G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  Slate turned around briefly to make sure that I was still behind him. He mounted the exterior staircase taking two steps at a time. He was already inside the door by the time I got to the top of the landing.

  “Get your ass in here,” I heard him bellow from inside.

  I quickly opened the storm door and went in. I heard the interior door slam shut behind me. The sound of the deadbolt lock being put into place followed.

  I turned and faced my gorgeous kidnapper. He must have seen the look of uncertainty in my eyes at that moment, and he must’ve sensed that I knew I was at his mercy.

  He took my shoulder bag from my arm and tossed it onto the kitchen table. I looked around quickly. This must be his apartment. We were in his kitchen. In one quick movement, he had me in his arms.

  “Sunny,” he breathed against my wig, “What the fuck did you think you were doing tonight, babe?”

  I raised my head to look into his incredibly blue eyes. The anger was gone. His eyes were searching mine now. He really needed an answer.

  “I just wanted to dance for you, Slate. It was just for you. I didn’t mean to make you mad.” I heard my voice tremble with the truth. There it was.

  “Oh, baby,” he breathed, cupping my face in his strong hands. “You shouldn’t have come back to the club. I thought you’d taken my advice when I didn’t see you last week.”

  “I don’t want to quit, Slate. I wouldn’t see you anymore if I left.”

  He considered me for a quick moment, his eyes still searching mine. “You don’t even know me, Sunny. You don’t know what it is that I do. You don’t fit into my world, baby.”

  “Maybe I could,” I said, realizing how pathetic that probably sounded to him. I had to remember that he thought I was trailer trash.

  He lowered his lips to mine, his fingers under my chin, tilting my face upward. His eyes were smoldering with something. It wasn’t anger. He kissed me softly, my lips eager to respond to his. I felt him nipping and gently tugging at my bottom lip. His tongue caressed my upper lip, tracing an outline slowly and sensually. I felt myself tingle in anticipation of what came next. Where were these feelings and sensations coming from? This was foreign to me.

  I’d never been kissed like this before and my pulse quickened as his tongue slipped inside of me, exploring my mouth, and teasing my tongue. I laced my arms around his neck tightly, and pressed myself into him, answering his kiss with a passion of my own, one that up until now, I hadn’t known I possessed. I was dizzy with his closeness, his taste, his touch, his scent. His hands were brushing against my hips, drawing me into him even closer, massaging the back of my thighs in a circular motion. I released a soft whimper, my hand now fisting in his hair.

  He pulled back, gazing down at me with hooded eyes. But his thick eyelashes still couldn’t hide the inner war I saw behind them. And when I felt his hands suddenly grip the back of my thighs, lifting me up. I wasn’t sure if he’d won or lost.

  He carried me effortlessly into another room off of the living room, his mouth still working mine.

  God this man can kiss.

  Suddenly, I felt a soft mattress underneath me, and his arms were no longer locked around me as he took a step back. I looked around the darkened room, and knew instantly that this was Slate’s bedroom.

  He licked his bottom lip, dragging his teeth over it as he seemed to be sucking on my taste. “Get undressed for me,” he ordered softly, his eyes flickering over my now-flushed face and neck.

  I moved quickly to obey him, kicking off my boots and raising my sweater up and over my head. I unfastened my jeans, lowering them down past my hips until they fell into a heap on the floor. I stepped out of them. I unclasped my bra, in front, letting it slip from my shoulders. All that remained on me was the silky black thong I wore.

  “This too,” he said, coming up behind me, snaking his arms around my hips, and hooking his thumbs into the elastic band on the thong. I shimmied it down to my ankles with his help, feeling his hardness pressed up against my backside as I stepped out of it.

  I heard his boots hit the floor behind me as he took a seat on his bed. His leather jacket followed, landing on a chair across the room. I hadn’t turned back around, frightened, yet fascinated by what I was allowing him to do.

  “Sunny,” he said, “Turn around, babe. I want to see you.”

  I turned around slowly, raising my eyes to his as he stood there now, completely naked and totally unaffected by having my eyes studying him from top to bottom and then back again.

  Jesus!

  His muscles bulged beautifully in all of the right places. He had an impressive tattoo of a snake winding up a sword on his back shoulder; another one of the Celtic symbol on his left upper arm. A silver cross on a chain hung around his neck. His stomach was firm and muscular. It was male-model flat.

  Damn!

  He looked as if he could’ve been a model, should’ve been a model, not a biker who lived a life of crime. I mentally told myself not to think about that part. Not now at least.

  Slate’s eyes were resting below my bare hips. I watched as he brought his hand up to his rock-hard cock, and began to slowly stroke himself. I was mesmerized by the movement.

  “Come here,” he gently ordered in a dark voice. “I want to touch your pussy. I want to see if it’s worthy of my cock.”

  I obeyed, moving to stand in front of him, watching his face so that I could see some sign of approval.

  He kept his eyes on mine, refusing to let me look away as I felt his thumb and forefinger from his other hand traced the cleft of my pussy. I sucked in my lower lip and watched as his eyes immediately latched onto my mouth.

  “You shave your pussy. I like that.”

  I felt my face flush under his unrelenting gaze.

  He stopped stroking his cock, grabbed my hand, and brought it to the hot skin of his shaft.

  Reflexively, I fisted it, and had to hold back a moan as I heard his gravel-like growl when he leaned into my touch. All the while, he was using two fingers to rub the lips of my pussy in an almost teasing way. I wanted them inside me, so I tightened my grip on Slate’s cock and began a hard stroke.

  “Fuck,” he exhaled, his hips rolling up as I pumped him. His thumb strummed over my clit, and he sank a thick finger into me. My breathing became a little more broken, and a bit shallower as he used it to match the rhythm of my hand.

  I rested my forehead against his shoulder, biting back a moan. His teeth scraped the shell of my ear. “When you’re on stage,” he said in a rough voice, “you want to know what I think about, Sunny?”

  I barely nodded. He rewarded me by pulling back his finger, curling it up as he did so, and returning with two fingers. I let out the moan I was holding back earlier, leaving it on his skin.

  “I think about this,” he pressed his thumb down hard on my clit. “About what you’d look like riding my hand…my face…my dick.”

  My hand was stroking him a little faster now, and I was trying to keep up with his fingers. He was so hard. I couldn’t even make my fingers meet around his length.

  I lowered myself to my knees in front of him, and took his full length into both of my hands. I knew from experience, if only with Jack, what to do orally to please a man.

  I ran my tongue up and down the length of it several times before taking his cock fully into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it over and over again. I heard Slate’s sharp intake of breath once again as I went from top to bottom sucking and swirling it alternately, my hands gently kneading his balls. He moaned. I hummed in gratification.

  His hands were on my breasts, rubbing and massaging them with his clever fingers. He captured each nipple between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing them until I flinched with pain that was quickly followed by pleasure.

  He pulled me up from where I was now vigorously sucking his cock and brought my face up to his, plunging his tongue inside of my mouth, tas
ting himself. He lifted me up, placing me on my back in the middle of his bed. His muscled thighs straddled my torso his erect cock teasing my erect nipples. He leaned over and pulled a condom from his bedside drawer, ripping the foil packet open with his teeth.

  “I’m going to fuck you.” He told me, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. “Because I need it, and you want it. Don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I answered, “I want it.”

  I watched as he expertly rolled the condom onto his swollen cock. His thigh parted my legs as he lowered himself down and guided himself into me.

  His lips were on mine, kissing me hungrily and passionately. With one strong thrust, he buried himself inside of me. The fullness was sweet to me. The fact that he continued to kiss me while we fucked was new to me. It was intimate and sexy. I loved it. My legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper inside of me as I rolled my hips back and forth, side to side. My fingernails dug into his muscular back as waves of pleasure found me. My hands felt his sinewy muscles flex with each forceful thrust. It had never felt like this with Jack.

  He rocked himself in and out of me, his hips swiveling so that his cock was hitting places deep within me that I hadn’t known existed…until now. I heard myself moan in pleasure.

  “You like that, don’t you, baby?” He whispered the question into my ear, and his warm breath gave me chills as my fingers dug into his back. All I could do was moan as he plunged himself into me again, going deeper.

  I felt his tongue now circle the inside of my ear, and then he gently nibbled on my ear lobe, which sent shivers through me. One hand was kneading my breast tenderly. His mouth was once again on mine as he groaned with pleasure.

  “Your pussy’s so fucking sweet. That’s it, keep fucking me just like that, Diamond.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was his sensual sex talk, the rhythm of his thrusting, or his magical fingers and the things they were doing to me; maybe it was all of the above. All I knew was that something extremely pleasurable and explosive was building up deep within my core. This was new also. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be on the brink of something that felt like a much-needed release.

  My breathing quickened as I whimpered with the pulsating pleasure that began unfolding within me. My thrusts quickened with his; my whimpers turned into moans of ecstasy as my first full-fledged orgasm exploded around me. I pulled him to me so tightly, I felt as if we were one.

  “That’s it, baby. Just let it come. I’m right there with you.”

  He arched his back and continued to thrust deeply within me, supporting his weight on his forearms on either side of me. His tongue was exploring my mouth again with a fury; his teeth nipping at my lips. I felt his muscles tense as he gave one final thrust and released his climax into me.

  I was still gripping him tightly against me as he relaxed on top of me. My skin tingled everywhere in the aftermath of my orgasm.

  My God, I’ve been missing this all along?

  I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. I’d never felt as fulfilled as I did right now. I wasn’t sure what the tears were about. I certainly didn’t feel guilty. I felt cheated by my husband.

  His lips were now soft against my sensitive skin as he kissed my shoulders, my neck and my earlobes gently and playfully. His fingers stroked my cheeks coming in contact with my tears. He rose up and gazed down at me quizzically.

  “What is it? You wanted this, yeah?”

  “I did. I do.”

  “Why the tears, babe?”

  “You kissed me while we fucked. You gave me an orgasm. I’m emotional, I guess. Those are both firsts for me.”

  He pulled up and out of me, sitting next to me on the bed, his arms crossed over his knees as he gazed at me.

  “Sunny, are you saying that your rat-bastard husband never kisses you when you make love?”

  “I don’t honestly think that we’ve ever made love, Slate.”

  “Okay then, when you fuck?”

  “It’s a rare occurrence, even more-so now, since the whole incident with the black eye, but he never has kissed me during sex.”

  “And you’ve never had an orgasm?”

  “Not until today.”

  “What about when you pleasure yourself?”

  I turned crimson under his scrutiny. “I don’t do that,” I mumbled, embarrassed.

  “Jesus Christ. What the hell’s his problem?”

  “I thought it was me,” I answered honestly.

  He let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a laugh, “It’s not you, babe, at least not with me it isn’t. Your pussy was made for my cock.”

  He propelled himself off of the bed and removed the condom. I watched as he tied it in a knot and tossed it over into a trash can. He swaggered over to a dresser in the room and pulled out clean boxers and a tee shirt.

  “I’m grabbing a shower. You sit tight. When I get finished, you and I are going to have a discussion. I’m going to educate you as to what’s acceptable behavior, now that you’re mine.”

  chapter 16

  It had been a little more than three weeks since Slate had made me his. I hadn’t been sure what that would entail when he laid the rules out for me that day. Now, it was perfectly clear.

  I was at his beck and call. I no longer worked at Jewels. I wasn’t even allowed to go in there. He explained to me that Jewels was his turf and that I wasn’t to invade it.

  He bought me a prepaid cell phone. He’d presumed that my rat bastard husband didn’t allow me to have a cell phone, so this was his means of communicating with me. His communications were generally text messages, kept short and sweet: “My place in an hour. We need to fuck.”

  Occasionally, he’d give it a more intimate touch by actually calling me on it. I’d hear his husky voice on the other end: “My place in an hour. We need to fuck.” It was followed by radio silence.

  I’d always accommodate him. I dressed the way he expected me to dress, kept my hair long the way he insisted. (He hadn’t figured out it was a wig, which was probably because I never spent the night.)

  He respected the fact that I was married and said he wasn’t looking to steal another man’s wife, even if the other man was a rat bastard.

  He made a rule that I couldn’t ask or expect him to share personal information about himself or what he did to occupy his time. I insisted the same rule apply to me. He agreed, with one exception: if I needed to find another job to support myself, he needed to know where it was in advance and approve of my working there. He absolutely forbade me to dance anywhere.

  I was never to come by his place without having first received an express order to do so from Slate. I was to notify him by text when my period started so that he knew I’d be “out of commission”‘ for a few days. (That one had made me blush with embarrassment.)

  I wasn’t to phone him at all; text messages only. If the rat bastard was around, I was to shut my phone off. That was the only excusable time I was permitted to power it off.

  I wasn’t to have sex with Jack, unless refusing to do so posed imminent physical danger, in which case, I was to lay there like a limp rag doll and endure it. (I had wanted to burst out laughing when Slate had given me that rule. Jack didn’t care if he ever touched me again.)

  I was instructed to text him the words “Code Red” if the rat bastard left another mark on me. He would then text me specific instructions on when and where to go, with my husband in tow. There’d be peeps there to take care of the rat bastard and make it look totally random. (That one had sent shivers down my spine.)

  Of course, the obvious and major rule was that no other man could touch me. He was the only one who could do that, and he intended to do so at every available opportunity.

  I’d asked him if the same applied to him and other women. He said it did, as long as our relationship was deemed active. He would decide when it was over. (That one made me feel a bit sad.)

 
; I wasn’t to get tattoos, body piercings, or change hair color without obtaining his permission in advance. I was to work out to stay in shape.

  He inquired what type of birth control I was using, as he didn’t want to continue using condoms since we were to be exclusive. I told him I had a diaphragm. He didn’t need to know any more than that. The truth was, I did still have my old diaphragm in the bedside drawer gathering dust. It had barely gotten any use. He told me to make sure I carried that with me when I was meeting him.

  He assured me that he was clean as far as sexually transmitted diseases went, and he’d asked me to confirm the same to him. That had prompted a trip to the county health clinic that had weekly free screenings. I’d decided with Jack’s travels, it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. Everything had come back fine.

  All in all, it was a fairly simple and uncomplicated relationship. I’d decided that I’d go with it as long as I was getting something from it, and I was: the best damned, toe-curling, orgasmic sex that I could ever have imagined. There was nothing Slate wouldn’t do to make sure I was satisfied multiple times.

  I’d received Slate’s booty call about fifteen minutes prior. I was now slathering my make-up on and trying to get those fucking false eyelashes in place. Margo had always done it so easily. There, I finally had the second one in place. I finished applying generous amounts of the smoky, gray eye shadow from my brow line down. The eyeliner and mascara were midnight black.

  I’d put my diaphragm in after my bath this morning, as I figured I was due for a call. It’d been three days. I tucked my own hair under the wig cap and securely put my long, shiny, brunette wig in place, wearing it down. I secured some extensions to it so that it was even longer. Wearing the extensions had proven a deterrent in keeping Slate’s fingers out of my hair, therefore protecting my wig’s identity.