But as Mr. Shimizu pushed the car one more mile over the speed limit and then another and another, Cleo felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: the exhilarating rush of so much dangerous possibility. By the time the small car closed in on one hundred miles an hour, she was squirming in her seat, her knees pressed so tight together she was worried she might strain a muscle. Her back arched from the seat. She wanted to feel the wind on her barely covered nipples. This feeling was new and different, and she let it take over.
Her head thrashed side to side in ecstasy as small orgasmic ripples began to radiate up from her clit to her stomach and the sensitive undersides of her breasts and down her thighs to her toes. Had a man ever gotten her off without touching her? Fuck no. Was she desperate to see what happened when Mr. Shimizu inevitably did? So much.
She moaned as her muscles relaxed and she slumped in her seat, her body momentarily overloaded with excitement. Her head lolled to the side, and her gaze zeroed in on the dangerous combination of his big hand and long fingers wrapped around his gear shift and the very obvious bulge in his pants. This was the biggest rush of her life, and it had only just begun.
“Is this too fast for you?” He had to practically yell the words at her, but they still made her shiver.
“Not yet, Mr. Shimizu,” she said, sounding confident but also nearly mad with lust, which was exactly how she felt.
“Good girl,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear.
Her eyes closed on those two words and she started squirming in her seat again. She heard the gears shift and felt the car accelerate as she lost the battle to keep her knees together. The moan that fell from her lips was obscenely loud and she loved it.
“It’s a good thing this seat is leather,” she gasped, “it’s going to be very wet soon.”
“I wish I’d known that I might be in this situation,” Mr. Shimizu said.
“Why?”
His eyes darted to her open legs. “I would have brought an automatic.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of man who owns one.”
“Oh no, I do. Just one. It doesn’t see much action, but this would have been worth pulling it out of storage.” He licked his lips so she knew exactly what he was thinking, and now she was thinking about that too.
“If you had a free hand, what would you be doing with it right now?”
He didn’t laugh or smile. When he turned to her, his face was serious and his eyes were full of dark intent. It made Cleo shiver. “If I had a hand to touch you, it’d be inside you already. Probably would have been before we even left the Estate.”
That was all she needed to hear.
Cleo sank down in her seat, slipped her feet free of her shoes and lifted her right leg up, spreading herself open for him to see. She moved her hand to her inner thigh and caressed her skin.
“I’m happy to lend you a hand.”
The car sped up just a bit more as her hand descended toward the warm depths between her legs. She groaned and circled her hips when the tips of her long nails scratched the crease of her leg. He didn’t turn toward her, but she knew she had as much of his attention as was possible; maybe even a bit more than was safe.
She ran the pads of her fingers over the gusset of her underwear. “My panties are already soaked,” she breathed.
“Then you should take them off.” Such a polite command.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Shimizu.”
He grinned.
It wasn’t easy or particularly sexy to get her underwear over her ass and down her legs with the seatbelt still across her chest and waist while in a car built for someone at least five inches shorter than her, but she did it. And in life, completing the task was more important than making it pretty. At least that was Cleo’s motto. Besides, Mr. Shimizu didn’t seem to care, since his only response was to take his hand from the gear shift and hold it out to her.
She happily dropped the small wet scrap of fabric into his palm and then watched as he brought it to his nose. He sniffed it deeply and then stuffed it into his pants pocket before resting his hand on the gear shift again.
“You didn’t seem like a freak at the poker table,” she breathed wistfully.
“Then I guess my poker face is still intact. But you were the only person at that table I wanted to fuck, so I didn’t have to hide it for long.” He spoke to her in an easy rumble, his voice calm and nonchalant as if nothing untoward was going on. It was driving Cleo and her pussy over the edge. “Now, where were we?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.
“You were driving fast as hell and I was about to fuck myself with my hands. For you.”
She felt the car speed up yet again.
“Is there anything else you want me do?” she asked, as she ran the pads of her fingers up and down her wet slit.
“Besides be as loud as possible?” He shook his head twice and then stopped. “Actually, yes.” He downshifted the car to take a curve in the road, slower but still fast as fuck, and then sped up again. “I want you to tell me when you’re close. I don’t want you to come until I say so. Do we have a deal?”
Cleo should have been surprised, but she wasn’t. Every rich man she’d ever conned or legitimately dated had wanted to take control of her in any way possible; whether it was what she wore, how she spoke or how they fucked. It was the kind of personality trait that came part and parcel with money and power and she always denied them that, even if it might get her the money she wanted faster. She was about to deny Mr. Shimizu that as well, but then he spoke again.
“I want you to tell me when you’re close because I want to get you off myself. You can warm yourself up, but every time you come tonight, it’ll be because I gave you exactly what you needed. Deal?”
Cleo moaned, which was the most enthusiastic yes she could imagine. It was also the only response she could give since, halfway through his declaration, she’d slipped two fingers inside herself.
“How wet are you?” he asked, as if this was the kind of thing he did regularly. Hell, maybe it was.
“Soaked.”
“Warm?”
“So fucking hot,” she corrected.
“Aching?”
“I’m not going to last long if you keep interrogating me while I fuck myself.”
“How many fingers do you have in your pussy?”
“Oh god,” she groaned. “Two.”
“Add another.”
She did.
“Are you touching your clit?” he asked.
“God, no,” she gasped. “I’ll come too quick. Fuck, I’m gonna come soon anyway.”
“Don’t,” was all he said.
She shivered. “I’m not going to last,” she groaned, the heel of her hand just brushing her hooded clit.
He didn’t answer, but she felt the car slow in increments as she plunged her fingers in and out of herself. She alternated between fast and slow strokes, trying to stave off the inevitable. Her free hand was holding onto the car’s center console for dear life, because what she wanted was to drag his hand to her pussy so he could touch her. But that was certainly dangerous, so she forced herself to wait.
“I’m so close,” she panted in a strained voice.
“I know, sweetheart. Just give me a second,” he said, his voice soothing and calm.
He pulled the car to a stop in a dirt runoff. Cleo whined as he put the car in park and then practically tore his seatbelt open.
Cleo fumbled to unlock her own seatbelt. And then he leaned over the center console, covering her overheated body with his.
She screamed when his hand covered her clit.
“That feel good?” he asked.
“That’s the only dumb thing you’ve said to me all night,” she said.
He smiled down at her, still rubbing hard circles over her clit. Then he moved his free hand behind her neck, pushed her fingers aside at her aching core and replaced them with his own in a forceful thrust that made Cleo’s back arch.
“Oh fuck,�
� she breathed, shuddering.
He started fucking her in slow, deliberate strokes with three fingers, his thumb still grazing her clit.
“Give me your other finger,” she begged.
His grip tightened on her neck. “Ask me nicely,” he demanded.
That made her moan so loudly she might have just yelled.
He wasn’t fazed. He just kept fucking her and holding her against his chest, watching her come undone, waiting.
“Please,” she gasped, circling her hips, desperately trying to get those fingers deeper inside her pussy, as deep as they could go. “Please put another finger inside me.”
He lowered his head and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, leaning back to let it slip through his teeth. How did he know she’d like the soft pain of that? she thought. But it really didn’t matter, since he’d pushed that last finger into her cunt. She felt full and stretched. It was perfect.
Now that the wind wasn’t howling in their ears, they could both hear the wet squelch of her pussy fighting to keep his hand inside her. It was obscene, made even more so by the way he stared down at her, holding her gaze, as if he didn’t want to miss a millisecond of her pleasure. As if getting her off was serious business.
“Good girl,” he whispered against her lips. “Now feed me your fingers.”
“Oh god.” She didn’t waste a second complying.
He kept his eyes glued on her and his hand fucking her while she slipped her wet fingers into his mouth.
She watched him lick and suck her essence from her digits, his tongue swirling around each one individually. All of a sudden there was nothing else, not a heist on the horizon, not a crew she was responsible for, hell even the car disappeared. In that moment Cleo couldn’t concentrate on anything but the coming orgasm and the way Mr. Shimizu felt inside and on top of her.
Her eyes slammed shut. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come. Fuckfuckfuck.”
He moved his mouth from her hand only briefly, and Cleo already knew what he would say. “Ask m—”
“Please, fuck, please let me come, Mr. Shimizu,” she whined.
“Of course,” he said, kissing her wet knuckle. “Come.”
There are orgasms, and then there are life-changing moments between your legs. Cleo had had many of the former and a few of the latter. But this orgasm was different. It was transcendent. She felt as if she were floating above herself, somewhere up in the ether. From that vantage point, she looked down at herself; half-naked, splayed out, a complete stranger’s whole hand stuffed almost entirely inside her pussy as she came in a wet gush on his Italian leather seats, and she smiled down in smug approval at her life choices. This orgasm was life affirming and earth shattering.
And through it all, Mr. Shimizu kept sawing his fingers into her, drawing out the full force of her orgasm, extending the electric aftershocks until they built and built and she was coming again. And he stayed with her. His face hovered above her, calm and relaxed, his burning, excited eyes the only sign of how much he was affected by her as she shivered and shuddered in his arms.
Eventually she had to closer her thighs with a whimper, the crash of too many orgasms making her sex overly sensitive.
It took a few seconds more for her to be able to speak. “I probably ruined your seat,” she whispered up at him with a hoarse voice and a small smile on her lips.
His hand had stopped moving at her core, but he didn’t abandon her. He left his fingers buried deep inside her, letting her squeeze and clench around him. And then he brushed his mouth against her cheek gently. “You let me know when you’re up for ruining the back seat.”
“Oh fuck,” she gasped.
And came again.
three
Cleo had never blacked out during sex before. But there’s a first time for everything.
When she blinked back into consciousness, it took a few seconds for her brain to boot back up to full speed.
She shivered as the car took a turn and the rushing wind hit her bare skin. She struggled to sit up straight and jumped when the car’s convertible top began to ascend from the rear. Mr. Shimizu extended his hand to latch the top to the front windshield, and then back on the gear shift. He looked… composed; casual, as if he hadn’t just made her come so hard she’d lost consciousness.
“How long was I out?” she croaked and cringed at her sore throat.
He smiled but kept his eyes on the road. “Not long. I took the liberty of fixing your clothes.”
She looked down at her dress, which had been pulled over her ass and down her thighs as far as it would go, which wasn’t far.
“You didn’t put my underwear back on,” she said, rubbing her thighs together.
This time he did spare her a brief glance. “I didn’t.”
Cleo was certain that if her body could have mustered it, she would have come again. This man really was dangerous, and she couldn’t believe how much she liked it. She turned in her seat and squinted at him in the dark car. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” she admitted quietly.
“Thank you.”
It wasn’t a compliment. Not the way he took it.
An integral part of Cleo’s job was being able to quickly clock the men she met. In their fleeting encounter at the poker table and in front of the Kismet party, she’d thought she’d understood him: rich, assured, capable. But she was wrong. There was something else about him. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, and she wanted to. Her brain whirred, trying to make sense of the man next to her, wanting to understand what made him tick, how he could seem so calm and intense at the same time, and why he made her feel like she’d taken a hit of some designer drug only rich playboys could afford.
And all of that was a problem. Cleo was very rarely wrong about men and if asked twelve hours ago she’d have said that she’d met at least one from all the major types and knew the most dangerous categories intimately: broke and fine, hustling and scheming, rich and petty and powerful and ruthless. But Mr. Shimizu seemed to be none of those things or maybe it was that he seemed like so many of those things all jumbled together. Cleo didn’t know and it would have started to drive her crazy if she weren’t terrified by her reaction to him.
As a rule, Cleo never got attached to men, not even when she wanted to. But here she was in this strange man’s car, desperate to know what his dick looked like and how he took his coffee. She wasn’t that type of person at all.
Before she had the opportunity to fully freak out, however, he turned briefly to her and said in a dark voice that made her shiver violently, “You came without permission.”
Cleo wanted to answer, but she didn’t know what to say. She was also distracted by the movement of his shoulder muscles under his shirt as he made a sharp left turn.
“No, I didn’t. I asked,” she said, completely shocked that this was an accusation she was defending herself against, after all the many scams she’d committed tonight alone.
“You asked for the first orgasm, but not the second,” he said, watching the road.
Cleo frowned at the side of his head. “I did,” she admitted.
The car slowed drastically, and Cleo turned as he pulled into a gated enclave. She spotted a guard’s shed and thought she saw Mr. Shimizu nod minutely, though he didn’t stop. She craned her neck to see the small enclave of luxury condominiums as they passed, driving deep into the neighborhood. The further they drove, the bigger the houses got, until up ahead of them a garage door opened next to a small mansion. It wasn’t as big as the house they’d just left, but she could tell, even in the dead of night that it was worth more. Cleo took that as another sign that she’d been right about one thing at least; this man was much richer than Frank Pugh III.
He pulled his car into a circular driveway, another vintage car parked out front like a statue. She recognized the Porsche 365 Speedster immediately because she’d once concocted an elaborate con to sell one to a corrupt politician desperate to misuse some campaign finances. He’d proba
bly been so pissed when he got the replica figurine in the mail, but by then Cleo was long gone. Robert put the car in park and turned the key in the ignition as the garage door began to descend.
When she turned to him, he was watching her as if he could see inside her most private thoughts. She felt naked under that gaze, and it was as uncomfortable as it was exciting for a brief moment before it burned away in another intense wave of lust.
“How would you like to be punished?” he asked, as if that was a normal question.
But again, she didn’t know him so… maybe it was. In any case, it made her wetter than the fucking ocean, so she undid her seat belt and turned fully toward him. She licked her lips. He grunted. She reached out to stroke a single long acrylic nail down the length of his tie.
“You’re in charge,” she said, because it wasn’t a question. It was the very disconcerting truth. A truth that should have made her slip off her heels and run away from him as fast as she could. A truth that made her feel something so deep inside her marrow that she stayed right where she was instead.
“I am. Is that okay with you?”
Cleo swallowed uncomfortably. “I’m not sure yet. But I’ll tell you if I change my mind.”
“You do that.”
“I’ve got two requests,” she said, squaring her shoulders.
“Anything,” he whispered immediately.
She swallowed a moan and took a deep breath. “First, you can’t ruin my hair. This is one of my favorite wigs.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you. And second…” Cleo took a breath, unable to believe she was about to say these words. But she was. She had to. She leaned forward. He mirrored her movements, meeting her over the gear shift. “Kiss me,” she breathed against his lips.
She’d never asked a man to kiss her before. She’d never had to. Usually, she had to politely recoil from men who didn’t know that their entire tongues didn’t need to be halfway down her throat to kiss. But she didn’t think she’d have that problem with Robert. She’d met him an hour ago, but she felt certain that he would treat her lips better than that. But still, she couldn’t bear to look him in the eye after she made her request, so she tilted her head down and focused on the knot of his tie.
Grand Theft N.Y.E. Page 3
