangling the carrot.

"He loved our photo shoot, you know," she said, smiling again. "He loved you, and he loved the campaign. It will sell lipstick, alright. But you know what, more importantly it will sell Jenn Finney. In a year, no one's going to give a damn about the lipstick but they'll remember the model. If you want to be a model, it's important to capitalise on that."

She paused again, smiling sweetly. This girl was a cop, not a model. But why not plant the thought in her head?

Besides, she still hadn't decided which way to play this. 

The London Met had no jurisdiction in Dubai, she was sure of that. And in any case, Volkov's connection with Sheikh Amir bin Khalid would protect him if they tried to make any sort of move. On the other hand, armed with the incriminating information she and Tony had collected on the Russian's illicit business dealings, they would be able to arrest him the first time he returned to Europe. 

It felt strange to have the Russian multi-millionaire's fate in her hands, and it felt scary, too. For her own sake, she couldn't afford to make the wrong choice. If she thought she could trust him, she'd burn all the evidence she had and go with the flow. But could she? If he ever made the real connection between her and Tony Yamamura, she was done for. She shivered as she thought of Tony and Boris. The Russian was brutal he with anyone who got in his way.

But if she supplied Jenn with enough information to nail Volkov, it was crucial that she couldn't be implicated. He'd find ways to send people after her. So ... he had to believe she was on his side. And that meant delivering what he'd asked for. Seducing the brunette. After that, she could decide which way to play the cards she had.

"Okay..." she said, her mind suddenly made up. She pushed up to her feet and held her hand out. "You want to know all about working as a model for Nikky, so let's get started."

She took hold of Jenn's hand and helped her climb out of the water. Her tongue flicked across her lips as she watched the water cascade off that lush body, beads forming rivulets along her oiled skin. The brunette looked so hot and yet so innocent. This was going to be fun. 

Turning on her heels, she could feel Jenn's eyes on her round buttocks as she sauntered away from the pool and towards the loungers. Her ass was barely concealed by the tiny black thong. When she glanced back, she caught the brunette looking. 

"See something you like?" she teased.

She chuckled out loud and then sexily wiggled her ass in the air as she bent forward and reached for her bag. 

"C'mon," she persuasively added. "Lie here. I need to put some sun tan oil on that beautiful skin of yours before it burns."

She straightened and struck a sexy pose as Jenn followed her across the tiled area and nervously sat down on the nearest lounger. 

"On your tummy," Michelle told her, lighting up what looked to be a cigarette.

But when she sat down on the lounger beside the brunette, the noxious odour of blueberry headies confirmed it was anything other than tobacco. Jenn's head whipped round but Michelle met her look of surprise with a grin, taking another drag from the joint.

"Don't say you're that naïve," she told her, with a disbelieving smile. She'd been around models long enough now. "It's only a little weed. All the girls do it, and a lot worse." 

"I know that," Jenn sheepishly responded. "I was just thinking it was a bit early in the afternoon."

Michelle gave a hearty laugh. 

"It's never too early," she said, taking the joint from her mouth and handing it to the cop. "And it's not just for me. If we're going to talk about Nikky, we might as well feel relaxed doing it, yes?" 

Jenn hesitated for a second. She'd been stupid for trying the opium, but then Jade had had an ulterior motive. Here, they were just two models together, doing what models did. She glanced at the marijuana cigarette for a brief moment before taking a drag, the thick smoke hesitantly curling out from between her wonderfully full lips.

"That's better," Michelle murmured happily. "Feel it?"

A confused look ran across Jenn's face as she blinked her eyes. 

"I don't think so," she said, looking at the thin joint again.

She took another drag and released the smoke through her nostrils, the way Michelle had done. Maybe she could cope with this?

She glanced at the Asian model again and suddenly began to feel warm inside. This girl was hot. And if ever there was a face made for the covers of a glossy magazine, this was it. Those high cheekbones, the large almond shaped eyes and beautiful bow lips. 

And of course, those perky tits sat so proudly on her toned body... 

Her eyes began to glaze over as the wonderful sensation of wellbeing began to permeate through her. When her head fell to one side, like a naughty child looking at her mother, Michelle grinned. 

It was time to take advantage. 

*

"You know, most guys wouldn't have done what you did at the party," Isobel said to Palmer, as she sat her margarita down and leaned back in her seat. 

They were sitting together at one end of the bar. She was wearing a light cream dress that somehow covered everything and yet left very little to the imagination. It accentuated every curve. When a strand of dark hair caught in the gloss of her lips, it was all he could do not to reach across and pull it away. 

"What do you mean?" he asked, taking a sip from his own drink. 

Booze in the middle of the day—especially margaritas—wasn't his normal thing, but here, it seemed like the right thing to do.

"When you found out that Jenn was in trouble, you just jumped right in there! Like, you didn't get security, or anyone else." 

She laughed as she stared into his eyes, and then leaned towards him so that she could speak more conspiratorially. 

"Most men I know wouldn't have done that," her husky voice added.

Palmer shrugged, not really knowing what to say. In his world, most people would have done the same.

He also felt that he had to be careful about what he said. He doubted it, but Isobel could be close to Nikky Volkov for all he knew. He'd tried to tease information out of her at the party, only for her to neatly sidestep each of his attempts. The last thing he intended to do was reveal anything about what was going on with Jenn Finney.

"She has all the qualities to make a very successful model," Izzy continued, filling the brief silence. "I've photographed most of them and she definitely has the wow factor. But then, Roxanne will already have told you that."

"Kind of," he contented himself by saying. 

Isobel laughed, picking up on the nuance. 

"I know you don't rate the modelling industry, Jack, but really, it's just like any other. "Politics. Newspapers. Banking. Full of good guys and bad guys, rich and powerful people who are looking to exploit others. It's just a lot sexier, that's all."

He pulled a face. It was a subject he could debate for a long time, but not right now.

"They should commission you to project the image of the fashion industry, Izzy," he responded, smiling affectionately at her. "I have the feeling you'd make a very good job of it."

They were quiet for a few moments, although it wasn't exactly an uncomfortable moment. They enjoyed the drinks in silence, smiling at one another. Then Palmer bit the bullet.

"Look, can I ask you something."

"Is it personal?" Izzy softly asked. 

He shook his head. "No."

"That's a shame," she teased, resting her chin on her palm. "I think having a personal conversation with you could be fun, Jack. Instead, you've gone into cop mode. Still, Roxie told me she could never resist you when you become all business-like. Okay, ask away."

He shuffled on his chair, aware that the beginning of an erection was starting to form in his trousers. There'd never be anyone as attractive to him as his redheaded girlfriend but he liked this woman. She was comfortable in her own skin.

"It's about the party," he explained, trying to watch her eyes for a reaction. It was impossible through her shades. "You told me we should stay away from Jade. That she was bad news."

Isobel nodded her head, but didn't reply. 

"Roxie isn't easily fooled," he continued, his face impassive. "But she thought Jade was her friend and it turns out she was nothing of the sort. I'm intrigued how you know so much about her?" 

The brunette hesitated, running her fingers along the rim of her glass. It was as if she was wondering how much to tell him.

"I'm a photographer," she slowly said. "That's my job, and so I get to spend time with a lot of models. I listen to what they say, how they act, who they talk to, who they don't. It isn't difficult to form opinions."

"And your opinion of Jade?"

"Hmm ... where would you like me to start?" she asked. 

She leaned forward as she spoke, lifting her large sunglasses up to look eye-to-eye with him. Her dark Spanish eyes were gleaming.

"That she's an incredible fuck?" she asked. She smiled and raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. "But from what I gather, you already know that, Jack."

Palmer felt the colour rush to his cheeks and his erection grew another couple of inches. 

"For what it's worth," Izzy softly confirmed, seemingly enjoying his discomfort, "she was very impressed with your performance, too."

Satisfied that she had him on the back foot, she let the glasses drop back over her stunning eyes before continuing. 

"Jade is a chameleon," she said. "As a model, she was the perfect woman to follow Naomi Campbell and Tyra Banks. The same sort of looks, body, attitude. But that's not what you want to hear..." 

She lowered her voice and leant closer to him as she continued.

"She is very loyal to Nikky Volkov and she'll do anything he asks of her. If that means fucking her best friend's husband, or wife, she'll do so with the same enthusiasm she fucks Nikky. If it means setting up someone like Jenn, she'll do that, too. The thing is, it's not that she's intrinsically bad. She's just in love with him. Surprising, yes? But true."

Palmer finished off his drink as her words hung in the air. In love with Nikky Volkov? Those were the last words he'd expected to hear.

"Jack, there's a lot of prostitution in the modelling business," Izzy continued, warming to the subject. "I see it all the time and that'll never go away, no matter how many millionaire sleaze balls you try to put down. Sex and drugs go with the territory. But I love the way you look after Roxie, and your friends. You're a real good guy, Jack."

She signalled for another round of drinks, even as he was beginning to think that the one had been enough. Tequila made him loopy and the last margarita was no exception. But he wanted to hear more.

"Tell me about Nikky Volkov," he asked.

To his surprise, the Spanish beauty actually blushed a little. 

"Nikky Volkov has three priorities," she softly said. "Himself, money and sex. Possibly in that order, though I'm never sure."

Palmer pursed his lips as he nodded. He still hadn't established how close she was to the Russian.

"What about you and him?" he asked, deciding to go for it.

He'd find out more by asking the question outright than he would by pussyfooting around the subject.

Isobel laughed nervously. 

"Let me see," she said, raising her sunglasses again and placing them on top of her thick way hair. 

He could see her eyes now. That told him she had nothing to hide. 

"He pays very well, though he is very demanding," she began, hardly taking a breath as she decided to come clean. "If you're a woman and work for him, you have to be prepared to fuck him. Which I have, twice. You also have to be prepared to fuck his clients, which I haven't, ever. Mind you, that's a duty usually reserved for his more famous models, not the likes of me."

She paused, staring at him closely. It was as if trying to get inside his mind, see if he was making judgments. 

"He's mega rich, he has no scruples at all," she continued, the corners of her mouth turning upward. "He can be a little crazy at times and he's not a man you would ever, ever, want as your enemy. Will that do for now?"

"Almost," Palmer said quietly. "How crazy? Would he have some killed?"

The question seemed to floor her.

"I'm not sure I can answer that," she said, after a moment's reflection. "But I understand the question. Death seems to have accompanied us to Dubai. First, it was Tony and now Boris."

"Boris?"

"Nikky's bodyguard." 

She hesitated, as if Palmer should know what she was talking about. He looked stunned. 

"He was murdered last night," she said, her voice cracking a little.

As if on cue, the phone in his pocket—the ghosted mobile—began to ring. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

"I'm really sorry," he said to Izzy, instantly moving to his feet and pulling out his wallet. He dropped some cash for the drinks onto the table at the same time as he reached for the phone. "This is a call I've been waiting for. We'll catch up again soon, I hope."

*

Roxanne watched from backstage as the host of Supermodel, Alicia Stiles, opened the seventh season of the popular fashion show. 

The redhead was in awe, something she rarely felt anymore. The aura that the blonde host projected was staggering. She was sophisticated, confident, self-aware, self-assured and unwaveringly beautiful. With her long blonde hair, flawlessly tanned skin, and warm brown eyes, she was in part a superstar and yet the quintessential girl-next-door.

"First of all, I want to congratulate the twelve of you for being here," she said. "That's quite an achievement. We auditioned hundreds of young women and you are the best of the best." 

She paused for dramatic effect and Roxanne imagined the production staff dubbing in some crescendoing orchestral riff. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 08



"All will be tested. All will be judged. And unfortunately, all but one will be asked to leave."

The blonde spoke from the top of an imposing black-draped catwalk, with the twelve young models seated below it. They all stared up at her with a mix of fear and excitement. Roxanne knew the feeling well, remembering the first days when she first broke into the business. She just hoped their road to success would be different than her own.

When Alicia smiled sympathetically at them, the serious atmosphere instantly dissipated. This was the Alicia Stiles the world had come to love. This was her winning personality. 

"Girls, I wish I could change the rules. In my eyes, simply by getting here, you've proven to me that you have what it takes to make it." 

Roxanne glanced at the teleprompters and grinned to herself. The blonde was saying almost exactly the opposite of what the script-writers had come up with. 

"So, in order to be crowned the next supermodel, as well as receive a year-long contract with a leading agency and the cover of Vogue, you'll have to follow the rules." 

Her mock-serious tone drew a giggle from the girls.

Behind Roxanne, the stagehands began to shuffle about. Someone whispered to her, "You're on in five ... four ... three..." 

He finished his count with his fingers as Alicia introduced her.

"Our guest judge today is one of Britain's most accomplished models. She's appeared on the covers of Vogue, Vanity Fair, Marie Claire, and Elle, to name a few! She's walked runways from Paris to, well, here in Dubai, and has been in demand from the moment she exploded into fashion three years ago. She's emerged from retirement to flagship the Fashion Week ... and let me tell you, when I heard she was back, I actually jumped with joy."

Roxanne stepped around the back of the runway smiling. She couldn't help it. Alicia's enthusiasm was infectious. 

"Girls, if you have any doubts as to what a celebrity looks like, then look no further than Roxanne Lopez!"

The young hopeful supermodels were suddenly alive with shock. They gave each other wide-eyed, broad smiles as a collective realization washed over them. They were really here, on Supermodel. It wasn't a dream after all.

Roxanne sashayed along the runway, her graceful steps halfway between a catwalk strut and a casual stroll. She smiled at the girls as they looked up at her with unquestioning admiration. At her! 

She read from the scrolling teleprompter naturally. She'd memorized it already and only needed to reference it a couple times. She didn't deviate like Alicia had. She wasn't sure she could ever be as comfortable as that.

"Ladies, in the modelling world, you need to believe in yourself before you can convince anyone else to believe. It takes a special kind of confidence to make it, and believe me, there are plenty of times you'll feel like you can't make it. Today, we're going to put you to the test..."

She paused as the wannabee supermodels hung on every word. 

"We want to watch each of you walk the runway. We want to see you put your soul into your stride. If we can't feel your confidence pouring off of you, then you're not going to convince a designer that you're good enough, either." 

She looked down at her captivated audience, and then across at Alicia. It had all gone seamlessly. Wasn't that amazing?

"So, for your first challenge," Alicia picked right up, "we're going to watch the way you move on this stage. But we want you to do it in just the things you're wearing beneath your clothes..." 

The twist drew its intended gasps—and would most likely draw its intended ratings once this episode aired. 

"So everyone, back stage and off with the clothing. Oh, and if you're not wearing anything beneath ... well, I hope you're not camera shy."

*

"It's beautiful here, isn't it?" Michelle murmured, her fingers gently caressing the tapered hollow in the small of Jenn's shapely back.

"Mmm," Jenn responded, momentarily lost in the heady sensations as Michelle dripped oil across her hot skin.

The marijuana somehow enhanced the delightful feeling of the cool liquid splashing on her skin. When she felt the Asian model's fingers caress the oil into her flesh, she released a purr of contentment. 

Michelle grinned, but shook her head when Jenn tried to hand back the half smoked joint.

"Why don't you finish it," she told her, and then added, "While I tell you all about life as one of Nikky Volkov's models."

It was time to whet the brunette's appetite. Give her the information she craved. Until she handed over any documents, it was just hearsay. 

"Okay," Jenn said, a little uneasily.

The drug was bringing a haziness inside her but so what? She was close to a breakthrough. Michelle was about to give her the inside track. 

She took another drag as the Korean American casually unhooked her halter top and let it fall away. Her large tits fell free. So what? They were alone and it seemed a perfectly normal thing to do. She pushed her dark hair across her right shoulder, holding onto it as if for comfort.

"Relax while I draw you a picture," Michelle softly told her, digging her fingers into the flawless flesh. 

She caressed them along the brunette's spine and then working down her back. More oil. More caressing. When her fingers eventually found their way to the turquoise blue scrap of material that barely covered that tight ass, she eased them under the material. 

"Nikky has a unique way of operating," she said, keeping Jenn's mind off what she was actually doing. "Tell me, have you ever sucked cock just to get a job?"

"Never," the brunette replied. Though she knew girls who had...

"You will if Nikky offers you a contract," Michelle continued. "It's his way of getting your complete commitment. Nothing less will do."

Jenn's body began to tense. The thought of sucking Nikky Volkov's cock was both alarming and, yes, appealing. After all, she'd actually done that to Habib, hadn't she? She took another long drag at the joint, feeling the buzz spread further through her body and mind. The weed was relaxing her. There was no doubt about that.

"Giving a blow job to someone who's so rich and powerful is quite a turn on," Michelle softly said, dropping her head to breathe into the brunette's ear. "It gets the juices flowing, believe me." 

She took the joint from Jenn and took a final drag of her own, letting the smoke curl out from her red lips and through her nostrils. 

"Then he makes you a star," she murmured, flicking the stub away. "Makes you grateful to him."

Her hands returned to the young cop's ass, but instead of resuming her caress she suddenly tugged the skimpy thong halfway down her thighs. 

"What...?" Jenn said, but Michelle was too quick for her.

"Shhh..." she cooed, knocking Jenn's protesting hands away as she finished pulling the garment off.

Fuck, look at that wonderful ass! The brunette's light tan was complete but for a small outline of paler skin in the shape of a tiny thong.

"You get a couple of modelling jobs that promote you to the big time," she continued, not giving the girl time to think. 

She could feel herself practically salivating as she dribbled more oil onto those rounded cheeks.

"And when you're caught up in the new found fame and adulation, he tells you he needs something from you." 

"What?" Jenn asked, her head floating.

She was practically creaming herself at the way Michelle's fingers were kneading her asscheeks.

"He gets you to fuck one of his clients, of course," the model softly told her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "It's only sex after all. And you're so grateful to Nikky Volkov for giving you your big break..." 

For a few minutes, she continued to knead those firm buttocks, waiting for an objection. There was none.

"He rewards you well," she went on, allowing her fingers to stray between those shapely legs. "And then you're fucking another client, and another. It becomes as effortless as breathing. Walking the finest catwalks the fashion world has to offer, enjoying a fabulous lifestyle, and fucking whoever Nikky tells you to at the same time."

Jenn felt the lick of heat start between her thighs and then circle her body. It took a few moments for her brain to comprehend what was happening and another couple to confirm she welcomed it. Those fingers between her thighs were becoming difficult to resist. 

"You love it, of course," Michelle added, keeping her voice matter of fact. "Sex, drugs and more sex makes the world go round, after all. It doesn't really matter whether it's your boyfriend you're fucking or one of Nikky's clients. In fact, sex with a client is often more rewarding..."

She reached down and brushed a lock of hair from the brunette's eyes with her fingertips, before drawing tiny circles along her soft jawbone. It was a thrill to seduce a cop, especially one as stunning as this.

"Look at me," she suddenly said. It was time. 

She sat up enough as she half-turned her head that her full breasts lifted from the lounger. She bit her lip as she stared upwards into those big, almond shaped eyes. Her chest was heaving. Her pussy was on fire. There was no denying the warmth that was growing between her legs as Michelle stroked her fingertips across her sex.

"Roll onto your back," the Asian model ordered, helping her turn around.

This woman was hers now. She was even parting her thighs and hoisting her ass up off the lounger to give her better access. The hidden cameras were about to get what they wanted. 

Normally, she liked her sex hard and rough, but that would come later. She had to take things easy to begin with. 

The brunette's sex was a thing of beauty. Her swollen lips were small and tight, blossoming open around her pearl just enough to hint at the slicker pink inside. She moaned out loud, out of control as Michelle slid a finger, then a second, inside her. 

"Uh," Jenn cried, widening her legs to allow more room. 

When she began to hump back against the working hand, the Asian model stretched her thumb to rest in the tight cleft between Jenn's cheeks. The cop let out a soft wail as she rimmed her anus and her legs clamped together to better fuck those probing fingers.

"That's it," Michelle encouraged, dipping her head to suck one of Jenn's nipples into her mouth. "Cum for me..." 

Her words and actions combined to act as a detonator. It was like setting off an explosion and the brunette's wet folds shuddered around the fingers until the orgasmic tremors began to ease. 

When Jenn's eyes start to flicker open, Michelle held up her glistening hand infront of her face. Slowly and deliberately, she let the brunette watch as she sucked the juices from each of her fingers. The eroticism of her actions made Jenn whimper... 

She worked them back inside the cop again, and the second orgasm was instantaneous. She was hers now. 

* 

Palmer took the taxi cab across town, holding the ghosted mobile in front of him. It was as if it was some kind of bomb, rigged to explode the moment he took his eyes off it. The conversation he'd caught replayed itself in his mind as he neared his destination.

"The Sheikh has told you what's required of you?" Nikky Volkov's sharp voice had asked. "Meet me in a bar called the HeatWave. I'll be there in half an hour. Don't be late."

Palmer cringed in his seat at just hearing the Russian's voice. Volkov reminded him of the late Dominic DeVere. Both men were egocentric and played people for fun. He'd spent a career fighting men like that. 

The taxi took twenty minutes to deliver him to the club and he entered through the rear when he realized just how small the place was. The set of French-paned double doors with glass so dingy you could barely see through it and if he walked in that way, every patron in the place would see him.

Instead, he hustled down the alley and entered through the kitchen. It was occupied by a single cook frying pub food. Palmer waved to the man like he belonged there and slipped through the swinging kitchen doors into the worn down bar.

It took him a moment to locate Volkov. He was sitting in a booth in the far corner, on the opposite side of the table from a swarthy Arab. Both of them looked completely out of place in a rundown establishment like this. That meant the meeting was a furtive one.

Palmer settled into his own private booth on the other side of the room. It was impossible to get closer. He was desperate to hear what was being said but had to content himself with observing their body language.

Volkov was talking quickly, and there wasn't any doubt he was agitated. Occasionally he glanced around him, but Palmer was hidden well enough in the corner of his booth. He wouldn't be detected unless either man specifically made their way in his direction. 

There was no reason for that to happen. 

When Volkov reached into the satchel that hung off the back of his chair, Palmer sat forward. The Russian withdrew a buff coloured folder and handed it to the Arab across from him. 

From the look of things, there were photographs in the folder as well as some sort of documentation, but it was impossible to be specific this far away. Whatever was going on, there was a degree of urgency to the way Volkov talked and his agitation hadn't lessened. 

The Arab appeared to skim through the document, his sharp eyes zipping across every photograph and piece of information in there. Volkov was nodding and explaining things while his companion listened closely. When he finally looked up from the folder, sitting back in his chair, he nodded solemnly and then got to his feet. Meeting over.

Palmer watched the man leave, followed by Volkov a few minutes later. They didn't want to be seen together. He gave the Russian a few minutes to make sure he'd left the vicinity before rising to his feet and quietly slipping out the way he came in. 

He had a lot of thinking to do.

*

The first girl down the runway immediately set the bar high. If Alicia Stiles was the quintessential girl-next-door, then this model was her quintessential sister. Young and lithesome, she wore a white cotton bra and panty set with little red polka dots and white lace fringe. Her long, straight hair was dark blonde and pinned away from her face demurely. 

And if she was embarrassed at all to be walking in nothing but her underwear, she certainly didn't show it. She took the catwalk with attitude, owning it with the swing of her slender hips.

"This girl's got a lot of natural talent," Jenn whispered to Alicia as they watched. 

"She's definitely hot," the American supermodel agreed.

The girl had paused at the end of the runway, hand on hip. Her girly thong plunged between her taut buttocks, a little heart shaped keyhole back where the straps came together.

The next couple of young women were nothing special, apart from their lacy bras and thongs, but the Asian girl who emerged next was not unlike Michelle Park. Her slim figure was encased in a pair of turquoise boyshorts and a matching bra. 

She was a little more playful than the others, a little more bouncy. It brought a smile to Roxie's face—and to a couple of the judges, based on a quick glance. The girl spun at the end of the stage, tucking her thumbs into the g-string and giving it a teasing tug that brought a laugh from everyone there. Her walk back down the runway was a little more confident, her cute ass wiggling a little bit more.

"Sexy," Alicia chuckled.

The rest of the girls went through the same process, but couldn't top that performance. When they all reconvened, wearing short robes to protect their modesty, Alicia applauded them all from her position at the side. But Roxie wasn't with her. They had a surprise planned.

"You have little to no choice when you take a runway job," the blonde supermodel told them, "and believe it or not, sometimes, your outfits may be even more outlandish—and embarrassing—than what you got to 'wear' today."

She paused for effect, glancing at the camera and then back at the young contestants again. 

"But to show solidarity," she solely continued, building up the tension, "Ms. Lopez will show you how to really walk a stage... in her lingerie..."

There was a gasp of surprise among the girls as the lights dimmed. Along with the gasps came claps and cheers. Then the techno music that had played as the girls had performed kicked in again. 

Roxie struck a silhouetted pose behind the screen and when she took to the stage like a prize thoroughbred, the girl's cheers grew louder. Her voluptuous body was encased in nothing but a pair of hip-hugging lacy boyshorts and a matching black plunge bra that gave her already full breasts even more lift. Dressed in nothing else but a smile and her tall heels, Roxanne Lopez owned the stage. 

She stopped at the edge of the runway, gave a cute little wave to the girls, and struck a pose that was greeted with hooping and hollering. Her exit was every bit as good as her entrance. The boyshorts couldn't quite contain her perfect ass, the bottoms of her round asscheeks moving from side to side in a tantalizing tease.

Alicia, who had been struck speechless herself, retook the stage. 

"That's how it's done, girls! Thank you, Roxanne!"

*

"You're so fucking hot," Michelle whispered.

Jenn stared up at her, her cloudy brain moving slowly and her deep brown eyes still glazed with lust. She watched breathlessly as the Asian model shimmied out of her tiny black bikini thong. They were both naked now. Slowly standing up, Michelle ran her hands over her perky breasts, down across her flat stomach before resting between her legs.

"You want me, too, don't you, honey?"

Their eyes met and Jenn drew a trembling breath. She was in over her head, drowning in a sea of sexual need. She forced herself to breath and tried to go to the rational part of her brain that was becoming harder and harder to reach. She was a cop, but right now everything was outweighed by her need to experience this sexy Asian woman. 

When Michelle swung a leg across her body, it felt as if her heart was going to pound out of her chest. The Asian woman's bare labial lips were glossy and pink with arousal. She lewdly opened her engorged folds with the fingers of one hand as Jenn watched. The other hand reached for the brunette's hair, pulling her head upwards.

When she felt Jenn's tongue willingly slip out, her knees threatened to buckle. The first, hesitant touch made her growl. 

She knew that the cop was following her instinct but that only made the experience better. Her technique left a little to be desired, but she could work on that later. For now, Jenn's enthusiasm was enough. Her hard tongue was lapping across her wet sex now. 

"Higher," she croaked, tugging her head a fraction upwards.

Jenn quickly understood, her mouth seeking out the slippery clitoris. 

As she took it between her lips, she looked up at Michelle with a surge of arousal in her eyes. They were asking if she was doing this right. The Asian model narrowed her gaze and nodded. This was such a fucking turn on. It was different to her raw experience with Bree Jensen but, in its own way, so much better.

Her fingers tightened in the cop's hair as she began to thrust back in rhythm with the flicking tongue. Jenn's hands went to her ass, trying to steady her, but Michelle was into it now, roughly grinding her sex against that beautiful face. It was covered with her juices.

Had Michelle ever seen a more beautiful sight? 

She humped harder, her fingers tightening in Jenn's silken hair as she used the brunette. Oh fuck! Her body stiffened as the climax formed. Her moan caught in her throat. Electricity surged through her. One shock after another lighting up her body. This was way hotter than any client she'd ever been with. This was a fucking cop. The London Met's finest. And her eager willingness was mind-blowing. 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 08



When the sensational orgasm finally erupted, she made no attempt to stifle her screams.

*

"You were ... so fucking hot out there," Alicia said ecstatically, as soon as she found Roxanne back stage. 

The supermodel host pulled the redhead into a friendly hug before Roxie even had a chance to grab a robe. 

"I think we can definitely say the job is yours," she beamed. "The ratings will be through the roof."

"You think so?" Roxanne enthused. 

It felt like it had gone well, but how could she be sure?

Alicia laughed as she reached out and brushed one of the redhead's sweeping locks from across her eye. 

"I know so. You're a natural for television, sweetie. It's going to be such a pleasure to work together. We're going to have a lot of fun."

The American model pulled away enough so that her soft brown eyes could meet Roxanne's. They were sparkling with enthusiasm. 

"The girls are doing their interviews now," Alicia continued, "and we judges need to gather to discuss which of the girls have grabbed our attention. That gives us about twenty minutes for food. Give or take. Are you hungry?"

The food was a boxed meal. So much for the glamour of television, Roxanne thought. They wolfed it down while they discussed the merits of each girl and the television crew packed their things up. They were all heading on location to a runway show for the final piece of the show, where the contestants would be tested before a live audience.

"What exactly does that consist of?" Roxie asked.

Alicia smiled. "We get to watch the girls strutting their stuff again—this time with clothes—and then we meet again in our little judging circle to pick a winner and a loser. Such is life."

Roxanne nodded. She'd already formed a view about her three favourites, and also who wasn't going to make the grade. Tonight's live performance would help her narrow down those choices.

"God, I'm pleased I didn't have to go through this when I started," Alicia added, with a sigh. 

"Me too," Roxie agreed, shaking out her red hair.

She felt good. On top of things. And she couldn't wait to get back to Jack and tell him how successful things had gone. But first, they had a show to finish up. A stagehand with a headset pointed to a limo for them and the two women walked towards it, arm in arm. 

Only a few more hours and Roxie would be celebrating with her boyfriend. He wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.

*

Jack Palmer returned to his room, hoping that Roxie be there. He pulled a face when she wasn't. Nor had Jenn had been in touch. What the heck was she up to? He decided to head back to the bar, in the unlikely event that Izzy was still there. He had a couple more questions about Nikky Volkov to ask.

It was busier there now, but Isobel was nowhere to be found. He ordered a drink and placed his ghosted mobile on the small round table in front of him. Surely Nikky Volkov would use it again after his clandestine meeting?

His detective's mind went to work, casing the details once more. There were two aspects, the phone call and the meeting. He started by thinking about the brief conversation he'd overheard on the phone, picking it apart. "The Sheikh has told you what's required of you?"

He replayed the words in his head time and time again. The Sheikh. The Sheikh. Which Sheikh? Whoever it was, it was someone Nikky Volkov had a close connection too. He'd sent the Arab to meet Volkov, after all. To carry out the Russian's instructions.

Wait a minute... 

They already knew that someone was covering up the real facts of the Yamamura murder. That person had to be a senior member of the police, but acting under whose instructions? Someone high up in Dubai society. A Sheikh? That meant he and Volkov had a common interest. Business partners? That had to be it. 

What if Tony Yamamura had interfered with that arrangement? Could that be why he'd been killed? 

Evidence had been planted to set Vladimir Kazakov up as the killer. To indicate they'd shot one another as the result of gambling debts. But it hadn't been Kazakov's body that had been found. It was someone called Sergii Baranov. This was all making sense now. 

What if Volkov had intended for Baranov to kill Kazakov? Every aspect of the story would have checked out if that was the case. 

But Kazakov had turned the tables somehow...?

And now he'd come looking for Volkov. Yes. That was it. Kazakov had killed Boris, his bodyguard. Sending a message? That's why Volkov had met the Arab at the HeatWave bar. The guy was being briefed. They intended to take him Kazakov out before he could get to Volkov.

"Well, hello, sexy," a female voice said from behind him, bringing him out of his thoughts.

She placed two cocktails on the small round table as she slipped into the seat beside him.

"I bought you a drink," Jade said, looking as hot as ever in a yellow blouse. It was open to the waist, exposing her heavy cleavage spilling over an animal print bra. "It's a peace offering. I'd like us to be friends, rather than enemies."



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 09



Chapter 9 — SATURDAY NIGHT — Matters take an unexpected turn

Jack Palmer's body was warm and electric. Like every molecule of his being wanted to get up and dance. Move. Be touched.

He'd worked out what it was on the way back to the room. MDMA. Chemical grade Ecstasy. It must have been mixed into his drink. He'd only had one, the drink that Jade had brought over to him. So the culprit was obvious. She'd told him she wanted them to be friends and then drugged him. Why?

"Hey, where is this," he said out loud, as the stunning African model guided him into the empty suite. 

Her arm was around his waist to steady him. It had been there ever since they'd left the bar. Walking wasn't easy. 

His fuzzy brain was still attempting to understand why she'd drugged him, but at the same time it was difficult to ignore the needs of his body. The soft curves of Jade's breasts had constantly moved against him as she'd helped him to his room. His cock had reacted instantly. She smelled good, too. Real good. Some kind of spicy perfume. 

"Why thank you, Jack," he heard her say.

It took a moment to realize he must have spoken out loud.

"You smell good, too," she added once they were inside the suite. 

Her eyes were sexily narrowed as she turned to face him, one hand hooking around his neck and the other stroking across the front of his trousers. Was his erection that obvious? When she traced the outline with her fingers, he grew another couple of inches.

"This thing feels like it needs a good home," she breathed, leaning in to kiss him.

He shouldn't have responded. He was in love with Roxie. And yet it that searching mouth, those full lips, that flicking tongue, felt so good. 

He'd never been high before, but knew enough to realise that his state of arousal had been enhanced by the ecstasy. It was consuming him. He had a head full of euphoria and it was so light that he felt as if he could float up onto the ceiling. 

This feeling was good. So were Jade's lips...

But suddenly she wasn't kissing him anymore. He glanced around, wondered where she'd gone. She'd left the suite? 

His thoughts turned to Roxie as he tried to concentrate. He wished his beautiful girlfriend was here with him right now. His Roxie. Roxanne with her red hair. Roxanne with her wide green eyes. Roxanne with the body of a lioness. His cock was throbbing. He needed her.

But then he heard Jade's voice calling. He followed the sound into the bedroom and when he got there, his heart missed a beat. Jade was lying in the centre of the bed. Her clothes lay on the floor and she was completely naked. With her lustrous dark hair, long dark limbs, and voluptuous body, the African woman was sex incarnate. 

He blinked his eyes, but she was still there when he opened them again. Lights and rainbows danced inside his head, making him dizzy. 

Then he saw the item in her hand. The dildo had a clear shaft with a red and white helix swirling through the core. Ridges spiralled up the shaft and the head was sculpted like a real cock. 

He watched breathlessly as she dragged it across the ebony skin of her breasts, touching each nipple, down into her cleavage and then across her toned stomach towards her sex. Her thighs were spread-eagled, offering him a clear view of her cleanly shaved pussy. It was pink and moist, the large folds of her lips swollen and open with arousal.

"Hello, Jack," she huskily murmured, shooting him a provocative smile. "Want to watch?"

Palmer tried to breathe as Jade spread her long legs even wider. She traced the dildo across her flesh, teasing herself with the motion as it hovered just above her wet folds. 

"I've been thinking of this all night long," she gutturally murmured, biting her lip as she ran the tip along her glistening opening. "I've been so horny at the thought of that cock of yours inside my mouth again."

His cock? Inside her mouth? No. His cock belonged to Roxie. And yet it was impossible to forget how good the feeling had been only a few short days ago, when Jade had given him a blow job and then fucked him like an Amazon Goddess. 

He leant back against the door to steady himself as his gaze returned to the lewd picture confronting him. Instinct screamed at him to get out of there. Jade had arranged this situation to trap him! Instead, he shifted from one foot to the other, mesmerized. The floating feeling was consuming his body again. So was the drug-induced arousal. 

"Mmm, after this, I'm going to need the real thing," she breathed, moaning as she grazed the dildo across her engorged clit. 

He watched as she circled her clit with the fingers of her left hand, while she teased herself with the dildo in her right. Each time she slipped the head just inside her opening, a sharp moan punctuated her heavy breathing. 

Palmer felt his cock straining against its confines as he watched—for a minute, two minutes, five minutes?—enthralled by the intense sexuality unfolding in front of him. Her nostrils flared. Her breath came in short bursts. Her wide hips slowly pushed upwards onto the dildo and her large breasts swayed erotically with each movement. 

He considered unzipping his trousers as he watched. The need to set his pulsating hardness free was almost irresistible. But that would have interrupted the sexy scene. 

"I know," Jade hoarsely said, pulling the dildo away and sucking on the end for a few moments. "Why don't you? Take it out. Show me." 

He realised he'd been talking out loud again. 

Should he? Could he? He was so hard he was aching. Another couple of blinks failed to clear his head and then she was fucking herself with the dildo again. Her sensual gaze was hypnotic, watching him as she pleasured herself. It was suddenly too much.

He pushed away from the doorframe and obediently unzipped himself. Jade licked her lips as his cock sprung free.

"That's going to feel so good between my lips," she whispered. "Come and I'll show you, Jack. Right now."

*

"Long time no see, darling..." 

Nikolay Volkov enjoyed the startled expression on the woman's striking face as he stepped into the dressing room. Roxanne's full, pouting lips had parted in a silent gasp. It was clear that he was the last person she'd expected to see. 

Everything was coming together for him. He'd recovered from the shock of hearing Kazakov's voice, listening to the bastard asking him for money, threatening him. The assassin would be stepping into a trap when he came to collect. That left Volkov free to concentrate on more immediate aspects of his plan. 

The arrangement with the Sheikh had been finalised. He was using Michelle to trap the cop sent by the London Met and might even take her into his employ once she was discredited. And now, he was about to drive a wedge between Roxie and her meddling ex-cop boyfriend.

Even with the shock of seeing him etched on the redhead's face, she was as beautiful a woman as he'd ever seen. 

"Nikky?" she snapped, pulling her robe closer around her stunning body. "What are you doing here?"

He glanced at the make-up girl standing next to Roxanne before answering. She was cute-looking, with her short black hair and large black-framed glasses. But he didn't want any interruptions.

"Could you leave us for a while?" he said, in a tone that was more a statement than a question. "Roxanne and I have a couple of things to discuss. In private."

When the girl's eyes flickered towards Roxie, the redhead nodded. Her body was shaking and she felt like she needed protection, but she wasn't going to let Volkov think he could intimidate her.

"Just for a few minutes," she said to Dawn. "This won't take any longer than that."

The girl stood thoughtfully for a few seconds, pushing her glasses up her nose with her index finger. Then she nodded.

"I have a couple of things I need to do in the next room," she said, glancing at both of them again. "I'll be there if you need me."

Volkov smiled at Roxanne when they were alone. Her nipples had suddenly appeared through the fabric of her gown. A good sign. She was trying to portray a picture of calm and confidence, but she was a little off-balance. And her boyfriend wasn't around to interfere. He'd made sure that Jade was seeing to that.

"Rumour has it you've changed your mind about signing a contract," he gently told her, keeping his voice level. 

He didn't want to frighten her. He wanted her to think of him as her friend. That way she would run to him when she found about her boyfriend's infidelity. From there, it was a small step to her signing a new contract. Then he'd fuck her...

"I'm sorry to hear that, Roxanne, especially as I thought we'd sealed the deal in my office," he continued, before pausing for effect. 

The subtle reference to the blow job she'd given him had made her cheeks colour. It had also made his cock unfurl in his tailored trousers. He could still practically feel those beautiful lips wrapped around it.

"Tell me, what changed your mind?" 

Roxanne hesitated, attempting to regain her composure. It was clear that she didn't want any confrontation.

"I decided I wanted to take my career in a different direction, Nikky," she simply said, recovering a little. "That's all."

"Ah yes, Supermodel," Volkov said. "I heard that your sessions with Alicia have gone fabulously well so far. I'm delighted for you, Roxanne, but why give up something you were destined to do? You can have the best of both worlds, you know?"

She nodded, but didn't speak. It was clear he wasn't going to change her mind right now, but that wasn't the point. He wanted her to see him as a benefactor, not an enemy. Sow the seeds. Make her think. When she saw the photographs of Jade and Palmer, she'd have even more thinking to do. 

"By bringing you to Dubai, I gave you the platform here to make a name for yourself again," he suavely continued. "That's because I believe in you, Roxanne. I can guarantee you success and a lifestyle only the very special can dream of..." 

He magnanimously smiled at her as he theatrically spread his arms wide. 

"I have shows planned for Rio de Janeiro and then Tokyo, and would love to have you as my number one model. But the choice is entirely yours, Roxanne. Just call me if you change your mind."

He turned towards the door, as if the conversation was over, but turned back towards her just as he reached it.

"By the way," he said, tapping a finger on his chin. "Is it true? The rumours about your boyfriend and Jade?"

The redhead's brow furrowed. He'd thrown her.

"What do you mean?" she snapped, meeting his gaze full on.

"You know, some of the other models told me they've been seeing one another since that little dalliance in your suite..."

He paused for dramatic effect, letting her know he was fully aware of the threesome with Jade. The light blush that had hit her cheeks earlier deepened in colour. 

"In fact, I'm told he's spent the afternoon with her today. I believe they're still together tonight..."

"That's nonsense," she snapped.

It was clear she didn't believe him. But then, he hadn't expected her to. That's why he'd brought the evidence.

"It is?"

He pulled out his phone and brought up a couple of photos that Jade had surreptitiously taken in the lift when she'd helped Palmer to his suite. The mirrored glass walls perfectly showed their reflections. The African model's curvy body was virtually wrapped around his, and from the angle it even looked like they could be kissing.

The redhead's brows shot up in disbelief as she bowed forward to get a better look. Volkov smiled to himself. They were just a taster. The really incriminating photos would arrive soon enough. Then he'd forward them to Roxanne. 

"I'm sure it's all innocent," he added, hoping he didn't sound too patronising as he flashed the images at her one final time. "That's the thing with rumours. You never know what to believe."

When she turned her face away, refusing to look at them anymore, Volkov slipped the silver mobile phone back into his jacket pocket. Her normally glowing face looked ashen. She was shaken.

He stretched his hand out, gently caressing her shoulder. She was putting on a brave face, but he had her where he wanted. This time when he turned towards the door, he kept going. 

*

"That's it, Jack," Jade encouraged, cocking her head to one side as Palmer walked across the room towards her. 

She could almost read his mind. Part of him was trying to resist, but the drug made that impossible. And her erotic show only added to his arousal. No man had been able to resist her yet and he wasn't going to be the first. She casually dropped the dildo to one side as he approached, using her fingers to stroke herself instead. 

"I can see how much you need me," she encouraged, her mouth watering at the thought of blowing him again.

Ideally, she wanted to fuck him, but Nikky Volkov's instructions had been clear. And the Russian would be waiting for her when she got through here...

Palmer's cock was thrusting from his groin like a mini tower as he walked and his glazed eyes were captivated by her working fingers. She held them out towards him when he reached her, offering him a taste. He hesitated for a second before taking them between his lips. 

Jade released an earthy sigh. Roxie was a lucky girl—this man was seriously hot. But he was all hers right now.

Her free hand grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him onto the bed beside her. Pulling her fingers away, she instantly replaced them with her full lips. His mouth opened involuntarily to her touch, allowing her tongue to flood in. The kiss was much more aggressive than the one she'd given him when they'd first entered the suite—that of a female seductress who was about to devour her helpless mate.

Her dark eyes glinted as she began to unbutton his shirt.

"Want me, Jack?" she softly breathed. 

He didn't answer, but there was no resistance as she pulled the garment from his upper body. He was hers. He hadn't even noticed the phone camera she'd set up on the bedside table. She looked up along his muscled body, the toned contours of tanned flesh. Her left hand traced his six-pack, reminding herself that his abs were real. 

"I'd say this needs some attention, wouldn't you?" she asked, reaching for his thick cock and wrapping her fingers around his girth.

It throbbed in her hand and he groaned as she began to stroke him. She groaned too. Soon, he'd be inside her. But all of a sudden, his hand was on her wrist, attempting to hold it still. The reaction surprised her. He had more willpower than she'd anticipated.

"I need to think," he mumbled, staring uneasily into her heated gaze.

"You do?" Jade grinned, enjoying the interaction. 

His resistance made the eventual and undeniable outcome even more pleasurable. Twisting her ebony-skinned body, she kept her eyes on his as she dipped her head and swallowed his thickness halfway into her mouth. 

"Nooo..." he groaned, not really meaning it. 

How could he? No man could stand firm when her mouth was at work.

She ignored the protest as she licked around his cockhead. He groaned again and she took the opportunity to unfasten his belt and yank his zip downwards.

"Shhh, it's okay," she reassured him as he tried to hold his trousers in place.

She stopped his objection in another hard kiss, forcing his pants down his legs with her heels. His boxers quickly followed and then her tight body was crawling across him so that she could drag his hard white shaft through her heavy black cleavage. 

"Want to tit-fuck me, Jack?" she sexily asked. "Or should we just let my mouth do the work?"

Without letting up, she slid down his body again and her soft pink lips slowly devoured his cock for a second time. This time there was no objection, only another groan escaping his lips when she eased the head of his throbbing shaft into her throat. 

His hands began to stroke her long black hair as she slowly took control. Her eyes found his and she scraped her fingernails along his thighs as she worked on him, lighting up his nerves. When she slid her mouth back up his shaft, leaving it glistening with her saliva, he arched his back as if trying to return his cock to the warm depths of her throat. It remained ramrod-straight.

"Look at that," she whispered, fluttering her tongue all around the bulging head. "You really need this, don't you?"

Palmer squirmed, as if there was still some resistance there. Jade ginned again. In his mind, maybe, but not in his body. 

She engulfed his cock once more, suddenly sucking hard and fast. His fingers tightened in her hair as her head bobbed up and down, trying to control her movements. But Jade had no intention of being controlled. Jack Palmer was a seriously impressive man, but she was the one in control, not him.

She wrapped her wet mouth tightly around his straining head, stroking the shaft rapidly with the eager fingers of one hand while gently kneading his taut testicles with the other.

When his groans grew louder, she slowed her pace. Nikky Volkov's instructions had been clear. Give him a blow job and send the pictures to him. He'd forward them onto Roxie. The camera she'd placed beside the bed would have captured enough to satisfy that command by now, and she'd send them to him in a few moments. 

But for now, she wanted her own reward. 

She choked a little as she forced him deeper into her throat, so deep that her lips were touching his trimmed pubic hair. Her hands went to his hips to steady herself as she took him to the edge and beyond, loving the feeling as Palmer had no choice other than to erupt inside her mouth and blasted his cum down her throat.

*

"Is everything okay?" Dawn asked, giving Roxanne a concerned look as she returned to the dressing room. 

The redhead nodded, though she was still feeling shaken. It was clear that this was another attempt by Nikky Volkov to unsettle her. The images were just so ... so ... not Jack Palmer. 

Her boyfriend with his curly, dark hair and unquenchable thirst to do good was hands down one of the best lovers she'd ever been with, but he wasn't an uncontrollable horn-dog. If he was with Jade, there was a good reason for it. And yet ... the images burned into her mind. 

Had they been kissing? 

"That was Nikolay Volkov, wasn't it?" Dawn asked, fiddling with the short black hair that curled sexily under her chin. "I've seen him before but never spoken to him. He's quite handsome, not that I've ever been into guys. I prefer redheads."

Roxie stared at her for a few seconds before laughing. She'd been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she'd almost missed the quip. 

"Yes, he's good looking," she agreed, leaving the redhead reference alone. "But that man is trouble. He has the ability to appear sincere and yet you wouldn't trust him, not even for a second" 

Dawn's face turned serious. "I can see he's unsettled you," she said, stroking Roxanne's arm. "I'm here to talk, if you ever need it."

Roxie couldn't help but smile. This girl was sweet as well as cute. But it was Jack she needed to talk to. She'd find out exactly what was going on when she got back to their suite.

"Meanwhile, let me do your make up for the final session, yes?" the pixie-faced girl continued. "Just a few touch-ups."

"Sure. Thanks..."

Dawn smiled happily at her as she began to highlight Roxanne's large eyes with shadow and mascara. 

""You really impressed the whole staff today," she went on. "And not just us scrubs. I heard Alicia talking about you, and a lot of production staff, too. You were fabulous." 

Roxanne returned the make-up girl's smile. Her positivity was infectious. 

"Thanks so much."

"You're welcome," Dawn said, grinning at Roxie's reflection in the dressing table mirror.





Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 09



She worked in silence for a few minutes, like an artist on her masterpiece. When she was outlining the supermodel's lips with bright red, she casually began to talk again. 

"A few of us are going back to one of the suites afterwards. You're welcome to come. It's always an interesting time. Gets a little wild, but in a good way. We open up the bar, Rich has some excellent blow, and we party until the sun comes up..."

Roxanne's gaze met Dawn's in the mirror. For the first time in the conversation, the make-up girl seemed a little nervous. Was she hitting on her?

She could remember those days—wild after-parties that devolved into drug-fuelled orgies. She'd be lying if she didn't admit to being a little excited by the idea, but those times were behind her now. She'd been there, done that, and now she had Jack. 

Jack! She needed to get back to see him.

"I think I'll pass," she softly said, "but thanks for the offer."

Dawn's face was bright red with embarrassment at the rejection. People got so funny when it came to sex and celebrity.

"It's not that I don't think it would be fun," she hurriedly added, feeling the need to explain. "It's just that I need to talk to Jack after my conversation with Nikky. It's important."

"Of course!" Dawn knew she was being thrown a life-preserver, but took it gladly. "Here, in case you are bored..." 

She quickly scribbled her number down on a scrap of paper and handed it to Roxanne. 

*

Jack Palmer emerged out of the hotel and into the night air, trying to make sense of what had happened to him. Jade hadn't drugged him just to give him a blow job. There was more to this than met the eye. 

But what?

Disorientated, he turned left towards what he thought was a taxi rank, only to quickly discover it was in the opposite direction. He'd walked into a cul-de-sac. Swiftly turning to return the way he'd come, he had to rest an arm against the wall to steady himself. His head was still woozy.

That was when he saw the first of the three men. Then the second. And finally the third. They had followed him into the small alleyway at the side of the hotel, almost as if they'd known he'd be there. How could they?

Each man was dressed in black, with a hooded mask over his face. When they moved in a menacing semicircle around him, trapping Palmer against the wall, he knew he was in trouble. Volkov had sent them? But why? The combination of Jade and now the three assailants didn't make any sense.

He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind as they stepped closer. Breathing harder and deeper to clear his head, he crouched low, knees slightly bent, his arms loose and swinging slightly, ready for action. They weren't here for conversation, that was for sure.

"Give us money," one of them said, taking the lead.

He had a thick Arab accent and was slightly taller than the others, with a thick muscled and heavy set body. Raising his hand, he showed Palmer what looked like a long, thick, bamboo stick. He slapped it threateningly against his palm.

"Then we only break your legs," he added.

The three of them laughed raucously, clearly enjoying the moment. They weren't there for money. The only question was whether they intended to kill him, or teach him a lesson. 

"And arms," the man to his left happily said. "We break your arms, too."

The three of them laughed again and that gave Palmer the chance to take the initiative. Three against one wasn't the best odds, especially when he was still feeling the effect of the drug that Jade had fed him. But he wasn't going down without a fight. And surprise was his only chance.

Moving quickly towards the guy on his left, he grabbed him around the neck, twisted, and then flung his slender body back into the wall. The impact took the wind out of the man and Palmer kicked him in the solar plexus before he could recover. 

One down, two to go. But the element of surprise had gone.

The guy to his right was rapidly closing in and swung his balled fist at the ex-cop's ribs as he turned towards him. Palmer used his momentum to deflect the blow with his biceps, before slamming his elbow into his assailant's sternum. The man went down with a loud grunt, clawing at his chest.

"Looks like it's just you and me," Palmer rasped through gritted teeth as he turned back to third man. 

When the guy raised the bamboo stick and swung at him, he neatly sidestepped the motion and grabbed the weapon as it wished past him, wrenching it from his attacker's hands. The man cursed, but wasn't done. He pulled a switchblade and waved it threateningly in the air. 

Palmer avoided three stabbing attempts before being able to set himself in position and deliver a short sharp blow to the guy's wrist with the bamboo. The switchblade fell to the ground, bouncing on the stone.

He instantly twisted his body and hooked his left foot behind the man's ankle, lifting his leg up and knocking him off balance. The assailant fell to the ground with a heavy thump, turned over, and looked for the switchblade again. It was too far out of his reach. For a brief moment it looked as if he was about to try and attack again with his bare hands, but a wave of the bamboo stick in Palmer's hands changed his mind. 

But just as he defensively scrambled back, the ex-cop heard a barely discernible noise behind him. One of the other two thugs had recovered sufficiently to try again. He whirled around and smacked the guy across the forehead with the bamboo stick as he approached. The man sunk to his knees before toppling onto the stone, groaning incoherently.

The two other assailants exchanged some frantic words that Palmer didn't understand. But the meaning was clear. Moving towards their friend, they took an arm each and helped him to his feet before hurrying out of the small alley without even a backward glance.

Palmer felt the desire to follow them running hot in his body, but knew he was in no shape for that. Besides, what good would it do? 

He took a deep breath instead to regain a semblance of control. His head was spinning. He just had time to wonder where he had summoned the energy and strength to withstand the attack before he felt the bile rise in his throat. As he threw up against the dark wall, he had a feeling of déjà vu.

*

Where are you, Jack? Roxanne wondered. She'd called him several times once the day's shooting was finalised and he hadn't answered his phone. He wasn't still with Jade, was he? That thought was still eating at her even during the immediate after-show wind down. 

One drink had turned into two, then three, and she had been cornered by one of the show's producers for the last half an hour. He couldn't keep his eyes off her legs, or her tits for that matter. He didn't seem to be able to take a hint and judging from the drinks he'd plied her with, he was persistent.

She would normally have politely made her excuses a while ago but she was still feeling like the new girl. She didn't want to upset anyone. But she needed to get away, find Jack. Her success in the show had her worked up—so insatiable that all she wanted to do was find her boyfriend and make love to him all night.

The text that arrived gave her the pretext to leave, even before she'd looked at it. At last. It must be from Jack. He must be free now. She gave him a soft smile as she pulled out her mobile phone and then wobbled a little on her t-strap heels as she made her way across the room. She was drunker than she'd thought.

The smile on her lips died when she saw that it was a message from Nikky Volkov. A picture message. Her heart froze when she pulled it up. Jade was lying beside Jack. They were both naked. The African supermodel had just taken the tip of his cock in her mouth. 

What the fuck? 

The picture had to be doctored? But it looked real enough. 

She instantly rang Jack again—his mobile and their suite number—with the same effect as before. His failure to answer brought a sickly feeling to her stomach. No. It couldn't be. Could it? It didn't make any sense? What the fuck was happening? 

She headed blankly towards the restrooms. To straighten make-up that didn't need straightening. To think more clearly. To clear away the tears forming in her eyes.

Like the rest of the building, they were all glam. Located in the basement, beneath the studios, the halls were constructed of frosted glass and she ran her fingers along the cool glass as she tried to compose herself. She'd broken out into a cold sweat. Her heart was racing. Something was badly wrong and she had to think.

Just as she was about to enter the restroom, she heard the unmistakable cry of a female moan. It wasn't coming from the bathrooms, but from behind the staff door at the end of the hall. 

Roxanne paused, almost laughing hysterically at the irony. Here she was, feeling like a bitch in heat, but she couldn't go back to Jack. Not until she'd worked things out about him and Jade. Meanwhile, there was a passionate encounter only yards away. 

Before she knew it, she was standing before the forbidden door, trying to peek inside. It was cracked and white light spilled out along the tiled floor. The female moans were louder. They sounded like Alicia's. 

Surely not?

Her heart raced faster and she swept her red hair over one shoulder. If she were completely sober, she would have left it alone. If she hadn't seen that photo, she would have turned away. She would have freshened her make-up and headed back to her suite. To Jack. But she couldn't go there. Not yet. Then she heard the woman's voice again. 

"Fuck fuckfuckfuck!"

It was Alicia! 

Her fingers shook as she carefully pushed the door open and looked inside. The room was an unused kitchen, filled primarily with stainless steel and lighted with brightly burning fluorescent lights. 

Front and centre, rutting loudly on the cool surface of the prep table, were the two lovers, facing away from her. The fit young man had his pants around his knees and hadn't even bothered removing his shirt. He was busy drilling Alicia from behind and the beautiful blonde supermodel moans were long and breathy as she rocked her head backwards, driving her slender hips against him. 

Roxanne stood just inside the door and closed it softly behind her. If either of them turned their heads they would see her. Maybe even ask her to join in? It brought her previous life back to her. How many times had she enjoyed an impromptu fuck like this in those times?

The guy had his hands underneath Alicia as he fucked her, cradling her breasts in his hands. Whoever he was, he was giving it all he had.

The redhead felt herself grow wet at the sight and did the only thing open to her. With her back against the wall, she snaked a hand beneath her short dress and inside her thong. She was so horny that her fingers practically attacked her clit. 

For a moment, the young man lost the pace and his erect cock slipped out. It stood infront of him for a brief second, wet with Alicia's juices like a ripe piece of fruit, before he took it in his hand and slotted himself home again. Alicia gurgled in satisfaction. 

Roxie hated herself, but the sight made her even wetter than she already was. She fingered herself harder, seeking to catch up, but even in the heat of the moment she knew that while her fingers would temporarily satisfy her, she needed more. 

She pulled her hand away as her mind throbbed. Tears welled in her eye. Her body was on fire and she needed to fuck. She wanted to join Alicia and her unknown lover and yet she couldn't give into any sort of temptation. Not with a guy. That wouldn't be right. But nor could she go back to her hotel suite. Not until she thought things through. 

That left her with only one option. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the piece of paper containing Dawn's number.

*

Sleep had finally overtaken Jack Palmer. Hard. He had no idea how he'd managed to get back to his hotel, to his and Roxie's suite, but he had. He'd been trying to concentrate on what had happened to him after Jade had joined him at his table, but it had been impossible to think.

He knew it had been a set-up. He knew he'd been drugged. But even so, he'd fallen for Volkov's plans hook, line and sinker.

He wondered where Roxie was, how he was going to tell her. But when he closed his eyes, he saw darkness. His head sighed in relief. His brain was released from the spell of the drug and he could think things through in the morning when he woke.

*

Jade sighed in satisfaction as she licked around Nikky Volkov's spent cock. It was beautiful. She'd headed straight to meet the Russian after leaving her suite, removed her blouse as she'd walked across the room towards him, and then sunk between his spread thighs. His thick cock was between her talented lips ten seconds later. 

It hadn't taken long for her to suck him to orgasm and she was still savouring the salty taste of his creamy cum in her mouth. 

This was where she belonged. Sex had brought her everything she'd earned in her life, helped by her good looks and her fabulous black body, of course. Modelling was wonderful, too, and Nikky Volkov had provided the opportunity for her to experience the best of both worlds. That was partly why she loved him so much.

Dipping her head, she continued to lick around the Russian's cockhead until she was satisfied she had every last drop. Only then did she sit back, light a joint, and inhale the contagious aroma. 

When she passed it to Volkov, the multi-millionaire lazily stroked her naked breasts with one hand as he took a long pull.

"Well?" he asked.

It was the first time either of them had spoken since she'd entered the room.

"Piece of cake," she laughed, taking the joint from him and consuming another drag. "You liked the photographs?"

"Exactly what I wanted."

Volkov nodded. He'd given the matter a lot of thought since his earlier conversation with Roxanne. Palmer's incapacity gave him another opportunity to get the ex-cop out of his hair. The bastard had already foiled him by saving Jenn Finney at the party, so why not take him out of the equation once and for all? The idea was very tempting but the problem was it would be too easy to link the Russian to Palmer's death. He couldn't afford that. Not right now.

On balance, he'd reluctantly decided to trap him with Jade, and then have him thrashed like the interfering dog he was. After the Sheikh's men had carried out their task, he'd be in hospital for a long time. That left the Russian with only Vladimir Kazakov to think about, although the Ukrainian assassin's threat would be removed soon enough.

"What did Roxie say?" Jade asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He smiled softly. The photographs the African model had provided would undoubtedly discredit Palmer in the redhead's eyes, and she'd eventually come back to Volkov and tell him she wanted to resume her modelling career. Any other outcome would be plain stupid.

"She was playing it cagily, but by now I suspect she'll be fuming," he murmured. "The cock-sucking photo will make sure of that. You have an undoubted talent, my dear."

"I do?" she playfully queried, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Handing him the joint, she dropped her head to lick her way down his hard stomach. When her lips began to nuzzle his testicles, she was delighted to see his cock begin to react. Blowing Palmer had been a pleasure, but this man meant everything to her. 

"You're insatiable," Volkov moaned, as she rolled his heavy globes in her mouth. This woman's appetite remained voracious.

"You have no idea...." she smirked, looking up into his eyes as she took his growing hardness into her mouth again.

*

Jenn Finney caught her reflection in the closet mirror. The smile on her face had been there ever since she'd returned to the hotel room after her incredible afternoon with Michelle Park.

"What are you smirking at?" she said to herself. And then she grinned again. 

Unwrapping the bath towel from her head, she patted the still wet strands of her dark hair and admired the reflection of her gravity defying DD-cup breasts. They were so sensitive after Michelle's lavish ministrations. That was a nice feeling. 

Everything had worked out incredibly well. Shortly before their sexual marathon had come to an end, the Asian model had confessed that she might be able to get her hands on information that would send Nikky Volkov to jail for a very long time. 

She'd promised to deliver it, as long as her name was kept out of it. Jenn had jumped at the offer, of course. 

It would prove to Sandra Wilson and the rest of the Met that she wasn't just a pretty face. To Jack and Roxie, too, although she hadn't been able to talk to either of them yet. Their hotel suite number was ringing out and neither of them was answering their mobile phones.

Then, there had been the sex. Oh fuck. The sex. Who would have thought that making love with another woman could be so fulfilling? Michelle was hands down the best lover she'd ever had. And tomorrow, they'd be meeting up again...

A warm blush covered her naked body as images of their passionate lovemaking returned to her. Okay, her career could be compromised if Sandra Wilson ever found what had happened, but didn't they say that the end justified the means? 

They'd rested between bouts of lovemaking, of course, taken on fluid, swam in the pool, but always returned to the main course. Michelle had been a caring and considerate lover at first, but as the afternoon wore on she'd unexpectedly turned into an uninhibited sexual animal. 

Jenn was still blushing from some of the things they'd done...

She ran her fingers down between her thighs. Her pussy was sore from the pounding it had taken. When the beautiful Asian model had eventually introduced her to her strappy, the experience had been every bit as satisfying as she had enjoyed with any man. And the added benefit was that the black dildo hadn't gone soft!

Turning her back to the mirror, she gave a sultry smile as she looked her naked body up and down over her shoulder. Her golden skin was still a little pink from the shower, but was shimmering from the body butter lotion she'd lathered on. Standing up on her toes, she ran a hand along the firm tuck of her asscheeks. Then she blushed again. 

To think that Michelle's tongue had been there...

*

Roxanne elongated her body, pointed her toes, arched her back and stretched towards the pillows with her slender arms. 

"Uhhh God!" she panted. 

Her words were somewhere between a whisper and a moan. 

She'd stopped thinking about Jack, Jade and Volkov some time ago and allowed herself instead to float away on a tide of sensual bliss. It was a relief from the myriad of thoughts going through her head. And Dawn's tongue was very enthusiastic.

The pixie-faced young woman's eyes were smiling up into hers as the sexy girl ramped up the tempo. She hadn't taken off her black-framed glasses as she pleasured the redhead and that only added to the intensity of the moment. Felt naughtier, somehow. 

She groaned out loud this time. Another mind-blowing orgasm was closing in and they both knew it. 

The make-up artist had responded excitedly to Roxanne's phone call, arranging to meet her without delay. They'd taken a taxi back to Dawn's modest hotel room—to 'talk', Roxie had said—although the sexual tension had been simmering between them all the way there. 

They'd kissed as soon as they'd entered the room, and Dawn had taken that as tacit permission to instantly take things further... 

Roxie's body rose up higher off the bed as that sweet, beautiful tongue worked faster. Her long legs opened wider and ... and ... shit oh shit, she was there again! This girl's capacity and willingness to give such incredible orgasms was unbelievable.




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 09



Once the tremors subsided, she took a long breath, filled her lungs and glanced down at her new lover. The grinning girl, with those librarian glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, remained between her legs. Her long tongue lapped again at Roxie's wet folds, a clear indication that there was more to come if she wanted.

"Feeling better?" she asked merrily, licking her lips.

Roxanne laughed. In this state she could barely hold onto a thought. How could she when she was feeling so thoroughly fucked. 

"Much, much better," she purred.

"That's good. I aim to please."

They both giggled and Dawn traced her fingers along the redhead's thigh as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Their lips met again in a sweet, gentle kiss. 

"I can taste me on your lips," Roxie murmured, when the girl pulled away.

"You can return the favour later," Dawn chuckled, twisting her body so that she could lie back against the redhead. "Would you like to talk now? Tell me what's worrying you?" 

Roxanne settled her legs either side of the girl, but curled her feet just inside Dawn's ankles so that she could use her feet to spread her shapely legs a little more.

"I was surprised to get your call," Dawn added, happily stretching out in her new position. "You said you needed to see Jack about your conversation with Nikky Volkov."

"It's all very complicated..." Roxie wistfully said, pushing her hands under Dawn's arms and cupping her perky breasts.

She paused, wondering how she could explain when it didn't make any sense to her. Besides, saying her fears out loud would make them seem real and she wasn't sure she was ready for that.

"Your boyfriend is cheating on you?" Dawn suddenly asked.

The question jerked Roxanne's thoughts into order. Irrespective of what the photograph showed, Jack wouldn't cheat. He wasn't that type. She'd trust him with her life. She owed him her life. 

"He'd never do that," she flatly said.

"Then what's the problem?"

"That's a good question," Roxanne sighed.

There could only be one answer. This had to be another Nikky Volkov set-up, even if the photos made that seem improbable. She needed to speak to Jack and find out exactly what was going on. 

"Are you two happy together?"

"Of course," she instantly answered. Wasn't it strange how a couple of innocent questions could make everything appear so much clearer? "It sounds silly, but at times I think he's too good for me. He's a wonderful guy and I love him so much."

"But?"

Roxie playfully tugged on the girl's erect nipples.

"Hey, there are no buts," she softly chastised. "Jack and I have a wonderful relationship. We come from different backgrounds so it requires a lot of trust and a lot of understanding at times, but we always work things through. I can't imagine my life without him."

"Then you must do everything you can to keep him," Dawn said, turning her head to look at Roxie over her shoulder. "If you have a problem right now, talk to him. It's the only way."

Roxanne smiled. Of course. It really was that simple. Why had she let Nikky Volkov get into her head? But right now? She used the pressure of her heels to pull the girl's legs further apart.

"Are you sure, right now?" she teased, as she walked her long fingers down Dawn's flat stomach. The girl moaned when they found her clit. "I thought we agreed I had a favour to return?"



Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 10



Chapter 10 — SUNDAY — Blood on the tracks

It was early morning when Roxanne finally made it back to their suite. She had needed to expunge all of the negative thoughts in her mind before returning—about the photographs she'd seen of Jack with Jade, of Nikky Volkov's visit to see her and the offer he'd made.

She'd blanked her thoughts out in the way she knew best. Her sex with Dawn had left her feeling vibrant again.

She didn't consider last night as cheating on Jack. Another woman wasn't cheating. Nor did she consider that Jack had cheated with Jade. Despite the photographs of the African model sucking her boyfriend's cock, she knew that there would be a good explanation. 

Jack just wasn't that sort of guy. He never had been and never would be. They'd talk about it soon and she'd understand everything then. But there wasn't any need to have that conversation yet. First, she needed the loving intimacy that sex with her boyfriend always brought.

Jack's phone was on the sofa in the sitting area, flashing with missed messages and incoming texts—no doubt all from her. That was a good sign. He was there. But was he alone? She hurried to the bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief. Had she really expected anything else?

Resting her weary frame against the wall behind her, she took a few moments to watch him sleep. His face was pressed against the pillow he'd tucked under one arm. He always did that when she wasn't with him. It showed he was missing her. His dark crinkled hair was tussled in eighteen different directions. That made her smile. He was one of the toughest men she knew, ready to face anything, and yet he was one of the most caring, too. It was a rare combination. 

Silently, she pushed her body away from the wall and glided into the room. It took her only a few seconds to undress, leaving her clothes in a pool on the floor before crawling up onto the bed beside him. 

He gave a start when she slipped beneath the thin white sheet covering his naked body. The way he tried to push her away, protect himself, was as if he'd been having a nightmare. 

"Hey," she softly reassured, taking hold of his wrists and pinning his flailing arms down against the mattress. "It's me."

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, blinking a couple of times, and then a soft smile creased his lips when he recognised her. He looked disorientated, so vulnerable, and when his mouth opened as if to say something, no words immediately came out. 

"It's okay," she reassured him, leaning down to softly kiss him. "It's me, Jack. Shhh..."

His lips felt warm against hers as the kiss deepened, and then her tongue was filling his mouth. They needed to talk about what had happened—they both had stories to tell—but the needs of her body were intense right now. This was her boyfriend. She loved him. And she wanted, needed, to show him exactly how much.

"We'll talk, Jack," she whispered, stroking his damp brow with one hand and reaching for his growing erection with her other. "But first, make love to me."

She held his hardness in her palm as she slithered her curvy body downwards, loving the warmth his body generated. By the time her mouth found him he was fully erect and ready for her. Dipping her head forward, she swallowed him whole. This was her cock, not Jade's. It belonged in her mouth, in her cunt.

Roxie took him as far as she could into her throat, her wet tongue massaging his shaft all the way. His groans were reassuring and she went through her full repertoire, as if every second of her vast number of experiences were preparing her for this moment. Eventually, when it was clear it was becoming too much for him and that he was finding it difficult to hold back, she pulled her wet mouth away. 

She wanted much more than a blowjob... 

"This thing is for me?" she sighed happily, twisting around on the bed so that she could crawl back up his body.

When she dipped low, allowing his saliva-bathed cock to scrape between her breasts, she was rewarded with another groan. 

Her hand found the throbbing hardness again, holding him in position as she settled her tanned thighs over his. Dammit, he looked so hot, staring up at her like that, his mouth half-open in anticipation. Her own lips parted as she sank down on him, a soft gasp escaping them at the sensation of his hardness sinking into her clutching pussy. 

It felt incredible. So fucking incredible ... 

"Oh, Jack, you feel so good," she murmured, resting her hands on his broad chest as she tightened her internal grip on his wonderfully thick girth. "Tell me you love me." 

Palmer did. Instantly. He told her once, twice, three times, until she had no reason to doubt it anymore. But then, she never really had doubted it. Had she? Not when she followed her instincts. She dipped her head again to reward him with another soul-searing kiss. 

"I love you, too, Jack," she murmured against his lips. "So much."

Throwing her red hair back, she stretched her arms out before her and ran her fingernails along his chest. Her large breasts began to swing tantalizingly between them as she straightened up to her full height and started to undulate on him. 

"Oh fuck!" Palmer whined. 

"Exactly," Roxie gasped.

She went slowly to begin with, allowing them both to savour the intimacy that a loving coupling like this brought. Then she began to pick up the pace. Gradually at first, then faster. His hands found her hips, gripping them tightly as she pulled upwards until she was almost clear of him and then sank back down again. She gasped and he grunted with each downward thrust. And then they were full gallop, their bodies covered in sheens of perspiration. 

Neither of them was going to last. But that was okay... 

The bed bounced and squeaked underneath them as the walls of her cunt caressed and squeezed him, telling her man he belonged inside her. She was a sexual Goddess, loving him in the way only she could. 

"This cock is mine," she throatily growled, thinking of the photographs of her boyfriend and Jade. "All mine. Understand?"

His thick girth surged at her words. It felt wonderful inside her. It was where it belonged. It was hers...

Then she was fucking him again, a sexual dervish, even harder and faster this time. Nothing else mattered in the moment, only the way his body was responding to hers and the way he was finding it impossible to contain the orgasm that was bubbling inside him. 

"Ready?" she urgently whispered, when she sensed his balls tighten.

He turned his head fractionally to meet her burning gaze. His hands slipped to her asscheeks and his voice was strained.

"Yeah." 

"Me too."

Sweeping her red hair over her right shoulder, she drove her hips down one final time. The movement was enough to take her boyfriend and soul mate over the edge. The initial warm spurt of musky fluid inside her quickly turned into a deluge and Roxie savoured the intensity of each torrential burst before her own climax let loose. 

Everything in the world was suddenly all right again.

*

Michelle Park was flying high. Really high. She had Nikolay Volkov's cock filling her and was on her third orgasm, but the moment felt akin to a black widow spider about to eat the male after copulation.

She had telephoned the Russian early morning—very early—after she'd had time to think everything through. 

Her sex with Jenn Finney yesterday had been as hot as any in her life. The brunette had been a quick learner and her enthusiasm was mind blowing. Seducing any woman for the first time was always extremely satisfying, but the way the beautiful young brunette had willingly thrown herself into the session had been truly beautiful. 

Not that it would save her. Volkov wanted her discredited and she'd carried out his instructions to the letter. It was unfortunate for the girl, but the only person Michelle was concerned about was herself.

She'd called Volkov to explain that the content from the close circuit cameras would be provided to him tomorrow. And of course, delivering the evidence would convince the Russian she was on his side. That way, he wouldn't think of her when he found out that the London Metropolitan police had full and comprehensive details of all his illegal activities. He'd be arrested the next time he set foot in Europe and the information she'd provided would see him locked up for a long time.

He'd been his usual arrogant self when she'd spoken to him, but had happily agreed to her suggestion that she visit him in his room.

That was the pièce de résistance. Fucking him one last time when she was the person responsible for sending him to prison would be incredibly satisfying. And it had been. She was on her back now, her legs pinched up over his shoulders as he drilled into her pussy. 

His heavy balls slapped harder against the Asian model's tender sex, forcing a heavy grunt from his lips with each thrust. Sucking him off first had meant he'd been able to last so much longer, take her so much harder. She ran her fingers through his tussled blonde hair in encouragement. He was nearly there. She could tell. Could see it in his sparkling blue eyes. 

It always came down to this. The richest and most powerful men in the world thought that they were in control; that people danced to their tune. But they were wrong. In moments like this, the woman was the one who had the control. And Michelle was about to prove that.

"Keep fucking me," she told him, driving home her superiority. 

He tried to pummel her harder, to teach her a lesson. But when she squeezed him tighter with her pussy walls, he had to grit his teeth. He was just like all the others. No man had ever been able to resist her. 

"Fuck my hot pussy. More..."

His face tightened into a cringe as he tried to retake control, but another grunt escaped his lips when she crossed her ankles behind his head. She yanked him closer, letting the weight of his body compress her even more. The action drove his cock even deeper into her wet cunt,

"Harder," she told him. "Fuck me harder..."

But when she squeezed her pussy muscles one final time, his cock went off like a depth charge. Sex had never felt so satisfying.

*

"I fucked up." 

They were still in bed, resting after their exhaustive lovemaking. Jack Palmer was sitting up, with his back against the headboard, while Roxanne's body pressed into his as she lay backwards against him. 

"Jade appeared from nowhere after I returned from following Nikky Volkov," he slowly continued, the weight of his confession almost too heavy to cope with. "She drugged me, Roxie, mixed Chemical grade Ecstasy into my drink. I couldn't think straight, not then, or when Volkov's men cornered me in the alley..." 

"What?" the redhead gasped suddenly, swinging her head around so that she could look into his eyes. 

"Jade drugged me," he repeated, meeting her startled gaze. "Then she took me back to our suite—"

"Not that," she interrupted, giving an exasperated sigh.

She was ahead of him as far as Jade was concerned. She'd fucked on Ecstasy many times in her previous life and knew from personal experience that Jack would have had no chance of resisting the African model after being drugged. If she ever saw the devious bitch again, she would tear her hair out. Nikky Volkov had set them up with the sole intention of driving a wedge between her and Jack. 

But what was this about Jack following the Russian? And about Volkov setting some of his men on him? 

"Tell me," she urged, swinging her body around on the bed and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend's shoulders. She hugged him close. "What happened, Jack? Tell me everything."

She listened to him without interruption, assimilating every piece of information he fed her until he had finished his explanation. When he eventually finished, she reached out to touch his sweat slick chest. His muscles sizzled beneath the surface, hot and hard.

"You didn't fuck up, Jack," she softly told him. "You were put in an impossible situation and it just proves everything you've thought about Nikky. You've been right all along."

If only she'd listened. It was becoming clearer and clearer to her just how dangerous Nikky Volkov was. He'd do anything to get what he wanted. Just ask Tony Yamamura! 

"Thank goodness you managed to overcome those three thugs," she croaked, her voice full of emotion. "You've kept telling me we should leave Dubai, Jack. Let's do that today. All of us, you, me and Jenn. Leave Volkov to his games..." 

She trailed off as she stared into his eyes. She'd seen that determined look before. Oh fuck, he was going after Volkov.

"Don't even think about it, Jack," she hurriedly told him, brushing her fingers through his hair. "There's no need to stay here any longer. Your girlfriend has a new career waiting for her..."

She quickly garbled out her Supermodel experience, how successful it had been, and how they wanted her to co-host the next series with Alicia Stiles. She wanted—needed—him to understand that they could make a new start. She was to blame for the way things had turned out with Dominic DeVere and she didn't want the same burden with Volkov. She couldn't put Jack in that position again.

"So you see, there's no need to go after Nikky Volkov, Jack," she despairingly continued, hoping to see his expression soften.

It didn't. He was delighted for her, she could see that, and she'd known that he would be. He always put her first above anything else. But once his mind was made up, she'd never known him to change it.

"That's great news, Roxie," he told her, kissing her forehead. "And it's the least you deserve. But don't you understand? Volkov has tried to compromise you, he's done the same with Jenn, and now it's my turn. He'll try again if someone doesn't stop him. Can't you see that?"

The redhead felt her tears begin to well up and she sniffed to hold them back.

"I know," she answered, her voice wavering a little.

"I know you do," he answered, pulling her into another hug. "All I want you to do is trust me. Can you do that?"

"Of course," she meekly said, against his chest.

She'd trust him with her life. And yet, her heart sank as he gently let her go and pushed up from the bed. There was so much more to tell him—about last night with Dawn, about being coerced into sucking the Volkov's cock after her first catwalk appearance. Had that really been a week ago? She wished that she'd never set eyes on the manipulative bastard. But now wasn't the time for further confessions. They'd have to wait. Jack needed a clear head when he confronted the Russian.

Roxanne had a dreadful feeling that there wasn't going to be a happy ending for one of them.

* 

The air was hot and humid, the sky a deep shade of blue. And yet the bank of unexpected clouds near the horizon that combined with the freshening wind suggested that a storm was brewing.

Vladimir Kazakov didn't care about the weather outside. He stood just off the main lobby inside the imposing New City Convention Centre, observing everything that went on around him. The magnificently crafted building was full of glass, steel and imposing ceilings and yet the Ukrainian didn't recognise a single aspect of that beauty. 

Such things were unimportant to him. Besides, his mind was completely fixed on the challenge ahead. 

Remaining inconspicuous hadn't proven as difficult as he'd expected, not when most of the attention was firmly on the dozens of beautiful models—and their entourages—as they flowed in and out. He hated that sort of decadence, even though it served him well in this case. People like Nikky Volkov used such things to build up their empires. 

But, today was the day the Russian was going to get his comeuppance.

Kazakov had arrived at the Centre a couple of hours ago and he'd spent his time since then reconnoitring the entire building. Nothing was left to chance. His photographic memory had taken pictures from every angle and filed them away in the back of his mind. He'd checked out where the security guards were positioned, what their habits were and, most importantly, the best escape route. He was fully prepared. 

An unusual calmness had descended on him, despite the two pills he'd taken. The extra tablet would ensure his senses were raised to the level he needed. And as always, the effect was to leave him feeling like a fucking God. One who had right on his side! One who was invincible! 

By the time he caught his late afternoon flight back to the Ukraine; Nikolay Volkov would just be a distant memory.

The deadline had passed yesterday, showing that the bastard Russian never had any intention of paying Kazakov the money he was owed. That was bad enough, but then the assassin had discovered that Volkov had put a contract out on him. On him! It was the second time he had tried to have the Ukrainian killed. A dozen men had been unleashed, with the single intention of taking him out.

They would have caught him, too, had they been up to the task. That was the problem with employing locals. However good they might be, they were never a match for a professional like him. 

He'd been in a quiet bar last night, pondering on whether to cut his losses and return to the Ukraine, when a slim Asian woman in a tight, low-cut dress slid onto the barstool next to him. She'd rested a hand on his thigh as she'd begun to chat.

"Where are you from? How long are you here? Where are you staying?"

He hated fucking Asians and had almost swatted her away. But when her hand had found his crotch, casually rubbing his rapidly lengthening cock through his trousers as she spoke, he'd thought, why not? He had time on his hands, after all. When he'd patronizingly asked her what she did for a living, she'd laughed as if she'd enjoyed the quip. 

"You know what I do," she'd replied, tugging down the zip of his trousers with well practiced ease. "I'm a whore." 

Unusually, she'd taken him to the alley at the back of the bar rather than back to his hotel. He hadn't thought too much about it at the time, not when his cock was straining inside his trousers. 

He'd fucked her there, against the stone wall—her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingers clawing at his scalp and her teeth biting down on his earlobe. The intensity of the fuck was such that he'd almost missed the swarthy Asian creeping up behind them. 

A sudden out-of-place sound had alerted him and then he'd caught a glimpse of the man out of the corner of his eye. Acting on instinct, he'd swung the prostitute around so that he could face his attacker. Just in time. The switchblade knife had plunged into her back, not his. 

He'd dropped the woman like a stone at his feet, ignoring her pitiful cries as the fall onto the cobbled ground drove the knife deeper into her wound. The man had been coming at him again and—with his trousers around his ankles and his erect cock still thrusting from his groin—he'd been at a major disadvantage.

The guy had taken instant advantage, hooking his ankle around the Ukrainian's and shoving him hard. But Kazakov was too wily to succumb to such a basic move. He'd grabbed hold of the bastard as he'd gone down, raising both legs as his back hit the cobbles and sending the man flying head over heels with a powerful two-footed kick to the head.

Scrambling to his feet, his erection rapidly fading, two more kicks into his assailant's face had quickly rendered the man semi-conscious. 

It hadn't taken long to get the Asian bastard to talk, not once he'd broken both of his arms. And what he'd heard had enraged him. Volkov had struck a deal with someone, a Sheikh, who had arranged for a dozen armed men to be sent after the Ukrainian. 

That knowledge added a completely new dimension to his situation. 

Kazakov had snapped the man's neck before hiding his body, and the woman's, under some rubble in a nearby skip. Then he'd begun to make his plans. As far as he was concerned, it was kill or be killed... 




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 10



*

"Hey, Roxanne, wait up!" 

Jennifer Finney had been trying to get in touch with Jack and Roxie all morning, but neither had been answering their mobile. That had alarmed her and she'd been on her way to their suite when she'd caught sight of the redhead along one of the long hotel corridors.

She looked great, too, in a lime green blouse with its high, open collar and a pair of white shorts that left the curves of her tanned legs bare. Jenn blushed at the thought. After her sexual escapade with Michelle Park, she was looking at women in a new light. And Jack's beautiful girlfriend was as attractive as any she'd seen.

Roxanne swung around quickly, tugging at her long ponytail. 

"Jenn, where have you been? I've been looking for you." 

"Where have I been?" the brunette quickly responded. "I've been trying to get in touch with you and Jack since last night."

A soft blush tinged Roxie's cheeks. She'd ignored her phone during her session with Dawn and then again with Jack this morning. A lot had happened in such a short time. 

"Yes, sorry," she said, trying to make light of the situation. "I was busy with my Supermodel work yesterday and Jack has been busy following up a couple of things..."

"Supermodel?" The look on Jenn's face was a picture. "I clean forgot about that. You were hosting the show with Alicia Stiles, weren't you? How did it go?"

"Fabulous," Roxie beamed. 

They'd have plenty of time to talk about the show later, but for now she wanted to know what was on the brunette's mind.

"We can talk about it over a drink," she added, linking her arm with the brunette's. "But first things first. Is everything okay?"

The corners of Jenn's mouth curled up into a broad smile at the question and she glanced around them before continuing.

"Let's get that drink," she began, rolling those beautiful, round brown eyes of hers. "You're not going to believe it, Roxie. I can hardly believe it myself."

The redhead's brow furrowed in puzzlement. Since Jack had saved Jenn at the Smoke Stack, every conversation between them had been tinged with frustration. Now the girl was practically beaming.

"Tell me," she breathlessly said, as they began to head back along the corridor towards the hotel bar. 

Jenn's excitement was infectious.

"I have it all," the brunette said, covering her mouth with her hand. "Complete documentary evidence of Nikky Volkov's illegal business dealings over the last few years."

She paused, as if for dramatic effect. Roxanne's green eyes had widened into saucers.

"I know, it's unbelievable but true," she emphasised, pausing at the top of the stairs. 

There were a few more hotel guests around now that they were out in the open. She had to be careful.

"I've read every word," she went on, lowering her voice. "And I've already telephoned Sandra Wilson to talk her through all the salient points. Let's find Jack and I'll bring you both up to date—"

The sudden look of concern on Roxanne's face stopped her mid flow.

"What?" she asked.

"Jack's on his way to see Nikky Volkov," Roxie told her. Her voice was thick with emotion. "To have it out with him..."

The sudden chill that settled on both of them was almost tangible. 

*

It felt as if everything had turned full circle. The last occasion Jack Palmer spent some time in the New City Convention Centre had been to see Roxie make her debut on the Dubai catwalk. That seemed as if it were a lifetime away. He'd also set eyes on Nikky Volkov for the first time that night and had disliked him instantly. 

Now, he was about to confront the Russian. 

It had taken a couple of phone calls to find the multi-millionaire's whereabouts. That put him at a disadvantage. It meant Volkov knew he was coming. But it would be difficult for him to get up to his tricks again. It was one thing lurking in the shadows, but this was in public.

He hated men like the Russian, who hid behind a cloak of respectability and yet allowed their darker side free reign. Corrupting people to get his own way was his specialty. He'd tried to compromise Jenn Finney at the Smoke Stack club after he'd found out she was an undercover cop. He'd been more successful with Palmer, but only after Jade had drugged him. And his men would have badly beaten Jack up last night if he'd allowed them to get the better of him. 

Then there was Tony Yamamura. Jack was certain Volkov had him killed.

Palmer had learned a long time ago that the only way to deal with a bully was to take him on. That's why he was here. He wanted the Russian multi-millionaire to see the whites of his eyes, to fully understand that his vast wealth and influence meant nothing to him. If he interfered in his and Roxie's life again, then he needed to know that Palmer was coming after him, regardless of the consequences.

Jack's thoughts turned to Roxanne while he waited for Volkov to emerge—his Roxanne, with her flowing red hair, sparkling green eyes and contagious bubbly personality. His girlfriend and his soul mate. Who would have thought he could have found love with someone like her? They were from different worlds and yet they just gelled. 

And the sex... 

He'd never met a woman so comfortable in her own skin. She knew how hot she was and knew exactly how to use her sexuality. Yet she never flaunted it. She was a supermodel in her own right and yet she was so down to earth she could be the girl next door.

Suddenly, Palmer's body tensed. Nikky Volkov had emerged from the elevators at the far end of the Centre. A woman was with him, maybe his secretary, although she looked more like a model with her jet black hair, full lips and an admittedly voluptuous body. 

They were flanked by two men, clearly his bodyguards from the way they carried themselves. The way they looked from side to side as they strutted a pace or two behind was almost comical. It was clear that that the Russian wasn't taking any chances, but Palmer knew there wasn't going to be any violence here. Volkov was too smart for that. 

The ex-cop waited until he was sure which direction they were headed before quickly leaving his position near the front of the complex. He could cut them off at the bottom of the staircase.

*

Nikky Volkov wasn't surprised to see Jack Palmer approaching them across the tiled floor. He'd been told that the former detective was coming to see him. The man seemed to have nine lives, but by walking into the lion's den he was about to find out he'd used them all up.

"Leave us," he murmured to Angela, his secretary.

He watched her beautiful ass swing from side to side as she made her way towards the front desk. He was going to fuck it later tonight. But first, he had business to take care of. Palmer was unlikely to try anything in here, but his bodyguards would sort him out if he did. He clicked his fingers by his side to attract their attention.

"So..." he said, as the ex-cop approached him. "So this is Jack Palmer?" 

He deliberately made his Russian accent more pronounced as he regarded his enemy. The man didn't look particularly tough, even though he'd fought off the three idiots Volkov had sent to beat him up last night. Still, there was a look in his eyes that the Russian recognised only too well. Palmer didn't fear anything, least of all him.

"You keep getting in my way, Mr. Palmer," he continued, taking the initiative. "Like an irritating fly buzzing around my head. Do you know what I do with flies?" 

He raised his right hand and curled his fingers tightly together

"I crush them. As easily as this..."

The bodyguards exchanged a glance as they laughed, but Volkov stilled the sound with a single glance. He could see that Palmer wasn't easily intimidated. He was here on a mission. His bodyguards needed to be fully focussed, not chuckling like schoolchildren.

"The thing is, you're an exception, Mr. Palmer..." he went on, hating the way the bastard just kept staring at him.

Who did he think he was, confronting him like this? Did he think he could frighten Nikolay Volkov? Anger rose in his throat like bile, but he contained it. He'd soon put him in his place.

"Congratulations," he continued, keeping his voice steady. "Normally the people who irritate me don't understand what is about to happen to them. In your case, I want you to fully appreciate what's about to come your way. You're a dead man walking." 

For the first time since he'd approached, the look on Palmer's face changed. The sullenness was replaced by contempt.

"You're so full of shit," he calmly replied, moving forward.

Both bodyguards reached inside their jackets as they tried to step between the two men, but the Russian stilled the movement with an upraised palm. 

"Not here," he rasped at them. "We don't want to be provoked."

He turned back to Palmer, a condescending smile on his face.

"You think so?" he snapped, meeting Palmer's gaze head on. "Let me tell you that every step you take from here is being watched, and not just by me. The Sheikh is taking a special interest in you, at my request, of course. His men are waiting for you when you leave the premises, and they'll be a damn sight more proficient than the fools last night. And once you're out of my hair, Roxanne—"

He took a sudden step back as Palmer lunged forward. Clearly the mention of his girlfriend's name had tipped him over the edge. So he was emotional after all? That played right into his hands.

It was the last thought that went through his mind...

*

Palmer cursed himself for reacting, but just as Volkov stepped back and away from him, an echoing roar sounded in his ear. He glanced up to see the Russian fall backwards, arms outstretched. 

Blood oozed from the bullet hole in his forehead.

The two bodyguards pulled their weapons from inside their jackets, swinging around as if they were unsure about the direction of the gunfire. Palmer knew it had come from above them. One of the men was shot almost immediately, crumbling in a heap onto the marble floor, while the other desperately tried to take cover behind a pillar. 

All of a sudden, people around them were screaming and rushing for cover as the realisation of the unfolding carnage hit them. Palmer glanced at Volkov as he threw himself behind the bottom of the staircase. The Russian lay sprawled face-up in a widening pool of blood. He was unmoving, clearly dead.

More gunfire rang out as the second bodyguard stupidly moved back into the open, squeezing off a series of shots up at the balcony above them. His head jerked backwards as a bullet hit him, the initial speck of blood on his chest rapidly widening as he dropped to the floor.

Whoever the assailant was, he knew what he was doing. That could only mean one thing. Vladimir Kazakov...

Palmer glanced upwards and saw the gunman looking downwards before he began to retreat. He had achieved his aim. His focus now would be on his escape route. But where?

Instinct kicked in and he rushed to the staircase, crouching low as he took the upward journey three steps at a time. Yes, it had to be Vladimir Kazakov. Who else? Gaining his revenge?

The balcony was full of terrified visitors, all crouching and covering their heads with their hands and arms as they tried to hide from whatever was going on around them. Palmer saw a spent shell casing at the top of the stairs and kept going past it. There was another, smaller, set of stairs in the far corner.

Up to the roof of the building?

Once a cop, always a cop, he told himself as he made his way past the shocked visitors towards the stairs. One glance upwards revealed a partly open hatch at the top. Yes, the gunman had come this way.

Climbing the stairs, he gingerly pushed it half-open so that he could look out. He half expected the sound of a bullet in his direction but there was none. Scrambling upwards, he crawled through the gap and blinked twice as the hot sun hit his face. Once he adjusted his eyes to the intense light, he caught sight of a figure making its way across the roof top and towards a fire escape that presumably led down to the ground. The assassin had meticulously planned his escape. 

For a moment, their eyes met, but Kazakov—if that's who it was—was too preoccupied with keeping his balance to risk a shot. When he disappeared from view, Palmer almost went after him. Then common sense kicked in. This wasn't his fight. What the fuck was he doing?

Slowly, he turned around and made his way back inside the building...

*

Michelle Park stood infront of the mirror in her hotel bedroom, a haughty smirk on her stunning face. Her almond-shaped eyes slithered lazily across her olive-hued figure as she admired her naked body. She was hot. There was no doubt about that. 

Was there a man or woman alive who could resist her? If there were, the Korean American model had yet to meet them.

Pulling her long dark hair across one shoulder, she turned one way and then the other as she checked herself out. Her full breasts sat high and perky with all the grace of youth, her spectacularly high nipples were still proud and erect, and her velvety smooth pussy was slightly swollen from her intense encounter with Nikky Volkov. 

There wasn't an ounce of excess fat on her fabulous body, testament to all those hours in the gym.

A mischievous smile touched the edge of her lips at the recollection of her early morning encounter with the Russian. Men were so fucking easy to fool, even someone as supposedly intelligent as Nikky Volkov. When he was arrested, she'd be able to put her and Tony's plan into action. Part of it anyway. She'd stay out of the limelight, find a guy who would take the fall if things went wrong, and take things step by step.

The sound of her telephone reinforced her thoughts. She knew exactly who it was on the other end, returning her earlier call. After supplying Jenn Finney with the damming information on Volkov, she'd instantly set the ball rolling. By the time she was comfortably seated on her flight back to the States, things would be taking shape.

"Hello?" she said, pouring herself a celebratory glass of champagne as she picked up the receiver. 

"Michelle," the female voice on the other end said. "It's good to talk to you again."

"Indeed," the Asian model purred, taking a sip.

The liquid slid down her throat as easily as Nikky Volkov's cock had.

She hadn't spoken to Bree Jensen since the porn star had hurriedly returned to Las Vegas after Tony's death. But their threesome the night before still burned brightly in her mind. Both women had fought for sexual superiority that night and it was a battle Michelle was looking forward to resuming again. Perhaps just the two of them this time?

"I'd like to meet you when I get back to America," she said, turning back to admire herself in the long mirror.

"You would?" Bree's voice sounded surprised. "Why?"

"To resurrect the business proposition you agreed with Tony and I."

The momentary silence down the line was palpable. Michelle smiled at her reflection, as if sharing the moment with the sexy lookalike. The reflection smiled back. With Nikky Volkov out of the way, there'd be numerous opportunities to exploit the void left by his imprisonment. She intended to take full advantage.

"That sounds ... interesting..."

The Korean American model's smile widened as she took another sip of champagne. It was her favourite drink. She had wondered whether Tony's demise might have spooked the blonde pornstar but, as she'd hoped, Bree Jensen was made of sterner stuff.

"You still have full access to the sort of girls we discussed?" she asked. They were vital to her plans. "Big names in your industry, who would be happy to, let's say, expand their horizons?"

"Honey," Bree laughed heartily. "For the right money, anything is possible. But as I explained to Tony, women in our particular vocation don't come cheap." 

Michelle joined in the laughter.

"And as Tony reassured you when he was around, money won't be an issue," she simply said. "You have my word on that. I'll call you tomorrow when I'm back in the States and we can talk further."

She tapped the phone on her teeth as she ended the call. Perhaps she would visit Bree in Las Vegas? That would be fun!

The tap on her bedroom door brought her thoughts back to the moment and she peered through the peephole before answering. A girl in her position couldn't be too careful. It was a bellboy, there to collect her suitcases. He was early. She hadn't fully packed yet. He was also large, muscular and quite good looking...

"You're early," she said as she flung the door open. 

She stood there for a moment, one hand on her hip in a perfect model's pose, smiling wantonly at the look of shock on his face as his gaze covered her naked body. Oh yes, he was good looking. Executing a perfect turn, she sauntered back to the centre of her room, knowing without glancing back that his eyes were on her perfect ass.

"Perhaps you can wait here a few minutes while I finish packing?" she asked, tossing him a sexy look over her shoulder. "Do you like champagne?"

He seemed in two minds as the ramifications of her offer sank into his brain, but then nervously stepped into the room and silently closed the door behind him. His gaze shot around the room as he moved from foot to foot, as if he was expecting someone to jump out of the bathroom and ask what the fuck he was doing.

"There's just you and me," Michelle reassured him, reaching for the bottle of bubbly.

She carried it with her to the bed, holding it up as she eased her perfect body down onto the edge of the mattress. Tilting the bottle forward, she allowed the liquid to splash across her breasts, run down her stomach and between her widespread thighs.

"Well, lover," she said, raising a single eyebrow. "I feel the need to celebrate which means this is your lucky day. You said you liked champagne. Why don't you come and get it." 

EPILOGUE

The non-stop flight from Dubai International Airport was circling around the City of London, awaiting approval to land at the Heathrow airport. 

The first half of the journey had passed relatively quickly, with both Roxie and Jenn bombarding him with questions after he'd relayed the news of Nikky Volkov's death. They'd been as shocked as he had at the killing, and he knew how frightened but relieved Roxanne was that he'd been unscathed as the violence unfolded. For her, for both of them, it had been one shoot-out too many. 

The last few hours had dragged for him. He just wanted to get home. He'd watched—but not really seen—a couple of movies to pass the time, while half-listening to Roxie and Jenn's chatter. They could talk, those two girls, and he knew they'd found a new friend for life. 

He'd replayed every aspect of Volkov's death in his mind over and over again, wanting to be crystal clear on every fact. Just before he'd died, the Russian had told him that the Sheikh's men would be targeting him when he left the building. He hadn't mentioned that to Roxie or Jenn and, besides, the shooting had changed all that. The threat had faded into thin air, as if the Sheikh couldn't afford to be caught up in anything like this. His connection to Volkov could have been exposed.

He'd even had an easy ride with the police. They could have kept him in Dubai for as long as they wanted, and concocted all manner of charges against him. Instead, he'd been free to go after only a couple of hours of questioning. It was clear why. 

The Sheikh wanted him—them—out of the country.

"You okay?" Roxie suddenly asked beside him. 

She was still shocked by Volkov's violent demise, but so much more relaxed now that they were returning home. Jenn was the same, especially as she was heading back to the Met with her head held high. She had a thick file of information that exposed the Russian for the crook he was. She'd come out of this with her reputation enhanced.




Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 10



He still hadn't discovered how she'd gained access to the information, and wasn't going to push her on the subject. He'd find out when she was ready to tell him. Anyway, did it matter? All of them were done with Nikky Volkov now.

"I'm fine," he told Roxie, staring at her thoughtfully. 

Was now the right time? Why not?

"Although I have to admit," he quietly continued, "there is one thing on my mind."

She turned in her seat to face him, a sudden frown appearing on her beautiful face. He knew why. The last thing she needed was for him to spring anything else on her. But when she replied, she surprised him.

"I know," she said, her voice a little hoarse.

Palmer shot her a puzzled look. She had always been able to read him like a book, but she couldn't really know what he was thinking... 

"You do?" he asked.

"Mhmmm," she nodded, biting down on her lip in the way she did when she was worried. "You're wondering whether all of this has been worth the hassle, whether we have a future together." 

"What?" 

He stared into her beautiful green eyes, waiting for them to lighten up and tell him she was joking. But no, she was being serious.

"I can't help being who I am, Jack," she continued, her voice low and full of apprehension. "Sometimes, I think you'd be better off with a different girl. Someone without all my baggage, you know?"

He stared at her momentarily before shaking his head in disbelief. She really thought that? This was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with! He reached his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a soft kiss, letting his lips answer for him. When he pulled away, he cupped her chin so that he could meet her searching gaze.

"Roxie, you're the only woman I've truly loved," he told her, his voice choking with emotion at what he was about to ask. "How about we get married when we return to England?"

Her green eyes blinked in shock and he could see the tears welling up in them long before they began to roll down her cheeks. The good news was that they were tears of happiness.

"Oh Jack! Yes! Yes, yes, yes. Yes, please..."



THE END