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L'Affaire

By: sharkandpen



Ally turned to focus on Jack, who was setting his laptop aside and getting up from his seat on the couch. After the shower he changed into flannel pajama pants and a worn T-shirt advertising UC Davis School of Law. He'd done nothing with his hair out of the shower and it had dried into a wavy mop. He looked incredible and Ally wanted to shout to the world that he was hers—all hers—but he wasn't hers. She smiled through the familiar stab of hurt. "Are you being protective? That's adorable." Her voice was teasing but his eyes were serious, green pools of intensity drilling into her.

He quickly made his way to her and grabbed her by the waistband of her jeans, pulling her close. "Not protective, babe. Jealous. You should really start to recognize when your man is jealous, it's a good skill to have."

"You're kidding right? You? Jealous?" She worked at stilling her heart. Ally turned to focus on Jack, who was setting his laptop aside and getting up from his seat on the couch. After the shower he changed into flannel pajama pants and a worn T-shirt advertising UC Davis School of Law. He'd done nothing with his hair out of the shower and it had dried into a wavy mop. He looked incredible and Ally wanted to shout to the world that he was hers—all hers—but he wasn't hers. She smiled through the familiar stab of hurt. "Are you being protective? That's adorable." Her voice was teasing but his eyes were serious, green pools of intensity drilling into her.

He quickly made his way to her and grabbed her by the waistband of her jeans, pulling her close. "Not protective, babe. Jealous. You should really start to recognize when your man is jealous, it's a good skill to have."

"You're kidding right? You? Jealous?" She worked at stilling her heart. Your man. A figure of speech, that's all it was. She was in his bed, that was enough.

His hands were under her sweater, tugging it up. She instinctively lifted her arms as he pulled it over her head. "You're not wearing that shirt." His eyes fell to her chest and the lacy pink bra she wore. "Why are you wearing that bra? That bra is for me. I don't need you prancing around a bar with that flimsy thing under your clothes. What panties are you wearing?"

Ally laughed out loud and Jack gave her a dark look. He reached for the front of her jeans again and Ally stepped back, scooping her sweater off the floor and turning it right side out. "Are you kidding me? What is going on with you?" 

He moved like a cat, his hand shooting out and making contact with her waistband. Before she knew what was happening Jack had the button open and the zipper down, exposing a swatch of pink lace. "The thong?" He was incredulous. "No. You're not leaving until you're wearing something appropriate."

Ally's hands lid up under his T-shirt, feeling hot, smooth skin that immediately made her want to kiss her way down his chest. "No one is going to see. And I wear these all the time."

"I'll know. I won't get any work done if you're out in your sex bra. And sure you wear them but not out drinking at whatever meat-market Nicki drags you to tonight."

She slid her hands along his waist and up his back, stepping closer to him. She could feel him hard against her stomach and smiled when she heard him emit a soft groan. "Don't you trust me?" She stood on her toes and pressed her hips to his, letting her lips brush the smooth line of his jaw. He was freshly shaved.

Jack pushed her jeans down her hips, cupping the bare skin of her ass in his hands. Squeezing, he said, "This. Is. Mine."

"I wasn't planning on giving it away."

His fingers found their way along the lace of her thong, tracing the line if her ass, pausing and putting slightly more pressure on her tight little hole before making his way further, where her pussy waited for his touch. Ally let her head fall back as first one, then two fingers slid inside her, unable to concentrate on anything other than the sensations, the feel of him inside her. She couldn't remember what they'd been talking about, didn't care. Jack's fingers had found a rhythm and she was cooing and rocking her hips into his hand, trying to give him better access.

"And this is mine," he said huskily, increasing his speed and probing deeper. "And you're not leaving this house dressed for picking up men."

Ally heard the words but couldn't put them together in a way that made sense. The only thing that made sense was the way his fingers pushed into her, the movements getting faster. Harder. 

"Harder."

Jack obliged. "You have a man." Another finger swept over her clit and a chill went through her. Her whole body trembled and she let out a soft cry, as if from pain.

"Don't you?" he asked. His voice was intoxicating in her ear. He'd slowed his pace, lightened the pressure and suddenly she could think again. 

"Don't stop."

"You have a man. Don't you?" Jack pulled his fingers out of her pussy and started tracing lazy circles around her clit, never quite making contact. 

Ally's knees buckled but somewhere in all this he'd snaked his hand around her waist and she was able to lean against him, dig her nails into the skin of his back as she tried to hold on. "Yes." Her voice was throaty and hoarse. She wanted to melt into him, to fuse their bodies where they stood and stay like this, trapped in time.

Jack broke contact, pushing her away from him. Ally's eyes followed him as he backed away toward the couch. He sat and crooked a finger for her to follow. She went. He leaned back into the couch and opened his legs, making room for her in between them. Ally kneeled in front of him and looked up at him. She saw desire, but she saw something else, too--something hiding behind it, as if embarrassed to be seen. Need?

The flannel pajama bottoms opened the way boxers did, and she didn't have to pull them down to expose his erection. His hand cupped her cheek, and she could feel where his fingers were still damp, could smell herself on him. "Ally."

She bent down, into his lap, letting the head of his cock rest on her lips. She moved her face back and forth to spread his pre-cum as if she were putting on lip-gloss and Jack watched, entranced. Her tongue darted out and he felt his body react to the sight of her, on her knees in front of him. His dick throbbed. She was beautiful. Who knew they came this beautiful? And every day she came home to him. The knowledge of it thrilled him. There'd never been a woman with this much pull on him, this much power over him. He thought about her all the time; while driving, on business lunches, in conference rooms, sitting in his office staring at his computer screen just thinking of her. Ally. 

But she held herself at a distance and it perplexed and infuriated him. He'd spent every night for three weeks before she'd relented and given him a key and some space in her closet. And she still refused to tell her friends they were together. Why? Was it so embarrassing, being with him? Was it so shameful? He had a good job. A nice car. A house (true, it was barely furnished, but it was still a house). Did she just hate lawyers? She was like no other woman he'd ever dated but everything he'd tried to stay away from. 

He needed to focus on his career. He needed to be dating blond social-climbers who got pedicures, not feisty red-heads who give pedicures. He shouldn't be so involved, so wrapped up in someone. But here she was, his angel, with her mouth around his cock.

Her lips closed around him and Jack lost his train of thought. She sucked at him while her tongue slid up and down his cock, adding to the sensations and sending heat flooding to his crotch. He lifted his hips, rocking back and forth slightly while she sucked him deeper into his mouth. He felt the roof of her mouth, way in the back, as his cock started to meet resistance. Her cheeks were sunken and her nostrils flared as she tried to keep filling her lungs. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

She pulled away and smiled up at him, teasingly dragging her tongue up the length of his cock from base to tip as their eyes met and held.

"Tonight, Ally," he said, suddenly sure. "I want you to tell her about us. I want you to do it tonight."

Ally froze, her eyes suddenly wide, and frightened, a deer caught in headlights. He saw her throat move as she swallowed and searched her face for signs of a positive reaction underneath the negative. Ally leaned back on her heels, away from him. Her hair was disheveled, her lipstick worn away, probably smeared all over his groin. She shook her head.

"Ally—"

"No!" It came out as a strangled sob, and she quickly fought the surge of emotion and steadied herself. "Not tonight," she said, more calmly now. "Please, Jack, not tonight. I just need more time before I—"

"What is so wrong about us, Ally, that you can't even tell your best friend?" He was angry now, and they both saw it, recognized the path they were traveling. Ally dipped her head to pull him into her mouth again and started bobbing up and down, so far down his dick hit the back of her mouth and started the journey into her throat. She'd never throated him before and it was heaven. He didn't want the feeling to stop but he pulled her head up and off of him.

"Not tonight. Just—just not tonight. Let me make it up to you, I just can't say anything tonight."

"Make it up to me? And how do you want to make it up to me? You wanna keep sucking my cock and pretend that I'm not asking you for more?" Ally winced. She'd never seen him act like this, lash out like this. The silence that passed while he waited for an answer was filled with tension. 

"What?" Ally said, a pleading in her voice that she wished didn't betray her feelings. "What do you want?"

Jack motioned to his lap. "Go ahead. Make it up to me." His voice was like ice, like he was a different person, and Ally felt panic rise in her chest. She didn't want to lose him, not like this. She didn't want them to end on a bad note. 

"Jack," Ally whispered. She ached to hold him, to make things right again, but she didn't know how.

Jack reached out to her, grabbing the back of her head and leading her face down to his lap. "Is this what you want? Just sex? Then get to work." 

With his other hand he grabbed his dick and put it between her lips, pushing down on the back of her head until he filled her mouth. Ally was frozen, not sure of what to do, how to react. Is this what he would be satisfied with? Being able to order her around as if she were a prostitute in exchange for his silence?

He closed a fist around a handful of hair and Ally winced in pain. Jack noticed and immediately loosened his grip, but his voice didn't warm. "Suck my cock and pretend you aren't embarrassed to be fucking me." She froze, tried to pull away, but he held her head down. Is that what he thought? That she was embarrassed? It was such a ridiculous notion that it never occurred to her that that's what he might believe. What other reason would she possibly have for keeping their relationship a secret from her friends? She wasn't sure if it was her heart in her throat or just his dick as he held her in place. 

"Suck it!" he suddenly shouted and Ally complied, she didn't know how else to react and couldn't lift her head anyway. Her heart was racing and she thought it might burst if she didn't tell him soon. She couldn't bare the thought of him thinking she was ashamed to be with him. Why would he think that? Is he insane? Did he not realize he was the perfect man?

She resumed bobbing up and down over his erection and Jack released his grip on her head, but let his hand rest on top of her head. In case she changed her mind? Ally couldn't very well tell him she had fallen stupidly in love with him but she could at least show him she wanted to please him. She closed her mouth around the tip of his cock and lapped at his head with her tongue, letting the tip of her tongue linger over the tiny hole, trying to get an advance taste of him. He strained into her. "That's right," Jack muttered, letting his head fall back against the cushions. "That's it."

Ally increased her suction and started feeding him, inch by inch, deeper into her mouth until she thought she would gag. The way he groaned in response made her push onward, slowly taking more of him on, her breathing ragged. Surely people weren't expected to breathe through their noses, she couldn't get enough air. She pressed forward, as if she had something to prove. Jack's hips bucked in response and his hands settled on either side of her head. 

Jack worked at controlling himself. He was angry and he knew it showed. He didn't want to hurt her but her throat felt so tight and hot around him that he couldn't resist rocking into her face, as if fucking her mouth. She was struggling for air and he knew he had to finish soon or she'd pass off. He let out a grunt as his groin exploded and he felt cum gush from cock to spill down her throat. He shook and bucked as wave after wave of his orgasm lapped at him and he was just coming back to earth when he heard a knock on the door. 

Jack released her head and his softening cock slipped from her lips, which looked puffy and red and generally like she'd just been fucked in the mouth. "I thought you told her to park outside and honk. Why risk letting her know you're hiding the hunchback of Notre Dame in the apartment?"

Jack stood and stepped over her as if she were just a piece of furniture in the way and her throat swelled as her eyes filled with tears. "Jack," she said softly, scrambling to her feet. He kept walking. "Jack." This time she said it loudly, loudly enough for someone standing on the other side of the door to hear. He stopped walking but didn't turn around. Ally was shakey on her feet. Her knees were protesting the extended time on the hard-wood floor in the living room and she felt short of breath in general.

"I'm not embarrassed. I—I just don't want her pity when you find someone else, someone your type. She's my best friend and I don't want to be uncomfortable around her when you move on." It was a relief to put it into words, to let him know her biggest insecurity. As the silence stretched between them she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She'd said too much. She'd scared him away.

Suddenly he was a like cat again, had turned and was stalking toward her swiftly, a fierce pained look on his face. "What the fuck are you babbling about, Ally? Someone more my type? And just what is my type?"

The doorbell rang. Ally swallowed hard. She wasn't going to cry. "Look, we both know I'm not exactly destined to be a lawyer's wife. We both know we can't play house indefinitely."

Jack looked genuinely perplexed, and, what was it this time? Sad? God, she didn't want his pity.

"You're right, Ally. You're not exactly destined to be the lawyer's wife." Great. Why didn't he just punch her in the stomach? The doorbell rang and she heard Nicki pound on the door. "Al?" Nicki yelled, still banging. Jack had her face in his hands now and he was forcing her to look into his eyes. He looked so sincere. "You're destined to be my wife."

Ally held her breath. Had he just said—

"I've never been with anyone like you Ally, I know that if you look at the women I've been with something doesn't quite fit. But it's not you that doesn't fit, Ally. It's them. They were wrong all along."

"Don't make me get the super to wake your ass up!" Nicki's voice came through the wall. Jack gave the door a sour look. "Jesus, she's still a pest."

Ally stepped out of his arms, reached for the button on her jeans and pulled the zipper up. Jack watched in interest as she pulled the tight pink cashmere top over her head and worked at straightening her hair. Jack's heart felt like it would burst as she walked toward the door. She was going to open it. She was going to tell Nicki about them.

Ally threw one last glance over her shoulder and the look of hope and pride on Jack's face made her want to dance. She was his, because he wanted her to be. She swung the door open and revealed Nicki, who stood waiting in a black suede pants and a white button down blouse. Once again, Ally had lost the best-friends-outdressing-one-another competition, but she didn't care. Nicki narrowed her eyes and looked suspiciously at Ally, as if she were afraid to come in. 

"What?" Nicki asked. "What is if? What's with the goofy grin? And what the hell happened to your make-up."

"I'm in love with your brother," Ally said simply.

Nicki rolled her eyes and walked past her into the apartment, throwing a rueful glance at Jack. "Uh, yeah. What? Am I retarded? Like it's a coincidence every time I come to pick her up there's a black Porsche Carrera parked down the block?" 

L'Affaire C. 02



Jack couldn't help smiling the rest of the evening. He had done it. He had her. And it was a relief to know that her resistance to letting their status as couple be known was not because she didn't want a relationship, but because she thought she was some kind of diversion for him. The woman was anything but a diversion; he couldn't keep his mind away from her. 

He closed his laptop with a click, resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get any more work done tonight. Instead he made his way into the cramped little kitchen—he had to find a way to get her to move in with him, he felt claustrophobic in this place—and made himself a gin and tonic. He tried not to concentrate on the way she looked as he held her head in place and bucked into her mouth. What had he been thinking? But the images flooded his mind and his groin tightened in response. It had felt so damn good. And watching her had felt so damn good. A thick mass of red hair cascading down her back and falling into her face against that smooth pale skin and, God help him, those freckles. The pert little nose struggling for breath. Had he hurt her? She was probably never going to let him in her mouth again.

Jack groaned. He could almost feel the hotness of her breath; feel the fullness of those pink lips brushing against his dick. His erection was in full force again and she hadn't even left with Nicki half an hour ago to go prance around in that soft pink sweater that luxuriously hugged her curves. The swell of her bust, the accentuation of her waist, and those hips. The capped sleeves of the sweater accentuated those long, slender arms that ended in the most beautiful hands he'd ever seen. Every day she sat down and over-charged women to put acrylic nails on their hands, and all the while Ally sported her natural nails, well groomed but free from polish. Perfect without trying. And she had no idea. She and Nicki were perfect for each other. A package of truly lovely women, wandering about with shields of sarcasm and disinterest to hide insecurities that made absolutely no sense. 

He wondered absently how Nicki was doing, lately, with her quest to keep every man at bay by letting that absolute loser ex-boyfriend of hers hang around. He'd never met the guy but was still disgusted by him.

Ally had told Nicki that she loved him. She loved him. That was probably the best part. He'd been so surprised he'd forgotten to say anything in response before Nicki shuttled her out the door. But say what? That he loved her? Loving her was one thing, but actually telling her? It was so much easier for women.

The shrill ring of his cell phone pulled Jack away from his thoughts. One glance at the caller ID had him rolling his eyes. Liam had been back in the states for a week now but insisted the entire office had changed in the 6 months he spent in Hong Kong and called Jack about thirty times a day to demand explanations for imaginary changes. It was too good to have him back in town for Jack to complain. He flipped open the cell phone, "Let me guess, 'they' moved the coffee filters."

"No, I was going to talk to you about your assistant, the law student."

"Uh huh?" 

"I bet we could get her enrolled in a good charm school. She's a nasty little thing."

Jack smiled. "What do you want, Liam?"

"Ah, I'm bored. Are you at home? I was thinking about dropping buy. I can bring pizza."

"It's eleven o'clock!"

"It's never too late for pizza. Come on—my treat."

"Nah, man, I'm not at home."

"It's eleven o'clock!"

Jack laughed. "See you at the office tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Like I said. See you at the office tomorrow."

"Yeah yeah. Hey, where are you? You're not sleeping at your desk tonight, are you?"

Jack scoffed. He'd never slept at his desk-- his office had a couch. "I'm at my girlfriend's place."

"Figures. So when do I get to meet the woman who stole my drinking partner?"

"I asked her, but she says she'd rather be strung up by her toenails than sit in a room with more than one lawyer in it."

It was Liam's turn to scoff. "That's a figure of speech, I'm sure."

After saying goodnight Jack snapped the phone shut, but opened it again almost immediately and dialed Ally's cell phone.

"Don't look now but there's a cool glass of water looking this way, and he ain't looking at me. Behind your right shoulder." Nicki turned to look over her shoulder as Ally hissed, "I said don't look!"

"Remember I told you about my on-again-off-again guy-person?"

"That's Adam? But—he doesn't look like a loser."

"No, that's not Adam. That's Adam's friend Matt."

"Matt as in dog park guy?"

"When did I tell you about dog park guy?"

"When you were complaining that the one guy you were really crushing on turned out to be a friend of your crackpot ex. He keeps glancing over here. His with some girl and she's starting to get annoyed."

Nicki sipped her Diet Coke. The girl probably had no reason to get her nose out of joint; he was probably just compiling a list of things to report back to Adam about. She noticed Ally studying her quizzically and sat up straight, making an effort to look neutral. So Adam had a cute friend. So what? It would be so tacky to go after him. Plus, he was with someone.

"Maybe they aren't together. Another guy just joined him and the girl went off."

Nicki's spine stiffened. Ally had never met Adam. She didn't know what he looked like. Was Adam here, behind her? Inexplicably, her heart started pounding. He called every once in awhile; usually late in the evening after he'd had a few, and she'd stopped answering his calls. It was easy enough to do with caller ID because the man didn't seem to know how to leave a voicemail. "You do realize you're openly staring, right?"

"I'm allowed. He's not exactly the most discreet man on earth. I can totally tell his attention is only superficially on whatever new guy is saying. Oh, shit, he's coming over."

"New guy is coming over?"

Ally looked puzzled. "No, old guy. The Matt guy. Why would new guy come over?"

"Nicole?"

Nicki turned in her seat and looked up at the man beside her. Ally was right. He was a cool glass of water. Even worse, he smelled delicious.

"Matt. Hi." Nicki said, giving a small wave. 

Matt leaned down so his head was in between the women and gestured to one of the empty chairs at the table, "Do you mind if I join you?"

Nicki was speechless. He wanted to sit with them? Why did he smell so good? Is he on a reconnaissance mission of some sort? Was Adam in the bar somewhere?

"Not at all," Ally grinned, pushing a chair out with her foot. Matt smiled at her and took a seat as Ally worked to make eye contact with her friend, to no avail. Nicki seemed to be frozen in place, unable to move even her eyes. Before pulling her foot back in Ally gave Nicki a nudge under the table.

"I have to go to the little girl's room," Ally announced, rising. Once she had left Matt turned his full attention on Nicki.

"So Adam's been bitching because you haven't been answering his calls for close to three months now. I haven't seen you out walking that funny looking dog of yours, either. What is it you called her? A vespa?"

"She's a vizla. A Vespa is a motorized scooter. We go to the park in the mornings now."

"I thought maybe you'd moved."

"Nope. Still here. How are you?"

"I was happy to run into you. Your friend seems nice."

"She's not. Right now she's hiding out in the bathroom so that I get to sit here alone with you."

"And you resent being alone with me?"

Nicki finally looked into his eyes, a blue so light she could sometimes swear they were gray. His dark brown hair was mussed but had been recently cut. "No, I'm just not sure why you're here?"

Matt shrugged. "Well, they have good music—" Matt pointed to the stage where a jazz vocalist and her piano entertained the patrons who seemed to be paying little attention. "And the drinks aren't too expensive."

"At my table. Why you're here at my table."

After a moment he said, "I guess I'm curious to know if you're done with Adam."

"Ah." Nicki nodded. "So you are a spy."

Matt leaned into her conspiratorially, a wide grin on his face. He had perfect teeth. Who had teeth that perfect? They had to be caps. No, one was chipped slightly. Could caps get chips? She didn't know. "I come in peace. I'm afraid I'm not coming here as a friend of Adam."

"You aren't friends anymore? That's too bad."

"No, we are. I'm just here for some very unfriendly reasons."

Nicki shook her head. "Are you always this obtuse?"

"I want to know if you're done with him—really done with him this time?"

"You just said you weren't here for Ad—"

Matt cut her off. "I'm here for me. I'm here because I like sitting next to you."

Nicki opened her mouth to respond but, having nothing to say, closed it again.

"Go ahead," Matt prompted.

"What?"

"You looked like you were about to ask me something."

Nicki looked at him appraisingly and took a sip of her soft drink before asking, "So, and correct me if I'm wrong because lord knows you're not being clear, you're here trying to be my friend?"

Matt laughed softly, a warm musical sound. The warmth carried into his gaze as he looked at her. "Well, if you're accepting new friends, then yes, I miss our chats at the park."

Nicki started to relax and found herself leaning toward him, as well. "I see. I suppose we can all use more friends. But what does that have to do with Adam? You can't be friends with me unless I'm not through with him?"

Matt seemed to consider this a moment. "Not really. More like it'd be easier to be friends with you if I knew it was over between you two. "

"How so?" This was one of the strangest conversations Nicki had ever been apart of but she had to admit she was enthralled. What was wrong with him? Had he had too much to drink? He really wasn't making any sense at all.

"Well, what if you seduce me?" he asked, completely straight-faced. "It would put strain on my relationship with Adam if his girlfriend put the moves on me."

Nicki didn't reply for a moment. She couldn't. Suddenly Ally reappeared but stood next to the table rather than sitting. Nicki tore her eyes away from Matt and looked up at Ally. "What's up?"

"That was Jack. He wants me to come home."

Nicki looked unimpressed. "So?"

Ally blushed. "Well, I'd kind of like to. It was a big night for us, I mean, telling you... Anyway, you guys both live near the same dog park. Could you give her a ride home?" Ally looked at Matt with an innocent expression that didn't fool Nicki for a second. The bitch. Jack probably hadn't even called.

Matt spoke before Nicki had a chance to form a reply fit for an audience. "Not at all, I'd love to. Don't worry, I'll make sure she gets home safe."

"Great!" Ally said, deftly avoiding Nicki's hand, which had reached out to grab her arm. "Gotta go. Talk to you later, Nicki."

They both watched Ally leave and their gazes stayed on the entrance long after she left. Finally, Matt spoke. "She called you Nicki. I like that, do a lot of people call you Nicki?"

"Yeah...my family...my friends."

"Really? Adam always called you Nicole when he was talking about you."

Nicki looked him in the eyes. "Like I said. My friends call me Nicki."

Matt was quiet for a moment, contemplating where the conversation was headed. "So what should I call you? Nicki or Nicole?"

"Probably not Nicole. It's not my name."

Matt looked taken aback. "Adam calls you by the wrong name? How did that happen?"

Nicki smiled, actually recalling the story with good humor. She'd introduced herself to Adam as Nicki but on their first date they ran into one of her newer clients who mistakenly called her Nicole. Adam had picked it up and called her Nicole ever since.

Matt listened to the story with a look of wonderment on his face. "And you never corrected him? What's your name? Nikita?"

Nicki laughed out loud. "No, not Nicki. Honestly, I didn't correct him because it wasn't far off from my name. My full name is Nicolette, so I'm either Nicki or Nicolette, but never really Nicole."

"Until Adam absentmindedly changed your name."

Nicky was still smiling. "Yes, yes. Until Adam changed my name."

"I like Nicolette. It sounds so—" His voice trailed off as he searched for an appropriate adjective.

"So like a chewing gum designer for nicotine addicts?"

Matt turned to look at her, grinning mischievously. "I plead the fifth."

To the surprise of them both, Nicki kissed him. Startled at first, Matt quickly regained his senses and deepened the kiss, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. When they finally pulled apart Nicki's cheeks were flushed. Matt moved his hand from her cheek and rested it on her arm. She was wearing a long-sleeved plum-colored button-down knit shirt with a large enough scoop at the neck to reveal a tantalizing swell of breasts, and despite the fabric between them Matt's body reacted as if he'd been touching bare skin.

"I'm sorry, that was tacky of me."

This pulled Matt back into the present. "Tacky?"

"Ex-girlfriend hits on guy's best friend. It's such a cliché."

Matt gazed at her, dark hair flowing down her back in tantalizing curls, toffee colored eyes framed by lush, dark lashes. "And what about guy wants friend's ex?"

Nicki blinked and smiled, oddly comfortable in both his presence and their flirting. She found she liked sitting next to him, too. "Even worse."



L'Affaire C. 03



A comfortable silence stretched between Nicki and Matt and she couldn't help but smile. She probably looked completely goofy but she didn't care. Her lips still tingled from his kiss, and she got the feeling by the way he was looking at her that he felt it, too.

"So..." Matt said, eyeing her. 

Nicki looked at him from under a thick blanket of black eyelashes and licked her lips. "Weren't you supposed to be making sure I get home safe?"

Matt was on his feet so fast it looked as if his chair had shocked him. Nicki grinned and stood, too, letting him take her hand and lead her out the door into the cool night air. Well, cold night air. She could see their breath and she reflexively crossed her arms over her chest. "Did you forget your coat inside? Do you want me to go get it?"

"I wasn't wearing a coat. Quick, where's your car?"

Matt shook his head and laughed, then removed his own coat and placed it on her shoulders. She was instantly warmed. And it smelled like him.

"So if I never told you my name was Nicki, how did Adam ever find out you 'knew' me from the dog park."

"It's too cold outside to stand here talking about Adam," Matt said, grabbing her and pulling her down the sidewalk. They weaved in and out of people spilling out of bars or waiting in line to get into bars.

They walked in silence for awhile, his hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her. She wished his stupid coat wasn't so bulky so she could feel the warmth of his skin. When he spoke again his voice was soft. "I described you. Every detail about this magical woman I'd met. He must have recognized something in the description. The next time I saw him he had a picture with him. It was you. I wanted to punch him in the face. This one is mine—" he pointed to a Ford Explorer. "And I guess when he got home, he called you to tell you, and I never saw you at the dog park again, you know, cause you suddenly needed to go in the mornings instead."

Nicki could help but blush, feeling silly all of a sudden to her decision that avoidance was the best way to respond to the potentially sticky situation. Matt opened the door for her and Nicki slid into the passenger seat. His car smelled of leather and man and, inexplicably, there was a football on the floor next to her feet. Once he was in the SUV she picked up the ball and held it up between them. "You play?"

Matt took the ball and tossed it in the back. She watched its progress and realized there was at least three other footballs floating about.

"No, I coach high school ball."

"I thought they only let high school teachers coach ball."

"I'm a high school teacher."

"No way!" Nicki grinned. "The girls must love your class."

It was Matt's turn to blush. "I'm not allowed to notice."

The Explorer roared to life and they pulled away from the curb and onto the street, headed away from the bar district. 

Nicki gave him the cross streets and they drove in silence, except for the sound of Beck coming from the car radio. When they reached the building that housed her condo Matt parked his the SUV and turned in his seat to face her. Nicki looked back, again from under her eyelashes. Her eyes were the color of coffee. Matt shifted in his seat, repositioning to accommodate the growing tightness under the zipper of his jeans.

"So..." he said.

Nicki nodded, as if agreeing. "So."

"Any chance you'd give me your phone number so we can continue our cliché of a relationship."

Nicki grinned wildly. "Relationship, huh?" she leaned in and brushed her lips against his. "You do move fast, don't you?"

At the touch of her lips against his Matt lost control and kissed her the way he'd wanted to kiss her the first time he saw her, throwing a tennis ball (badly) at a dog who retrieved it even worse. Each time she threw it again she had to wrestle it out of the skinny dog's mouth. She crouched down and, trying not to stare, he'd watched the muscles in slender legs become defined. Long legs and olive skin and a constant bemused-looking smile as she and the dog played.

The first time he'd seen her her hair had been wrapped up in a twist and he'd had no idea how long it really was. When he saw her again, a week later, it had spiraled down her back in curls that landed halfway between her shoulders and her ass. Thick, dark brown hair that looked as if it were black until the sun hit it and suddenly it was dark chocolate moving with her as she tossed the ball.

He kissed her fiercely, plundered her mouth with his tongue and ground as nails painted lavender dug themselves into his stomach. He wanted to push her hand down into his lap and did all he could to resist until she found it herself, sliding the butt of her palm down along his erection. Matt broke from the kiss and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the headrest as she pulled away and reached down to her feet and picked up her clutch handbag. She unsnapped it, pulled out a silver business card holder and slipped him a card before snapping it shut and handing the card to him. 

"My cell phone is listed there," she said. "I don't have a home phone."

She was gone before he could respond, dashing into the lobby of the building. He hadn't even noticed she'd slipped her arms out of his coat while they drove. It sat crumpled in the passenger seat. Matt glanced down at the card in his hand. "Nicki Moreau." French? He would have guessed by her exotic looks she had a Peruvian or Columbian heritage. 

He smiled down at the card. The Daily News logo was featured prominently. A reporter. The woman was full of surprises. 

*****

When Ally got home she found Jack in the bedroom, the lamp on the nightstand still on, a mass of papers surrounding him, including some perched precariously on his stomach. He chest rose and fell with each breath and Ally couldn't help smiling. She crept into the room and made her way to the chest of drawers, opening one and pulling out a peach satin nightie. 

Ally watched herself in the mirror as she pulled of her pink cashmere sweater, pushed her black jeans passed her hips and down her legs. The soft light in the room gave off so little light that she actually felt beautiful. Her hair was a thick red blanket caressing her shoulders. Ally reached both hands behind her back and unhooked her pink lacey bra. Her breast were small enough that they'd so far managed to avoid the detrimental effects of gravity, and for that she was grateful. She reached her hands up and cupped her breasts in them, feeling the hard nipples pressing into her palms. Her skin was soft and pale, though speckled with faint freckles. Ripples of heat went from where her hands cupped her breasts to pool between her legs and suddenly she ached for Jack to be awake. She reached for the nightie, slid it over her head, and pushed her thong down her legs. 

Jack was sleeping fairly soundly, despite the fact that he'd obviously dozed off while working. Carefully, trying not to disturb him, she started moving his papers from the bed onto the nightstand. He groaned a little when her hand accidentally brushed his upper thigh, but nuzzled his head deeper into the pillow.

Ally walked around the bed and kneeled next to him, gazing down at him. He looked so peaceful when he slept, nothing like lawyer Jack, who scheduled his life in six-minute intervals for billing purposes.

Ally leaned in and reached into the opening in his flannel pajama bottoms, pulling his dick out. He was still soft in her hands. Ally lowered her mouth to his cock and gently began to suck, using her tongue to massage him to life. He quickly expanded in her mouth, filling it, and she heard him groan.

"Oh God," he muttered, one hand reaching up to find the back of her head, knotting itself in her hair and pushing her face into his lap. 

Once he was erect she pulled her mouth away and threw one leg over his body, as if she were getting on a horse. Jack's eyes slipped open as Ally positioned herself ontop of him, facing away from him. Why did she insist on these fucking nighties?

Jack pushed the peach fabric up over her hips so he could watch her slide her pussy down onto him. She moved slowly, but lowered herself all the way with the first stroke. Her ass looked sublime and he couldn't help but imagine slipping his dick in her tight little asshole, bucking into her as she whimpered and moaned until he finally emptied himself into her. The thought of his cum leaking out of her asshole had him closing his eyes tightly as he tried to focus on not blowing his load. Stop thinking about the ass, Jack, he told himself. He couldn't imagine Ally—his angel—letting him pound her ass. But fuck, that ass!

He opened his eyes and watched her ride his cock. Using her thighs to push her body up and off of him, and then to lower her body down his cock in a controlled slide. The slick fabric of the nightie kept escaping his grasp and falling down, blocking his view. "Dammit, would you take this fucking thing off?" he barked. Ally laughed and turned to glance back at him over her shoulder but didn't stop her movements. Jack looked at her face, suddenly mesmerized. "I missed you."

"I was only gone an hour and a half."

"It was a long time. I didn't think you'd actually come home when I called you."

"I missed you, too."

"Come here and kiss me," Jack said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Ally lifted herself off him and turned around, bringing her mouth down over his. Jack took the opportunity to grab her and pull the nightie off, sitting up and pushing her onto her back as he did so. Her hair fanned out around her face in glorious red waves.

He kissed her fiercely, then pulled away. 'Nicki actually wanted to leave after only an hour? That's not very Nicki-like."

Ally dragged her nails up Jack's back as he moved between her thighs. He slid into her in one smooth stroke, then found her clit with his fingers and started manipulating her clit until she was panting and writhing underneath him. Jack watched her face as she neared orgasm and buried himself in her tight folds, stroke after stroke, then leaned down so his lips brushed against her ear. "Cum for me, baby. Cum around my cock."

Ally obliged, gasping out as his fingers pushed her over the edge. Jack felt her pussy tighten around him as her body started shaking. Even her legs shook when this woman came. Jack let his hand fall away from her clit and started fucking her with real force, in and out. In. Out. In. Out. Until he let out a guttural cry and came into her. He kept up the motions until the last of his orgasm subsided and he felt himself softening inside her. Spent, he collapsed next to her and cuddled into her body, resting his head in the crook of her neck as his pulse started to slow.

"No," Ally said. "She let me leave. I made sure she had a ride home."

Jack was confused before he remembered they'd been talking before he came. "With who?" he asked, not really very interested.

"Dog park guy," she whispered, her body sinking toward sleep.

Jack shot up. "You sent my sister home with some guy at a club?"

Ally opened her eyes. "Of course not. We were at a jazz lounge." 



L'Affaire C. 04



Carly stared down at the papers in her hand, dumbfounded. He'd had her served at work. Was he trying to humiliate her? It's okay Carly, she told herself, you just have to get through this last year of law school and then you can move away from this God-forsaken place.

"Whatcha got, Barbie? You look perturbed."

Carly looked up to watch Liam approach. He looked gorgeous. Again. Still. His suit was grey today, but he wore a white shirt with thin pink stripes and a pink tie. He made it work, but then, he could probably make a Santa tie work. 

"Nothing." Carly sighed and slipped the papers under some files on her desk. Undeterred, Liam retrieved them. "Hey, what are you—"

Liam's eyes scanned the documents. "You're married?" he asked, flipping through the paperwork. "I didn't know you were married." He glanced at her left hand.

"You are the nosiest man I've ever met," Carly told him, swiping the papers and opening a drawer to drop them into.

"We all have our perks. For instance, you have the smartest mouth I've ever come across."

"Oh, I doubt that," Carly said, sitting down and turning to her desktop computer. "You seem to understand me just fine."

Liam laughed. "Jack in yet?"

Carly nodded as she opened the web browser. "He was here before me, and I got here at five so I could do some reading. I'm not convinced he went home last night, he looks like he didn't sleep at all."

"Nah, he went home."

"And how would you know? Did you spend the night at the office?"

"Nah, I called him. He was with She Who Won't Come Near the Office."

Carly smiled, despite herself. Now there was a couple that was doing something right. Jack had started seeing Ally shortly after she started work as an assistant at the office and had quickly seemed to settle. As if his life had shifted to a smoother track. It hardly made any sense, since the same work kept piling up and the same shit kept going wrong, but he breezed through it as if it were nothing. More than anything, Carly wanted to breeze through her problems as if they were nothing.

"You called him? What did 'they' do this time? Switch brands of staples?"

"Cute." Liam said, striding toward Jack's door. Liam had only recently come back from Hong Kong and the office had seemed to turn itself inside out while he was gone. It was nothing he could put his finger on, things just felt different.

"He's with a client." Carly said, and began typing. 

Liam stopped short. "Dammit." 

Heglanced at his watch, it was nearly noon and he was starving. The clicking of keys distracted him from his hunger and he glanced over to watch Carly typing away. She was a beautiful woman. And snotty, too. That might have been the best part. He was sick of ass-kissers and fakes. It was nice to be around someone genuine, even though she genuinely disliked him. At least you're honest, he wanted to tell her. God, she typed fast.

While her attention was on her computer he took the opportunity to watch her. She was beautiful. Long legs and tanned skin and thick blond hair hanging down straight, but cut so that it just brushed against her shoulders as her head moved. Big, blue eyes and big round breasts. Okay, maybe he shouldn't be quite as aware of her breasts as he was, but he couldn't help it. Even underneath the fabric of her suit they were glorious. He was pretty sure they weren't real, (how could they be?), but he didn't even care. They suited her. She was Barbie. Tall and blond. She just looked like California, what she was doing up here was a mystery to him, as was how she stayed so tan. She must go tanning, he thought absently, watching her fingers fly over the keys. The woman even typed confidently. Long fingers and long nails. Those were fake, too, but painted to look natural. And she smelled like—well, he didn't know what she smelled like but she smelled good. She probably tasted just as good. And he was hungry.

Liam made his way away from his desk and back to his office. He did not need to worry about how she tasted.

When he got back to his office rather than starting in on work he pulled out the yellow pages and started flipping. She looked so defeated, today. Almost sad. And it was only almost because he wasn't sure she actually had feelings. She had plenty of sarcasm and derision, but feelings, he wasn't sure.

After making the calls he needed to make Liam slid the phone book back into his desk. When he did he noticed the pair of binoculars he sometimes used for people watching on those few moments when there was time to waste. 

He tapped his foot against the floor, trying to decide what to do. But he had to look. Liam went over to the window and found the familiar window. Some sort of conference room, though he'd only ever seen it used for X-Rated activities between some exhibitionists who obviously weren't worried about losing their jobs. The room was empty today. He felt a bit disappointed, but then decided he'd check again later and picked up his phone. This time when he dialed Jack's extension, Jack picked up.

"Jack Moreau."

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Got time for lunch?"

"Ah, man, I'm eating at my desk today. I'm brown bagging it."

Liam chuckled. "You actually made yourself a lunch? Now I'll bet that's some tasty goodness."

Jack's voice was suddenly soft, and Liam could tell he was smiling when he spoke next. "Ally made it."

"I should've guessed. Alright, I'll just grab something at the coffee place."

"Later."

Liam pushed back from his desk and slid back into the jacket of his suit. He made his way back to Carly's desk. She was typing again, though this time not an email. "Can you go get me a cup of coffee?"

"What's your assistant doing?"

"Sick kid today. So how about it?" he asked, waiting for her to snap at him.  To his surprise she stopped and started going through one of her drawers. "Let me check," she said, picking up a piece of paper and scanning it intently.

"What's that?"  "My job description. Oh, no, I'm sorry. Get assholes coffee isn't on here."

Liam clucked his tongue and gave her a wink. "Well, my black ass is headed down there. You want something, Barbie?"

Carly was already typing again. "No," she told her computer monitor.  **

By two p.m. when Carly was packing up her briefcase she was ready to lock herself in the bathroom and cry. Nothing had gone right today. She'd emailed her mom to tell her about the divorce and her mom had responded by leaving a voicemail on her phone asking if she was sure she'd done all she could to save the marriage. It was as if John hadn't cheated and she should be trying to get him back. Worse, it was as if John had cheated and she should be trying to get him back.

The chatter in the office seemed to die off and Carly's found herself looking around to see what was going on. She watched as a huge arrangement of flowers seemed to make it's way to the reception desk. The batch was so large that the delivery person's head was completely out of view. "I have a delivery for Barbie Harmon." Carly's heart jumped and she felt her eyes start to sting.

LeAnn, the receptionist, looked baffled. "We have a Carly Harmon?" LeAnn's voice rose at the end of nearly every sentence, turning statements into questions. Completely irritated by her at first, Carly had soon gotten used to the woman's speech pattern and come to like LeAnn.

"No, he said Barbie. I took the call, he definitely said Barbie."

"It's for me," Carly called out and started making her way to the front to sign for the flowers. "Thanks, LeAnn, I've got it."

"Oh. If you're sure they're—"

"They're for me." 

Carly signed for the flowers and pulled an envelope from the arrangement. She slid her finger underneath the seal to open in and pulled out the card. Her hands were shaking a little. She read the short message on the card and found herself walking away from the reception desk, toward Liam's office. She walked past his assistant's desk. Kevin, Mr. Mom, was the one who stayed home when the kids got sick. His kids were often sick but things were often calmer around the office when he wasn't hear because he and Liam disagreed about pretty much everything.

Carly turned the doorknob quietly, trying to be discreet in case he had clients in the office. All was quiet beyond the door so she pushed it in further. Liam was standing at the window. The product of a biracial union (his mom was white, of the pale-skinned irish variety) he wasn't particularly dark but there was no mistaking him for a black man. His hair was short--always short, it never seemed to be in need of a trim. And he was tall and lean with broad shoulders. He could have been an imposing presence but he had such a relaxed nature that it seemed nothing could ruffle his feathers, though she'd been trying. His office was probably only a few degrees warmer than the rest of the office suite but it was noticeable. He had his suit jacket off, draped over the back of his chair. She let her eyes scan over him, pausing at his slim hips where his shirt was neatly tucked into his trousers, before she realized he was holding something. Binoculars.

Carly closed the door softly, but it was still loud enough to get Liam's attention. He turned, focused those dark eyes on her, and nodded. If he was surprised she had let herself in he didn't show it.

"It's hot in here," Carly said.

Liam continued looking out the window. "You have no idea."

Carly unbuttoned her jacket and stepped closer. "What are you looking at? Can I see?"

Liam lowered the binoculars and shook his head. "No. I think it would actually be illegal if I told you to look."

Carly frowned and continued moving until she was next to him. "You're not telling me to look," she said, taking the binoculars out of his hand. Their fingers hers closed around the binoculars and Carly's body reacted. She was surprised at her reaction, a heat flaring through her stomach and down between her legs. It made no sense, she'd barely brushed his fingers. "I'm telling you to give me these."

Liam let go of the binoculars when their skin touched and Carly could tell he had felt something, too. "Which window is it?"

Liam pointed and watched as Carly brought the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the building across the street. "I don't see anyth—oh...oh!"

Liam knew he should get her out of the office, take the binoculars from her and make sure that they weren't the only two people in a room ever again. He didn't need a sexual harassment suit on top of all his other cases, especially if he was the defendant. But he couldn't help but watch the way her full red lips (shiny from freshly applied lipgloss) parted when she let out the sound of surprise. 

"How often do they—"

"Seems like it's pretty often, but it never lasts very long."

Carly lowered the binoculars and looked up at him. She was tall but he was tall enough that she did have to let her head fall back to look at his face when they were standing this close. "Do you think they know we're watching?" she asked.

Liam chuckled. "I think that's the point, Barbie."

Hearing him call her Barbie suddenly reminded her of why she had come into his office in the first place. She felt herself getting warmer and, trying to avoid perspiration, slipped out of the jacket of her suit. Under the fitted jacket she wore a sleeveless top that showed of plenty of back and shoulders and collar bone. The exhibition show had already given Liam the beginnings of an erection but when Carly removed her jacket her smell seemed to jump out at him. It had to be an act of God that was holding her shirt up, but then, her breasts had to be an act of God, too. He'd never seen her without a jacket before and her breasts looked even better than he could have ever imagined. 

Carly saw his eyes on her chest and felt her nipples tighten. Blushing, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small card. Trying not to think about the fact that he could probably see the outline of her nipples, Carly opened the card.

"Barbie," she began to read, and Liam finally managed to drag his eyes back up to her face. Focusing on her lips as she spoke wasn't doing much to tame his erection, though. "Forget about him. There's plenty other plastic white guys in the sea."

Liam grinned broadly, loving the expression on her face as she read the words, as if she couldn't quite believe what the note said. 

"Yes?" Liam asked, tugging on his tie. He looked like he was having fun. A cat with a mouse, he was teasing her, happy that she was playing his game. Carly suddenly felt bold. She didn't want to play his game. She wanted to know what had made him think of her, what had made him order flowers for her, why it mattered that her life was in the toilet.

Carly looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "What if I don't want any more white guys?"

It was Liam's turn to be caught off guard. "I, uh, they make Kens of color, don't they?" He swallowed hard and found his eyes on her breasts again, he nipples straining against the silky red shirt, her slim waist and the curve of her ass. A real ass, not an eating disorder ass. 

Carly had lifted the binoculars to her eyes again and was peering at the couple across the street. "Oh my—I think he's---it looks like he's," Carly squinted, trying to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. "He's fucking her in the ass."

Liam grew even harder, if that was possible, to hear her talk like that. She looked to proper to be talking about women getting ass-fucked, much less women getting ass-fucked while she—they!—watched.

Carly pushed the binoculars at Liam. He took them and peered through the lens. Sure enough, the woman was bent over the conference table. Her partner was standing behind her, holding her ass cheeks open and watching the action. He could feel Carly beside him, feel her breasts pressing against his arm through the thin fabric of his shirt. His dick was aching. He was dying to pull it out and jack off until all thoughts of Carly and anal sex were out of his mind. He'd never been so aroused by the exhibitionists that he'd wanted to masturbate, but this time he needed release. He let his arm fall to his side, taking the binocular away from his face.

"It was nice of you, to send flowers," Carly said softly. "It was a really nice gesture."  Liam nodded. All he could do was nod. If she looked down she would see, plain as day, that he was as hard as a rock.

"It was nice to have someone think about me, about how I'm doing."

Liam nodded.

"Look at me," Carly said. He did. "Thank you."

Liam nodded. They stood looking at each other for awhile, neither of them moving except to breathe, until the phone on his desk let out a shrill ring. Carly stepped away. "I should let you get that. I'm headed out. Have a good night, Liam." She pulled on her jacket and buttoned it, hiding her nipples under another layer of fabric. "Thanks again."

With those words she breezed out of his office, closing the door lightly behind him. What had just happened? He was going to lose his job. If he managed to keep his job, he was still going to be disgraced as the office pervert. He sank down into his chair and buried his face in his hands. His erection still ached and it seemed like his whole body was begging for release. He needed to go splash cold water on his face, but he couldn't leave his office until his groin was behaving. He sat a few minutes, willing himself to calm down, and tried not to think about bendy Carly Harmon over his desk. 



L'Affaire C. 05



Nicki was nervous and she was drinking too much. Any minute now she was going to start saying something inappropriate. She had been thrilled when Matt had barely waited twelve hours to call her, and even more thrilled when he asked her to dinner. She was still having trouble trying not to think about how forward she'd been last night, and how hard and hot he'd felt under her palm. Just remembering the heat from their kiss had Nicki shifting in her seat. It was ridiculous how much she wanted to be sitting in his lap right now (okay straddling his lap). This was only their first date!

"I can't believe I'm finally sitting here across from you," Matt said. He was one of the most frank and open men she'd ever been with, and she couldn't help but be captivated by him.

"Me neither." Me neither? God, she was a dork. Why was she being such a dork? "I mean, I didn't ever expect to be on a date with you, especially once—"

"Once you realized I was friends with your boyfriend?"

Nicki gave him a wistful smile. "No. Anyway, he hasn't been my boyfriend in awhile."

"I know," Matt said. "I even almost feel guilty for being glad."

Nicki wasn't sure whether he noticed her blush because their waiter arrived with their appetizer and an inquiry about whether they'd made a decision on dinner. 

"A few more minutes," Nicki said apologetically. She'd tried to read the menu, but she was so intoxicated by Matt's presence, (and the glass of wine she'd already drank…plus the one she drank in her apartment before that) that she couldn't concentrate on the offerings. 

Matt started slipping some of the calamari onto his plate, "Wow, I wasn't expecting so much. This looks really good though. With the bread and the appetizer someone could get away with skipping dinner."

"We could skip dinner. I mean, if you want. This really is enough food. We could go somewhere a little less crowded where we'd have more privacy."

Matt shook his head, a devilish look in his eye. "If we had even a little more privacy I don't think I'd be able to be a gentleman. That dress is incredible," Matt motioned to her dress, a simple black cocktail dress that was conservative in many respects—no plunging neckline, no bare shoulders—but nearly stopped short of decent with the amount of leg she was revealing.

"Oh." Nicki said, and pushed a piece of calamari into her mouth. They ate in silence for another minute before she took a sip of wine and spoke again. "I wouldn't mind a little more privacy."

Matt looked surprised at first, but recovered quickly and reached for his wallet as he signaled for the waiter. They grinned at each other in silence as they ran his card and, once he'd signed, both stood at once. Nicki moved to put on her black wool pea coat but Matt took it from her and held it so she could slip it on. His fingers brushed against her neck as he adjusted to coat and a thrill went through her. 

When he turned away to put his coat on she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. What was wrong with her? She couldn't even get through one date without practically begging this man to have sex with her. Was she really that shameless? Did she miss sex that much? 

It was another cold night. The air against her bare legs was refreshing. Matt kept his arm at the small of her back as they strolled. Nicki looked down at her feet as they walked, admiring her shoes. She'd bought new shoes for the date. It had to be good luck to have new shoes. Even if it wasn't it did wonders for her mood. They were beautiful shoes, wine red pumps with a slim heel and pointed toes. Combined with the short skirt, they made her legs look miles long. She'd piled her dark curls ontop of her head for the evening, and she realized now she must look ridiculously tall. She was 5'10" without her heels. But Matt had to be at least 6'3", and next to his broad shoulders and big hands she felt dainty and feminine. 

There were people milling around everywhere, spilling out of bars, standing on the sidewalk smoking or talking or falling down drunk. It was so busy that at first she didn't hear anyone behind them, but soon enough she heard a familiar male voice, calling to Matt. 

Matt heard it, too. He grabbed her hand to stop her and turned to confirm that it was Adam. Nicki turned to look just as Matt's fingers tightened around hers and tension seemed to flow through his fingers and transmit itself into her body. By the time she looked up and locked eyes with Adam, he was only steps away from them. A man she didn't recognize stood slightly behind Adam, off to the side. "Hey Matt," the stranger nodded. Nicki could tell he was embarrassed. Matt nodded at him and gave him a tight smile. 

Adam got within speaking distance and stopped, moving only when Matt pulled her out of the foot traffic and up tight against a building. Adam's pupils were black pools and she could tell he'd been drinking. If it was anything like any other night, he'd been drinking a lot.

"Well hello Nicki. Matt." Adam spoke slowly, carefully measuring each word. Matt pulled her back so that she stood slightly behind him, so that his body was between Nicki and Adam, shielding her. 

Adam spoke to Nicki, his eyes roaming up and down what he could see of her, taking note of the short dress and the way Matt had positioned himself, almost instinctively, as if to protect her. "I guess it suddenly makes sense why you aren't answering your cell when I call." He turned to Matt. "So…are you fucking her? I guess I can't blame you, she is pretty good."

"That's enough. We can talk about this later." Matt was calm. Nicki wasn't calm. Nicki wanted to gouge out Adam's eyes. And she wanted to cry, or hide, or both. She felt dirty, but she wasn't quite sure why.

"No, really. I've had enough, man," Adam said, plastering a smile on his face and giving Matt a brotherly slap on the shoulder. "She's all yours. I just didn't know you were into sloppy seconds."  "Enough," Matt said, a warning tone in his voice. Nicki didn't give a warning. She stepped past Matt and took a swing at Adam, who'd already drowned his reflexes in alcohol and didn't move fast enough to avoid her fist. Her knuckles connected with his jaw and pain shot up her arm. Immediately, she felt Matt's arms wrap around her, pulling her away. "Shh, baby, it's not worth it. He's just drunk."

"You fucking bitch," Adam spat at her, but didn't advance because Matt wasn't about to let Adam get near her. The other guy had also come alive on his feet and was ready to pull Adam away if he decided to hit a girl. 

Nicki had relaxed her body into Matt's. His words were like a sedative. Her entire body had warmed when he called her ‘baby'. No one had ever called her baby before. She was inexplicably thrilled by it.

"I didn't want you to find out like this, man, I'm sorry. I'll call you tomorrow." He looked at the other guy, the one Nicki didn't know. "Scott, just make—"

The other guy waved him off. "I got him, get out of here. Catch you later, man."

Matt started walking, tugging her along with him, his hand linked with hers. She heard Scott cajoling Adam off in the other direction. The situation had been diffused quickly, but not quickly enough to save her hand, which stung like crazy.

They walked in silence back to the car and with each additional step she felt dread building within her. He was going to drop her off at home and she was never going to hear from him again. Sloppy seconds. Who could ever get that image out of their mind? She couldn't even blame Matt if he never wanted to see her again. If he couldn't stand the thought of touching her. She felt like she needed a shower and she hadn't been with Adam in months.

They reached his Explorer and she let her hand drop from his and started for the passenger side. He grabbed her elbow and turned her around, pulling her into him. "You okay? You're awfully quiet." His eyes were soft, but searching. Warm brown eyes, maybe a little bit hazel. A five o'clock shadow that made him look dark and dapper. 

She managed an awkward smile. "I'm fine, thanks."

Matt settled his hands on her hips, pulling her into him so that they were face to face. He leaned his forehead against hers. "Are you sure?" he whispered, the tips of his fingers tracing soft figure-eights where they connected with her body. She breathed him in. He smelled spicy and safe.

"It's okay, really. It's just—I'm just—Well, let's just say I know that was probably a mood killer."

"Mmm," Matt said, pulling her hips against his, wrapping his arms around her waist. He hadn't heard her, she realized. He hadn't listened to a word she'd said. She was about to reiterate that she understood if he just wanted to take her home and forget any of this ever happened when his lips found hers and he was kissing her, softly at first, slowly adding his tongue to the mix. Prodding, he coaxed her mouth open. She relented and open her mouth to his and he groaned audibly, suddenly moving them so that she was pressed up against the side of the SUV, trapped between cold steel and frosty glass and his hot body. 

His tongue delved into her mouth, exploring. His hands moved to her ass, caressing, before he finally grabbed her ass in both hands to pull her in hard against him. His mouth moved down her jaw to her neck, just below her ear, and Nicki let her head fall back against the SUV. She could feel his erection pressing into her abdomen as he rocked against her. Nicki tried to remember whether there was a streetlight shining down on them but couldn't quite open her eyes to double check. She pressed her hips back against his and hands were suddenly on the backs of her thighs, pushing her legs apart as he lifted her up against the truck. This took Nicki by surprise, and she opened her eyes as he ground himself against her. Her dress was so short that he'd managed to connect his fly with her panties. 

Nicki noted the darkness around them and the tree he had parked under before her eyes slid closed again. His movements were stimulating her clit and suddenly she felt empty. All she could think about was having him inside her, filling her up. 

Matt groaned as she squirmed her hips, moving with him. He could feel her pussy hot against him, even through the layers of clothing. Only poorly functioning self-control was keeping him from unzipping his fly and pushing her panties to the side. He wanted to slide home. She was amazing. Her slender body felt even better than he'd imagined under his hands and she moved against him in a way that made him feel wanted and needed, which turned him on even more. He'd wanted her for so long that he craved this reciprocation. 

"Please," Nicki groaned as his mouth found hers again. Matt kissed her, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, exploring. She squeezed her thighs tight against his hips and buried her hands in brown waves. She tugged and pulled and moaned and sucked his tongue into her mouth before pulling him away by the hair. "Please, I can't—" 

Matt kissed her again. He wanted to keep her quiet. He knew she was going to ask him to stop but if he let her he'd have to stop and more than anything he didn't want to stop. She took charge of this kiss, sending her tongue into his mouth. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and released it, slackening his jaw enough that she could explore him. He'd forgotten he wanted to keep her from talking. 

"Please, Matt," just her voice saying his name made him want to bury himself in her pussy. He wanted to lay claim on her. It was absurd but he needed to make her his. "Please I can't wait."

A surge of relief flushed through Matt. She didn't want to stop. His hand slid up her ribcage until he was cupping her breast, kneading and sliding his thumb over her nipple. 

"Please take me home."

Matt kissed her again, a long, slow, kiss. A gentle, tender kiss that he only hoped could convey what he was feeling now that, finally, she was in his arms. She was a queen and he wanted to treat her like a queen, which unfortunately meant not fucking her up against the side of his truck. But he really wanted to fuck her up against the side of his truck. 

Matt let his hand drop between their bodies and sent his fingers exploring, pushing silky panties to the side and exposing her wet pussy to the cold night air. Nicki's whole body shook in anticipation. Matt slid his middle finger inside her. She gasped and arched her back, pushing her pussy down onto his hand. Her need pushed him forward. He added another finger and started sweeping his thumb over her clit. "Oh, fuck, oh--" 

Matt lowered his mouth to hers to muffle her cries as he shoved his fingers into her slick, hot pussy. 

"I don't want to cum like this," she begged, when he finally let her up for air. "I want you inside me the first time I cum for you."

Matt stilled his movements. His cock was stiff and aching to be inside her. His balls were on fire. He could just pull his cock out of his pants and, if anyone happened by, they wouldn't know they were doing anything more than dry-fucking over clothes. Matt slid his hand out of her pussy, set her on the ground and pulled her dress back down.

"Nicki," he said into her hair. 

She kept her arms wrapped around his neck, still using him for support. "Take me home, Matt," she said, he voice languid. "I want to be in your bed. I want you to remember fucking me when you look at your bed."

Matt pulled her into a hug, stroked the pale skin of her neck. He didn't want to remember her every time he looked at his bed. He wanted to see her every time he looked at his bed. "Let's go home," he agreed. 



L'Affaire C. 06



A familiar yellow lab greeted Matt and Nicki at the door when they entered Matt's single story rambler. Nicki knelt down to let the dog smell her and scratched behind his ears, letting him lick her face.

"Hey now, back off Harry," Matt said, pulling Nicki up to a standing position and pulling her into him. "That's my woman."

Nicki grinned and let Matt kiss her, a slow tantalizing kiss that soon escalated and before she knew it she was pressed between his body and the front door. Matt's hands ran up the side of her torso to cup her breasts and Nicki buried her hands in his hair, pulling him closer. The urgency she'd felt in the car flooded back into her body and she rotated her hips in slow circles, moving against his erection. Matt's hands slid to her backside and lifted her so that her hips aligned with his and he could press his erection directly between her legs, where tantalizing heat seemed to lick at her.

"I'm sorry," Matt said, pushing her panties to the side and sliding a finger inside her. "I know I should offer you something to drink." He added a finger and probed deeper as Nicki reached between them to the front of his slacks and worked the button loose. Matt groaned as her hand slid down the top of his pants and her felt her hand close around him.

"I want you in me," Nicki said, trying to work his zipper down. Matt tried to concentrate on stimulating her with his fingers. He knew once he was inside her, once he was finally inside her, he might not be able to last long.

Nicki was finally successful with his zipper and pulled his dick out the opening in his boxer briefs. Matt kept fingering her, trying to ignore what she was up to, rubbing his thumb in circles around her clit, never quite coming in contact with the little nub, just teasing her. Nicki squirmed against his hand. "Matt. Put your cock in me."

"Shhhh," Matt said absently, finally letting his thumb settle directly over her clit. Nicki's head fell back against the door with a thump. He'd just shushed her. She was too aroused to care much, though, and instead did her best to entice him.

"Just fuck me, Matt," she said, hoping that talking dirty would do the trick. Matt closed his eyes and pulled his fingers out of her pussy and further moistening her clit. She dug her nails into his back before returning her hands to his hair. This time she grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his mouth away from where he was licking and nibbling at her neck and ear. "Put your dick in me. Just fuck me. I want you to fuck me."

Matt kissed her. She was pushing him toward the edge with her words alone and he didn't want to come yet. He kissed her hard, trying to keep her from talking, but she managed to turn her head away and gasp for air. "I need your cock," she said, trying to keep her mouth away from his long enough to get the words out. She could tell he was ready to give in, that he was trying to hold back and was barely holding on. Finally he caved and slid inside her pussy. She was tight, but so wet that he managed so slide far enough inside her that he filled her completely, coming up against the barrier of her cervix. 

"Ung—" Matt grunted, immediately stilling his hips. She was so tight and slick and warm. She felt so good that he wanted to prolong their lovemaking as long as possible, which meant keeping his orgasm under raps for the time being. She wasn't making it easy though. The woman had a filthy mouth and he loved every minute of it.

"Don't stop. Your cock feels so good. Don't you want to fuck me, Matt? I want you to fuck me hard right here," she rocked her hips as much as she could against him as she spoke, trying to kick-start his thrusting instinct.

Matt surrendered and renewed his hold on her thighs, making sure she was firmly pressed against the door. Then he started moving. He meant to make it slow and sweet but somehow within half a thrust he forgot about slow. As he moved inside her their bodies made the door hit the jam on each inward thrust, providing a soundtrack. 

"You're so tight," he voice was low and Nicki reveled in the desire she heard there. "How did you get so tight?" 

He increased the force of his thrusts and each stroke ground Nicki's hips into the hard wood behind her. The slight pain this inflicted only worked to arouse her more. He was larger than she'd expected but the feeling of him filling her so completely was delicious. The mouth of her pussy was stretched tight around the base of his cock and she couldn't help noting that his friction his girth provided would have her still feeling the after effects of the sex well into tomorrow.

Headlights from a car pulling into the driveway illuminated the windows next to them and Matt stopped in mid thrust. Nicki felt drugged, but managed to drag herself back to the world outside of the one between her legs as they listened to first one, then two car doors shut. Looking puzzled, Matt placed her on the floor and zipped up his pants as Nicki shimmied her dress back down over her hips. They exchanged confused glances as the doorbell rang. 

Matt opened the door a few inches and peered out. His eyes immediately fell on two uniformed officers. "Can I help you?"

"Excuse me, sir, we're looking for Nicki Moreau and Ma—"

"What's going on?" Matt cut in, pulling the door open a little wider. Nicki stepped out from behind the door as he fruitlessly tried to keep her from coming into view. 

"I'm Nicki Moreau," Nicki said. 

One of the officers flashed a badge. "Ma'am, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to come with us."

"What's going on?" Matt said again. 

It was Nicki's turn to shush him. "I'll handle this." She turned to the officers, her chin tilted defiantly. "What's going on?"

"Ma'am, we've been called in on an assault and battery complaint."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Matt demanded, and Nicki shushed him again, this time emphasizing her words with a shooing motion of her hand. 

"Is this about Adam?"

"Yes, Ma'am. The gentleman called to report that you assaulted him tonight and was able to provide a witness."

"He called the police?" Nicki was incredulous. She had every right to deck the asshole. What kind of baby calls the police after being hit by a girl? Her hand probably hurt more than his face!

"Look, officer, this is just a private matter and Adam is a disgruntled ex-boyfriend. We're happy to talk to you, if you'd just come in I'm sure you'll see—" Matt was using his teacher voice, but the officers were unimpressed.

"We're going to have to take her in. You can bail her out after she's arraigned, but she'll probably be released on her own recognizance."

"Forget it, I'm coming with you."

"Sir, you can't come in the cruiser. If you want to sit and wait in the station while your girlfriend here is processed that's fine, but you'll have to drive yourself."

"You're serious?" Nicki said, still not moving. "He actually called the police?"

* *

Nicki was dirty and tired and livid. Seeing Matt waiting for her, his clothes wrinkled and his face unshaven, only brightened her mood slightly. She stepped into his arms and he embraced her, then turned her in the direction of the parking lot. 

"I can't believe he did that."

"You and me both," Matt said, his voice laced with something dark.

"I'm starving," Nicki said as they stepped into the frigid morning air. The sky was grey, much like her mood, and it looked as if it might snow. She hadn't slept and was certain she looked it, though she hadn't had the chance to look in a mirror.

"I'm pretty hungry, too," Matt said, and she realized they were both wearing their clothes from last night. 

"Don't tell me you didn't go home last night," she scolded, eyeing him up and down. For his part, Matt looked appalled. "Of course I didn't go home!"

An unexpected smile broke on her face. Some first date, and yet here he was. Had she finally found a man that would stand by her through thick and this? He was doing okay so far, although he did look a little worse for wear.

"Well, next time I get arrested, I want you to go home and get a good night's rest," she said, reaching up and brushing the backs of her fingers against his bristly face. He looked handsome with stubble. He shook his head and tugged her the rest of the way to his SUV.

"No way." Matt opened the passenger door and helped her in. As she settled herself in the seat he leaned in and, when his mouth was just inches from her ear, huskily whispered, "I couldn't have slept last night anyway."

Nicki blushed furiously, remembering what they'd been in the process of doing when they were interrupted. Matt closed the door and walked to the other side of the truck. As she sat in silence Nicki leaned back into the seat. She knew that someone at the paper had to have heard about this already, and she wondered absentmindedly if any tipster had alerted the paper to just what their reporter had been doing when they showed up to arrest her.

Nicki cringed and fell back into the seat, rolling her head to the side to look at Matt as he slid in beside her. "How about you let me treat you to brunch."

Matt shook his head decisively as he pulled away from the curb. "Not before I treat myself to something else first," he said, placing a warm hand on her thigh. Her skin was cool from the winter air but for some reason his hand felt hot, as if he hadn't just been standing outside along with her. Nicki smiled and turned to look out the window, watching the scenery go by as Matt steered the vehicle toward his house. 

As much as she was looking forward to spending a lazy day in bed with Matt, she knew she had to confront Adam, and that it should be sooner rather than later.

As if sensing her thoughts, Matt's hand moved higher up on her thigh. Nicki chewed on her lip as a familiar tingle pooled and ignited into a firey heat. Maybe a little later wouldn't hurt. 



L'Affaire C. 07



When Carly reached the privacy of her car she pulled her cell phone out and dialed home, or at least, what use to be home. A familiar male voice answered on the second ring. "Yello?" he drawled.

"Are you trying to humiliate me? You had me served at work?"

"Well, hello to you, too," Mike said, indifference in his voice. "Just where should I have sent them, Caroline? You're never home. You sure as hell weren't when you lived here."

"Just stop. I left my entire life behind to follow you back to this hellhole and—"  "And promptly disappeared. If I'd waited for you to get home from work or school or whatever bullshit you have yourself wrapped up in I'd never get the papers signed. Speaking of which, did you sign them?"

"Not yet," Carly said, sinking into her seat. 

"Well you need to sign them, Carly. Anna doesn't want to be with someone else's husband."

"That didn't bother her before."

"Oh stop it, that's not how it was."

"You mean you didn't fuck her for months and come home and sleep with me as if nothing was going on? As if you weren't having sex and then—"

"Anna's not a slut, she's--"

"HA!" Carly couldn't help a strangled laugh. 

"Dammit, Carly, you weren't there for me. You were never there for me, what was I supposed to do?"

"Not have sex with her in the afternoon and me in the evening? Ask for a separation before moving on to the next—"

"I'm done with this. You still don't get it, you stupid bitch. You'll never get it."

The connection went dead and Carly tossed her cell phone in the seat next to her. With trembling fingers, she dialed her dad's extension at the office.

"Tim Dugan's office," Rebecca said brightly into the phone. Rebecca hated nearly everyone, but had incredible phone manners and could deal with pretty much anyone's shit without getting defensive, which was why she was the perfect conduit between Tim Dugan's clients and Tim Dugan.

"Hi Rebecca, it's Carly. Could I speak to Mr. Dugan?"

"Please hold."

Rebecca was one of the few people in the office that new Carly was the boss' daughter. Given the chance, her dad would have advertised it to the world, but Carly liked to keep a lid on the information. She wasn't looking to have her ass kissed by people trying to impress her dad, and she wasn't interested in special treatment. 

One plus to moving back to the town of her birth, where she and Mike had met in high school, was that she got to be close to her dad again. Her dad picked up an instant later. "Caroline? Are you okay, honey? Rebecca said you sounded upset."

"I'm fine, daddy," Carly said dejectedly. "Well, not really. Mike had the divorce papers served to me today."

"Thank God you're finally done with him. Do you want me to read them and see if everything's on the up and up?"

"No, thanks. I actually just...a lot's going on. Work, school, the divorce...and technically my internship at the office is over. I know I planned to stay on during the year just to keep my hands in it but I think I need a break."

"Of course, of course. Do you want me to break the news to Jack?"

Carly paused. What was the point of being the boss's daughter if you couldn't hide behind him to avoid disappointing people? "You don't mind?"

"No, no, this will work out. Anderson found us a new receptionist and LeAnn's gotten enough of a handle on how things work that I can move her over to Jack's office and get her more involved. She's got a funny way about her but she's a smart girl."


Carly grinned. She would love to be a fly on the wall when Jack finds out he's been assigned the up-talker. Luckily nothing seemed to phase him since his mystery girlfriend came along.

"Thanks dad. Tell Helen I said hi."

"Yes, yes, but she does want you to come to dinner this Sunday. You didn't join us last Sunday and you know how she frets when she thinks she's put you off."

Carly smiled, picturing her stepmother. If only her own mother worried as much about how Carly felt, childhood might have been a bit different. She loved her mom, but Lorraine McCleary made it clear she wasn't interested in being the protective, warm mother that all of Carly's childhood friends seemed to be blessed with.

"I'll be there. Bye dad."

"Bye, see you tomorrow and don't worry about anything here."

Tomorrow. She'd gotten so used to Jack working on the weekends that she'd completely forgotten today was Saturday.

*-*-

When Carly didn't come to work on Monday, Liam got worried. She was suing the firm for sexual harassment. He was going to lose his job. He had behaved totally inappropriately and now everyone was going to know. 

He'd made Jack agree to go to lunch with him even though they both had too much to do to even think about food. Still, Liam needed to be able to concentrate if he was going to get anything done. They'd gone to their usual lunch spot, chosen not because it was particularly good but instead because it was close to the office, ensuring they would be away from their desks for as little time as possible.

"So are you going to tell me what's up?" Jack asked. He'd ordered a club sandwich and was ignoring it in favor of the French fries that accompanied it.

"I-uh- I was wondering. Is Barbie sick today?"

Jack shook his head. "No. Dugan phoned me to let me know she was done."

Liam's stomach twisted. She'd hadn't resigned to Jack, her immediate supervisor. She'd gone straight to the Senior Partner and quit. Why? It had to be because she knew Jack and Liam were friends. "They're moving LeAnn over to me. I'll finally have a permanent assistant, but..well, let's just say she's no Carly."

Liam nodded. "The uptalker. That's tough. Well, at least you don't have Kevin. That guy's more trouble than he's worth. Why'd she go to Dugan? "

"I dunno, why do women do anything? She was probably embarrassed about being served divorce papers at work and it was easier to ask her dad to tell everyone she was leaving than face everyone at the office."

"Her dad?" Liam was lucky nothing was in his mouth, or he'd have probably spit it out all over himself. "Tim Dugan is Barbie's father? How long have you known this?"

Jack looked at Liam inquisitively. He was looking green, which was some feat for a black guy. "I always knew, she just didn't want that stigma of being the boss's daughter so she kept it quiet."

"But they don't even have the same last name!" Liam protested.

"She's married. Well, I guess not really anymore. Man, are you okay? You don't look so good."

"No, I'm not okay," Liam snapped. He said it accusingly, though why he couldn't be sure. "Why didn't you ever tell me? I can keep a secret. Jesus, Jack, I now have no chance of making partner."

"What the hell are you talking about, L? I know Carly gives you a hard time but she thinks you're a good lawyer. You are a good lawyer. Not sure how, because you never seem to be at your desk, but you deliver. Of course they'll offer you partner."

Liam ran his hands over his closely cropped hair. He looked defeated. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. "I fucked up, man. I fucked up."

Slowly, Liam started to tell Jack about sending Carly flowers. About her coming to his office to thank him and finding him with binoculars, looking out his window at the exhibitionists. About letting her look through the binoculars. 

"You didn't ask her to take the binoculars," Jack pointed out. "Why do you have binoculars?"

"Forget about the binoculars. I knew there was a woman across the street getting fucked in the ass by her lover and I let Carly watch. I am going to get fired. This is a career breaker. Saturday she stumbles upon me watching live-action porn and suddenly on Monday she quits?"

"Saturday."

"What?"

"She quit on Saturday."

Liam pushed his plate away and grimaced. What had he been thinking? He should have kept her from taking the binoculars. He shouldn't have been watching in the first place and he sure as hell shouldn't have let her be in a position where she was standing in an office, alone, with someone who was technically her superior, watching a sexual act. It was inappropriate. It was irresponsible. He deserved to get fired.

Jack whistled. "You have to call her and straighten this out, man." He popped a french fry into his mouth. "Hey, did I tell you my sister got arrested?"

*-*-

"I'm not saying I'm upset that I couldn't hang on to him, in particular. I'm more upset that I couldn't hold onto a man in general. Especially once I'd gotten married. I mean, that's supposed to be the big hurdle, right?"

"Hold onto a man?" Dawna said the words derisively. "You do not need to be worrying about holding onto a man. You need to find a man that's desperately preoccupied with holding onto you. How many times have I told you, Carly, he has to love you more than you love him."

"I know. And I thought I had that with Mike."

"Okay, that's true. I thought so, too. But that doesn't mean the theory is a failure. Mike just happened to be fickle. Let's face it, Ice Queen, you aren't the easiest person to love. And I can say that because I love you dearly."

"I just feel so unwanted. And unsexy. And generally like a failure." Carly curled her legs underneath her and pulled a blanket down on top of her tanned legs. She'd just had them waxed so they were without hair and smooth. This usually made her feel good, but today not even a fresh wax, including bikini area, could make her feel sexy.

"That's an easy enough fix. All you need is to make a man want you. Totally easy, Ms. Blue-Eyed Blond with implants and a tan. They already do. All you need is a good roll in the hay to get you out of your funk, I promise."

Carly couldn't help but laugh. Speaking to Dawna, even if it was just over the telephone, always made everything seem just a little bit better. She missed living in the same city as her best friend. Now Dawna seemed like a world away. "Sex is your answer for everything."

"Sex IS the answer for everything!" They both laughed this time.

"I can't wait till I'm done with school, Dawna. I want to come home."

"I want you to come home, too. I know you're miserable up north. But hot sex is going to cheer you right up."

"Sex is no good. I always end up getting attached. I don't want to fall for anyone right now."

Dawna paused thoughtfully. "Well, then. You need really dirty sex." Carly didn't say anything. "I'm serious, I think this will work. You need to have the kinkiest, filthiest sex imaginable. You have to make this guy think you're a freak. Well, you are kind of a freak, but I mean he should think you're some kind of insatiable fiend."

"And how exactly is this going to fix anything?"

Dawna sighed and when she spoke again it was as if she were speaking to a child or a mental patient. "You need to humiliate yourself with this man. So much so that the thought of seeing him again is abhorrent to you. Ergo, no attachment. Sex and nothing more. Do you have anyone you can get freaky with?"

A picture of Liam popped into Carly's mind and she closed her eyes tightly and tried to push it away. It would be incredibly stupid to get involved with that man. He was too handsome. Too witty. Too smart and successful and perfect. And tall. She was already attached and she hadn't even fucked him yet. Not 'yet'. No fucking. She wasn't going to fuck him. Why was she thinking about fucking him. As she was thinking about what she shouldn't be thinking about but was thinking about anyway, a knock sounded at her door.

"I gotta go. Someone's at the door."

"If it's the pizza guy screw his brains out," Dawna quipped. 

Carly was grinning when she hung up. She pushed the blanket off her legs and trotted to the door in her slippers. When she looked through the peep hole she saw dark skin and broad shoulders and her body went on hyper alert. Liam. What was he doing here? She thought back to the last time she'd seem him, the way his eyes lingered over her breasts. She looked down at her University of California, Berkeley sweatshirt from her undergrad days and Dawna's words came back to her. Liam knocked again.

Carly peeled the sweatshirt off and set it on the table by the door. Under it she had a T-shirt. It was thin and pale pink and it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. Implants had assured that, even without a push-up bra, her breasts remained pert. She could see the dark brown pigment of her nipples through the T-shirt, as well as the outline of their shape. Quickly she kicked off the slippers, threw the sweatshirt on the coat hanger by the door and swung the door open.

When she opened the door Liam looked anxious, but as his eyes scanned her body his expression quickly turned to fear. He was relieved he'd left his suit jacket on and buttoned because Carly immediately brought his libido to life. He T-shirt was like a second skin and her perfect tits stood out proudly, pert globes that made him want to send her plastic surgeon flowers. He legs were barely covered. The shorts she was wearing were clearly meant to be pajama shorts. They were white cotton and, had he been viewing her from behind, he doubted they were long enough to cover the full curve of her ass. She had a runner's legs, lean and sculpted and brown. Even her toenails, painted a purple so dark it could have been black, looked good.

"Liam. Hi." The sound of her voice saying his name melted his insides a little. Her shorts had a Snoopy pattern. The little beagle had never looked so sexy. He could make out dark panties underneath the white shorts and suddenly he wanted to get a look at her ass to determine if they were thong panties. They looked small enough to be thongs. Her nipples, before only visible because of their darker pigment showing through the thin material of the shirt, had hardened and were now clearly visible. Liam stood, shell-shocked.

Carly stepped back from the door and made a welcoming motion with her arm. "Come in." When she said the word 'come' his thoughts immediately roamed elsewhere. As he stepped through the entryway and closed the door behind him Carly turned and made her way toward the living room. Thong. Surprisingly, her shorts landed below the well sculpted ass. Definitely a thong.

Her tight little ass jiggled slightly as she pattered into an expensively furnished living room. "I was just about to start a fire," she said, bending at the waist to pick up a log and toss it into the fireplace. Her shorts stretched tight across her rear and Liam's erection throbbed. 

"I'll do that," he said quickly, knowing that if she stood bent over in front of him much longer he'd push those shorts down and take her from behind right here and now. He kneeled next to her and started piling logs. Her hair was slightly damp and it smelled like peaches. "I'm sorry to just show up. I tried calling but your home phone was busy and I couldn't find your cell phone listed."

"I was talking to a friend," she said, standing. "I'll go get us a couple beers."

"I tried for at least an hour—" Liam called over his shoulder, watching as she disappeared into the kitchen. 

"We were talking for two," he heard Carly's voice. He heard the refrigerator open and close and reached for the package of matches on the mantle. He was completely inept when it came to starting fires, or really doing much of anything campy, but luckily she kept some of those paper-wrapped starter logs in addition to the real wood. The paper caught fire quickly and he was able to stand up and survey the room before she came back. The couch and loveseat were both overstuffed black leather but there were also two chairs in red and, of all things, a bear-skin rug on the floor. For some reason he hadn't imagined Carly with big couches and a bear-skin rug in her home. He'd pictured tidy looking furniture in pastel hues with sharp lines and very little cushion. 

Standing up, he looked around the rest of the apartment, or at least what he could see from his vantage point. A sweatshirt hanging next to the door caught his eye. Why in the hell hadn't she thrown something on before answering the door? Women. Suddenly she was standing next to him holding out a bottle of beer to him. A microbrew, again, not something he'd expected. He took the bottle and she moved away again, this time to an mp3 player perched on a dock. Music filled the room. He recognized a female jazz vocalist he recognized. He tried to avoid looking at her breasts as she walked back over to him.

"I came by because—Well, I wanted to say—I'm really sorry about Saturday and what happened in my office." The words, which initially stuck in his throat, were soon spilling out. "It was completely unprofessional and inappropriate and I really regret that it happened." She had stepped closer to him, was looking up at him as if she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "I mean, you have to work in that environment, and it should be comfortable. You shouldn't have to worry about walking into my office and feeling any—sexual charge—and if that's why you quit, I mean, I understand but I really am sorry. If you'll come back I can promise you that nothing like that will ever happen again." He paused and took a deep breath, then finally looked into her eyes to see if he could see understanding, or forgiveness. She was staring at him with those big blue eyes. A slight smile played at the corners of her pouty lips. 

"You mean it? There won't be any more...sexual charges...between us?"

He was already a liar. "Scouts honor." That was okay. He was never a boy scout. Carly set her beer on one of the end tables and turned back to him. In one smooth motion she pulled her T-shirt up and over her head, revealing two perfectly shaped breasts. Liam's heart slammed in his chest. Nervously, he licked his lips. "I-uh- Carly—"

"No," she said, stepping into him and reaching for the buttons on his suit jacket. In no time she had the jacket pushed out of the way and was working on his belt. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her tits. "Don't call me that." She pulled his button down shirt free of his pants and with quick little movements started working on the buttons, exposing a muscular expanse of dark brown skin. He'd taken off his tie at a traffic light on the way over, so there was nothing in her way when she pushed his shirt and jacket back off his shoulders and down his arms, revealing large biceps and a gold Rolex.

Liam was frozen in place. "Barbie, what are you—" His words caught in his throat when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her chest to his. He could feel her nipples scrape against his chest and she pulled his head down until his face was close enough to her that she could press her mouth to his. The smell of peaches was stronger now and he wasn't sure how long he could keep still. Was this a test? Was she testing him? He was able to keep his arms, and the rest of his body, stiff but couldn't stop himself from returning her kiss. Her mouth was soft and warm and inviting.

As she kissed him her hands moved to his pants again and this time worked at the zipper. She slid her hand down the front of his boxers and let out a tiny sigh as her hand encircled his erect penis. Before he knew what was happening she had dropped to her knees in front of him. She pulled his boxers down and licked from the base of his cock to the head, which she took into her mouth and started sucking. Her tongue slid over his teasingly as her mouth, closed around him, provided delicious suction. He closed his eyes and just focused on the sensations as she took more and more of him into her mouth and he was curling his toes and burying his hands in her hair. She must straighten it each morning, because when it was wet it fell in gentle blond waves to her shoulders. Blond. Barbie-blond. Suddenly he remembered where he was. Who he was. Who she was. She must have felt him tense and pull back because suddenly her hands were at his hips, her nails biting into his skin holding him in place as she bobbed her head. He was going to come. Right now, in her mouth, and he hadn't even walked in the door ten minutes ago.




L'Affaire C. 07



"Wait!" he cried out, tugging her back off him. He had to grab hair and pull her away. When her face separated from his groin she was gasping for breath and her lips were puffy and red. She looked like she'd just been sucking cock. She looked gorgeous. "Turn around."

Carly complied, and he knelt down behind her, too hurried to remove his pants. He pushed her shorts down to her knees and pushed her forward until she was on her hands and knees in front of him. He knelt behind her and pushed his cock between her legs. She seemed impossibly wet. He stroked back and forth a few times before entering her, spreading her wetness around so that when he entered her it would be a smooth glide. He took care to let the head of his cock stroke her clit until she was whimpering and pressing her ass back into him, silently imploring him to take her. 

Liam slid inside her and nearly came right there. She was too tight for him to slide all the way in on the first thrust. She gasped and cooed and pushed backwards into him. He thrust again, and again, and by the third stroke he was coming up against the barrier of her cervix. Carly was grunting and wiggling her ass, trying to get him further into her. "Barbie, hold still," Liam said, grabbing her hips. She was impossibly wet. Impossibly hot. Impossibly tight. She fit him like a glove, albeit a slightly undersized glove. "If you keep moving I'm going to blow my load right now."

Shit. Had he just said that? Had he just said the words 'blow my load' to Carly Harmon? Once her hips had stilled he reached up and under her and filled his hands with her tits, pulling her up to a kneeling position. He wanted to watch her tits bounce as he thrusted into her. He'd have a better view if her were on top of her, but he liked the view of her ass, too.

"You feel so good," Liam whispered, letting a hand slide down her tight tummy and to her clit. Her pubic hair was almost completely gone, only a tiny little swatch left, more for decoration than anything else. He pushed apart the folds of her pussy and started stroking her clit gently. Carly's head fell back onto his shoulder as she mewed and grunted, her vocalizations getting louder as his movements got faster and he increased the pressured. Her whole body was tense, now, as if she were wound up into a tight coil. "Liam," she breathed, and the way she said his voice almost made him lose it. Liam let the thumb of his free hand roam over and around her clit. Her breathing grew ragged and heavy as he brought her to orgasm in his arms.  As Carly came down from the high of her orgasm she realized she wanted Liam. All of him. All the time. Shit, she though desperately, I knew I'd grow attached. Liam was nibbling on her ear, kissing her softly. A lover's kisses. Kisses she didn't want to end.

Carly made a motion to the couch. "Sit down," she said softly. Liam complied and when she stood to walk over he held out his arms to her as if to invite her into his lap. She stood in front of him long enough to put her hands on his shoulders and push him back until he relaxed into the couch cushions, then she kneeled between his legs.

This time when she took him in her mouth she tasted herself on him. She'd never given head to a man after he'd been inside her, and it wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it would be. She'd tasted herself before, of course, on a man's lips, but this was quite a bit different. Liam watched her, transfixed, as she held the base of his cock and licked him clean. Carly found herself exploring him with her eyes. She'd never been with a black man before, and there was something about touching him and tasting him and having him inside her that felt so right that she found herself near tears. This was not going well. She wasn't embarrassed at all. She had to step it up a notch.

Liam groaned contentedly as she took the tip of his erect penis into her throat, but she couldn't fit any more of him in her mouth without gagging. Making herself sick during oral sex might be a little too embarrassing, so she made the most of the portion of him she was able to get in her mouth and bobbed her head up and down, working his head in her throat. She kept at it, his grunts and sighs turning her on even more, until suddenly he spoke. "I'm gonna come. Can I? Can I come?" 

Carly took her mouth away and started stroking him with her hand, rising a little as she jerked him off. Liam looked alarmed. "No, Barbie, that feels just as good. If you don't get out of the way I'm gonna come all over you."

Carly kept stroking him and she could tell by his expression he was trying to hold on. "Come. Come all over me." Dirty sex, she reminded herself. Surely she won't want to see him again after this. "Come on me, Liam."

Liam relented and the first gush on fluid got on her collarbone and in her hair, but the remainder landed on her breasts. Carly delighted in the way he was looking at her, as if she were the best thing since sliced bread, but it was the same delight that made her heart sink. She continued stroking him through the rest of his orgasm, then stood. "I'm going to take a shower."

As Liam watched her leave and heard the spray from the shower, his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. He reached in and grabbed the phone and, seeing Jack's cell phone number flashing across the display, answered. "Hey."

"Hey, man, I was just checking to see if you talked to Carly about that whole sexual harassment thing. Did she understand?"

Liam winced at the mention of sexual harassment. "Oh, she understands. I don't fucking understand but she understands."

"What?" 

"I'm at her apartment right now."

"Whoa, I thought you were going to call her. I don't think it was a good idea to go to her apartment."

"I tried to call. Listen, I have to sort stuff out here. I'll call you later." Liam clicked the phone off and sat for a few minutes, thinking. The next time he looked up he realized a quarter of an hour had passed and the shower was still on. Had she faked it? Was she in there making herself come? Liam stood and made his way into the bathroom. He intended to just peak in the direction of the shower and see if he could make out where her hands were, but she wasn't in the shower. The shower was still running but she was out, sitting on the commode wrapped in a towel as her hair dripped onto her shoulders. With a start, Liam realized she was crying.

He crossed the bathroom in a flash and turned off the water, then knelt infront of her. Carly tried to turn her face away, to hide her tears, but he touched her chin and brought her around to face him. She hadn't even made an effort to get some of the water out of her hair. It was plastered to her head and dripping like crazy onto her chest. Liam reached for the hand towel and started blotting her hair. Once her hair was dry, he blotted her shoulders and back, and then her tears. She was watching him wearily, as if he were a wild animal that might suddenly turn on him. He'd never seen her like this. She was such a strong woman. He couldn't believe that this was all about her ex-husband. "Come on," he whispered, and pulled her to her feet. "Come to bed."

Carly stood with him and, as they walked to her bed, she looked down at her small hand in his larger one. He caught her looking at the way their fingers interlaced, alternating black and white, and smile, pulling her into his arms. Carly wrapped her arms around him instinctively and buried her face in his chest. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she said.

Liam smiled and pushed her down on the bed, then joined her and pulled her body against his as he started loosening the towel around her body. "It was unexpected," he agreed.

"No," Carly said, shaking her head. She closed her eyes as his mouth closed over a nipple. "No, I meant for the sex to happen." Liam stopped what he was doing and looked up in surprise. The look of vulnerability was fading, and she was looking more like herself. "I just didn't intend to feel this way."

Liam nodded, not sure of how to respond. Feel what way? The way she looked up at him gave him the only hint. He kissed her. "I like you, too, Barbie." 



L'Affaire C. 08



"I. Did. Not. Stab. Anyone."

"Stop talking, I told you to stop talking." Liam had packed his briefcase and was now pushing Nicki into her coat. 

"Fine, that's fine. You're free to go. It'd be a lot less suspicious if Ms. Moran cooperated with the investigation."

"Don't bullshit me, detective. You have your mind made up about my client."

"Your client was covered in the victim's blood."

"Adam Winters was bleeding out when Ms. Moran found him."

"At her apartment!"

"Outside her apartment."

"There's not a big difference, counselor. We find her ex-boyfriend with multiple stab wounds, practically on her doorstep. The ex-boyfriend she recently battered on a public street. What's the logical conclusion?" Nicki had to admit, the guy—Donovan—had a point. She was in deep shit, and both she and Liam knew it. Even her alibi was suspect. Of course her lover would say they'd been together the entire night, that he'd dropped her off at her apartment moments before she found Adam. 

"Goodnight, gentlemen."

Sensing that Nicki was searching for something to say, something that might convince Donovan and his partner she was innocent, Liam gave her a push toward the door. 

Once they were outside the station, Liam smacked the back of her head. Not to hurt, but instead to knock some sense into her. "Next time, when I tell you to shut up you shut up. You don't grab the nearest shovel and start digging your grave."

"I didn't hurt Adam, Liam." She hated the pleading sound in her voice. She wanted him to say he believed her. She wanted someone other than Matt to believe her. Matt had to believe her. Matt had been there. But who could believe with certainty he knew for sure he dropped her off at 10:45 and not 10:35? Who could believe she hadn't had an extra ten minutes to stab her ex-boyfriend? Would it even take that long?

Liam rolled his eyes. "You don't know these guys, Nicki. Every piece of evidence can be twisted. Circumstantial evidence is circumstantial but it still influences juries. There is no reason for the police to know more than they need to know. I promise you they won't be using your hysterical ranting to prove you weren't the doer, so there's nothing to gain by giving them ammo."

Nicki didn't want to agree. Didn't want him to know that she knew she should have stayed quiet, shouldn't have volunteered any information that wasn't absolutely necessary to the police investigation. It was bad enough that she knew she knew he was right. If he knew she knew he'd be insufferable.

"Can I buy you dinner?"

Nicki gave him a dirty look. "Are you sure you want to risk it? I might stab you with a butter knife."

"Rule number two, jokes about stabbing people are not funny while you're under suspicion for stabbing some someone."

"I didn't stab him!" Nicki hissed, embarrassed that she was stopping her foot like a child in order to emphasize her words. Stomp, stomp. See how much I mean it? "It's just a little frustrating when even my lawyer doesn't believe I'm innocent."

Liam finally sighed and turned toward her, capturing her face between two big black hands. It was cold enough outside that she could see his breath, but his hands were warm and she found herself looking up at him, praying he would say the right thing. She never realized how tall he was before. Probably because she'd never stood so close, never looked up at him like this. "Nicki," his voice was low, a lawyer speaking in confidence to his client. 

Nicki ached for him to believe her. He was like a brother to her, an extension of Jack, who was a brother to her. 

A cloud of crystallized breath appeared again when he said, "No lawyer believes his client is innocent." Nicki's heart sank. He paused, as if for effect. "But I believe you. I think it's because I'm not a criminal attorney, which by the way we may need to find you since it doesn't look like the police are going to lose interest in you."

He didn't want to represent her anymore. It was a weird validation. It made her feel innocent. And it's hard to feel innocent when your name is plastered on the front of the newspaper. "Man Found Stabbed Outside Reporter, Ex-girlfriend's Home". It didn't help that she worked for the damn paper that printed it.

"Thank you," Nicki said, her eyes blurring with sudden moisture. Liam sighed. He'd had enough of women crying for one week. Although he'd be grateful to have the chance to watch Carly cry again. She wasn't returning his phone calls.

*************

The memory of his hands on her body felt like hands on her body. Firm, but gentle touches. Soft caresses and fleeting, breathy kisses down her body. She fell asleep thinking about him, and woke up thinking about him, and couldn't help thinking she shouldn't be thinking about him. She should be thinking about something else. Anything else, really.

School. The divorce. Networking for her next job. The real job, after graduation. Shed could hardly go back to work at her dad's firm now that she'd fucked the next partner.

Carly sat up in bed and stared at her reflection in the full length dressing mirror that stood in the corner of the room. Maybe she should cut her hair. Or dye it brown. Or red. Redheads were happy and free and impulsive. She at least had the impulsive part down. Although, now that she thought about it she didn't actually have any evidence to suggest redheads were happy. Maybe it was a stereotype, although it seemed to be one she'd created on her own. Were red-heads happier? Did other people think that, too? Did she share her stereotype with anyone? 

But thinking of stereotypes only brought her thoughts back around to Liam. She'd fallen in love with a black man, she'd be dealing with stereotypes for the rest of her life. Even worse ones than 'dumb blond' and 'rich bitch'. And what—

Carly's thoughts froze. Love? The rest of her life? Was she on fucking drugs? She had to have engaged in the most unsuccessful love-em-and-leave-em one night stand in the history of man. Or woman. Mankind. No, humankind. Was 'human' still PC? Didn't she read somewhere that feminists were pissed because it has the word 'man' in it? That really most words having anything to do with women revolved around men. Menstration. Menopause. But that was a stereotype, too, because really, she was a feminist. She believed in women's rights. Equal pay for equal work. Her brain just wasn't organized enough to keep up with the vocab police.

She bit her lip. What on earth had her thinking of this shit? And then she remembered. Failed one night stand. Stereotype. Liam. The rest of her life. And she smiled, remembering.

************



L'Affaire C. 09



Carly was in a funk that not even cookie-dough ice cream was lifting. Liam hadn't called in almost a week. True, she hadn't returned his calls when he'd left messages the two weeks before that, but she'd never had a guy stop calling her after silence so quickly. It took all the other boyfriends in her life much longer to get the hint that she didn't want to talk to them. The only difference being that she did want to talk to Liam. She desperately wanted to talk to him, to fall asleep with her head against his broad shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

She changed the channel again, her mind finally nowhere near her estranged husband. But then, she'd signed the papers. Now he was her ex-husband. She'd never intended to be a divorcee but did anyone? She was on her overstuffed leather couch wrapped in a chenille blanket that was the color of caramel and soft against her skin. It was late. So late that paid programming was starting to pop up on a lot of the channels and she found herself doing more and more channel-surfing. She had plenty books to read, but she found she was flipping through the pages, her eyes grazing over the words, then realizing after six pages or so she hadn't processed anything beyond the first paragraph of the first page. 

She decided she was being ridiculous. Even she didn't know why she was avoiding him anymore. It wasn't to avoid getting attached, because that had already happened. She reached for her cell phone and flipped it open, her heart beat intensifying as her nerves got the better of her. The phone rang three times before he picked up.

"Barbie?" 

"Yeah, it's me. Hi."

"Hey. How are you doing? Haven't heard from you in awhile." Liam sounded guarded and tense. Carly squeezed her eyes shut. He was mad. He had every right to be mad.

"I've been busy," she said, lamely.

He laughed at her obtuseness. "Doing?"

She decided if she was going to take the risk she might as well be bold about it. Like getting in cold water, if you went too slowly it got hard to change your mind. "Trying not to think of you."

There was silence on his end. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. And for a few horrible moments she thought he wasn't going to respond. "I'm coming over," he said. 

There was silence again, this time because he'd hung up.

***

There was no traffic at midnight and he made it to her house in fifteen minutes. She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she heard him knock.

She quickly rinsed her mouth out with water and rushed to the door, the backs of her slippers slapping against the floor.

Carly opened the door a little tentatively. He was still in his suit from work, minus the tie. He'd chosen a sleek medium grey and paired it with a lighter grey button down shirt. He looked dashing, and suave, and a little bit cross.

"Liam?" Carly asked, silently questioning what was wrong as she stepped away from the door and watched him stride in. 

She closed the door as he turned to her, almost accusingly. "Did you talk to your dad about me?"

"No."

"You're sure?" his disbelief was clear on his face though he tried to keep it out of his voice.

"Positive. What's going on?"

"I made partner." 

He watched her reaction closely, looking for cues. The wide-eyed surprise, the way her lips parted slightly and she drew in a breath. She was genuinely surprised, but didn't know whether she looked genuinely surprised. She wasn't able to worry about his suspicions for long, though, and she broke into a wide grin. She threw her arms around him, drawing him to her. She could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt when her breasts pressed up against his chest. He smiled for a moment, and hugged her back, before his guard went back up. She noticed his suspicions weren't getting in the way of his libido, as his erection was pressing into belly below the navel.

Liam broke the contact and took a step back, his hand on her shoulder. He was holding her at arms length, literally. "I need to know, Carly. Did you discuss it with him?"

She didn't like the way he said her name. Or maybe she didn't like that he had used her name. He rarely called her Carly, and she'd become accustomed to his habit of referring to her as Barbie. If he didn't, it was because something was bothering him.

Carly dropped her arms and pulled at the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling it down a little to cover up. She suddenly wished she slipped a pair of jeans on, and had not answered the door in her shorts. Her legs were bare and she felt exposed.

"You made partner because you're a huge asset to the firm, not because my dad is the senior partner."

"Did you discuss it with him?"

"No!"

"Not just about us, I mean in general. You didn't offer an opinion?"

"Liam, what is this about?" Her heart raced. She was losing him and she didn't even have him yet, and she didn't understand any of this. She had no idea what he was talking about, and he didn't believe her. But even if she had expressed an opinion about him being the right choice for partner, where was the harm?

"Timing, Carly." She felt herself wince. That name again. She liked her name, why was she having so much trouble with it tonight? How many times had he whispered her name as they lay sprawled on her bed making love, his face buried in her damp hair. She had loved the sound of it then. She realized with a start that he was still talking, and hoped she hadn't missed anything important as her hormones raged. "—little odd that the day after the announcement, you call me. Was I not good enough before? Was I not important enough? Did I not have enough earning power?"

Dumbstruck, she moved to the door and reached for the handle. "I think you should go, Liam."

"What's different today than it was two weeks ago?"

"Please just go." When she opened the door it hit him. He had waited for her to come around, to get used to the idea of being in another relationship, and when he finally had her in the same room he picked a fight.

"Wait," he said, putting his hand on the door and pushing it closed. She didn't put up a fight. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to have made partner on my own merits, I've worked really hard. So many hours and I—"

"You did." Carly said, suddenly recognizing the issue. She had her own battles with lack of confidence, but looking at someone as self-assured as Liam it was hard to believe he harbored feelings of inferiority. "I didn't say anything. I didn't offer my input, and before you ask, no--he doesn't know about us."

Liam ran his hands over his head and started kicking off his shoes. He slipped out of his jacket and placed it on the table beside the door, then moved to Carly again, pulling her into him. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Of course you didn't talk to him about me, or tell him about us."

Carly relaxed into his arms, but didn't return the embrace. "But you do know the day will come. He's going to find out about us. He has to. How long do you think we can keep a lid on this?"

Liam kissed the top of her head, his lips brushing against strands on blond hair that smelled like coconut. A new shampoo? She hadn't smelled like coconut last time. "So--what?" He pulled her in tightly, positioning her body so that he was pressing his erection into her belly. His hand was underneath her sweatshirt, caressing the small of her back in slow, delicious circles. caressing the small of her back. "Are you saying this thing between us is going to last awhile?" 

She tilted her head in order to look at him, slid her hands up until she was cupping his face, and brought him down. Carly started the kiss but Liam was quick to escalate it, and before she new it he was pulling her sweatshirt up over her head. She assented, and lifted her arms to allow him to remove her shirt. 

He groaned when he saw her bra, a turquoise push-up bra intended to put breasts on display. It succeeded admirably, and almost in the next moment the backs of his fingers were stroking the swell of her breast. Carly groaned and pushed forward, into his touch. He cupped her breasts next, pulling down the straps of her bra and kissing each shoulder where the strap had sat.

Liam lifted her into his arms and carried her in the direction of her bedroom. Carly clung to him, laughing when he tossed her onto the bed and positioned himself over her. She started unbuttoning his shirt. "You need to get nekkid."

He was nibbling on her ear, one hand roaming between her thighs as the other tangled itself in her hair. "Mmm, I think getting your clothes off is the priority." His breath was hot against her ear and Carly almost cooed as a chill went through her. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, revealing smooth brown skin and a sculpted, hairless chest. She lightly dragged her fingernails down his chest to the waistband of his trousers where she began working his belt loose.

Liam reciprocated, dragging her shorts down her legs before pulling away and dragging her up into a sitting position so he could tug her sweatshirt over her head. She only stopped with his pants long enough to lift her arms and facilitate the removal of her shirt, and soon had his zipper down. She hooked her toes into his pants and pushed down over his hips and down his legs. Liam stood and pushed his boxers to the ground, revealing his erection. Carly sat up on the bed before he had a chance to lay down with her again and wrapped a hand around his cock, drawing him forward and into her mouth. 

Liam closed his eyes and focused on the way her body responded to her touch. Her mouth was wet and warm and her tongue slid up and down his length as she started sucking. She was pushing her face into his crotch, trying to get more of him into her mouth, and he knew she was having trouble accommodating his size. He watched her nostrils flare as she struggled for breath and resisted the urge to grab her by the sides of her head and fuck her mouth. She seemed to sense his thought and started bobbing her head as she sucked. When he couldn't take any more he pushed her away.

"Turn around," he instructed. "Get on your hands and knees."

Carly did as she was told, her feet hanging off the edge of the bed. Liam positioned himself behind her and slid inside her in one smooth stroke. Carly cried out as both his length and his girth tested her limits. Her head fell forward and she pressed backwards into him, encouraging him to start his thrusts. She was impossibly wet. He stood behind her and started his strokes, watching his cock sink into her and re-emerge, covered in her wetness. Her ass looked delicious and he tentatively pulled out of her and pressed the tip of his erection against her tight puckered hole. Carly stiffened, but she didn't pull away, so he tightened his grip on her hips and started applying firm pressure, trying to get into her ass.

His fingers digging into her hips, he pulled her back as he pressed into her was finally admitted into her ass. Carly squeaked, and stiffened again, but he held tight to her hips and kept applying pressure. By the time he was halfway in she was grunting with the effort and burying her face into the bed, trying not to cry out. But she wasn't telling him to stop.

Liam reached between them and found her clit. He manipulated the little bud but stayed in her ass. She groaned as his fingers circled around her clit, mostly teasing but, every once in awhile, sliding across the nub and bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. He kept this up, never moving deeper into her, until she came for him. Almost instantly, he buried himself in her ass as she moaned and shook beneath him. She cried out in surprise when he sheathed himself and bit into her lip as he stretched her until she thought she might tear. He stroked gently, watching his cock invade her ass, until he too was coming and grunting and spilling semen into her tight little ass. "Oh God," he said. "Oh my God."

A cell phone sounded from somewhere on the floor and her groaned as he pulled out of her. She collapsed on the bed almost immediately, turning her head to watch him as he bent down and dug his phone out of his pants pocket. He listened for a moment before reaching down to start pulling on his clothes. "So they have her at the police station now? "

Carly rolled over and propped her head up on her arm, watching him with interest. She had a bad feeling they weren't going to get a chance to talk about what was happening between them before he disappeared. What was happening between them? Had she just let him fuck her in the ass? She reddened slightly with the memory.

"Okay, I'll head over there now.... Yes, right now....I said I'd go, Jack....Alright, I'll call you once we're out. And Jack--? You owe me."

Liam snapped the phone shut and he looked down at the device in his hand before letting himself look at Carly. She was on the bed, gloriously naked, looking embarrassed. He wanted to lay down next to her and pull her into his arms. He wanted to wake up next to her, her hair spilling onto his pillow and tickling him awake in to morning. He wanted to make her French Toast and freshly squeezed orange juice. He'd bring her breakfast in bed and they could ignore the breakfast and concentrate on the bed. 

"That was Jack," he said, pulling his pants on. "His sister was arrested. I need to go down to the police station."

Carly got dressed, too, and walked him to the door. He buttoned his shirt as they walked in a urry to go, and Carly put on a brave face, trying not to show her disappointment. Trying not to let on that, despite her best efforts, she'd become attached. And maybe it wasn't so bad that he was desperate to leave her apartment. Maybe she should be alone for awhile, after everything with Mike. But she was done with Mike and falling for the man pulling open her front door and smiling apologetically before planting a kiss on her forehead—her forehead?—and practically sprinting out the door. She closed the door behind him, dejected.



L'Affaire C. 10



"Ugh," Jack muttered, dropping his briefcase on the floor just inside the door. Ally was stretched out on the living room floor, her right leg in the air and her left arm holding onto her right foot. Her back was arched with the strain, the fabric of her pink tank top stretched tightly across her chest, grey shorts that managed to cover her lass but not by much. Her tank top was wet under her breasts and down her abdomen; her shorts were wet exactly where they shouldn't be wet when he wasn't around. He felt himself grow hard immediately.

"What the fuck?" he asked, looking at her left leg, long and lean, stretched along the floor. "You're dripping sweat."

Ally shook her head. "Not anymore. I just got back from hot yoga. Just practicing a pose my instructor showed me today."

"Did you wear that to yoga?" Jack asked, trying to keep his tone even. 

Ally frowned. "It's so hot in that room, Jack. This is as much clothes as my body can handle."

Jack shook his head and made his way over to her. She looked...flexible. He knelt down next to her, ran his fingers up the inside of her left leg, across her pussy, and up her right leg. "And he just showed you this pose? Or did he put his hands on you and help you." Jack moved his face closer to hers, dragging his lips across hers. 

"He touched me," Ally admitted in a whisper, unsure whether she should put her leg down or not. She felt warmth flood back into her body, starting in the path his fingers had drawn, concentrating between her legs. She tingled between her legs, a nagging ache growing. She'd been asleep by the time he got home every other night this week, and it felt like it had been ages since he'd been inside her, had his hands on her, holding her down, pulling her up, pinching and teasing and caressing. 

"Where?" Jack asked, nonchalantly.

Ally shivered as he tucked his fingers inside of her tank top, and brought it down, exposing a breast. The cold air against her nipple felt delicious. Ally licked her lips, "On my thighs."

Jack left her breast out, moved his hands down, settled one her left leg just above her knee, the other on the back of her right leg, just above her knee. "Here?" he asked, kissing her neck. Ally shook her head. "Tell me where to move each hand."

"Move your right hand up, and inward, toward my inner thigh." Jack moved his right hand up three inches, curved it along her leg till it sat comfortably on the inside of her thigh. "Here?" he asked. 

"Higher," Ally whispered in a throaty whisper. Jack slid his hand up an inch. "Higher." Another inch. "More." Jack slid his hand up, and when his thumb touched the bottom of her shorts she said, "There."

"Now my left. Should my left hand be inside your thigh too?"

Ally shook her head. "No."

"So my left hand is in the right place?" Her mouth had fallen open, and he realized his right thumb was rubbing her, sliding up under the hem of her shorts, then back out at the end of it's arch. Back and forth. Back and forth. 

Ally's hips kicked forward slightly, almost involuntarily. She gasped and bit down on her lip. "No."

"Where should I move it?"

"Down my thigh."

Jack slid his hand down her skin slowly, and she squirmed a little. "Tell me when." 

His hand made it just inches above the curve of her ass before she whispered "There". Her body had started trembling with the strain of the Compass Pose. 

"What a lucky man. Did he have his hands on all of his students today?"

Ally shook her head, feeling pressure building. She needed a release. She'd given in and brought herself to orgasm with the detachable shower head yesterday, had sat on the edge of the tub with her legs spread wide, let the water wash over her clit until she bucked and came, but it hadn't been enough. Not knowing if Jack would be home tonight, she had made plans to pull out her vibrator tonight.

"No."

"Just you?"

"No. Someone else, too."

"Did he have his hands within inches of her pussy?"

"No."

"Just within inches of your pussy."

"Just mine."

Jack slid his right hand up, pressed it against her sex, rubbed his thumb against her. "Did you want him to do this? Did you want his hand over your pussy like this?"

Ally's head fell back as he swept over her clit. "No."

"Who do you want to touch you there?"

"You, Jack." She breathed, her thighs aching from the stretch, both nipples hard, her exposed nipple tingling under his hot breath. He darted his tongue out, licking her nipple.

"Is that because that's my pussy?"

"Yes."

Jack took his hands off her, sat back on his knees. "That's a good girl. You can relax now."

Ally sighed in relief as she opened her right hand, letting her left leg fall. Letting the leg down might have hurt worse. Her pussy throbbed, begged to be touched.

"Take your hair down."

Ally slid out her ponytail, letting her read hair fall down her shoulders. 

"Take off the shorts," Jack said, his eyes taking her in. Her face was flushed pink, her breathing heavy, the angle of her hips expectant. Ally stood, slid her shorts down her legs, revealing a red sating thong.

"Take off the panties."

Ally complied, letting the panties fall at her feet before she stepped out of them.

"Now the tank top."

Once the tank top was off she was completely naked. She'd gone to class without a bra, and his cock throbbed at the thought of every man she passed seeing her, and wanting her. But she was his.

"No go into the bedroom, and lay down on our bed. Put your arms over your head and grab the headboard. Hold onto the headboard and don't let go. Spread your thighs wide, wide enough that you can feel the air against your pussy, and leave them open. Wait for me."

Ally nodded, turned and walked into the bedroom. Jack stood, moved to the couch, and turned on the TV. He went into the kitchen, and grabbed a beer. It was torture not going to her, but it was an exquisite torture, knowing she was in there on the bed they shared, her legs splayed, waiting for him. He thought absently that he should go in and tie her hands in play, so that she couldn't touch herself, couldn't relieve the pressure he knew he had built, but he knew she wouldn't.

He made himself sit on the couch through an episode of a painfully cheesy sitcom, then another. He spent some time channel surfing, found an HBO special about the adult Entertainment expo and watched for a while. Nothing thrilling, everything predictably blurred. 

**

After the first fifteen minutes on the bed, Ally was near orgasm, just as Jack intended. The anticipation curled inside her, made her shift her hips, made her almost, but only almost, reach a hand down to give herself the relief she craved. She thought about it all. She thought about what he would do when he came to her. Would he release her immediately? Slide between her legs, slide his face against her pussy and lap at her clit until her world exploded and she came against his mouth? It was the least likely scenario? She thought about how good it would feel to reach for her vibrator, all pink and big and filling, and shove it into her sopping pussy before allowing her fingers to find her clit?

When he came in would he find her on the bed, see that she had disobeyed, and make her roll over onto her knees? Would he tie up her hands? Spank her? He was possessive, bossy, easy to annoy. Would he get off on punishing her for disobeying him? Ally closed her eyes and tried to picture how it would feel to be spanked by Jack. She'd had a guy spank her during sex before, but that ended up being kind of half-assed and weird. Jack would never half-ass anything, but still the idea of him spanking her bare ass didn't do anything for her. But his belt? If he came in and tugged his belt out of his pants? Ally shuddered, felt herself become so wet that moisture collected, and she felt a drip slide between her legs, toward her ass. It tickled, and she squirmed, wanting desperately to wipe it away.

Would she like it if he cracked a belt against the backs of her thighs or the curve of her ass? Hard leather like a whip slapping across her thighs, reddening the skin and sending a rush of air at her pussy? She'd never been one to enjoy pain, and it would likely make her cry, but the thought of it—the thought of submitting to him and his belt, still tantalized her.

So much else could happen. He could come in with twine and tie her hands, so that if she struggled the thin cord would bite into her skin. Would she struggle just to feel it? After he'd tied her hands he could pull out his dick and let himself come, jerk himself off over her until he came all over her breasts and stomach. He might lay down after that, sated, while she ached for release. 

She imagined him falling asleep while she couldn't relax enough to sleep, too aroused and wound up. He might then wake up in the morning; see that she finally had fallen asleep, out of pure exhaustion. He would wake her up by tickling the inside of her thighs, and she would open her eyes. He might have a camcorder, might be filming her there, tied to the bed dried cum on her, becoming aroused again before she was even fully awake. They didn't have a camcorder. Did his phone have video? She wouldn't say anything during it, because he hadn't told her she could speak. 

She had the day off work tomorrow, and the next day. Maybe he would jack off onto her again, maybe this time into her mouth, letting a little flow onto her face, while he filmed her swallow his load. He would leave her there again, tied to the bed, and go to work. Maybe he'd sneak away at lunch and 'let' her suck him off this time, coming into her mouth while her pussy throbbed.

It took hours before he came to her, still in his button down shirt and suit pants. He looked so aroused he was animalistic, and she knew she wasn't the only one tortured by his game. His eyes were dark with desire when he came to her.



L'Affaire C. 11



Ally had maintained her position on the bed, her eyes grasping the decorative rails in the headboard. With her knees bent and legs parted, her naked body was on full display. She felt vulnerable and exposed, and she grew more aroused by Jack's little game with each minute that passed. It took hours before he came to her, still in his button down shirt and suit pants. He looked so aroused he was animalistic, and she knew she wasn't the only one tortured by his game. His eyes were dark with desire when he came to her.

She'd spent the past couple of hours thinking about things she would never have the guts to verbalize to him, and she knew she was beyond wet at this point. Her entire body was on hyper alert as she watched him move to the speaker system and plug his phone into the unit. Soft Jazz music filled the room, and she licked her lips in anticipation when Jack turned back to her.  His five o'clock shadow was now a 10 o'clock shadow, the dark facial hair contrasting beautifully with pale skin that rarely saw the sun. Unconsciously, her legs spread wider, and she saw Jack smirk as he languorously made his way over to the bed. 

Ally was disappointed when he crept onto the bed, kneeling at her feet, without taking off any clothes. His hands, strong and firm and calloused from stolen moments at the gym lifting weights, slid around her ankles. Ally watched him as he drew her legs up, putting her feet onto his shoulders. His hands slid down the tops of her bare legs, making it halfway down her thighs before he slid them to the underside of her legs and lightly dragged his fingernails down the backs of her thighs. Ally gasped and shivered as the sensations rushed through her, out from the areas of skin where his hands made contact, down each arm and up to her scalp, then rushed back down to collect between her legs, where her clit ached to be touched.  Jack moved his hands to the backs of her knees and pushed her legs back, further exposing her to the cool air of the room. He turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh, just above her knee, then leaned in to kiss his way down her thigh until she felt his hot breath over her sex.

"I want to marry you," he said, and her heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure if he was making a joke, telling her pussy he wanted to marry it. But he reached into his pocket and pulled out something silver. Ally's breath caught in her throat when he produced a platinum ring with a large oval diamond wrapped in a circle of tiny diamonds, and two smaller half-moon shaped diamonds, one on each side, again surrounded each on their outer edges by a row of tiny diamonds.

"Jack?" Ally asked, lifting herself onto her elbows. The soft sounds of jazz filled the room as, heart in her throat; she could do nothing but blink back tears and shake her head in wonder.  The seconds ticked by and soon her silence became impossible to ignorable.

"Please just say something," he said, smiling up at her from between her legs. He didn't look nervous, didn't look like he was unsure of what her answer would be. The only thing that had made him nervous was that he'd intended to take her out to the harbor tonight, to watch the freight ships come in as they smelled the sea air and he told her that he would never not love her. But he'd returned to Ally's apartment, exhausted after Nicki's frantic phone call from jail and trying to cajole Liam into taking over the emergency, only to find Ally on the floor when he got back to her place practicing one of the most tantalizing yoga poses he'd ever seen. It was entirely possible she would be mad about the timing of his marriage proposal, but he could apologize for that, later.

Ally managed to tear a sob away from her throat, nodding furiously before she was finally able to form words. "Yes, Jack. Yes, I'll marry you."

Jack sat up, leaned his clothed body of her naked one, and slid the ring onto her left hand. His heart jumped, seeing it there, as if the future was finally certain. She was his, and she always would be.

"I love you, Ally."

Ally threw her arms around him and pulled him down for a kiss. They had had plenty of passionate kisses, mouths pressed together, tongues exploring feverishly, but it was nothing compared to kissing her in this moment. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, which had grown longer than usual between haircuts he never had time for. He could picture the look of her hands in it, her small fingers almost disappearing in the strands, but peeking out as she formed fists and held him to her. This time one of those fists had his ring on it.

Jack snaked and arm around her and pressed the front of his pants against her. His arousal had dimmed when he'd tentatively pulled out the ring, but it was back now, in full force. He knew she was wet, knew he'd be taking these pants to the drycleaners tomorrow, but he didn't care. He pressed his erection into her as one of her hands left his hair and travelled down to the back of his neck, where she held him tightly, her short fingernails biting into his skin.

Jack tore his mouth away and lifted himself up onto his arms, and Ally immediately went for the buttons of his shirt. He pushed her hands away and lowered his head to one perfect breast, pulling a nipple into his mouth. Ally fell back, moaned and arched her back, pushing her breast further into his mouth. He moved a hand up to her other breast, moved his hand over and her nipple hard against his palm. He closed his teeth around one of the nipples while he pinched the other, and Ally gasped and cried out. He sucked her nipple into his mouth and suckled her while he pinched at the other nipple, feeling her buck underneath him as her arousal grew.

"Jack," she breathed in between moans, her hips rocking against him. 

He slowed his assault on her breasts and trailed kissed down her abdomen, finding the trimmed patch of red curls between her legs, and pressed his mouth against her. He pressed his face and nuzzled his mouth between her pussy lips, finding her clit. His chin was immediately coated in her juices-- he'd never felt her so wet before. He wondered if it was from the emotion of his proposal, or if lying prone on the bed waiting for him as he'd instructed had been more of a turn on to her than he'd expected.

Jack tongued circles around her clit as Ally gasped and moaned. She tried squirming to get his tongue to make contact with her clit, but gave up as he moved his head with her movements, keeping his tongue in circles around the aching bud. Finally she grabbed his hair, held his head in place and ground her pussy against his face with the movement of her hips. His cock jumped and throbbed, he'd never seen her so turned on and desperate for release, and he felt his own need to cum. But he was intimately aware of his ache to make it inside her puckered little asshole, and the thoughts were overwhelming. He'd never asked her for anal sex before, and couldn't imagine it was even on her radar of possibilities, but he wondered about her willingness as she used his face to masturbate.

Jack closed his mouth around her clit and Ally moaned, her hands leaving his head and travelling up to her breasts, where she pinched at her own nipples. She could barely open her eyes, felt drugged as Jack sucked at her clit, and she felt the pressure building in the nub. 

"Yes, Jack, please don't stop," she breathed, shuddering when he slid a finger into her pussy. She was grateful to be filled, at least partially, and came that much closer to orgasm. She started to feel the telltale waves of pleasure building, felt her clit tighten and pulse as his tongue took her closer. She was wishing he would put one or two more fingers inside her to increase the sensation, but instead she was disappointed when his finger slipped out of her pussy. She thought he might stop eating her out and slip his cock inside of her, then, but instead she felt a pressure somewhere new. Jack slid the slickened finger inside her ass, and the mixture of slight pain and delicious pressure sent her over the edge. Her pussy convulsed as Jack slid his finger in and out of her ass, and the tightness in her clit exploded in waves of pleasure that made her legs shake.

Jack licked at her as her orgasm subsided, but did not move his face down to lick up the rush of juices her pussy produced, as he normally would. Instead he pulled away and started unbuckling his belt. Ally immediately thought of her earlier fantasy, of the thoughts of a crack of a belt across her ass, and she blushed slightly. That thought had gotten her extremely hot, though she knew she would likely find no pleasure in such pain. Jack had pushed his way out of his pants and boxers and was holding the tip of his engorged cock at her opening.

Jack couldn't think of anything but that tight little asshole as he rubbed the head of his cock against her pussy, coating the tip with her wetness. She was still twitching slightly, and when he slid the sensitive tip of his erection against her clit, her felt the pulse of the after effects of her orgasm. She'd fallen to pieces when he had slid a finger in her ass. She hadn't stopped him, hadn't asked him what he was doing. Instead she had gasped and cum.

He could see Ally coming back to her senses as her orgasm faded, and watched her move a little, positioning herself for his entry. He slid inside of her and groaned. She was wet and slick and hot around his cock. He slid out and immediately missed the feel of her, so slid back in. She felt like home—safe and warm, but still all he could think of was his finger's adventure in her ass. Jack leaned back on his heels and moved her legs, motioning for her to roll over. Ally complied almost immediately, probably expecting doggie style. He had intended to fuck her from behind, had all of the best intentions, but her asshole was enticing him, the juice from his finger coating the brown puckered opening.

Jack decided that if she didn't want it, she could stop him, so he sent his thumb into her pussy, getting it wet and slick, before sliding it back and watching hungrily as he pressed against her ass. Ally looked back at him from behind a curtain of red hair, and he made eye contact as he sunk his thumb inside her and swirled in circles, opening her whole wider. Ally shuddered and bit her lip. She obviously felt discomfort by the intrusion, the stretching of her ass, but she pressed back against his hand encouragingly. 

Jack worked her asshole with his thumb for awhile, watching and barely able to contain himself. He moved in closer, slid his cock into her wet pussy as his finger worked her ass, getting his cock slick and wet. The tight fit inside her cunt normally would have been irresistible, but Jack found he had a one track mind. He slid his thumb out and replaced it with his cock, pushing his cock head in past the tight outer ring before she could think too much about it. Ally whimpered, his erect penis was quite a bit larger than his thumb, but she kept still. He was still for a moment, letting her ass adjust to the invasion, before his pressed in. Ally squeaked after another inch of entry was made, and he stopped and held still again, until he felt her relax a little around him. He looked in wonder at his cock, partially inside her ass, and willed himself not to plunge in all at once. It was hard not to, between the visual stimulation and the incredible tightness surrounding him. He knew by her responses that, though she was open to him taking this liberty, she had never had a man in her ass before. He'd been inside women's asses before, found anal sex broke up the monotony of fucking those women, and it had been good. But Ally's ass—Ally's as was exceptional. He by no means ofund their sex life monotonous, but he wanted—craved—all of her.

jack remained still for another few moments before he slid further into her. This time Ally dropped off her hands onto her elbows, and pushed her face into a pillow. Her ass tightened up, and he knew he couldn't go further until she relaxed. After a minute her breathing steadied and she started to relax, so he slid in again, wondering if he shouldn't have relied on her juices and gotten some lube for this task. His dick was almost halfway in and she was recovering more quickly after each additional inch.

He pushed on through the clenching the last few inches, hoping not to draw out her discomfort any more than necessary, and stilled.  She moaned into the pillow, but he knew it was not from pleasure. Slowly, he felt her muscles relax around him and her breathing slowed as she accepted his length inside of her. The view of his cock fully sheathed in her asshole should have been enough to make him cum right there, but his arousal was dampened by her obvious discomfort. But soon he couldn't hold it anymore and drew out a few inches, then slid back in. She squeaked and burrowed further into the pillow and he chastised himself as he thought about ramming her ass until he unloaded inside of her. She next time he slid out a few inches and thrust back in she remained still. 

Jack pulled out until the head of his penis was being massaged by the tight ring of asshole, and then pushed in again. On shaking arms Ally raised herself back up onto her hands and knees, her head still hung low, creating a dip between her freckled shoulders. Jack worked her ass again, coming nearly all the way out and back in two more times before her body language changed and he felt her meet him on the last thrust. Jack groaned and grabbed her hips, and let himself relax and enjoy the sensation as he sunk his cock into her ass. Ally started to rotate her hips in circles as he moved, stretching her asshole with the motions, and he was grateful for her effort to please him. He kept his slides slow until she let out a small sound, half grunt, half moan, and said, "Jack, fuck me. Fuck my ass."

The plea was irresistible, and he buried himself in her, thrusting behind her and into her as his pleasure built and she continued to urge him on, meeting his thrusts, her ass tight but relaxed, delicious. His control crumbled and he slammed into her, his head thrown back, his fingers biting into her hips until the pleasure maxed out and the dam overflowed. His cock throbbed inside her ass as he came into this new cavity, emptying his seed into her, claiming her. His thick cum made his last few thrusts sloppy as he rode out his orgasm, and he saw his cum being pushed out of her ass as he moved inside her. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. 

Finally spent, Jack pulled out and collapsed onto the bed next to her, watching for her reaction. Ally smiled at him sexily, and lay down beside him. He rolled onto his side and moved to pull her into his arms, but she stopped the progress of one arm and brought it down between her legs. She pushed his hand down as he watched in wonder. "That was really hot, Jack." She kissed him, softly, and pressed his hand more firmly between her legs. "I'm so turned on right now, I need to get off. I need you to get me off."



L'Affaire C. 12



L'Affaire C. 12 Carly and Ally share the after effects of anal; Nicki shares sexual sparks with a rapist defender.

***

"That is some rock," Carly grinned, smiling as Ally approached the waiting room. Carly noticed immediately that Ally's hair was down. For every other appointment Carly had had in the year she had been visiting the upscale salon, Ally wore her hair pulled back into a simple bun low on the back of her head, but today the red locks fell around her shoulders in soft waves. "I saw that thing as soon as you turned the corner!"

Ally blushed furiously, her face immediately hot. She'd managed to make it into the salon without any of the other stylists or estheticians noticing, but leave it to one of her clients to draw attention to her. Ally wasn't good with attention.

"Come on back," Ally said, motioning for Carly to follow, feeling the receptionist's eyes on her, knowing the girl wanted to say something and was just waiting for Ally to look at her. Ally studiously avoided her gaze, trying to downplay the salon's response to her news, and started walking Carly back to one of the private manicure rooms. Once safely inside the door, she admitted, "My boyfriend proposed last night." 

Ally made a motion to one of the chairs, indicating Carly should sit down. While the salon encouraged music on the verge of being easy listening, today a French album was on the sound system. The current song was wistful, complaining of destiny promising happiness, creating hope, and ultimately delivering nothing. Carly wished desperately that she didn't understand French. She sat gingerly in the chair, reminded again as she was this morning, sitting on the edge of her bed, (and sitting at her kitchen table drinking coffee, sitting at her make-up table putting on her game face, and lowering herself into her car seat) of exactly where Liam had been last night. 

She drew in a breath as she sat. Carly had allowed Mike on a handful of occasions to use her ass, but she had never wanted it. Never needed to be filled, never needed him everywhere. She was embarrassed by the way she reacted to Liam; by the way she threw herself at him, wanton and shameless. Under normal circumstances, she would like to think she'd have been ashamed by her actions; though she couldn't know for sure since she'd never behaved this way with a man, in or out of the bedroom.

Ally wandered over to a cabinet and pulled out some sterilized tools as Carly said, "How exciting. What an exciting time for you both. Did you two celebrate?" Her own engagement had been an exciting time. Picking out the ring, deciding on the flowers, picking out a white dress that stopped breath; why hadn't she been happier about it at the time? Why couldn't she have reveled in the happiness of the moment? It had all seemed like something to get through, to get out of the way. She had wished not for the perfect wedding, but to settle in, to have the day behind her. She wished only to be married; relieved from dating and heartbreak.

Ally was in black pants and a black cashmere sweater with a deep V down the front. Carly sometimes missed the days of being able to wear V-necks or scoop-necks without prominent cleavage, with just the hint of a swell where the fabric stretched gently. Little moments of regret about her rejection of her own body, which only really disappeared when Liam's eyes were on her, the intensity of his gaze leaving her feeling naked and cherished. But that was ridiculous, wasn't it? A man looking at her implants making her feel cherished?  He's fucking you, not cherishing you. And that's okay, she chastised herself. Ally shook her head, and Carly wondered absently what the movement meant, until she remembered that she'd asked a question.

Ally slowly took her seat, wincing. The wince was slight, and Carly mightn't have even noticed it if not for her own discomfort this morning. "Oh, there was a celebration," Carly said, her tone playful and sexy all at once. She had never been so forward with Ally. They talked easily about personal things, had both mentioned off-handedly that they should get together for drinks and good company; but they never had. Carly felt sad about that now. Dawna was thousands of miles away; and she couldn't face the group of friends that she and Mike had shared in the area. 

Ally looked up at her, questioningly, unsure if she had understood the remark. Carly kept silent, but her eyes twinkled. "Oh my god," Ally moaned. "Seriously, you can really tell?" She leaned forward, her voice seeming frantic when she asked, "Do you think everyone knows? Is it obvious?" Carly shook her head, positioning her hands on the table in front of her as Ally pulled out a nail file and reached for her hand, looking dejected. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be silly, of course it's not obvious." Carly watched Ally's face, still blushed pink under her freckles. There was nothing in her body language or facial expression to indicate that her embarrassment overcame her happiness, though she was eyeing Carly dubiously. Feeling bad for putting her on the spot, Carly said, "I only noticed because I feel your pain."

"Oh, stop. This is embarrassing enough, don't make it worse."

"No, I'm serious. I feel your pain. Today, I mean." 

Ally shook her head, obviously trying to clear it.

"I don't—we don't—" Ally looked around the room, as if the word she was searching for was on the walls, "I had never done...that." Ally filed vigorously at where the acrylic met Carly's natural nail, smoothing the edge down to blend into the natural nail. She wanted the fill to go on smooth when she retouched Carly's nails to keep up with the growth. Most manicurists used a dremel for the work, but Ally's instructors had been purists, not allowing them the use mechanical tools, arguing the damage to the natural nail could not be avoided, that ridges would form underneath. For this reason, even in school, the students charged more for acrylics and gels than most shops in the city. It was a niche market, this work by hand, but they kept steady business at the school (Seattle loves her niche markets), and as a professional she kept steady business out of school. So much so that she had to refuse clients, as she only allowed the receptionists to book 20% of her day as nail clients. 

Ally made most of her money doing hair, and had all but given up her esthetics work. It had taken longer to complete the required hours and obtain her licenses as a manicurist, a cosmetologist and an esthetician, but she had done it because one day it would be her salon, her staff, whether or not she continued doing nails and skin. She needed to know each aspect of the business. And soon, she would get the response from the bank about the business loan application. If approved, she would leave this twenty stylist salon, and hopefully take at least 70% of her clientele with her when she went. 

This would be the hardest part, because Ally was loyal by nature. She worked at one of the most respected salons in town, had stayed here for years, because they had believed in her talent and hired her right out of school. It felt like a betrayal to be leaving. Even more so when she knew she wasn't leaving alone. She had a partner, who would hopefully be taking at least 70% of her clientele, too. Their duplicity, her duplicity, kept her up at night. But she needed more. She was marrying Jack, an attorney. An ambitious attorney. He would expect more. He would expect her to be more. Of course, they were her clients, they had free choice... but still.

"So I guess you're seeing someone?" Ally glanced up at her client, who looked stunning in a ruffled cardigan the blue-grey color of a winter sky, set off against bronze skin. The sweater did something amazing for her eyes, which today looked the color of blue flame. It was hard not to be jealous of this woman, smart and beautiful and successful with amazing style. Today she wore a simple black pencil shirt the grazed her knees but, clinging to her hips and the curve of her ass, looked anything but demure. Ass. The word sent heat rushing through Ally, she felt herself remembering the feel of Jack's fingers digging into her hips, could feel him inside her, opening her. Ally flushed, felt hot all over.

Carly made a sound that was either a sigh or a groan, or a little of both. "It's not really—" she paused, "I mean we aren't, really—it wouldn't work so it's just...physical. You know guys will screw anything with a vagina, and he's gorgeous, and I needed to get back on the horse." Ally had stopped filing to look at her dubiously as she rambled. "He's not... I mean it's not that he's... I mean I would, that's not it. But he's, you know, he's got a career." Carly's voice had gotten progressively lower during her stammering, and she finished at almost a whisper. She pulled her glossed bottom lip into her mouth.

"So...he's employed," Ally said slowly, picking back up at the filing. "That's good."

"Oh, shut up, you," Carly snapped, feigning irritation but laughing quietly at herself. 

Ally worked in silence for a few more minutes, finishing the file work on one hand and moving to the next. "I wish you would let me soak these stupid things off, just get manicures. You really don't need them, you've got great nails under these things." 

"Nah." Carly was dismissive. "I need at least two fake things on my person at any given time. If I lose the nails I might end up with bad collagen injections in my lips." They both grinned at this, and fell into another comfortable silence before Carly spoke up again, her voice quiet, her statement offhanded. "My dad adores him."

Ally seemed surprised. "He's met your dad? I think that's more than physical."

"No, no—they work together. Dad's really impressed with him, says he's driven, you know, destined for great things."

Ally nodded, sensing it. Insecurity. There was no use saying anything. She knew very well that insecurity is something a person can't be talked out of. "Well, he is attracted to you..." 

Carly nodded. "Yeah, well... I have a vagina." Then, in a stage whisper, "And an asshole."

By the end of the appointment, they had made a date to meet for drinks.

*

You forget things when your head is somewhere else. You forget you can't bail someone out of jail before they're arraigned. He remembered, of course. As soon as he sat down behind the driver's seat of his Audi Q7 he remembered. But he'd already left her by that point. Already run out of her apartment like the place was on fire. But it wasn't on fire. He was on fire, and he hadn't been ready to be ignited.

And he could have saved himself some of the sleepless night. He could have gone back up, could have knocked. Could have stepped inside when she opened the door for him. Could have gone back, and made an effort not to run, to be still, to accept it. A big effort. He was terrified. Carly. She was terrifying.

Carly.

 See that? Just her name and you're hard. And he was. He was so hard his cock ached for her. So hard he could do anything to be inside her again. He could do anything. He could call in sick, spend an entire day in her bed. It wasn't him, wasn't the man he wanted to be. He didn't call in sick. He didn't let women get into his head. He didn't let women interfere with his career. But he could. He couldn't have before, not for anyone before her. But for her? He could. Terrifying.

And if he didn't? If he didn't, if he managed to keep his head on straight... If he concentrated on work at work, and took her out when he wasn't at work. If he fucked her every night, and first thing in the morning, every morning? That might buy him 12 hours of being useful in the office. That might be sustainable. 

But there would be talk. He just made partner. He joined the firm alongside Jack, who most certainly deserved partner, but he made partner first. And he made partner before Rich Peters, who joined the firm before either of them. So there would be talk. Because he made partner, there would be talk. It wouldn't matter how much he flew back and forth to Hong Kong, it wouldn't matter how many clients he brought in, how much he produced. The talk would be the same. If Rich Peters was fucking Tim Dugan's daughter, Rich would have made partner. And now? Now he wanted to drag Rich Peters out of his office, push him into the street and threaten his life if he tried to come back in. And why? Because he had just imagined Rich Peters putting his hands on her.

Carly. 

It was terrifying. 

He was terrified.

"Can I just have my things back?" Nicki's voice was shrill, and immediately identifiable. Liam looked over and spotted her immediately. One would have thought she had been picked up for solicitation her skirt was so short. Her wool pea coat actually made it past them hemline of her skirt, which was probably for the best. 

"Over here," Liam said, and waved. Every eye had been on her, or more accurately, her legs, but the attention soon moved to him. Nicki wouldn't normally have made such a spectacle, except you could see in the way she held herself, see in the expert way she walked in heels, that she wasn't a prostitute. Everything about her, save for her clothes, was elegant. And it wasn't that the clothes were trash. Nicki didn't dress in trash. Nicki dressed in sex.

"Took you long enough," Nicki glared at him as she approached, clasping her watch around her wrist as she did. "I was expecting Jack."

Liam shrugged noncommittally. "He couldn't handle another Nickimergency." He was too wound up to react to her lack of appreciation. He held his arm out to her and Nicki slid her arm through his. They were nearly to the door when a man in a grey suit entered from another hallway, smiled at Nicki, said "We'll see you later, Ms. Moreau."

"Go fuck yourself, Donovan," Nicki said, her head high as she all but dragged Liam out of the building. Liam glanced back and found the eyes of the man following Nicki. He saw none of what he expected to see. No contempt brought on by seeing a suspect released on bail. No judgment. No disgust. No irritation at her complete lack of respect. No, it was bemusement he saw in the man's eyes. A quick look at his belt, at the badge clipped under his suit jacket, confirmed the man was a detective.

"Oh, Jesus, Gil, really?" Liam heard Nicki's protest before he saw the photographer.

Liam took his attention off the officer just as the door to the building closed behind them and a camera was shoved in his face. "What the-?"

"If it were me, you'd be here covering it, too," Gil said, snapping a few more times. "Got anything to say? I could use a quote on the story."

"Yeah, I've got—"

"Nothing," Liam interjected, squeezing her arm in the crook of his elbow. "We have no comment."

"--a comment."

"Are you her attorney? What's your name?" The man was pleasant, seemed embarrassed to be asking the questions.

"This is not justice, I am innocent. I am innocent and the police department is clearly embarrassed that they can't find person responsible such a highly publicized crime." Gil looked disappointed. He had obviously hoped for a more personal response from her, something, if not entirely sensation, then at least headline worthy.

"Nicki, are you aware your ex regained consciousness yesterday?"

"We'll be meeting with her attorney now, if you'll excuse us." Liam spirited her away, pinching her when she made a move to turn back to her colleague.

Nicki relented and allowed him to lead her toward the parking garage down the block. "I'm not meeting with anyone until I've eaten something. And I haven't hired a lawyer. Was Gil right? Did he wake up?"

"You're hiring this one," Liam glanced down at his watch. "We have time for something to eat. And it makes sense, might explain why the police moved forward, if he gave a statement."

Nicki clenched her fists. That son of a bitch. 

They stopped at a chain restaurant famous for breakfast after an uneventful drive spent in silence. Liam had even less to say to her than usual, and found she was wondering what was distracting him before remembering she didn't care. "I'm exhausted," she said, as soon as the hostess left them. They'd gotten a booth seat, with a view of the street.

"A night in jail will do that to you," Liam said. 

They were seated at a booth against the window, and Nicki looked outside of the bustle of pedestrians downtown. She loved the city, the way it moved and breathed. She loved the grey skies and the drizzle blowing with the breeze of the ocean. She loved fog over the bridges and ferries and traffic so bad you could walk faster than you could drive on the freeway at rush hour. But there was no comfort in any of it today. She didn't want to make small talk over a plate of pancakes. She just wanted to eat, and go home. That little sleezeball had woken up in the hospital and either suggesting that she stabbed him, or that he didn't remember enough details about his attack to exclude her from the suspect list. She needed to see him but couldn't, didn't want to.

But a meal without small talk is uncomfortable, so Nicki made the effort Liam seemed inclined not to make. "So—Ally said you made partner?"

Liam nodded, smiled wanly. "Yeah, I made partner."

"You seem thrilled," she said, sighing in relief when the coffee arrived, and they had a chance to order. She'd ordered bacon and eggs, and a side of French toast. Liam had ordered eggs and whole wheat toast, probably not to make her feel like a huge asshole, but that was the end result. She was so starved she found it hard to care. 

She looked at him expectantly when the server left. 

"What?"

"You seem thrilled."

Liam shrugged. "I am thrilled. It's just—I've been going, going, going, and when I got the news that I made it-- it was just such a relief. I felt like I could finally slow down, relax a little, not work so much, and have a life. But then I remembered that I can't slow down, that I'm lucky if I don't have to work harder."

"You're a real ball of joy," Nicki said around a mouthful of French toast. 

Liam sighed. "You're right, your life is far worse than mine—when you think about it, what do I have to complain about, really?" He took a sip of coffee and looked up at Nicki, only to find that she was staring at him, incredulous.

Liam flushed in embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean—I just meant that you have a lot on your plate. You got arrested, had those charges dropped, and then arrested ag—" he stopped short, dropped the metaphorical shovel in his hands. "Sorry."

Silence settled over the table before Nicki spoke up again, "I'm just so annoyed, you know? I'm so full of impotent rage and anxiousness and there's no outlet, I can't write a story about it, I can't do anything. I can't confront that jackass... I just need to vent, you know. I need to relax. If I were a man I could just go hire a prostitute and fuck my worries away, at least get them out of my head for awhile, but I can't even do that, unless I want to walk the street corners seeing if I can find a gay prostitute on the corner that's willing to accommodate me."

"I'm not a criminal attorney, but I still wouldn't recommend engaging a prostitute immediately after leaving jail."

"Like I even have the option, like I could find one. And, what, are you offering your services?"

Liam looked like a deer in headlights, "I—I'm seeing someone," he stammered as their food arrived.

"It was a joke."

He shrugged again.  Enough with the shrugging, she wanted to scream. "Sorry, your jokes are less funny than usual lately. "I thought you were seeing that teacher—the—"

Nicki cut him off. "You must have missed last week's headline—'Local Teacher Linked to Stabbing Suspect'." Nicki rolled her eyes. "He said his career is his whole life, and he works with peoples' kids, and even though he believes blah blah blah, end of story. Another one bites the dust."




L'Affaire C. 12



"Anyway, I know I'm not your type. And that's gross to even think about." She shoved a bite of French toast into her mouth. "So the girl, what she like?"

"It's just- we're not—I mean it's not serious, or exclusive. She's not really looking for something serious. She's recently divorced."

"A divorcee. How'd you meet her?"

"You come into the office a bit, you know her I bet—she worked with Jack—Carly Harmon."

"She's white." She had blurted it out before she could stop herself. Not a question, a statement. Hey Liam, that girl you're dating is white. You didn't know? Liam didn't say anything, just stared at her. This time he was the one to look incredulous.

Nicki felt herself turn crimson, "That came out wrong. It's just, you know, all your girlfriends have been—not white." Liam shook his head and turned his attention to his food. She was right. All of his past girlfriends were not white. "She's really pretty," she said tentatively. Understatement, Liam thought. Nicki looked uncomfortable, so he wasn't surprised when she changed the subject. "So what attorney am I supposed to be seeing today?" 

"You have an appointment with, and are seeing, the attorney. I am driving you to the building and walking you into the office."

"If you found me a smarmy defense attorney I am not going."

"He's talented, I respect him, you will, too, so give him a chance."

"Who?"

"You'll see when we get there."

"Who?"

"Nicki..."

"Liam.

They stared at each other before, sensing that if he didn't volunteer the name, he would have to drag her back to the SUV, he spoke. "Karsa Kovac."

"He gets rapists off!" She hadn't intended to raise her voice, but the outburst attracted the attention of everyone within a three table radius of them. Liam stared her down, and Nicki found herself slinking back into the booth. "I wrote about his swarthy lowlife tactics and his obvious abuse of the system when during the Peter Janis trial. You know Peter Janis. The Peter Janis who raped the nineteen year university student from Spokane. She was here in Seattle on a volleyball scholarship. He beat her so badly he broke both of her wrists."

"The jury found that rapist innocent."

"That rapist was a rapist. But it doesn't matter, he'll never agree to take me as a client, he'll kick me out the minute I show my face up there."

"He's already agreed to defend you."

"Yeah, so he can get me put in jail and continue to be skeezy without the press on his ass."

"'Smarmy', 'skeezy'—I'm surprised you haven't used 'swarthy' yet."

"I could have."

Liam dropped his fork, and it clanged against his plate. She jumped a bit at the unexpected noise. "You said it yourself, Nicki, the police are under a spotlight on this one. If they can't get a perp on a simple 2nd degree assault charge they'll look incompetent. They at best have an alcoholic with a criminal record as their sole witness, and they moved forward anyway."

"Why would Kovac take me on as a client after what I got printed?"

"Ultimately, I think that's why he agreed to take you on."

Nicki snorted derisively, "What? To prove what a good guy he is?"

"Yes. That, and as a personal favor to me."

Nicki, hearing this, relented. Why she relented, she couldn't have said. She wanted to ask more about Liam's connection to him, but it was clear by the way Liam stated the last admission that it was not up for discussion. 

Liam escorted Nicki into the office, where Karsa greeted them cordially, and left them to sort out the details. He was exhausted when he returned to the office. Nicki could be exhausting on a normal day, but he hadn't slept last night, and as a result he found himself almost without the will to live by the time he was rid of her. And, having missed most of the morning, he had a full day ahead of him. 

He was a new partner. He had a budding relationship he didn't have time for, with a woman who invaded him completely. He wanted every part of her, and having just gone through a divorce, he knew she wanted only one part of him. Was he taking advantage of her situation by sleeping with her? He couldn't give her more, couldn't let himself feel. The moment he slid inside her he dissolved, became something else, someone else. He became insatiable. He couldn't afford to feel that again.

Or was she taking advantage of him, for sex without emotional attachments. She had clearly intended for their connection to be purely sexual. He had gotten too close, and she had punished him by ignoring his calls, coming back on her terms. Could he even offer her that, when the strength of his response to her overwhelmed him so completely?

*

Nicki decided early on in their meeting that Karsa Kovac had a switch. He had a switch which allowed him to turn something off before press conferences, before walking into courtrooms. He had a raw sexuality he was able to slip out of and hide away. 

Or perhaps it was something he slipped into.

He wore a suit today, but his tie was off, the collar of his shirt was unbuttoned. She could see a touch of chest hair under his color, black like the hair on his head. He had laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, though she'd never seen him laugh, and she suddenly found herself wanting to run her fingers over his face, to feel the way time had touched him. She hadn't really ever noticed before, the way his hair had started to gray. He appeared young, but distinguished, in the courtroom. She realized now he was older than she'd first thought. 

His manner was easy, relaxed and confident. And wolfish. She was surprised to find he smiled easily (though not frequently, considering the nature of their discussion). And he looked at her in a way that made her feel naked, exposed, as if when he looked at her it was her heart and her thoughts that were visible, as if he'd figured her out. Even worse, his gaze on her was also like a touch, like a soft caress.

She had >felt his gaze on her legs and breasts when he had met her in the waiting room. She tingled under his gaze, wanted more. Her nipples reacted, tightened and hardened. Warmth radiated out from her heated center. She was aroused beyond what was reasonable. She had clearly gone too long without an orgasm.

So it was disappointing when, after the initial greeting, after taking in her appearance, his eyes stayed on her face. Nothing could redirect his attention. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, sighed in a way that moved her chest and her breasts with it; still, his eyes never left her face after that moment in the waiting room. 

"What's funny, Ms. Moreau--"

"Nicki." She was embarrassed by the way that her voice sounded, the breathiness that danced with the word when she invited him, again, to call her by her first name.

"Nicki," he said, and there was something in his eyes that made her body respond, and though she planned to shower the moment she got home, she knew that if she didn't plan on changing all of her clothes at the very least she'd have had to change her panties. 

It was embarrassing, that her body was such a traitor to her sensibilities. He said all the right words, they had debated it all. He had accused her of being naive, of blustering. He had accused her of not believing innocent until proven guilty, in not believing in the jury system. He had accused her of allowing emotion to cloud her judgment. Where would this country be if the D.A. did not have to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that defendants were guilty?, he had asked. She'd heard it all before. All the whores said it. He would never convince her that the real truth of it was that Peter Janis had money. 

They had argued until, so flustered, she had simply given up. Because aside from accusing him of lying, of feigning sincerity, she had no argument. He never once argued that Peter Janis was innocent, which infuriated her the most.

"What's funny, Nicki, is that our friend Liam was not the only person to call me about you. I got another call, from someone at the police department. Someone who asked me to take an interest in your case. Isn't that fascinating? The way you can be so abrasive, nasty even, and yet bring out the protective nature in more than one man?" The way he said it made her think he wasn't just talking about Liam and the detective, but she was unable to focus on that, and assumed he hinted at it to throw her off guard, which he seemed to adore doing. No, she couldn't concentrate on that. She was too busy trying to stop thinking about what his hands would feel like on her body. Or what her hands would feel like, when she made it home and could relieve the pressure steadily building within her.

Kovac switched gears. "I know you aren't a silly girl. I know I don't need to tell you not to dress in court the way you're dressed today," He said. "But I will ask you to wear something less..." he paused, rethinking the direction of his comment, "more modest to our meetings outside of court."

"Excuse me?" she demanded, indignant. Fucking chauvinist telling her how to fucking dress. 

"It's distracting."

"You have some nerve thinking—"

He stopped her with a look so intense she thought if it lasted just a bit longer, she might climax right there in front of him. She was going to say that he had some nerve thinking he could tell her how to dress. His accent, previously a very slight Hungarian he had obviously worked to Americanize, was thicker when he said, "Thinking what, Nicki? Thinking that I shouldn't know that your panties are purple today?"

So maybe he had taken his eyes off of her face.

He let the moment pass, as if it had not been so sexually charged as to set the room on fire. "In the meantime, keep the teacher around. People like teachers, it's good for your image."

Nicki bristled at the suggestion. It was calculated and dirty; exactly what she expected from him. "We broke up."

Kovac narrowed his eyes, "Well, that was stupid."

"It wasn't my decision."

And this time she saw his eyes wander the length of her body. Her heart raced, thudding in her chest as his gaze slowly moved back up to her face, not seeming to miss an inch. It was brief, really. The time his eyes were away from her face was only a matter of seconds. But it was an eternity. They had sex in that moment. They had sex in his office, on his desk, on her bed. They had fights and they made up and they bought houses and cars and had more sex and babies and vacations to the Caribbean, where they had sex on sandy beaches. They had Christmases and dinners out and bland talks about finances and their retirement fund. 

It was an eternity and he was wrong. 

She was a silly girl.

*

Nicki closed the door behind her, did her best to shut the world out. Her dog came bounding over, and reluctantly, she leashed him and took him outside on a quick walk around the block. A dog walker stopped by every day, but still he expected this from her. It was such a simple request, such a small thing compared to what others demanded of her, that she could never refuse. Once in from the walk she made her way to her bedroom and immediately removed her clothes, dropping first her coat, then her skirt and shirt onto the floor in her walk to the bathroom, kicking off her shoes just before she stepped onto the cool tile of the bathroom. 

She left the light off, but daylight made sure she could still see her reflection in the mirror. Wavy/curly hair did not do well without daily maintenance, and she looked like she'd been attacked by birds. Even concentrating on the mess of her hair, she was aware of her lace panties and bra, purple against her skin. Heat rushed through her, remembering Karsa Kovac's words, and her reaction to his gaze. She knew it had nothing to do with him; that she just needed to get off; but it was still infuriating that her body couldn't tell the difference from innocuous attractive men and evil attractive men. Was evil too harsh? Wicked. She decided he was wicked.

She imagined his eyes on her when she took off the bra, letting her breasts loose, finding her nipples erect and protruding. Nicki cupped her breasts in her hands and squeezed, letting her head fall back. Having been at a low level of arousal the entire way home, her body came back to life under her hands. She pushed her panties down and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm before she stepped in and turned the dial until it was almost too hot to stand. She delighted in the spray's assault on her breasts and abdomen as she shampooed, and once she'd put conditioner in her hair she detached the shower nozzle and brought it between her legs. It was so hot, punishingly hot, but she didn't want to turn it down. And she needed it so bad but she was so tired. Giving in, Nicki sat on the floor of the shower, let her legs fall open and held the nozzle between her legs as she massaged and squeezed and pinched at her breasts with her free hand, trying to pretend they were Matt's hands, calloused from practicing football with the high school team. 

But it didn't work; she couldn't maintain it. Her mind, or her body?, rejected this planted thought and by the time she realized it was Kovac's hands on her, she was whimpering and bucking her hips. She slid her hand, his hand, down between her legs and pushed her lips open, exposing her clitoris to the hot spray. Still not able to come, she adjusted the nozzle to the pulse feature and stretched the lips between her fingers, pulling the skin taunt. 

She couldn't help herself, she allowed it to happen. She allowed it to be Kovac's hand holding the shower head and Kovac's hand manipulating her pussy. It was Kovac, and not the shower wall, that she leaned against. She rolled her head back, slipped further into the fantasy as steam rose around her, and only then did she come. She came violently, her whole body twitching as her cries echoed off the shower walls. Vaguely, she heard the dog barking at the bathroom door. She couldn't stop coming. Kovac moved the nozzle closer, the pulse of the water fierce and hot and punishing, extending her orgasm until her cries were whimpers and her clit was too sensitive to be manipulated anymore.

Slowly, Nicki became aware of the shower. She had dropped the nozzle on the shower floor, had pulled her legs closed as her pussy's convulsions slowed to pulses. She was breathing heavily, panting really, and still had conditioner in her hair. 

When she could, she stood up and rinsed her hair. She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower stall, toweling off before grabbing a robe and stumbling to her bedroom on weak and shaking legs. Nicki collapsed onto her bed and didn't wake up again until her doorbell rang, pulling her out of her slumber, and she turned her head toward the nightstand and the time display on her alarm clock. She had slept the whole afternoon.

Who would be knocking at 10 PM?

***

Please vote and comment, either publicly or through feedback. Thanks to everyone for their support so far. 



L'Affaire C. 13



The moment she left he called his florist, and had flowers sent to his girlfriend. He felt a little silly; being so attracted to a client. She obviously hated him. Maybe that was why it was thrilling. She was a challenge. No one was a challenge anymore. Maybe he could get between her legs, but her heart? She would keep that safe from him. So he sent flowers to his girlfriend, and finished his workday. 

He had the evening free, which was a change. He met a buddy at the gym for racquetball. He drove an exquisite Jaguar XKR to an exquisite house on a hill will an exquisite view of the ocean. And the whole time, an exquisite woman barely left his thoughts.

There was a stillness to the home when he made it back, and he found himself relieved to find that Delia was not in the house, making herself at home. That, at least, had gone simply enough, which was a pleasant surprise. Delia was not full of too many pleasant surprises.

Karsa reset the alarm code and made his way upstairs to the master bedroom, dropped his briefcase in the doorway and made his way toward the master bath. He turned on the shower and started removing the sweat drenched USC Law School T-shirt he'd worn to racquetball. Liam had been quiet, almost sullen, during their workout. It had been a relief, not trying to keep up with chatter when his mind was otherwise occupied. He thought for sure Liam would have grilled him on what he thought of Nicki's case, but he hadn't mentioned a thing. He'd been relieved, but oddly disappointed, because on some level he'd have liked to talk about it, about her. Maybe glean some insight into her; figure out what made her so abrasive, and at the same time so alluring.

She wasn't classically beautiful. Her face wasn't a perfect oval, and while she had a clean, taunt jaw-line without folds or weakness, the curvature might have been on the angular side. But gorgeous hair, thick long waves you could lose your hands in, the color of dark chocolate with the slightest hints of caramel. Perfectly curved eyebrows over inquisitive brown eyes he found hard to look away from. And over the generous mouth was a straight nose, possibly a little longer than 'perfect' that, when paired with her fine bone structure, gave her an almost bird-like quality. 

At 5'11" Karsa was rarely the tallest man in a room and with heels on she was eye to eye with him, a little taller than he would have liked, except that the extra inches resulted in impossibly long legs under the impossibly short skirt she'd worn to their meeting. She'd been wearing a wool coat that reached the hem of that skirt, and he became even more distracted when the coat came off, revealing a clingy peach colored sweater made from cashmere or something very similar. Every time she breathed in it lifted her breasts enticingly, putting the gentle swell of what he guessed was a C cup on display. He spent the entire meeting willing himself not to let his eyes wander, only unable to resist once she'd admitted the teacher, dumb bastard that he was, had broken up with her.

Karsa pushed his shorts down and reached for his electric razor, standing naked at the counter he ran the machine across his face, working it against his skin as he stared into the ornate mirror his wife had picked out on a trip back to Hungary. A beautiful woman, she had garish taste in décor, and again he found himself thinking about replacing the bronze-framed monstrosity, but that would mean going shopping for himself, which he wasn't inclined to do. Not unless it was shopping for suits. Or a car. Or perhaps a garter and stockings he could watch Nicki Moreau slide up those delicious legs.

The mirror was particularly unforgiving today. He was in need of another haircut, but worse he was graying at a rapid rate, not so much in the back as the front and sides, where it mattered. He was at least 20% gray he would guess, but not yet desperate enough for artificial help. It helped in court, to look a bit older, more distinguished. He just wouldn't mind looking a little less distinguished. And the nose, he also wouldn't mind perfecting. It was nothing anyone would call oversized, but it was as long as it could be without drawing something away from his attractiveness. And he was attractive, in the almost tall, dark and handsome way. Not incredibly muscular, but solid and fit, and crunches and sit ups and biking kept his waistline in check. 

Karsa put down the razor and stepped into the shower, his mind wandering back to Nicki. It was an odd case, and when his police department contact brought it up he admitted the police moved forward under a feeling of self-imposed haste there was little reason for. The victim could do little more than fail to rule out that he'd been attacked by a woman. They had her prints, but that was easily explainable, coming upon a man she'd had a relationship with it's not uncommon that she would act impulsively, touch things she shouldn't. And she'd been dripping with his blood, on her knees and her hands and arms, but not in any splatter pattern that would indicate she'd been holding the knife at the time of the stabbing. Karsa closed his eyes, the hot water assaulting his shoulders as he reached for a bar of soap, swiping it across his torso and chest, over the dark hair on his chest that, while not particularly thick, still poked out of an unbuttoned shirt from time to time. He was not a lover of chest hair.

His cell phone rang where he'd dropped it on the nightstand, and he was happy to ignore it for a few moments of peace. Once finished he reached for one of the black towels hanging next towels hanging outside the shower and dried off summarily before wrapping it around his waist and walking back out into the bedroom, which is where he found Delia, stretched out on the bed like a cat wearing only a strapless turquoise bustier with black lace trip, matching panties, and stockings.

"Hello Delia," he said dryly, feeling himself stir under the towel against his better judgment. His eyes skimmed over the blue-black hair fanned across his pillow, cheekbones so high her cheeks seemed at times hollowed-out underneath those vivid blue eyes. Her nose hooked slightly at the end, it could have been a flaw, or it could have given her face added character. "You didn't get my flowers, I take it?"

Delia rolled her eyes, "I got our flowers. The delivery man said I was your third floral break up this year, you have quite the reputation at the flower shop."

"Maybe it's time for a new flower shop." And time to change the keyless entry code, and the alarm code. 

Delia sat up, and Karsa noticed her breasts were on the verge of pouring out of the poor garment, and he saw the top of one brown nipple. She brought a knee up to rest an arm on, and he saw then the panties were crotchless. As usual, she was waxed bare between her legs, not an errant hair anywhere. He'd asked about it once, and learned she had gotten in the habit of it during her first marriage. She'd married young at eighteen, looking for opportunity, she had been flattered to draw the attention of her now ex-husband. Her ex was fifty when they met, and he demanded she wax her pubic hair, claimed it was cleaner. She eventually came to the opinion that he wanted her to look like a pre-pubescent girl; but had oddly kept up the waxing when he divorced her to be with the next eighteen year old. She'd reached twenty-six by that time, and had grown much too independent, or perhaps too old, for his tastes. At thirty-four, she still looked like a starlet. 

"Anyway, I had to investigate and determine if I was going to a) reject your break up attempt, or b) if I was going to have my way with you one last time and part ways amicably."

"Or accept that it's—"

Delia cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "There is no option c." That was okay, his groin was asserting itself, and option b was looking promising. Karsa pulled on the towel, which fell loose to the floor at his feet. Delia smiled, one corner of her red lips turning up in a triumphant smirk as she lay back on the bed, bringing her other knee up and out, exposing herself to him. Karsa kneeled on the bed and moved closer to her, between her thighs, lowering his head for a taste of her. 

Delia's head fell back as his Karsa's tongue slid over her clit before he moved down, covering her pussy with his mouth and sucking out her juices, pulling the taste of her to him with a lapping tongue. He felt her hand on his head, pushing down on his head. He moved his attention back to her clit, putting alternating putting suction on the tender nub and flicking it with his tongue. Delia's hand fell away from his head, and she moaned. She was a loud lover, responsive, but sometimes over the top in her vocalizations. Tonight she was more subdued, natural, and he could tell he was pleasuring her. 

Karsa sent two fingers into her pussy as he flicked her clit with his tongue, her pussy juices coating his lips and chin as he worked her toward orgasm, bringing her to the edge before pulling back, moving away from her and reaching for the nightstand.

Delia groaned, pouted like a child. "I told you, I'm on the pill. Why don't you just relax for one night?"

Karsa paid her no mind, pulled a foil package out of the drawer and tore it open with his teeth. His cock was rock hard and aching for release. He slid the lubricated onto the head of his penis and inched it down his shaft.

"Karsa," Delia whined, her legs falling open even more, her hips cocked toward him. She looked wanton and shameless, and the looked worked for her. He slid inside of her, she was slick and slippery, and he sheathed himself in one smooth stroke, until his pubic bone was pressing into hers. He remained still as she squirmed, rubbing herself against him, stimulating her sensitive clit against his pubic bone. "Wouldn't if feel so much better without the barrier. To feel—really feel—how hot and wet I am for you."

Karsa took up his thrusting, lowering himself onto his elbows, he slid in an out of her as her head fell back. Looking down he saw her tits bouncing, almost free of the constraints of the bustier. He lowered his head, kept thrusting, and whispered to her. "Two birth control methods are safer than one, Delia. You know me. You know I'm not going to do anything tonight that could tie me to you for the next eighteen years." He buried a fist in her hair, pulled her head to the side and trailed kisses up her neck. "And you don't want that either, because I wouldn't let it happen."

Delia was watching him, intrigued, attracted by the change in his voice, something that couldn't quite be described as menace. He reached his other hand down, hiked her thigh up until she'd wrapped her leg around him and moved up with him each time he pulled out of her. She was hot, and wet, and he knew it would feel that much better without the latex between them. They had so much sex he'd spent a fortune on condoms, but he couldn't risk it, and the small fortune was saving him a larger fortune in the future. He didn't believe for one minute she was reliable about taking the birth control. She knew what she liked, and she'd spent down most of her divorce settlement.

She shuddered under him, squeaked a little at a particularly deep entry, and it was then that his need took hold. He needed to come, needed release. Needed it now. But he also needed to be done with her.

"I wouldn't let you have it," he said, and she frowned, thinking he was talking about an abortion. She opened her mouth to say something, probably to tell him he couldn't make her get an abortion, but he slammed into her, cutting the words off. "I would take you to court, and my investigator would find things, and my lawyer would take those things," his thrusting got harder, until he was slamming into her, crashing against her. She'd slid a hand down between her legs, spread her pussy open with two fingers so that her clit was exposed and stimulated directly every time he pushed inside of her. He was close to coming but not nearly close enough, coming up against a wall, a nagging feeling not letting him get to that release. "And twist them in court, and say horrible, horrible things about you. So horrible that even if you did get visitation, it would be supervised visitation. And you would be stuck here, in this city you hate because you won't want to leave a baby, but you'll never see it."

He'd been hissing into her ear, and a stray look at her face showed a rage that was only muted by her imminent orgasm. He moved his hand between them, worked her clit until she cried out, shuddered again, and her pussy clenched and convulsed around his cock. Her head fell back and her mouth fell open, reminding him of all those times he'd come between, and sometimes on, those painted red lips. 

"And your mom will be so disappointed. She'll have heard things about you no good Russian mother wants to hear about her daughter, and she won't get to be a proper grandmother, because her rights will be attached to your very limited ones."

Her shuddering came to a stop and she reached her hands down, grasping his hips, sinking her nails in and drawing him into her. He kept thrusting, but was still unable to reach climax. "You're an asshole," he heard her whisper, but she sounded resigned to the fact, not angry. Her nails bit into his skin as she turned her face to his, those vibrant blue eyes focused on him. "You really are a prick."

But she was more bemused than angry, and he smiled down at her, planted a kiss on her mouth. She kissed him back fiercely, and he closed his eyes.

He cupped her face in his hand, ran a thumb over his jaw as he stubbornly refused to open his eyes, until it wasn't Delia beneath him at all. Wasn't Delia with her hands buried in his hair, wasn't Delia's lips soft against his, wasn't Delia's pussy clamped around his cock. And finally, he came. His heart pounded in his ears as his cock convulsed, he let out a guttural grunt as his balls tightened and he emptied his load, squirting onto the condom wrapped around his cock. Gasping from the exertion, he eased himself out of Delia's pussy and flopped down on the bed beside her. Delia remained still, he breathing also at a pant. She stared up at the ceiling when she asked, "So whom are you seeing?"

Karsa closed his eyes, threw an arm over his face. "I'm not seeing anyone."

"So why cut our fun short?"

"It was time." He said, letting the words fall flat, hoping she would lose interest.

"Oh, come on, Karsa. You can at least be honest with me. Who are you fucking?"

"I haven't fucked anyone."

"Yet," she corrected.

"Yet," he agreed.

"So who is this woman you've set your sights on?"

"Delia, really, it's none of your business."

"You're dumping me for some piece you haven't even slept with yet."

He could tell he wasn't going to get her out of his house until he relented. He drew in a breath and said, "Nicki Moreau."

There was silence in the bedroom, a full three seconds, before Delia burst out laughing. "The reporter? She loathes you!" 

Karsa shrugged non-commitally, leaving his arm across his face. "Yeah, well..."

She snaked an arm across his torso, resting her head on his shoulder, and giggled. 

"What?" Karsa said gruffly, annoyed.

"You are giving up a sure thing, hot, kinky sex whenever you call, in the hopes that you can get into the pants of someone who wouldn't cross the street to spit on you if you were on fire. I mean, seriously Karsa, you've read the articles. You don't want this woman; you want to prove you can have her. So do it, I give you my blessing. But don't pretend to be the honorable guy and stop having sex with me, because it won't last. So keep your flowers, go for it. And when she rejects you, I'll be here. You know I've always treated you right."

Karsa sat up, annoyed. Annoyed because she was right. If not for the charges pending against her, and Liam's urging, Nicki wouldn't cross the street to spit on him, whether he was on fire or not. She'd articulated in detail that he was worse than the "criminals" he defended. He didn't have a chance in hell of getting between those legs. 

Delia dressed quickly, or rather she threw a trench coat over the lingerie she wore. She hadn't bothered to bring clothes. Seemed chagrinned when he walked her out, and they stood at the front door together. She hit a button on her keys and the headlights to her aging Mercedes flashed. Delia brought a hand up to his face, ran it over his jaw. "I really am going to miss our time together."

He caught her hand in his, pressed a kiss into her palm. She shook her head in resignation and walked away. Karsa went inside and started changing alarm and keyless entry codes.

**

The doorbell rang, pulling Nicki out of her slumber, and she turned her head toward the nightstand and the time display on her alarm clock. She had slept the whole afternoon, it was already 10 PM. 

Gingerly, she moved off the bed, her neck and back protesting, still not recovered from her night in jail. God, jail. What complete fuckery. Consciousness brought with it the realization that there was an ache and a wetness between her legs, which brought with her the realization that she'd been dreaming. Of the devil.

Nicki closed her eyes, willing herself to put her lawyer out of her mind, and moved out of her bedroom, drawing her robe closer to her just as the doorbell sounded again. On bare feet she made her way over the cool wood floor to the door, where she looked out the peephole. Matt.

Nicki opened the door, using the wood to shield herself from the cool air outside. "Hi?" she said, her voice rising in the question she hadn't asked.

Matt was holding a six-pack of bottled beer and a bunch of tulips. "Hi." He looked exhausted, stressed, and she remembered then that she hadn't seen him since she'd stormed away from their dinner table, after he told her he couldn't keep seeing her, feared that parents would complain that their children's teacher was linked to someone charged with a violent offense. He had tried to make clear he knew she wasn't guilty of said offense, that it was strictly about reputation, but she'd found it hard to care about his reputation at the time.

Nicki stepped back from the door, made a grand sweeping gesture with her arm. "Come in. I'm going to go put some clothes on. I'll be right out."

Matt nodded and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. She left for the bedroom without waiting for him to explain his arrival, swinging the bedroom door behind her to block his view of her changing. The door lost steam before making it to the frame, stopped just short of latching, and she peaked out through the crack to get another look at him.

He looked like a football player, maybe not a line backer, but still solid. Well over six feet, boyish good looks that somehow had the ability to turn sultry. Hair somewhere between dark blond and brown, a smattering of freckles on his nose, a square jaw and crooked smile. Paired with hazel eyes and fully kissable lips he was hard to resist. At the same time, watching him move around the kitchen, pouring beer into pint glasses, she found her heart didn't pound in her chest the way it use to. And while she still imagined those strong arms wrapped around her, could almost feel the solid wall of chest beneath her cheek when she leaned into him, she could tell something had shifted. Not in him, maybe, but in her. 

Nicki backed away from the door and tried to plan her reaction. She had a lot of time hoping to find him on the other side of her door, and now that it was here she didn't want to give that away, didn't want to fall back on him if he wasn't really there this time. She wandered into her closet and pulled on clingy black yoga pants and a thin white cotton hoodie with three-quarter length sleeves.  I'm not trying too hard. She told herself, over and over, like a mantra, even as she moved into her bathroom and reached for a bottle of peony scented fragrance. When she did, her eyes landed on the purple panties crumpled on the floor, and her body betrayed her. Her heart started pounding and her hands shook. She lost grip on the fragrance bottle and it fell, striking the counter and falling into the sink. The bottle chipped, but didn't break. She replaced it on the counter without putting any on, scooped the offending bra and panties off the floor and dumping them unceremoniously in the covered laundry bin in her room before making her way back out into the living room, where Matt sat on the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, wringing his hands and staring blankly at the wall. Nicki cleared her throat.




L'Affaire C. 13



His head swung toward her and he looked up at her and smiled, and all of a sudden it was back. She sat next to him, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and waited as her stomach did somersaults. 

"I came to tell you I made a mistake." He looked at her, hazel eyes focused and sure. "I shouldn't have let you go. And if you'll—" he stopped, turned his face away for a moment, squeezed his nose between the thumb and fist of his right hand and breathed in through his mouth before letting his arm fall and turning back to her. "If you'll let me," he continued. "I want to come back."

She waited, not wanting to interrupt in case he was going to say something more, and trying to gather thoughts that hadn't bothered to show up in the first place. Finally she nodded, and smiled, and reached her hand out, laying it softly on his arm. She noticed then that her manicure was failing, bronze-colored nail polish chipping from her nails. And then it occurred to her it hadn't chipped off at all, that she's spent last night scraping it off with her teeth for lack of anything better to do, the last vestiges of a childhood nail-biting habit that still clung to life when she was feeling stressed. But then, at least it was polish instead of nails. She raised her eyes from her hand to his face, and realized then he wasn't sure of what her response would be. He looked so earnest, but she could see he was holding his breath, waiting for her to speak. She spoke. "I'm glad you're back."

And then his hands were in her hair, and his lips were on hers, and she was straddling him and pressing herself into him as his tongue explored her mouth and his hands pulled at her hips, pulling her down further onto his lap, until she could feel his arousal under his jeans. Every nerve in her body was alive, and her head fell back as his lips found her neck, nibbled and kissed at her throat. Beers forgotten, he stood, and wrapping her legs around his waist, he carried her into the bedroom where he laid her on the bed, hands grasping the waist of her pants, pulling them down long legs and in the process revealing that she hadn't bothered putting on panties. 

Matt had already noticed she hadn't put on a bra, could see the outline of those perfect brown nipples through the shirt she was stripping out off. Suddenly she was completely naked and he was rushing to get out of his jeans, slowed down by his belt, he finally managed to kick the pants off and pulled off his sweatshirt and T-shirt all at once. He looked down to see Nicki sprawled on the bed, her legs spread, knees bent, perfect tits exposed with nipples firm and begging to be sucked on. He sat on the bed and he felt her hands on him, pulling him back onto the bed. He lay down willingly and marveled at the view of her as she crawled over him. He pinched a nipple while it was still in view, but she was soon straddling his face and he had a mouthful of pussy.

He closed his mouth over her delicious wet cunt and plunged his tongue in, groaning in pleasure when she felt her hot breath on his cock, felt her tongue circle the head of his shaft before she sucked him into her mouth, working the shaft with her fist as she created delicious suction with her mouth. He lost air for a minute when she started grinding against his face, but was able to reposition and give her what she wanted, which was his tongue against her clit, flicking the nub with his tongue, then sucking on it before going back to lapping at her pussy. He repeated this process until, feeling the head of his cock in the back of her throat, he cried out in pleasure, letting his head fall back, feeling the cool air against his now wet chin and mouth, the scent of her invading his nostrils. She bobbed her head on him, sending the sensitive cockhead into her throat over and over until he could feel his balls tightening and he sent his hands down, pushing her face away.

"Your pussy," he hissed, unable to say, or even think, anything else. He'd been a disappointment enough; he didn't want to come before her, too.

Nicki turned around, threw a leg over his body and straddled him. He watched as she positioned herself over him, holding the base of his cock as she lowered herself onto him. He sucked in a breath as he slid inside of her, and groaned when she started moving on top of him, using her thighs to ride him as he stared up at her, admiring the bounce of her breasts as she rode him, her pussy hot and tight around his cock. 

"Uhnn," she grunted, pushing herself down onto him with a vigor he'd never seen her show before, her fine-boned hands splayed out over his torso. Her breasts, round and full, were in sharp contrast to the rest of her, thin and angular. He found his eyes travelling to her hips, where he saw her skin stretched taught across her hip bones, then down further, where he could watch his cock slide inside of her.

"You like that?" she asked, panting. 

Unable to speak, Matt nodded. 

"You feel so good," she groaned, her eyes drifting shut as she quickened her pace, tits bouncing prettily as she impaled herself on him. 

"Touch me," she said, pinching at her nipples. He reached up for a breast, and she grabbed his hand, moved it down to where their bodies met. "I want to come. Touch me."

Matt rubbed her clit with his thumb, exerting significant pressure on the nub and causing her to moan louder. "Yes, oh—unhh—yes—" he looked up at her, trying to make eye contact, but her eyes were closed. He rubbed more vigorously and she came then, crying out as her thrusts stilled and he felt the walls of her pussy clamp down around him. The throb of her orgasm felt delicious on his cock, and he rolled them over and plunged into her as she came again and whimpered. His own orgasm was close, and he slammed into her like a madman until what finally pushed him over the edge was looking down at her, long hair fanned out around her, head back and eyes closed, tongue licking her lips as her breasts jiggled with each thrust.

"Oh, fuck," he said, and pulled out, and watched as he spurted cum all over the vision in front of him. He painted her pussy lips with it, got a few drops on her abdomen, and the rest landed on her breasts. Nicki smiled underneath him, opening her eyes and looking up at him languidly, as if she didn't have a care in the world. 

They cleaned up a bit, and he went to the bathroom to wash off. He came back to the bedroom, wanting to talk more about what a mistake he'd made, how he wanted to make it up to her, the future he saw for them. But when he came back into the room, she was already asleep.



L'Affaire C. 14



She hadn't heard from Liam yesterday, which could mean he was busy, or that he didn't want to keep seeing her, or that he only intended to see her for sex when he was feeling the urge. It could mean anything, really, and so it was useless to try and determine all of the possibilities. She'd had a lovely evening with Ally, and it was friends she should be focusing her energy on, anyway. 

She was meeting her father and stepmother for lunch and it was already getting late, she'd taken a cab home from the bar because she'd had a few too many and had slept until 10:45 this morning, which was pathetic. She was a grown woman; grown women did not drink excessively and sleep until 10:45, waking up with raging headaches: At least... not on weekdays. Luckily, she did not have classes today. She showered, watched the water flow over the mounds of her breasts for awhile before snapping out of it and turning the water off, wrapping herself in a towel and blotting the excess moisture out of her hair with another towel before finally hanging them both up and pulling out her hair dryer.

She combed the tangles out of her thick blond hair. It tangled so easily, because of the bleach treatments. She'd have liked to have long lustrous locks, the kind men love to run their hands through, but she could not for two reasons—the chemicals made her hair on the fragile side, and past a certain length she had dual problems, brittleness and dryness. The other was that her face, while the coveted oval shape, was a touch on the long side, and having hair anywhere past her shoulders gave her face the effect of being even longer than it was. Or maybe gave the effect of her face being as long as it really was.

She moisturized her face, then her body, choosing a lotion scented with bergamot before she started blow-drying, working her wavy hair smooth with an oversized round brush while focusing most over her attention on her breasts, which were, quite frankly, spectacular. Sure, on many occasions she regretted her implant decision, or perhaps regretted what it said about her, but at the same time she had to admit that even after four years they were holding up amazingly. They were not so large that she looked disproportionate, and she finally filled a shirt out nicely. 

Hair dry and mostly smoothed, she moved on to putting on her makeup. She was still naked, not wanting to get powder on her clothes. She layered concealer over eye cream, trying to hide the dark circles that plagued her this morning, then applied bronzer in an effort to mask the paleness in her face, spending extra time on her eye shadow to draw attention away from what she assumed must be a very obvious haggard appearance. 

When she made it to her dad's building, wearing jeans, Uggs and hiding underneath an oversized ivory Irish fisherman's sweater, she met her stepmother, already waiting. She was only a few minutes late, despite having had to wait for a cab to arrive to take her to collect her car at the bar.

"Hi Helen!" Carly smiled, waving excitedly as she approached. Helen turned and, spotting Carly, smiled infectiously; throwing her arms wide for a hug Carly was happy to run into. 

"Oh, my darling, how are you?" Helen asked, pulling away and cupping a cheek in her hand. 

Carly shrugged noncommittally and stepped back, readjusting the strap to her oversized shoulder-bag and sighing. "Things are okayish, I guess."

Helen nodded, "We can talk more at lunch, or later if you want."

"Is dad on his way down?"

"He's finishing up a quick email and will be down after that."

"Carly?"

Carly's heart slammed against her chest and she felt a jolt of something—nerves? excitement?—rush through her body. She turned her head to see Liam and Jack approaching, each of them carrying deli to-go bags and coffees. She could see small streams of steam rising into the crisp air through the holes in the cup lids. She could feel Helen's eyes on her and she waved as casually as she could and said, "Hello Jack. Hi Liam."

"I got stuck with the uptalker once you left," Jack told her.

"I heard, I'm sorry."

"That's okay, I'm getting used to it. I can almost tell whether or not she's really asking a question and when she's making a statement I don't need to answer."

"Jack, Liam, you've met Helen, haven't you?" They agreed they had, and the conversation died off. Jack excused them, and she found Liam looking at her questioningly, as if she should say something else, or ask him to say, before he snapped out of it and said goodbye, following after Jack, who was by that time ten feet away. As Liam left a corner of Helen's mouth curved upwards in a smile. "Well isn't he a tall drink of water?" 

Carly felt herself blush furiously, hoped the extra make up she'd applied in an effort to look like a living and breathing person hid the flush in her cheeks. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes he's very handsome." She forced herself to look at Helen, realized she was still under scrutiny, and tilted her chin up. Helen nodded, and closed the door on the topic.

"Your father asked me via a text message where I bought my new fragrance. I answered back 'Ulta' and the auto-correct on my phone changed it to 'Ukraine'. Now, I find myself wanting to go fragrance shopping in the Ukraine."

Carly giggled, smiling gratefully at her stepmother. Her dad saved them from further efforts to avoid the subject of Carly's reaction to Liam, which by that time she was embarrassed to realize had been clear as day.

**

Liam caught up with Jack, who slowed down to hold the door open for someone walking into the building behind him. Jack was grinning triumphantly as the gentleman rushed through the door, nodding in thanks. Liam's hear sank, fearing that Jack's expression was because he had seen what a bumbling idiot he'd just been and pieced together the puzzle. "What's so funny?" he asked, trying not to sound defensive.

Jack cocked his head back toward the person who'd entered the building before them. He was halfway to the elevator banks. "The passive-aggressive door game," Jack said. "It's my new thing."

"The what's that now?"

"The rules are, you open and hold the door for a man at least ten feet away. If they speed up as a response, and scurry into the door at an accelerated pace, you win. If they have the testicular fortitude to not speed up, and maintain their pace up to and through the doorway, you lose."

Liam laughed, both in relief and true enjoyment for Jack's newest way of interacting with the general public. "So you've turned the perfectly polite practice of holding a door open for someone and turned it into a way to emasculate strangers through a game they don't know they're playing?" He paused, and then nodded at Jack. "Yeah, not all that surprised." Liam took a sip of coffee, winced as the heat of it burned his tongue. "Fun game, though."

"Hell yeah, it is." They entered the elevator with the man in the doorway and as such dropped that conversation. Jack transitioned seamlessly onto an alternate topic. "Dugan wants to throw an engagement party for Ally and I, which I thought was nice but Ally thought was weird. Plus she doesn't want to go because he's planning on inviting the whole firm, and 'isn't it bad enough that she's marrying a lawyer?' I don't know though, Dugan seems really excited about it, and I don't want to disappoint the old man, mostly because the son of a bitch scares the shit out of me." He reached out, pressed the button for their floor. "This morning he came into the office and asked me a question I should have had the answer to, and I blurted out 'I'm engaged' like a fucking mental patient. That was at six this morning and by ten he'd secured the Chinese Room as a venue for the engagement party I never knew I wanted. So what the fuck, man? I have to figure out how to get Ally to go."

"That is weird, right? Bosses don't throw engagement parties, do they? Doesn't the couple plan that?"

"I think parents. I really don't know. But I think it's safe to say no, bosses don't throw engagement parties."

The elevator chime rang, indicating they'd reached their floor, and Liam and Jack crowed out, smiling broadly as the doors closed. "Man, that pansy ran for that door like a little bitch. No balls, not even small, misshapen ones." And with that he walked off in the direction of his office. 

Chuckling, Liam started to make his own way through the lobby when the new receptionist waved him over. "Liam," she said, and it sounded like a coo. The woman had an incredibly sexy voice. "I have something for you."

He steeled himself, moved over to the desk, where he was assaulted by a wave of perfume. Someone had to talk to the woman about fragrance moderation; being too close to her gave him a headache. He wasn't sure anyone else noticed it, though, as everyone seemed pleased with her. The clients were especially pleased, the dirty old men in particular. "What have you got, Jesse?"

"Jasmine."

"Jasmine." He flushed, grimaced in a way he hoped looked apologetic. Yesterday he'd called her Jerri, and Cameron. "Sorry, I'm not normally so bad with names."

She smiled, and it reminded him of Jack's smile downstairs. Triumph. Like she was playing a game he was losing.

She held out a USPS Priority envelope to him. Mail. Mail she should have given his assistant. As if anticipating a remark, she held her arm toward him, leaned forward with the gesture, giving him a view of the swell of breasts underneath her sweater. He darted his eyes away, having developed a newfound fear of sexual harassment accusations in the workplace. Biting her lip, she said, "It looked important."

Liam took the envelope without meeting her gaze, mumbled what could have been 'thanks' and fled the scene. He found he was rushing toward his office with an unnecessary haste, but he didn't care. His head swirled with thoughts of Carly and secret games and the burn on his tongue he expected would severely limit his ability to even taste his lunch.

His assistant was working on the computer when Liam walked by. Without looking up, he said, "Dugan is still expecting that update on Hong Kong. You promised it by two."

"Shut your unhelpful piehole, you pain in the ass. I know what I told him," he grumbled as he rushed by, closing the door behind him. As he entered the heat of his office, which by some violation of science was still warmer than the rest of the firm's suite, he heard the intercom on his phone come to life and the words, "Well you were late last time and I had to pretend you'd eaten bad clams and were stuck in the bathroom with a horrible case of the shits."

"Which is the worst excuse in the history of man, you fucktard." Liam shot back. "I still haven't forgiven you for that."

Liam sat down and sighed, his thoughts straying back to Carly. She'd been in an oversized sweater that hid nearly everything, but the sight of her still made his heart race and blood flood into his cock. She'd looked like a deer in headlights, and he suspected it was because she didn't want Mrs. Dugan finding out about them, and letting Mr. Dugan know. He knew her inclination to keep that from them was in his best interests, but it still hurt. 

He tried to get his mind off of her and concentrate on work, and he struggled for an hour and a half before deciding to punish himself with another cup of coffee. He called Jack, who refused to make the trip, but asked a cup be brought back. Typical.  He pulled his coat on and made his way toward the elevators, but was stopped by the receptionist.

"Where are you going?" she asked, sounding playful, as if he were doing something naughty. He stopped midstride, gave her a skeptical look before, going for polite, he said, "I'm going out for coffee, bringing Jack some back. Would you like me to bring you a cup?"

She shook her head, dark curls dancing with the movement, and it struck him then that she was a beautiful girl. He hadn't noticed it because she had the look of a girl, not the look of a woman. Her skin was either a blemish-free golden brown or any blemishes had been hidden under make-up. Big brown eyes watched him from behind retro glasses, and she smiled. She had killer dimples. "No thanks, Liam."

He nodded, and stood there for a second, feeling awkward. The moment stretched out too long for him to just walk away, and he felt the need to say something. "By Jackie."

"It's Jasmine."

Fuck! "Bye Jasmine." He departed then, feeling like an idiot.

The air outside was crisp and cool and it was just what he needed to clear his thoughts. He moved into the deli, held up two fingers, and the girl behind the counter started pouring two coffees. He rolled his shoulders, trying to release some of the tension.

"I found you."

At first Liam thought the voice wasn't speaking to him, but there was no one standing near him, so he turned around. Jasmine had tied a vibrant red wool coat on and had, apparently, followed him to the coffee shop. 

"I changed my mind, thought I'd try and catch up with you." She turned her attention to the counter. "Can I get a green tea please?" 

He grabbed the coffee order and paid for all three drinks, leaving money in the tip jar, and turned back to Jasmine as she grabbed her tea. "Ready?" he asked, as brightly as he could manage. Jasmine nodded and followed him out of the deli. He nearly knocked over a woman who was passing by on the sidewalk, and he was horrified to find that it was Carly. 

"Oh, shit, are you okay?" 

Carly looked up, realizing only when he spoke that it was him. "Liam, hi." She gave him what he could only describe as a forced smile, her eyes darting to his right. Which is when he remembered Jasmine, who was standing to his right. "Twice in one day."

"We just came down to get some coffee," Jasmine chirped. She was standing much too close to him. 

Carly nodded and started to move off, "Well, we finished with lunch, headed home now." Her eyes darted back to Jasmine, then away again.

He held up both coffees, as if to show her evidence of his innocence. "Grabbing coffee for Jack, too."

"I'm parked down this way," she hooked a thumb in the direction she'd been walking when he'd nearly taken her out. "I better go, I overestimated how warm this sweater would be." He opened his mouth to speak but she had turned her back to him and started walking away, which in all honesty, was what he fully expected her to do. Just not yet. 

"It's cold," Jasmine said, touching his arm lightly. "We should get back."

Liam pushed Jack's coffee into her hand. "I'm sorry, I forgot to tell her something, could you take that to Jack?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Thanks," he said, already moving down the street in the direction Carly had gone. He had to jog a bit to catch up with her, which was a mistake, because he was still holding his coffee cup and the hot liquid sloshed on his fingers, stinging him.

She had reached her car and was about to move off the sidewalk toward the driver's side door when he called her name. She froze, then turned, her face full of confusion. She opened her mouth, as if to ask a question, but closed it again. He answered her anyway.

"That was—not anything. I went out to get coffee, I didn't mean to have coffee with her, we didn't even—"

"Don't," she said, and the word came out soft. He felt a stab in his chest, knowing this wasn't going well for him. "You don't have to explain having coffee with someone else, I mean, we're having—" She stopped, searching for words. "Its not like we were exclusive."

Were. The word killed him. "I didn't mean to have coffee with her, we didn't even, she showed up in line—"

She squeezed his arm. "It's okay. Even if you did mean to have coffee with her it's okay, it's not anything, it's fine."

She pressed a button on the keychain in her hand and he heard her car unlock. Having exhausted all other options, Liam set his coffee on the trunk of her car and pulled her to him, snaking an arm around her waist and tilting her face up with his fingers. She made a small sound of surprise, her mouth falling open. And he kissed her. He kissed her in the middle of downtown, on a street packed with pedestrians and traffic, and he kissed her as if there was a chance he might never have the chance again. 

Carly responded with so quickly and with such passion that if he didn't know any better he'd think she had initiated the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, melting into him. He didn't time the kiss, of course, didn't know for sure how long it lasted. But it lasted long enough they got a "woot!" of appreciation from a passing group of teenagers, who should have been in school, and the driver of a car passing by tapped his horn twice, two short bursts piercing the air.

When he pulled his mouth off of hers he kept holding her, not wanting to let her go until they'd at least settled something. "Can I take you out tonight? We could go to dinner, or..ice skating?"

"Ice skating?" Carly looked baffled. "You ice skate?"

"No," Liam admitted. "That was weird, I don't know why I said that, and it just seemed like something people did on dates."

"You mean white people, right? You think white people's dating lives revolve around trips to ice skating rinks populated by pre-teens needing an excuse to hang out at the mall, don't you?" She was teasing, the laugh on her voice like a song. He laughed too, embarrassed.

"No, I—"

"I'm just teasing. How about we grab dinner, and go from there—as long as we don't go skating."

Liam nodded, squeezing her close, kissing her again, this time without tongue, just a sweet brushing of lips that shouldn't have renewed the fire of his need. "I'll pick you up."

***

Time got away from her, and when she heard a knock and glanced at the watch on her wrist she groaned. She was sitting on the kitchen floor, her fingers stained black from pages of a novel she'd picked up for a dollar at a library used book sale. She'd been gluing the pages of the novel to milk cartons, then gluing windows she'd drawn on cardstock, painting the frames black around yellow, as if they were windows to a home with every light on. She'd drawn a witch in one window, a black cat in another and, after gluing the six different-shaped milk cartons together, she had moved on to cutting out and gluing on the windows and the door she'd crafted. 

Carly looked down at her hands, speckled with paint and ink, and stood, rubbing her hands on her sweatpants. She moved hurriedly to the door, limping slightly because a leg had fallen asleep while she was crouched on the floor. She opened the door, a grimace on her face. She knew what she looked like, in a faded and stained college swim team T-shirt and baggy sweatpants that had been black once upon a time. Liam wore a white half-zip pullover over a white t-shirt and black denim jeans. She was pleasantly surprised to see he was in converse, which gave him a boyish quality she'd never noticed in him before. But then, she'd never seen him without a tie...unless, of course, he had been naked. 

"I'm so sorry, I lost track of time! I'll get changed right away and we can go. Let me just go get cleaned up."

Carly moved toward the kitchen and, curious, Liam followed. She was bent over picking up scissors and glue from the ground, where she's spread out butcher paper and had made a black and white house that looked an awful lot like a Halloween decoration. "You know Halloween was back in October, right?" Liam asked, oddly intrigued. A closer inspection revealed it looked more like a section of brownstones than a single house.

Carly nodded. "I know. But I hit up the after Christmas sales for impossibly cheap Christmas decorations and it reminded me I'd done the same thing at Halloween and stored everything away. I figured I'd get a start on making everything, since my ex 'cleaned' the attic and 'accidentally' got rid of all the holiday decorations because he 'thought they were junk'." She sounded irritated about it. "Prick." Or pissed, more than irritated maybe.




L'Affaire C. 14



She closed the glue and set the scissors aside. "I'll go get ready. Help yourself to anything you see." He smiled wolfishly, and she swatted him playfully. "I meant food or drink."

Liam grabbed her hand, pulled her close, and brushed his lips across hers. She tasted like strawberries. His hands moved around her, and he splayed a hand on her ass, pushing her against the growing bulge in his pants before sliding his hand in the waistband of her sweats and pushing them down. "Let me help you."

She made a small noise of assent and he kneeled down, pushing the bulky material down her legs and revealing, of all things, white cotton panties dotted with reindeer. He assumed these were another sale find and smiled, pressing his mouth against the front of her panties, wetting the thin cotton with his tongue as he licked at her. She whispered something, maybe his name, but it didn't register. He ran his hands up and down her legs, tasted her through the cotton before he slid both hands up her legs, dragging his fingernails along the length of her legs, grabbed hold of her panties when he reached them, then dragged his hands down again, scraping his nails down her firm thighs. She made a squeak and shuddered as his tongue made direct contact and he licked her.

She pushed his head away, muttered, "The bedroom," and pulled on him, urging him up. Liam followed her, his eyes devouring the way her naked ass moved as she walked. She pulled off her T-shirt and a sports bra, leaving them on the floor as they made their way from the kitchen to her bedroom. When they reached their destination she turned to him, and he led her to the bed. He pushed her gently, and she sat on the bed. He kneeled on the ground next to her, pulling her forward so her ass was at the edge of the bed, and pushed her thighs apart. The skin between her legs glistened from her juices, and he licked at them hungrily. She spread her legs further apart, her need winning in the battle over shyness. 

He couldn't get enough of the taste of her, sent his tongue inside her for more, and she fell back on the bed, little mews of contentment escaping her lips, until he went back and worked on her clit, alternating between licking and sucking on the bud until, unable to take anymore, she came. A trickle of juices escaped her as she reached climax and he drank them hungrily.

"We should go," he said, though he hated saying it. He had a raging hard on, and he wanted to fuck her, come in her, not worry about making it last. He wanted to get off. Now. "We have reservations."

Carly sat up, kissed him on the mouth, and tasted herself on his tongue. "Take off your pants and lay down."

He did as he was told, and watched in anticipation as she removed a bottle of lube. Then he saw something else come out of the drawer: something purple that looked like a vibrator but was weirdly in the shape of a "T". When she spread lube over the device he started to worry. "Um, Carly—"

"Ssh," she said, twisting what looked like a small cap on the toy, which brought it to life. She handed the vibrating toy to him and turned away from him, got on her hands and knees. "Put it in me."

His cock jumped, continued to throb. He was starting to worry if he was going to get a release before they went out but, not wanting to disappoint, he slid the vibrator inside of her pussy, watching the way her pussy took it in. "No," Carly said sharply, and he jumped slightly, stricken. She softened her tone, looked back at him reassuringly. "Not there." 

Oh, God.  Liam nodded and slid it out of her pussy, pressed it against her asshole. It wasn't big, and she took it easily, pushing back toward his hand as he watched the device slide inside her asshole. His balls ached. He had been inside that asshole. Had pounded her from behind. He felt a trickle of pre-cum at the tip of his cock. 

Once it was in, Carly straddled him, and he lay back, not sure what he was supposed to do. She grabbed his cock and moved into position, and suddenly he understood. Oh, God. She lowered herself onto him and he was ready to come immediately, he could feel the toy inside her, not only the mass of it, but the vibration as well. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He shuddered and groaned, grabbed handfuls of bed linens so he could do something other that thrown her down on the bed use her pussy, pumping into her, hard and fast. She sensed it, and stilled her movements, waiting for him to regain control before she started riding him in earnest. It was all he could do not to come. 

"Can you feel it?"

"Yes," the word came out strangled. He knew he should be doing something, playing with those beautiful tits.

"You can feel it vibrating?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. 

"Do you like it? It's not too weird?" Her eyes slid closed, and he could see she was turned on as well, close to a second orgasm. "I bought it for you, after—uhn—after we met and, oh, oh, I wanted to surprise you."

Well you surprised me.

"It's—ah," she started riding him harder, and he could feel his balls start to tighten, ready to pump his cum into her. "It's not too kinky?"

"No," he said, watching her tits bounce over him as her tight little cunt slid up and down his cock. "You be as kinky as you need to be. I will go along for any ride."

Carly smiled devilishly, and slid herself off of him, which was just as well as he'd been about to explode. She kissed him and then turned around, grabbing his shaft again and pushed down, this time facing away from him. The tightness in her pussy, paired with vibration and the view of both the vibrator in her ass and his dick sliding into her pussy was almost too much. "Oh, Carly."

"Fuck me with it while I fuck you."

Once again, he was happy to do as he was told. He grabbed hold of the vibrator and pulled it out, surprised at how much he missed the vibrations. He slid it back in slowly as she rode him. "Harder," she said. She definitely had an easier time taking the much smaller vibrator in the back door than she did his cock. He pulled it out again, this time shoving it back. She shook on top of him, her thighs quivering, but she didn't stop impaling herself with his cock so he kept fucking her ass with the toy, admiring they way he felt it sliding in, joining his cock inside of her. He timed his thrusts so that he pushed it in as she came down on him, so that both her holes were filled at once. 

He needed to come so bad but he worked furiously at holding back the tide because it felt so damn good. But when she came, and cried out, and her pussy convulsed and quivered around his dick he couldn't hold back anymore. He came, and felt the tug in his balls, felt cum rush out of his cock and into her, squirting into her pussy. She squirmed her hips, riding out his orgasm, before she raised herself off of him and toppled onto the bed, her hand reaching back and pulling the toy out of her ass before getting up and taking it into the bathroom. 

*

They had missed their reservation and he was pleasantly surprised when she suggested they just get wings down the street. He got redressed, and she put on a pair of black skinny jeans and a blue and white striped shirt, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. He'd never seen a woman get ready to go out so quickly and, as casual as the outfit was, she looked fantastic. 

They walked hand in hand into a wing joint. He didn't notice the other couple in the reception area at first but then the female said, "Carly!"

Carly's smile was just as big, and he figured them for old friends, watched them hug briefly. Then he saw the smile die on Carly's face, and his gaze followed hers, where his eyes met Jack's. 

Jack stood, holding a woman's coat. He had one eyebrow raised and was grinning like the cheshire cat. 

Liam's stomach dropped.





Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to vote and/or write a review. It's encouraging to know people are out there reading.



L'Affaire C. 15



She felt the hands on her first, dragging her up. She knew it wasn't Matt, he had left after they'd made love, not willing to risk being seen leaving her house in the morning while things were still unsettled. He had woken her up to explain this. She'd have rather he let her sleep. It was a blessing, it turned out, because she put on pajamas when he left before crawling back into bed. 

She noticed the coughing next, noticed it was her coughing, smelled the smoke that burned her nose. Tears spilled from her eyes as they tried to clear themselves. She was in someone's arms, mostly. He had an arm at her waist but was for the most part dragging her. They were running and she was coughing and she thought she might throw up.

When he got her outside her door he stopped running, slowed to a fast walk as they made their way in the cool night air down the steps leading up to the condos. Her neighbors were streaming out of their own homes and it was only then she realized the fire alarm was blaring, that it was a fire. Her lungs screamed with each breath. She looked at the man holding her. It wasn't a neighbor. She'd never seen him before. He was big, tall and burly and surly looking, with long dishwater blond hair that needed a good cut. "Who are you?" she barely got the words out around her coughs. He either ignored her or didn't realize the noises she was making were intended as speech. He wasn't a firefighter, wasn't dressed like one, and in fact there wasn't a fire truck in sight. She looked back at her home, at smoke billowing out. There were no flames visible from where they stood.

When they made it down the stairs she tried again, "Who are you?" She knew he heard her because he looked right at her. Her eyes and throat still burned but the coughing was getting better. They were walking toward a black SUV with tinted windows. She wasn't wearing shoes, and the ground was wet, she realized then it was raining. Nothing dramatic, more of a drizzle, but enough dampen her shirt, a thin white cotton that wasn't exactly opaque when dry. She tried not to think about her nipples as he opened the door and pushed her into the vehicle, closing the door behind her. He got in the driver's side and turned the car on, reaching forward to adjust the heat settings before her pulling out a phone and dialing a number. She couldn't see the screen, didn't know who he was calling but knew it wasn't 911. It occurred to her then she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't being kidnapped. The car's display told her it was 3 am. 

"I'm Nicki," she said. He shushed her, then started talking rapidly into the phone in another language. What though? It wasn't Russian, she would have recognized Russian. 

"Ott volt a tűz." Deciding that if she was being kidnapped he would have locked the doors, she relaxed back into the seat as he gestured at a bottle of water in the console cupholder. It was half gone, he'd clearly been drinking it. She didn't want any at the same time that she wanted it desperately. He didn't have any visible mouth sores so she reached for it, took a sip. "En-hoz megragad a lány." 

She was trying to cough quietly. Her other sense's were returning. The car wasn't exactly warm, and goose bumps dotted her flesh. "Biztonságban van. Jól van." He sounded defensive, now. "Nincs. Gyújtogatás." She could hear sirens in the distance. "Rendben." He hung up abruptly after that and turned to her. "He is coming," he said, in heavily accented English. "You won't talk to the police, he will do it." The accent she knew. She'd heard it so recently-- a weaker version, on a more practiced English speaker. She new without a doubt then that it was Hungarian she had heard. By extension, she knew who he had been speaking to, knew who was coming.

Karsa

Nicki watched the first fire truck arrive, and an unmarked police car. She hoped no one was injured. She was lucky. She could have been seriously injured if she'd not been dragged out by her rescuer. It occurred to her, at the same time it occurred to her that her dog was in the apartment, that she wasn't lucky at all. She was being watched, Karsa was having her watched. 

"Piper," she whispered before reaching for the door handle and pushing her way out, nearly falling to the ground in her haste. Why hadn't she barked? She wasn't dressed for heroics, in pajamas made up only of a thin cotton t-shirt and shorts. It didn't matter. It registered the gentleman hired to keep tabs on her exited the car shortly after she did, running behind her yelling something. He wasn't the one who stopped her, though. She was caught by a familiar face from the police department. "Donovan, let me go. My dog is in there!"

Donovan held her. "We have a dog in the unit," he yelled at gathering fireman. "Is there anyone else in your home?"

Nicki shook her head. She looked around, found her next door neighbor, Mr. Gibbens, was standing outside with a cluster of other neighbors who had evacuated after the alarm. 

"Okay, come on over to my car and we'll—"

"No questions. Ms. Moreau has an attorney, you will speak to him."

"Oh? Is he here?" Donovan asked.

"You will wait," the big man grabbed her arm, pulled her away from Donovan. "He will be coming. She will be in my car." He looked at Nicki. "Go to my truck."

"My dog—"

"You will not be the one to save your dog." He did not suggest who would be the one. 

Nicki wasn't sure why she walked back to the SUV. She wasn't afraid of him, but she didn't trust him. It could be that her intestines were in knots and standing was too much. Talking to Donovan was certainly too much. They couldn't honestly think she'd tried to set herself on fire. But she didn't get in. She stood watching as a fully suited, masked fireman entered her condo. Flames still weren't visible. Someone produced a blanket. Her dog came out, limp in the arms of the fireman.

"Piper!" she cried, running past both men who seemed to be intent on arguing anyway. The blanket fell off as she ran. Piper was placed on the ground and her snout held closed while another fireman blew into her nose. She couldn't have said how long she stood there. Long enough that the hose was put in place and water started flooding into her apartment. Long enough that Piper twitched, then sneezed.

A voice sounded behind her. "I'll help you get her to the Emergency Vet. Go get in the car." Her heart jumped, and the relief that had flooded her body only seconds before turned to tingles and heat. Karsa. How she could feel heat when every part of her was cold was beyond her comprehension. The heat was centered between her legs so it shouldn't have been too difficult to understand it's source. Karsa put a hand on her lower back and led her toward a black coupe, whispering, "I'll get her," as he helped her into the passenger seat. Their faces were inches apart for a brief moment that tightened her nipples and made her thankful that someone had replaced the blanket around her, hiding her body's betrayal. He left before anything even more embarrassing could happen and came down after what felt like an eternity, a dog-sized blanket in his arms, Piper's head resting on his shoulder.

She was silent on the drive to the Emergency Vet clinic. He told her he would have to speak to fire investigators eventually. He told her that her condo was uninhabitable. He told her that Piper would be okay. When he told her this he put a hand on her knee. Skin on skin. He was shockingly warm. His hand lingered, moved slightly when he turned a corner, his hand sinking to the inside of her thigh, just above the knee. Her heart was thundering. He looked unfazed. His hand was gone before she knew it, but the heat of it seemed to remain, travel upwards, greet the heat that lingered in her.

"Wait here. She'll need to stay the night. You can't come in."

"She's my dog." 

"Wait here. You'll come to my house. There's a security guard and a gate, I have a security system." 

"What? No!" And what did him living in a gated community have to do with anything?

"Well, where do you intend to go?" 

"I can sleep at my brother's house. He's been staying with his girlfriend."

"You aren't staying alone."

"Then I'll stay with Matt."

"Who?"

"The teacher."

Karsa lifted an eyebrow, a silent question. More a challenge than a question. She met his eyes, worked on trying not to think about what they saw. "We're back on. He apologized." 

He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, yanked open the door. Did he think she was beautiful? Did he imagine the curves of her body under her clothes? He certainly didn't seem to appreciate her body, so probably not. Probably he thought she was a hot mess and he was regretting getting involved. "He said he was sorry."

"It is a little early in the relationship for sorries, isn't it?" She met his eyes but was silent, her heart thudding in her chest as her girlish mind thought up a variety of reasons that this was even a topic of conversation between them. The girl in her had many explanations: he was jealous, he wanted her, ect. "Fine. Use my phone to call him." He lifted the dog out of her arms and went into the building.

She picked up the phone and went to dial. But she didn't know his number. It was in her own cell phone. Who memorized numbers anymore? Nicki groaned. The probability of him wanting the girl he'd gone out on a couple of dates with staying at his place, playing house. It was a terrible idea, anyway. Especially when he wasn't especially enthused about being seen with the girl in public, on account as her reputation of being a crazy person. A violent crazy person. 

Nicki leaned her head back in the seat. She noticed then how luxurious the car was. His phone was still in her hand. Of all the times for her curiosity to kick in, it had to be now, this moment, this man. She tapped the phone, bringing the screen back to life, and thumbed through the screens until she saw it. A social networking app. It made her smile, to imagine him posting statuses and sharing pictures. It was hard to imagine. She activated the app and, seeing an icon, went to the messages section. And there they were. Women. So many messages from so many women, most of them unread. She left them unread, just checked out the first words of each, which appeared in preview. 

Sara: I ran into Kal and it reminded me of...

Kelly: WTF? 

Delia: She won't be enough for you, you'll...

Kendall: Free tonight? I would love to see...

Nicki stopped looking, didn't want to see any more. It was enough, wasn't it? Should have been enough to shut down her body's reaction to him. To the way the smell of him lingered. To the way the stubble covered his face. To the rumpled look of his shirt. To the way his hair stood up on one side, betraying that he slept. That this man slept. Tonight, he probably slept in that shirt. It was terrible, having to imagine this man sleeping. The thought of it made her wet, put her whole body on alert. Was he alone tonight when he got the call? Was he with the woman who would not be enough for him? She still hadn't asked him why. Why she was being followed? Why he did he get up in the middle of the night to come to her? What was happening to her life? Why can't she look at him without...Nicki sighed. Matt. She should imagine where Matt is, the way Matt looks when he sleeps. That man. The right man. 

Nicki turned her attention to the texts next. 

Delia: Just come over. My place this time. You can sit back and relax while I

Relax while she what? Blows him, no doubt. It was the next name, though, that startled her. 

Peter Janis: I appreciate everything, but the answer is no. Things aren't perfect but they're fine. I can't do that to her.

Oh, God. Out of the corner of her eye Nicki saw the light let out by the door being opened and she quickly exited out of the text section and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. He was still in contact with Janis. Of course he was, the trial, the acquittal, was so recent. What had Karsa offered, or suggested? Was Janis in more legal trouble? Or had he raped someone else, but hadn't been caught? 

The door opened and Karsa climbed into the car, immediately having to lift himself up to pull the phone out from under him. He set it in the cup-holder and turned to her, laser focus, all on her. She stared back at him, she hoped confidently. His eyes gave nothing away. 

"Well? Where are we going?" he asked, resigned, as if he were dealing with a petulant child. 

She stiffened. She couldn't remember having done anything with any particular petulance within the last hour. "I don't have his phone number. I couldn't call, I can't stay there."

"So where are we going?" 

He wanted her to say it, she realized. She wouldn't. "Look, you can take me to a motel or something, I can—"

"Arson." 

"What?" Nicki asked, confused. They were charging her with arson? What kind of nightmare world was she living in? 

"Your balcony door had been pried open. They suspect an accelerant was used. They suspect someone is trying to kill you, or scare you. It could be the same people who stabbed your ex-boyfriend and left you to take the blame. Someone is angry with you so, no, Nicki, you cannot go to a hotel. You cannot go to a motel. You cannot be alone. So where are we going?"

Nicki bit her lip, looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Silver nail polish, fresh but already chipping. She smelled like smoke. She needed a shower. She was a mess. She looked up to find he was still watching her, his face impassive, but his eyes had softened. His jawline was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. It was hard not to reach out, brush her fingers against him, starting at his jaw but moving back, into his hair, burying her fingers into his hair and pulling him—Jesus. What was she doing? As her knew friend Kelly would say, WTF? Steeling herself, she said, "We're going to your place."

To his credit, he showed no reaction, just put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.

Nicki wasn't sure what would happen. Her mind went through all the scenarios? Would he sleep on the couch? Would she? Was this a ruse to get her into bed? Would she go along? She thought about her fantasy in the shower, how it was him that came to mind. That it was his hands she was imagining on her when she came. She had always heard that if you want to know where your hear is, that you should look to where your mind goes when it wanders. But she couldn't, she wanted a relationship, not just fucking, no matter how just thinking about Karsa in this way again made her tingle, and she concentrated in order to hold onto a shudder. She didn't want to reveal herself, didn't want this man to know that if he touched her again she might melt. Didn't want him to realize that if he'd left his hand on her knee for even a second more she would have let her legs relax, fall open. She had wanted to, wanted to give him an easy path, wanted his hand to roam up the inside of her thigh to her sex, wanted his fingers to brush against her panties before pushing them aside. God, she hated him.

"Why are you having my place watched? Is that guy following me around?" She worked on keeping her tone from being accusatory. Her pussy was so wet, and she felt like a furnace was turned on inside of her. She wanted him, but not in a real way. She couldn't actually want someone like him, not for more than a night. And if she did want him it was only to get him out of her system. It was the magnetism of him. How many girls had he been with for "just one night"? How many girls promised themselves they only wanted a good fucking, would be fine when he was gone in the morning and didn't call, didn't text, didn't even bother to read their messages.

Karsa looked grim, his eyes on the road, the only reaction were his fists clenching on the wheel. He said, "He was watching. He was also investigating." 

She didn't want to hear any more about that. 

"Who would do this?"

He didn't even look her way when he said, "I don't know Ms. Crime Reporter. I can't imagine how you could alienate anyone."

* Karsa was not, it turned out, trying to get her into bed. And no one was sleeping on the couch--there was another bedroom. He led her to a bedroom big enough to be the master, decorated garishly, with pale lavender walls. The walls, at least, were calming. It was a woman's room, with it's own bathroom and a huge walk in closet, which Karsa opened, instructing her to look for something to sleep in and something to wear to the mall for shopping tomorrow. He explained then his wife had been short, so nothing would fit right, but at least she could be covered.

"The mall?" 

"Yes. I can drop you off to pick up your car in the morning." 

"I don't have a car." She felt silly telling him this, as if she should be embarrassed about it. As if this was proof she was not a responsible adult. But she was. She lived in a city with a great transit system. She took the bus and used a car share service. She rode her bike. It was all very responsible and, if not normal, then at least acceptable. 

But it was yet another reason for him to look pained. "Then you can take the truck in the garage. I'll give you my credit card in the morning. You can buy things than don't make you look like a prostitute, a couple outfits to get you through until you can collect things from your apartment. We will meet with investigators after lunch." 

He was telling her how to dress, again. Suggesting she dressed like someone who exchanged sex for money. She was grateful for the excuse to be annoyed with him. Nicki didn't respond, just threw him a dirty look and turned her back on him, walking into the closet. He left her then, she heard the door to the bedroom close behind him. She smelled like smoke, wanted to get changed. She dug through drawers, first in the closet, then through the dressers in the room. She found only negligee. She would not put on a dead woman's negligee while her husband roamed the house.

Nicki, still in her white cotton shorts and tank top, left the bedroom and walked down the hall. There was an open door, with light shining through into the dark hallway. The floors in the hall were hardwood, likely maple, stained dark. The floor was cool underneath her feet. Nicki knocked softly on the door, pushed it open further without thinking. Because if he was in a state that demanded privacy he would have shut the door, and because he had so obviously fallen asleep in his suit before, she assumed he would still be dressed now. And he was. Sort of.

"Oh." Nicki was struck dumb. He was wearing flannel pajama pants that hung low on his hips. She could see the outline of his pelvis peeking above the waistband, see his taut stomach because, God help her, he wasn't wearing a shirt. There were washboard abs sliding into slim hips. There was hair on his chest she was suddenly desperate to feel. She wasn't expecting to see washboard abs and chest hair.

He let her stand there for a few seconds, her mouth hanging open stupidly, struck dumb, before he asked, "What do you need, Nicki?" Is was an abrupt question, delivered softly. He was watching her, she saw his gaze travel toward her chest before bouncing back up to her face. She realized then that her nipples were hard, could feel the cotton brush against them. A coil of heat reasserted itself between her legs.

"There are no pajamas. There is only..." She didn't want to say it. "Lingerie."

A smile played at his lips, one corner of his mouth quirking up. She wanted to lick him, then, run her tongue across those lips, taste that sexy smile. "I looked for T-shirts, sweat pants, anything, but—"

He waved his hand, dismissing the rest of her statement. "No, she had packed the casual things, was taking them with her." So she wasn't dead? Nicki was so confused. Why would someone leave an entire closet of clothes and shoes? He walked toward his dresser and pulled out a light cotton button-up pajama shirt and matching pants in a pale blue, brought them to her. She took them gratefully and held them up against her chest, a barrier between him and her wayward nipples. 




L'Affaire C. 15



"Thank you," she said, then stopped, working to look at his face and not his chest. If she just reached out she could touch him, press her hand against his skin, sneak it down into the waistband of his pants. Would he stop her? If she dropped to her knees right now, would he say no? She remembered an article about a study that found sexual arousal overrides disgust in women, that it is arousal that allows a woman to do what she might ordinarily find unsavory. Surely this was what was happening. Because he disgusted her. Usually. Usually, he disgusted her. 

"Goodnight," he said.

Oh, right. She got what she came for, but was still standing there like an idiot despite the fact that she was in his bedroom and he was shirtless. Nicki nodded and fled the room quickly, hustling back to the safety of the purple room. She closed the door and leaned against it, her cheeks red from embarrassment. He had to know how her body was reacting to him. It had to be clear. Nicki left the blue pajamas on the bed and moved into the bathroom, leaving her pajamas and underwear in a pile on the floor before stepping into the shower. She made the water as hot as she could stand it, let it beat down on her, stinging her sensitive nipples. The showerhead was detachable. If she could come maybe this humiliation could end. She could hold the head between her legs until her clit throbbed in sweet release of her tensions. But she couldn't. Couldn't masturbate in Karsa Kovac's home. Instead she finished up as quickly as she could and made her way back to the bedroom, turning on a lamp and turning down the overhead lights.

She didn't want to wear anyone else's bra or panties so she went without, went without the pants, too, and just slipped into the pale blue cotton shirt, working a few buttons into the holes before climbing underneath the covers. The sheets smelled like fabric softener, they had been recently washed, which was weird. She lay there, remembering details of the room where Karsa slept. It was nearly about the same size as the room she was in, complete with a bathroom and a walk-in closet. It occurred to her then that they were double master suites, that he and his wife had kept separate bedrooms. It seemed alien to her, how anyone would choose to sleep alone with that man just down the hall. But maybe his wife had hated him, too. 

Her body was still worked into a frenzy, and she was too wired to sleep, but it was already nearly five and she wanted to get some sleep before she had to wake up. There was only one way to get it, too. Or so she told herself, as she pushed back the covers, unbuttoned the pajama top, and slid her hands down her body. The air was cold against her hot skin, her nipples were tight little buds in her palms as she squeezed and kneaded her tits, letting her legs fall open in anticipation. The cool air was a shock to her wet pussy.

Nicki slid a hand down her stomach, between her legs, until she reached her hot center. She was so wet. Had she ever been this wet? What she really wanted was to be fucked, or at the very least deliver a good fucking herself with one of her vibrators, but that wasn't an option. Tonight, she had only her hands. She slid a finger inside her pussy, thrusting her hips up at the same time, getting her fingers slick with her juices. Biting her lip she started manipulating her clit, rubbing in circles over the nub, already so aroused. While she played with her clit with one hand she pinched and twisted a nipple with the other, looking down at her body and letting her legs fall all the way open. She knew she must look like a wanton slut but it was just her here, slutting it up. Sure she was in a man's house and sure he was next door, but it was innocent enough, and she needed to sleep.

Release did not come quickly. She rubbed and pinched and rolled furiously. She would get close, pressure building until she thought it was inevitable, and then lose it. Finally, as if it were inevitable, she closed her eyes, worked on conjuring up an image of Matt. But it was only Karsa that came to mind. Nicki opened her eyes to the room and saw him, then, Karsa watching the picture she made with that smug look on his face, the door to the bedroom, which had been unlocked, now wide open. When he took off his pants, revealing his erection, and climbed onto the bed with her she felt her orgasm start to build again. He looked incredible, as he positioned himself between her legs, his eyes dark as he kneeled before her and started stroking that glorious cock. Her whole body was on fire, every nerve alive.

"What do you want, Nicki?" he asked, his voice a lover's voice. She was so close. He was watching her squeeze her breast and move her fingers in furious circles over her clit as she tried to push herself over the edge. But she knew exactly what she wanted. It was stored inside his balls, and it was going to spill out of that cock. He looked to be close, too, excited by watching her he was jerking himself off with some enthusiasm. The sight of it made her crazy with lust.

"I want you to come on me," she whispered. "I want your cum on me." 

"You little slut." He cooed. "Are you a little cumslut, Nicki?"

"Yes," she whispered, trying not to lose focus on the release that was so close. "I'm a little cumslut."

"And do you wear those short skirts so that every man you walk by knows how easy it would be to push up those skirts and deposit a load into that tight, hot pussy? Are you a little cocktease, Nicki?" His voice was still gentle.

"Yes. Yes, I'm a cocktease."

"But you're dying for cock now, aren't you, Nicki?" He was stroking harder, faster, his expression grim.

"Ungh," Nicki's head fell back against the pillow. "Yes."

"Because all you want right now is to be sprayed down with cum."

"Yes."

He obliged, a torrent of semen erupted from his stiff cock, and the hand between her legs where she worked the nub. The thick rope of cum was quick to mix with her own wetness to be massaged into her clit. The slickness and the heat of it had her aching, and she started rocking her hips as he continued coming, streaming cum onto her tits before he gripped his cock, stopping the flow, and moved up the bed until he was next to her. 

Towering above her he watched as she spread his semen across both breasts with one hand and shoved her fingers of the other, coated in his cum, into her pussy. She slid her hand back out and stroking her clit before sending the fingers plunging inside of her again until finally, blissfully, she came, her mouth falling open as her whole body shook in pleasure. 

Karsa relaxed his grib and resumed stroking and immediately think sput of cum burst forth, hitting her in the face. Nicki turned her head instinctively toward him, still riding out her orgasm, her mouth still open as she panted and he filled her mouth with his jizz. It was hot and salty on her tongue and she could feel it on her face, dripping down into the dark brown waves of her hair, as the tremors subsided and her body relaxed into the bed., her eyes drifting closed. She was sated. And she was covered in his cum.

And when Nicki opened her eyes she was alone. Her clit throbbed with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her pussy coated in her own wetness. Save for her fingers and pussy, Nicki was clean and dry.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed, furiously buttoning the shirt closed again before getting up to wipe some of the excess juices from between her legs and washing her hands. She should be fantasizing about Matt. It should be thoughts of Matt making her come. She should be with Matt now.

Nicki climbed back into the bed, alone, no witnesses to her act. Unless, of course, there was someone watching the feed from the camera in the room.



L'Affaire C. 16



As much as Liam liked Jack he was ready for this dinner to be over. He had wanted to get a quick bite to eat with Carly and then go back to her apartment and be alone again. Certainly being alone with her was all he could think about now, as she made her way back to the table from the bathroom. It seemed like every male eye in the room was on her, watching lean legs negotiate through the restaurant in her skinny jeans, watching the curve of her ass and the curve of her chest. Could he blame anyone? It was impossible to miss the way the fabric of her thin striped cotton t-shirt stretched across ample breasts. She was stunning. He wanted to punch everyone in the face. It didn't help having to sit through dinner pretending he didn't want to touch her, or kiss her neck right under her ear, or draw her hand into his lap and—he forced the thought from his head. Why was he torturing himself?

"We should get going," Jack said, finally rising as Carly made it back to the table. About fucking time. Ally, who had looked half-asleep for the last five minutes, hopped to attention and made a mad dash to grab her coat, anxious to leave. Liam had to remind himself throughout dinner not to talk too much shop, knowing Jack's new fiancée was not a fan of lawyers or lawyering despite the looks of pure devotion she bestowed on Jack.

"We should head out, too," Carly said, though Liam would have rather waited until Jack and Ally left, to minimize the chance they would get stuck in small talk outside the door. He needn't have worried. Ally, God bless her, was twenty feet down the sidewalk headed in the opposite direction of Carly's apartment while Jack rushed through his goodbyes while simultaneously running backwards and looking chagrinned. 

"I was not ready for that," Carly said, sounding forlorn. "Is that okay, do you think? You don't think he'll tell anyone?"

Liam shrugged into his coat, eyeing her quizzically, "You mean like your dad?" It maybe wasn't the fairest question in the world. He no more wanted the firm's managing partner to know about his relationship with Carly than she did.

"You don't think he'll tell him?" Carly looked worried, and luckily was too worried to pick up on any negative implications of his question. He didn't want to start an argument. Sometimes he couldn't help but feel like she was keeping her black boyfriend a secret from daddy, as unfair as that perception may have been, and sometimes is just seemed like her secrecy had nothing to do with him, had more to do, instead, with her getting involved with someone so close to the time that her ex filed for divorce. Carly was the wronged party, had been cheated on, but would people think they maybe she wasn't as wronged as they thought? That she might have had her own affairs? That he himself might have played a part in breaking up her marriage? Is that what his boss would think?

He fell into step beside her, lost in thought, and allowed her to pull him down an alley that was clearly a detour from their path. They were halfway down the alley when the smell of garbage from a nearby dumpster drew him back to the present. "Where are we going?"

Carly smiled back at him from over her shoulder, holding a finger to her lips and making a shushing sound. She found them a spot between two dumpsters and pushed Liam against the wall. They were shielded from sight but it was only when she pressed herself against him and started unbuttoning his pants that he realized why.

"Carly, we can't do this here," he looked around excitedly, but though he saw some pedestrians walking along the main road they had no one's attention. While not pitch black, the alley was not well lit.

His cock was out of his pants and in her hand and Liam shuddered, letting his head fall back against the brick building, trying to gather the presence of mind required to stop her. "Carly," he whispered.

"I'm not Carly," she said, kissing him, though not tenderly. She held his bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before releasing it. "I'm just a whore sucking your cock in an alley." She stroked his dick with her hand. Suddenly he was impossibly hard. As a black man he was not particularly interested in getting caught with his dick out in public- lawyer or not he wasn't the type of guy most cops let off with a warning. But, dammit, this was hot.

"Then why aren't you sucking it?"

Carly licked her lips, kept working him with her hand. "You haven't paid me yet," she said, licking his neck. The only thing he needed in the world right now was her mouth on his cock, so he started fumbling in his coat for his wallet. She smiled as she stroked him, teasing. Liam pulled out a bill and shoved it into her free hand.

"$20? That'll only get you a couple minutes, mister. And you can't finish in my mouth for no $20, okay?"

"How much?" he almost choked on the words. At this point he might only need a few minutes, and the fears of arrest and charges of public indecency were fading fast as hard as he was trying to remember the risk.

"What do you want?" she kissed him, nibbled him.

"I want to come in your mouth." He couldn't believe how hot this was getting him. 

"Spit or swallow?" Fuck!

"Swallow it."

Carly smiled, let go of his cock and held out her hand. "Another forty."

He handed it over, hoping no one in any of the buildings around them were watching, or recording, or calling the police. Carly sank to her knees and took him into her mouth.

"Oh God," he moaned, watching her cheeks sink in as she sucked on him. He put a hand on her head, buried it in her hair, but she brushed it off, pausing long enough to glance up at him reproachfully.

"No rough stuff," she said. "Not for what you're paying."

He bit back a smile in an effort to remain in character. He wondered if she was as turned on as he was. He wondered how long he could hold on before exploding. She pulled her face back from his crotch and he looked down at her, trying to see her expression, but it was too dark to see the look on her face, to read her expression. He stopped trying and focused instead on the sensations she was creating. She wrapped her small hand around the base of his cock and stroked him a few times, the motions smooth, his shaft slick from her saliva. She looked up at him as she slid her mouth over the first four inches, then slowly, slowly, inching down. She went down slow, and when he felt her throat tight on the tip of his cock he thought she'd pull back and tease him more. But she didn't. Like a woman on a mission, she just kept going, her throat getting tighter, and Liam's cock jumped involuntary at the sudden sexy constriction, though it was clamped by her lips and mouth and throat and didn't move. 

Slowly, tentatively, he started thrusting his hips, half expecting her to pull back and chastise him. But she didn't. Instead she took it, and she moaned- the vibration in her throat that accompanied the sound nearly made him lose it. He shifted his feet, widening his stance, and kept thrusting, and there was a word for it. Fucking. He fucked her face as she kneeled on the dirty concrete in front of him, massaging his balls with both thumbs as they tightened. He wondered how wet she was, imagined how damp her panties were, imagined the smell of her sex. He had a thousand feelings on the tip of his tongue, and he suddenly wanted to divulge all of them, to let her know how much he thought about her, how much he wanted her, how hard he was falling for her, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn't want to interrupt their role-play with romance; she clearly was not after romance at the moment. And he was so close he was losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, anyway.

"I don't want to finish so quick," he hissed as her effort intensified, sliding back off of him, applying delicious suction, sliding back onto him again. She didn't back off, kept up stroking the base as she worked him. He could feel his orgasm building, worked to hold it at bay as he felt his balls tighten and twitch. Was he imagining that? It was hard to tell, but he was sure he felt a pressure building, throbbing, pushing. Liam tried to think about something—anything—else, but couldn't. Too soon the thrust of his hips became involuntary and suddenly it was upon him and his cum burst out in thick, ropey, satisfying spurts.

Carly rocked back onto her heels, and he watched as she swallowed then wiped her mouth with her sleeve, smiling slyly at him as she stood up from her squat in one effortless motion. She made a circle in the air with her index finger, pointing in the general direction of his aching genitals, and said, "You should put that away."

Liam pulled up his boxers and pants, wondering whether they had picked up any life-threatening bacteria from the truly filthy alley, when he realized she was on the move. He jogged to catch up with her, reached for her elbow and gave it a squeeze as he fell in step beside her. She looked pensive, if not exactly upset.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She gave him a smile that told him she was still in character, "Your time is up. I'm headed home for the night." 

"Want some company?"

"No. You know, you're being very clingy," she said this teasingly, "most men don't pay a prostitute for sex, they pay them to leave when sex is over."

Liam could see he wouldn't be spending the night in her bed. "Okay," he said, "but at least let me walk you home."

Carly nodded and they walked side-by-side back to her apartment building, into the elevator in the lobby, and down the hallway to her apartment all in complete silence. She was thinking, he could practically see the wheels turning in her head, but she did not look inclined to share her thoughts with him. Their relationship was so new that he wasn't sure how far he could push to find out what she was thinking, and he worried that her thoughts were on him, and that they weren't positive. 

He felt exposed, standing at her door in silence with his hands in his pockets as she unlocked her deadbolt and pushed the door open. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what, if anything, would help, what might ease the tension in the situation, what might lift the weight pressing down on his chest. He had intended to follow her inside the apartment, make a joke of it while making it clear that role-play was over and he was ready for bed now, but, because of his distraction Carly was on the other side of the door, smiling slyly as she started to close it. 

"Goodnight," she said, her voice low and sexy, but he feared this moment was less about the role-play and more about something coming between them. Was this because they'd run into Jack? Or had it been building before then? Liam couldn't quite pin down where the night started to feel wrong. They had started their flirtation with fire, sarcasm and innuendo, but she hadn't insulted him in some time. 

He opened his mouth to say something, her name maybe?, but the door closed with a gentle click. He heard the deadbolt slide again, and he listened but he didn't hear footsteps. Neither of them moved. He would have bet money she was standing on the other side of the door, still and silent. Was she waiting for him? Would she open the door any second now, smiling and laughing, role-play over and his girlfriend back? The word was like a glass of cold water in his mind. Girlfriend? Is that what she was? Or was she a lover? A friend with benefits? Was he a dalliance for her? 

Liam stepped closer to the door, rested his forehead on it, and sighed. His hand came up to knock, but instead he just pressed his palm against the door like it was prison glass between them. 

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

It wasn't the first time Nicki had been in Matt's house, but it was all still so new that she felt awkward, like she might inadvertently break something just by being somewhere she shouldn't have been. She couldn't point out what was making her so uncomfortable, besides the whole hellish day. Karsa had sent his goon to follow her around the mall, she'd had to drive that ridiculous truck and make a fifteen point turn just to get out of the parking garage, she hadn't felt comfortable buying the clothes she liked and ended up hate-shopping and she hadn't even been able to pick up a vibrator because of her audience so unless Matt was in the mood she was going to have another terrible night after Matt dropped her back off at Karsa's house. She didn't get the feeling Matt was in the mood. 

He had picked her up at Kovac's house, she was not a practiced driver and didn't want to drive at night, and taken her back to his house where they were going to order take-out and watch a movie. She watched Matt pawing through take-out menus with a sinking feeling. Sure enough, he said, "I can't find anything appetizing. Why don't we just go out to eat?" Her chances of getting any tonight dipped below 50%.

Nicki forced a smile, "Sure. I'm starving." She wasn't hungry at all.

They went to a bar that served beer and fresh baked pretzels. She drank too much beer and ate too little pretzel. Matt ate enough for three people. Slowly, her fear and her bad mood drained. It was hard not to connect the good feelings to the drink, and she drank more than Matt. 

It was a bar near his house, and she found she was glad when they were joined by people he knew, one of them another teacher at the high school. They sat at the booth, Matt's arm casually draped across her shoulders, and laughed with her new friends and she smiled so much that her cheeks started to hurt. She found herself stealing glances at Matt when he was telling stories, mostly football stories, watched his freckles dance when he scrunched up his nose. An hour passed before she realized that everyone had been talking but her, that it had been quite some time since anyone had required her opinion on anything at all. Another burst of laughter came from Matt and he played with her hair as he listened to a cute brunette, a psychiatric nurse and the wife of the other teacher, describe an incident with a particularly disturbed patient. 

Nicki suddenly felt very drunk and afraid of talking, afraid she would say the wrong thing or embarrass Matt and ruin what was otherwise a pleasant evening. Sensing nothing, Matt squeezed her shoulders, mouthed "you okay?" when she glanced at him, which only made her more certain her inebriation was obvious. She wanted to go home, and not to Kovac's house, she wanted to go home to her apartment where she could process the events of the last couple days—and not just the days before the fire. She could feel things changing between herself and Matt, even now as they were sitting in a loud bar, the music and the crowd crushing down on them, and her body was so present and so aware of him at the same time that her mind wandered away from this table where they sat and instead landed on a man she neither needed nor wanted and certainly didn't like. A man that brought her to his house, that gave her access to an automobile and his credit cards... a man whose housekeeper came by this afternoon. The woman obviously loved him, was protective of him, and as much as she didn't want to admit it Nicki was starting to see why someone might develop fond feelings for him. 

But you could like a person without liking what they did, and it was a superficial kind of liking, wasn't it? A person could treat their friends and family, their household employees and their clients well, and still they could be despicable. And wasn't he despicable? She was too drunk to know right now. But she wasn't sitting here thinking about what a good man she had, she was thinking about someone else. And it was all so predictable, because didn't she always find herself drawn to the bad boy? Weren't they always more interesting than the decent boys? Weren't their stories more interesting to tell? Isn't that all she wanted in her career? Interesting stories to tell? Was it possible that her attraction to Kovac was an intellectual curiosity, an extension of her career as a reporter? Wasn't it possible she was very, very drunk?

She lost track of time and missed the last thirty minutes of the evening entirely, but Matt was still chatting to her as they left the bar, his arm supporting hers because she was having trouble walking. Surely he knew she was drunk? How had she gotten so drunk? Was he drunk? Not as drunk as she was. 

He had to help her into his SUV, and once in, she relaxed back into the seat. She no longer wanted sex from him, she couldn't have managed the effort to make it worth his while, she was on the verge of passing out. Sighing, she leaned her head back against the seat, tried to will the world to stop spinning. She would apologize to him tomorrow, apologize if she embarrassed herself, or was otherwise rude. His head bumped hers and he said, "Sorry," and she opened her eyes to figure out why in the hell his head was so close to hers and she realized that he had leaned over to grab her seatbelt, was in the process of buckling her in, like a child. 

Nicki groaned, "Oh no."

Matt smiled, smile lines appearing around his eyes. He looked boyish and upbeat. "What's wrong?"

Nicki pouted, "I drank way too much. Why did I drink so much?"

Matt kissed her, a soft peck on the lips that did little to comfort her. "It's okay; you don't have to work tomorrow. It's okay to have a little fun."

She wanted to point out that maybe he forgot she didn't have work tomorrow because maybe she had been suspended without pay and that maybe he wasn't taking her situation all that seriously. The car smelled faintly of gym socks, and she started to feel a little ill. Was it too soon in the relationship to start a fight? Certainly it was bad form. Especially drunk fighting, drunk fighting was really bad form.

"Do you want to go back to your place?" she asked. If she went to his place she could pass out and not have to face her attorney. Why was she living with her attorney?

"I don't think that's a good idea, Nicki," Matt said. It was clear it was not up for discussion. It didn't seem to bother him all that much that she would be going home tonight to another man. If he found it off he certainly hadn't said so, but then she imagined he must have known unless he was going to offer her a place to stay there wasn't much point in arguing about someone else's offer. She wanted to accuse him of not caring—what if something happened between herself and Karsa? Would he even care? But maybe that wasn't fair, when everyone knew she loathed Karsa Kovac—didn't she?

"No, you're right," she said, seeing he was uncomfortable and trying to smooth out the air between them before she ruined the rest of the evening. "I get it, you're right. I should get back, though."

He kissed her, softly, tenderly, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. He was close. Cute. Sexy. He kissed her again, his mouth moving over hers with confidence and skill. Some parts of him were so boyish and cute, and other parts were nothing but man. She was sad when the kisses ended and he started the car, pulled out into the street and made his way back toward Kovac's house on the hill.

*****

Karsa had worked late into the day. He worked late enough that he thought surely Nikki would be asleep by the time he made it back to the house. But she wasn't asleep. She wasn't anywhere in the house.

At some point, before she left, she had been sitting in front of his TV and drinking his 30 year single malt Scotch. She wasn't paying him, so with the loss of the Scotch and her trip to the mall he was now in the red on her case. His constant preoccupation with her was not helping matters.

In any event it was probably for the best. Karsa wasn't sure that he was ready to face her again. It had been a long day filled with victories that didn't feel like victories. Her ex had developed an unwillingness to cooperate. The DA was considering dropping all charges related to the stabbing but the detectives had no leads on her apartment fire. Her criminal case was inching closer to a resolution but he worried if he let her know she no longer needed a defense attorney that she would flee. And while she may not need a lawyer, she was in need of protection. And dammit if he wasn't feeling protective.




L'Affaire C. 16



Headlights lit up the entryway and Karsa felt his pulse settle. He hadn't even noticed that his heart rate had picked up when he realized she was gone. He should have kept Becski on her after her mall trip, but then, he wasn't sure he wanted to know everything she had done tonight.

Against his better judgment Karsa met them at the door. Nicki was obliterated, he could tell before she even opened her mouth so say, "Hi Karsa" as if they were old friends.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded of the teacher, what was his name? Mike? 

"Sorry, I didn't realize she had so much to drink, one minute they were all chatting and she was fine—"

"She is not fine," Karsa interrupted. Matt was taller than him, wider, still Karsa blocked his entrance and reached for Nicki. She didn't resist, stepped toward him, though she probably fell toward him. He snaked an arm around her waist. "I'll take care of this."

Matt visible bristled, "Look, that's not nec-"

Karsa stepped back and shut the door. Nicki was no help, and he had to drag her into the living room, depositing her unceremoniously on the couch, livid with the teacher. Mack? What was his fucking name?

Nicki fell back against the couch. "Thank you for having your lackey return my phone," she said, "however, I will not thank you for having him follow me around the mall and slut-shame me when I tried to buy clothing I actually liked. Do you know I bought a maxi dress and a freaking cardigan because of him?"

He didn't say anything, was content to watch her- she had piled her dark curls on top of her head in a loose bun. Her hair looked damp; she must have showered immediately before she left, though she smelled nothing like a fresh shower. It turned out he didn't need to respond at all- Nicki was willing to fill the silence with her drunken ramblings. "Your housekeeper came today. She said you're a good man." Nicki didn't look like she believed this. She looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes. "She said you were a very good man with a very bad wife." She glanced at the bottle of Scotch, still sitting on the table where she'd left it. 

Karsa stepped forward, reached for the Scotch bottle. "I think you've had enough," he said. 

She grabbed at him, at his arms, though, and not the bottle. "I think I'm just getting started, Kovac. Tell me about her. Tell me why you slept in separate rooms."

He ignored her and stored the Scotch back in the bar, moved back to the couch to move her back upstairs. "Time for bed." He was angry but tried not to show it, she was drunk, and she was a reporter, and she was acting precisely the way he would expect a drunk reporter to act. And she was so very, very, drunk. 

He might as well have said nothing, she just looked at him with big brown eyes full of fear and what looked a little too much like despair. "Tell me everything is going to be okay."

He wasn't going to be sucked into her, though, not like this, she was too vibrant, too reckless, and too drunk. Probably too skinny, too, with her little bird features, though that he found oddly attractive. But he didn't need the headache of her, certainly didn't need anyone plying his housekeeper for information- she was dangerous to have around. And she had made clear he was shit stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "All of the evidence is circumstantial. Everything will be fine."

"Not with my case. With my life. Tell me my life is going to be okay."

"You are smart and beautiful. Most smart and beautiful people have okay lives." She did not look satisfied with this answer. He held out a hand to her, recognizing that he should have left her there on his couch to sleep it off. She looked up at him like she recognized it, too, but she accepted his hand, let him pull her up, let him slip an arm around her when she wobbled. "Come on," he said, coaxing her. She followed, tentatively, a look of surprise on her face as she blinked away some of the confusion.

But she was not to be distracted. "She said it was an arranged marriage, that your mother sent her from Hungary. She said she arrived with dollar signs in her eyes."

"Enough," Karsa said, his tone and his face a warning. Enough. He was not going to be her next investigation, whether for a story or just her own dogged curiosity.

"She said there were two bedrooms from the very beginning, that she took a lover and-"

"Enough!" he roared, shaking her. Nicki was too drunk (and too thin) to be shaken. She stumbled back, falling into the couch, hitting her head on the back of the couch and wincing. 

She wasn't sober enough to fully process his act of aggression, to be scared or to condemn him for it, but it didn't matter. Shame curled up inside him.

"Nicki," he crouched next to her. "I didn't mean to-"

"She said you were a good husband, that you're a good man," this she said as though this was a dubious claim, and maybe it was.

His face was closer to hers than he intended. She hadn't tried to get back up, had sunk into the couch, almost horizontal, though, only her head propped up by the back of the couch, her neck at an odd angle. He began the work of pulling her up, and her head fell back as he lifted her into a sitting position. He had his own questions, mostly about the teacher, about whether anyone had taken any photos tonight, whether she thought she'd been followed. When he opened his mouth to speak, though, Nicki was speaking again, "She said the night your wife left you was the night she died." Nicki, her head tilted back between her shoulder blades as if her neck lacked the strength to hold it, told this last gem to the ceiling. "She said some people thought you killed her." 

A sober Nicki might have made this sound like an accusation, might have judged this to be true. Although she must have been sober when his very chatty housekeeper was here, one would hope-the woman typically left by 2 pm. 

"You're very drunk," Karsa said, and he decided then to carry her. Once laid out on the bed no doubt she would pass out and finally, mercifully, shut up. Underneath the stench of bar, she smelled like gardenias today, the scent enveloping him when he dragged her toward the edge of the couch and lifted her into his arms. "You should sleep."

"I miss my dog," she said into his neck, her breath warm. He knew in the way she melted into him that he could have her, could push down her jeans and she wouldn't protest, wouldn't try to stop him. But it wouldn't be because of an attraction to him, it would be because she was obliterated. So obliterated that she might not remember any of the evening. He could kiss her, taste her, fuck her, and it was unlikely she would remember any of it. And he wanted to fuck her. But not like this.

"We will get the dog tomorrow," she was even lighter than she looked. After the awkwardness of trying to drag her into the living room, he expected to have more trouble carrying her, expected her height to be a problem, but she sank into his arms and made herself small against him. And, though, while she wasn't the heaviest woman on earth, he could have done without the flight of stairs. 

She was still talking, but the words were thankfully unintelligible now. She seemed to be talking about the mall now, about stupid clothes. He pushed back the covers on the bed while trying to maintain his grasp on her. It was a bad idea to carry her. His back was going to be aching tomorrow. His balls were going to be aching tonight.

As he laid her on the bed she said, "I'm not a slut. I have a boyfriend. I just like short skirts."

"Shh," Karsa said.

Nicki settled back into the pillow, her hair still in a messy bun, Karsa didn't want to imagine how he might get it out so he decided to leave it in. Her eyes drifted closed as he adjusted the covers. Tomorrow he would get her hotel room, would have someone watch her. Someone else could make sure she was safe; it didn't need to be him. There was no way she wouldn't black out, no way that she would remember in the morning if he kissed her right now, if he pulled the covers down and unbuttoned her blouse, kissed his way down her neck and chest to her waistband. He wondered if, in her current state, she would kiss him back. Would she open her lips to his, invite him in? He was curious, but not wildly so. If she did kiss him, it wouldn't mean anything.

He sat up to leave but he grasped his hand, held it in hers as she blinked wildly, trying to focus. "I'm sorry about tonight," she said, and, for fuck's sake, tears welled in her eyes. "I know you're only helping me because of Liam but I appreciate it. I know I seem ungrateful."

"You don't seem ungrateful," he said. "You just seem like an intolerable bitch."

Nicki laughed, and it was like music filling the room. Karsa swallowed, forcing down the swelling of his heart. He was getting soft, which was ridiculous. She was just saying thank you for making a mess of his whole life. And tomorrow there would be a fucking dog here, probably pissing everywhere.

With no small effort, Nicki sat up in the bed. Her face, untouched by time, was close to his. She was young and vibrant and opinionated. She was an idealist, and he could see now that the world was just starting on her. Soon, she would be a cynic, like the rest of them. He couldn't protect her from that. Karsa reached up to brush a stray tendril of hair off of her face, applying just enough pressure and lingering just long enough for her to know that the touch was intentional. Her skin was soft and warm and he wondered if her lips were just as soft. He stole a glance at them and that was it- that was his undoing. Her breath hitched and her eyes searched his, she seemed to be willing him to kiss her. But it wasn't real, the moment wasn't real. She was vulnerable and scared. He was here and in lust. That was all.

"Goodnight, Nicki," he said, and, unable to tuck her in while she was sitting up; he adjusted the covers at her hips and stood. Her hand twitched, but she didn't reach for him. Even drunk, she knew better than to reach for him.