She should have known that he wouldn’t let her hide from him. Not when he’d followed her from the party. Not when he’d driven like a demon just so she could feel the wind on her skin with her heart racing. Not when he’d wanted her orgasm for himself. Not when he’d wanted her wet fingers in his mouth. Not when he wanted to be in charge, but needed to know that she was okay. Not when ‘anything’ sounded like a promise.
Mr. Shimizu slowly released his seatbelt. She watched as he turned his body fully toward her. She held her breath as his hands moved to her face. That first touch was gentle, and then it strengthened.
He tilted her head back. “Look at me.”
She swallowed again, searching for the strength to follow his clear command, no matter how soft he’d whispered it. When their eyes met, he didn’t rush. Instead, he looked at her for several silent, heated seconds. He let her reacclimate to the feeling of his hands on her skin, and the air between their mouths changed from the snap of late evening to humid intensity. When their breaths had evened out and they matched one another’s inhalations and exhalations, his thumb moved to trace her bottom lip.
And then he pulled her mouth to his. Their lips crushed together, deep and forceful and punishing.
Robert kissed Cleo exactly as he’d masturbated her; patiently, thoroughly, his body in complete control of hers. His tongue pushed into her mouth and gently coaxed hers forward. His lips pressed and retreated as their tongues slid against one another. His hands moved her head just a bit to the left and their kiss deepened. The pads of his ring fingers pressed gently at her pulse, soothing her, even as his mouth made her whimper in his.
Cleo held onto his wrists with a desperate grip. She didn’t want this kiss to end, but she also wanted to rip his clothes off. She wanted to climb over the center console and ride him, but she also wanted him to take her into his house and fill every hole over and over again.
When he broke away, the only thing that stopped her from whining was her pride.
His thumbs smoothed over the apples of her cheeks. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah.”
“I promise I’ll be gentle.”
Cleo reared back. “You better fucking not.”
His laughter filled the garage.
Every now and then, Cleo met someone on a job she wished she’d have met under any another circumstances. Sometimes it was her mark’s executive assistant with a great sense of style. For brief moments she’d let herself imagine being back in Chicago and meeting up with her for brunch and tipsy shopping. Once, it was the exotic dancer across the hall in the condo she’d rented to set up an oil executive with a savior complex and a bit of an embezzling problem. One night, the oil exec had had a little too much to drink, and she’d had to enlist Brian to help her get him inside her apartment. Keisha had opened her front door just as they’d dropped their mark at Cleo’s front door so she could find her keys in her purse. Keisha had paused briefly to take in the scene and then shrugged. “Lift with your knees,” she’d called over her shoulder as she headed off to work.
And now there was Robert Shimizu.
She waited for him to come around the car to open her door with an offered hand. She let him hold onto her and lead her inside his home. All the while, she imagined what it would have been like if they’d met while he was in town on a business trip. If he’d thought that she was some lawyer’s executive assistant or a freelance makeup artist. A part of her also wondered if she could have pretended that she was just a normal woman for a few weeks before exposing herself as the kind of person who would masturbate in a convertible going a hundred miles an hour. She wondered if under the right circumstances this could have been more than just one night.
But that was a foolish thought, just like all the other times she’d imagined that she was someone different. These people she daydreamed about folding into her life didn’t know her, not really. They encountered a version of Cleo that was at best some alternate version of herself, but more like a pure fabrication. To do her job well, she had to become the person the mark wanted – whoever they needed to see – so her team could rob him blind. She wasn’t the kind of woman who giggled instead of answered, who thought some drunk and belligerent trust fund kid was sexy or who let a complete stranger be in control.
Granted, she’d been as close to herself as was possible from the minute Mr. Shimizu had offered his coat. But still, Cleo wasn’t this person following him into his dark house, hoping he would press her up against a wall and fuck her until she couldn’t stand. Was she?
And even if she was, that didn’t matter because chances were high that he wasn’t being himself either. She didn’t know anything about Robert Shimizu, not really. As she followed behind him, she reasoned with herself that this entire night was a fantasy. She also reminded herself not to get attached — not to want more than tonight — and not just because it was all artifice, but because if tomorrow or next month or two years from now, Frank Pugh III asked him about the woman in the bright red wig, stripper heels and lace, she didn’t want Robert to be able to tell him anything more than that her name was Cleo and her pussy was the best he ever had. That would have to be enough.
He led her through the kitchen and living room and upstairs. Cleo wasn’t stupid, so she made note of where the front door was. She looked into the open doors on either side of the hallway as she passed. She stayed alert and aware. She would have been stupid not to. It wasn’t a full reconnaissance and Alex would lose her entire shit if she knew how reckless Cleo was being right now. But it would have to do.
When he flicked the bedroom light on, he turned to her and ushered her inside.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
She saw a bar in the corner of the bedroom. She’d just bet there was a big ass Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom, maybe even a steam room or whatever other spa shit was in vogue for the rich and frivolously wealthy the last time he’d had his house redecorated.
She turned around to see him leaning casually against the doorjamb. Watching her.
She wished she could say yes, because she would have loved a little Hennessy to celebrate a job well done and the sex to come. She wished she could tell him that they could take the drink downstairs and talk about sports or movies or whatever the fuck. They didn’t have to rush and could ease into one another gently. She wanted to tell him that there wasn’t any rush and they could work up to fucking each other’s brains out. But they didn’t have time for lies. And wasn’t that the fucking rub. Cleo had days, weeks, months to convince other rich men to give up their computer passwords, but she didn’t have time to let this rich man make good on every check his eyes and the bulge of his erection was writing.
She turned her head and spotted a clock on the wall above his dresser. In fifteen minutes, her crew would start slowly emptying Frank’s house. In two hours, all the guests would be gone and they’d clean him out in the blink of an eye and then they’d scatter. And no matter how good she knew this sex was about to be, by the time the sun was up, she needed to be on her way as well. They didn’t have any time to waste.
She walked toward him, loving the way his eyes felt on her bare skin. She put her hands on his chest and pressed her front to his. She moaned deep in her throat when she felt the more than impressive bulge in his pants against her core. “Unless the drink you’re offering is your come down my throat, I’m good.”
“Noted,” was all he said, before he completely wrecked her for every other man.
One second, he was grabbing her at the waist to spin her toward the bed, and the next, he was pulling her over his lap.
“Higher,” he practically barked at Cleo.
She walked on her tip toes to get her ass up in the air.
He pulled her dress over her ass. She heard a few threads rip. Normally, that would have pissed her off — this dress had not been cheap — but not right now. This time it only ratcheted up her arousal. As did his big hand gently rubbing the glob
es of her ass.
“Beautiful,” he said as he squeezed her right cheek hard in his hand.
“Fuck,” Cleo groaned.
He released her flesh. “We’ll get there. Don’t worry.” And then his hand collided with her right cheek, the sound of flesh meeting flesh ringing in her ears.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
“Harder,” she ground out.
He chuckled and grabbed her left ass cheek, lightly smacking it; toying with her. “Who’s in charge?”
She turned her head in frustration and found him smiling playfully.
“Answer me,” he barked.
“You,” she moaned.
“What do you say?”
She gasped before she could answer. “Please spank me harder.”
He nodded once and held her gaze as he smacked her left cheek again, this time much harder.
Cleo yelped and licked her lips.
“Can you take more?” he asked.
She nodded.
He grabbed her right cheek and squeezed just shy of hard enough to hurt. He shook his head.
“Yes,” she whined. “Please.”
He smacked each cheek with a sharp tap of his hand back and forth, his eyes on her the entire time.
She started to squirm in his lap, but she couldn’t look away either. She wanted to imprint every moment of this night on her brain; she needed to remember it all.
“If you want more,” he said, rubbing her warm cheeks, soothing them, “just ask nicely.”
“Oh god,” she moaned. “Please, spank me some more, Mr. Shimizu.”
He smiled this time as his free hand gently circled her neck in a possessive hold that was tight, but not enough to restrict her air. His hand at her throat made her feel safe and secure. She’d never felt anything like this before and she closed her eyes in pleasure, relaxing across his lap.
He held her and waited until her eyelids fluttered open again. And he kept his gaze on her as really spanked her this time, alternating between each cheek, moving between sharp taps of his fingertips that stung in the most delicious way and flat palm against bouncing flesh that made her cry out in ecstasy.
Cleo’s gasps turned to groans and then moans. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Her thighs were slick with her arousal. Mr. Shimizu kept his eyes on her as she came undone on top of him, squirming against his erection. She’ never known it could be like this. She’d never known feeling like this was even a possibility.
When he stopped, her ass was hot, tingling, and so was her pussy.
“Good girl,” he whispered before brushing his mouth against her temple.
They were both breathing hard, their breaths as in tune as their sex drives.
Cleo shut her eyes. He whispered soft kisses at the edge of her wig lace and eventually the tears in her eyes finally fell down her cheeks. It was such an unexpectedly gentle moment, and even that was a new sensation. And so was the abrupt turn as Mr. Shimizu shoved his hand between her ass cheeks, skimming her backdoor and perineum and then pushing into her soaked cunt.
“Oh fuck,” Cleo screamed.
“Keep your legs tight,” he ground out when she tried to spread herself wider for him.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” she moaned and crossed her legs at the ankles.
She shuddered on his lap as he moved his fingers inside her in shallow thrusts; not enough to get her off, but enough to make her leak all over his hand. She tried to ride his fingers and that mound at the same time. She hoped she ruined his suit.
But all too soon, he wrenched his hand from between her legs and smacked her ass with a wet tap. Small shudders rippled through her sex and her head fell forward in shock mingling with pleasure. His hand moved from her neck to cup the side of her face almost lovingly for a second, his fingers stroking her chin.
“On your knees,” he breathed. He eased her from his lap to the floor as he stood in front of her, her face level with his erection.
Cleo wiped at her eyes, mostly so that her tears didn’t obscure her first look at his dick. She needed to see it in all its glory.
He placed a hand behind her neck and moved the other hand to her face, wiping at her tears briefly before letting that arm fall to his side.
Cleo’s eyes were glued on his bulge. She was desperate to see it, feel it and taste it, now. But she also knew she had to wait. She wasn’t normally the kind of woman who liked to wait, ever, but he made each second of quiet calm feel as if the air was buzzing with electricity. It ramped up her arousal; made her heartbeat pound in her ears and her sex clench with need.
This was more than foreplay. Cleo didn’t know what this was, but she knew she liked it far more than she should. And even knowing that the desperate lust she felt was a red flag, it still made her sex weep down her inner thighs in expectant excitement.
The room was quiet but for their labored breaths and the muffled sound of the central heat kicking on. They listened to the seconds tick by on the manual clock on the wall in perfect silence. Eventually, he tightened his grip around her neck and his thumb stroked the sensitive skin just behind her right ear. He calmed her.
And then finally, after far too long, she lifted her eyes to his, and that pleased him.
“Take me out,” he said in a barely restrained command.
Cleo moved her knees together and clenched. Her pride took a bit of a hit when she saw her hands shaking on his belt buckle – Calvin Klein, snakeskin, maybe vintage – but she worked through it. She tore his belt open without a care in the world of how much it cost, but she took her time unzipping his pants
He grunted and involuntarily thrust his hips forward.
She smiled up at him.
He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say the word that was on the tip of his tongue — like she wanted the head of his dick to be on hers — so she said it for him.
“Hurry?”
He smiled but said nothing.
Cleo moved to rub his erection from outside his pants, teasing him, teasing herself, but only for a second. When she pulled his slacks down his legs, his bulge was even more impressive in the thin black Ralph Lauren boxer briefs. If they had more than just tonight Cleo would have happily spent an entire hour just admiring that dick print, but they didn’t have time for all that, so she pulled his briefs down and there he was. Hard, fat, veiny, an angry red at the tip, sticking straight up toward the ceiling, beautifully manicured pubic hair, big balls hanging, amazing. Robert Shimizu’s dick called to her like a pair of Cartier cufflinks on a man who wouldn’t even miss them until the next day. If Cleo could have crafted her perfect dick, it would have been this one. And if she could have attached it to a man, Mr. Shimizu was turning out to be a pretty good option. But then his free hand blocked her from taking hold of him and feeling the weight of him in her palm.
“Wha—” she said, frowning up at him.
“Hands behind your back.”
She shivered as she complied. She groaned when his hand wrapped around his dick. She watched as he pumped himself twice, angling the tip toward her mouth and then away.
She glared up at him, licking her lips.
His smile was bigger than ever. “Open your mouth.”
Her lips fell apart at the first word.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked in that same calm, polite voice from before.
“God, yes,” she panted. She thought the invitation was clear, but she didn’t want to take a chance that he might misunderstand. “Use my mouth,” she breathed, and then stuck her tongue out for him.
“I plan to.”
He held her gaze as he moved the tip of his dick to her tongue. The first taste of him made Cleo groan. He rubbed the soft spongy head from the tip of her tongue up to her lips and then back again, smearing his precome across her taste buds.
“Taste me,” he said.
She didn’t need to be told twice. She closed her mouth and let his saltiness coat her mouth, before eagerly opening her mouth for more.
&nbs
p; This time, he moved his dick up the length of her tongue and rested its weight there for a second. And then he took a step forward and slipped the head of his dick past her lips a little bit at a time.
She whined when he pulled away and groaned when he pushed back inside. Cleo was conflicted. Each time he pushed inside of her mouth, her pussy clenched and her hips rolled at how soft and slow and gentle he was. But she also wanted more, faster, harder. When she looked up at him with the plea for him to give her what she wanted clearly evident in her eyes, she saw the mirth in his.
And then she remembered.
This time, when his hips moved back, she closed her mouth and sucked on the tip so hard, his back bowed and his body jumped. His dick came free with a vulgar pop that made them both groan.
Before he could push into her again, she spoke. “Please,” she panted, “fuck my mouth, Mr. Shimizu.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. “Of course,” he whispered, and then pushed the tip of his dick between her lips. He moved both hands to the side of her head, being careful of her hair. She opened her mouth as wide as it would go, loving being filled with him as he pressed further inside.
When he touched the back of her throat, he stopped and let her adjust. She closed her eyes when she had, silently giving him permission to continue.
Just like the drive, he started off slow, moving in and out of her mouth with good, steady pressure, his hips picking up speed incrementally.
“Put your hands on my thighs,” he said in a strained rasp as he began to fuck her mouth in deep, sharp thrusts of his hips.
She was moaning and drooling around his dick, her cheeks hollowed around him, a puddle certainly forming on the carpet between her legs.
“Fuck,” he rasped, until it was a chant accentuating each press forward and retreat.
Grand Theft N.Y.E. Page 4
