by Ciana Stone
I giggled, got in my cart, and headed down the cart path, stopping in the general area where my drive had entered the rough.
Now when I say rough, I do mean rough. It's one of the reasons I selected the course. And one of the reasons I chose Jack. Hole number 13 had everything I needed.
I knew exactly where my ball was, but I wasn't about to let Jack know that. Instead, I led him into the rough where a stand of trees surrounded by scrubby bush shielded us from view.
I bent over, swatting at the undergrowth with my club. "Any luck?" Jack asked as he came up behind me.
"I know it's here somewhere." I cut a look over my shoulder to find his eyes zeroed in on my rear end. "I'm sure it's in this mess somewhere."
He walked up behind me and peered over me into the brush then pretended to stumble so that he had to reach and put his hand on my back to steady himself.
"Sorry," he apologized but did not remove his hand.
"No apology necessary." I gave up all pretense of looking for my ball and bent forward a little more, thrusting my butt up a bit higher. "Like what you see there, Jackie?"
"Oh, I wasn't—"
"Sure, you were." I reached back and moved his hand from my back to my ass. "It's okay. That feels good?"
"Oh yeah," he grinned and gave me a squeeze.
"You want to see more?" I asked huskily.
"Oh yeah," he responded immediately.
I made a show of sliding my thong down and stepping out of it, then bent forward, legs spread with my hands on my shins. "How about this?" I wiggled my ass provocatively.
"Oh yeah." Jack's vocabulary had diminished to those two words. His eyes were glazed, his face was red, and there was a sizable bulge in his pants.
I ran one hand between my legs, stroking myself. "Want a taste, Jackie?"
"God, yes." He fell on his knees behind me, grabbed me by the hips, and plunged his tongue inside me.
"Oh yes, oh god, Jack, that feels so good," I moaned breathily, even though the reality of it was that he had no talent at all in the oral aspects of sex. He was eager, but his skills were sorely lacking. Not that I was disappointed. I hadn't planned on enjoying myself. This was just phase one of my plan.
He groaned and stabbed his tongue in as far as he could "Oh. Oh, oh!" I groaned and let him continue to probe and lick me. "Oh…no…no more…" I panted. "Oh, god!"
Providence provided the ending I needed in the form of a chubby man beating his way into the rough yelling, "Hey, you need help?"
I quickly pushed away from Jack and grabbed my club just in time to turn and face the would-be helper. "Thanks, I have it now. Why don't you go ahead and play through?"
"Okay, thanks!"
I turned to Jackie as the man left. "You are a naughty boy, Jackie. That was too close for comfort. I don't know about you, but my husband would take me to the cleaners if he got wind of this."
That brought him to his senses, and he stood, looking a little embarrassed and ill at ease.
"I want to see you again." I stepped over close and ran one hand from his chest to his groin.
"You name the time and place, and I'm there."
"Hmmm, let's see…" I pretended to consider. "How about Tuesday for a…long lunch? The uptown Westin?"
"Tuesday?" he paused. "Yeah, Tuesday is good. Say, around one?"
"Fantastic. Listen, I think I'll head for the clubhouse and get…cleaned up. See you Tuesday. Room 413," I said and started for the green.
"Hey, wait!" he called out. "I don't know your name!"
"Buffy," I replied with a grin. "But my friends call me Buff."
"Buff," he grinned lasciviously. "I can't wait 'til Tuesday."
John blew out his breath, closed the journal, and stood, looking out at the darkened city. His eyes moved over the familiar sights, but his attention was on the scene playing out in his head—of the entry he'd just read. Only in his mind, the man was him and the woman calling herself Buff was not pretending to enjoy what was happening.
You seriously need to get laid, he told himself. Staying up half the night and fantasizing about a criminal was not healthy, or sane. He told himself to forget about her, to go along with the rest of the people assigned to the case and visualize her as someone who was vindictive and cunning and a menace to society.
But he couldn't do that. Somehow along the way she'd crept into his head and taken up residence and he didn't know how to evict her.
John began summarizing the facts of the case in his mind, to divert his attention from his nearly painful erection.
Fact: The woman who called herself Buffy had not only seduced the man she listed as Jack but used him to get high-level access to one of the largest banks in the world.
Fact: Using that access, she successfully diverted over thirty million dollars back to people who had been gouged by the bank with raised interest rates on their credit cards. And she had erased over one hundred million dollars of debt.
Erased.
Fact: She had so completely doctored the banks' records and even its history files that it was impossible to determine which of its customers had benefited from her crime. In short, the bank had no recourse but to eat the loss. Which made the Robin Hood the single most successful bank robber in history.
Fact: Had she not sent an untraceable email to every major newspaper in the world to let them know the bank had received its just rewards for being such crooks, the news would never have gotten out. The banks certainly would have tried to keep it secret. But the Hood wanted people to know that payback had been delivered.
Fact: As yet, no one had been able to figure out how she managed it. It was just too monumental a task for one person. Yet there was nothing that led to an accomplice. It was all a mystery that did not seem to have a solution.
Fact: She had numerous law enforcement agencies—local, state and federal and even international—trying to unravel the "Buff in the Rough" crime and thus far no one was making progress.
John rubbed his tired eyes and picked up his empty beer bottle. He went inside, deposited the bottle in the trash then started for the bedroom. Maybe he would spend another hour sifting through the journal. After turning off the lights, he retraced his steps to close and lock the balcony door then made his way in the darkness to double-check the lock on the front door.
As he stepped in front of the door, his bare foot made contact with paper. He reached for the wall switch and flicked on the light. On the floor was a large manila envelope with his name written in bold handwriting.
John's first thought was to reach for his weapon, but being in pajama bottoms, he didn't have the gun on him. He left the envelope where it lay, hurried into the bedroom for his handgun then made his way through the apartment, checking behind every piece of furniture and opening every closet. The place was empty.
But someone had been there. There wasn't room to slide the envelope under the door, and there was no mail slot on the door, so the only way it could have gotten there was for someone to have unlocked the deadbolt and left it for him to find.
He went into the kitchen and rumbled around for a pair of salad tongs his ex-girlfriend had given him and used them to pick up the envelope and take it to the kitchen table. Using a paper towel to keep from transferring his fingerprints to the envelope, he cut it open with a steak knife and dumped the contents on the table.
Printed pages spilled out. Careful not to touch them with bare hands, he arranged them on the table. He remembered having plastic page sleeves in his desk and went to the living area to look for them.
It took several minutes to get all of the pages secured within the plastic sleeves, but once that was done he stacked them up then picked up the phone to call down to the front desk and ask the guard on duty about anyone and everyone entering the building the last two hours.
Not satisfied with the answers he received, John dressed and went down to the security office to view the video logs of the entire evening. Every person entering the building was i
dentified by the time he left, which left him back at square one. How did someone get in without the camera detecting them?
Using his position in the Bureau as authority, he convinced the chief of security that the tapes fell under the heading of a possible felony and confiscated them. Next, he had the chief promise to have the entire system checked, and a report sent directly to his attention at the Bureau.
With that done he was able to return to his apartment where he gathered up all the pages and took them into the living area where he turned on a lamp and sat down on the couch to read.
Hi John,
Right now, you're asking yourself how I managed to get into your apartment without being detected. In case you haven't been paying close attention, let me clarify. Just like you, I am very good at what I do and getting into your apartment really wasn't much of a challenge.
I have to say that your choice of evening attire was very stimulating. Those low-slung PJ bottoms cling nicely and reveal just enough to make the imagination run wild. Of course, you may want to rethink the plaid.
But discussing your fashion sense is not why I dropped this off for you. I want to make you an offer. A one time, take it or leave it, offer. Close the case on Robin Hood and then lets you and I meet in person and discuss where we go from there.
I know I intrigue you, John. And I know that despite not knowing exactly how I look, you want me. Your…condition while you were reading my journal stands testament to that.
Now don't be embarrassed. I'm flattered. And more than that, I'm just as turned on by you. Why just this evening I imagined what it would be like if we got together. Shall I tell you how I pictured it?
It's late. Your apartment is dark, with only the lights of the city filtering in through the blinds. You're lying on the couch in those yummy worn jeans you're fond of wearing, the ones with the hole in the left knee.
I drop in on the balcony and slide open the door. You see my shadow—just a dark form against the dim light. Immediately, you reach for your weapon. Unlike many times when you leave it on your bedroom dresser, this night it's on the coffee table in front of you. You pull it free from its holster as I part the blinds and cross the threshold.
"Freeze," you order in your best Bureau voice. "Hands where I can see them."
"Whatever you say," I respond and spread my arms out wide to my sides.
You rise from the couch and approach me warily. As you draw close, the fine shafts of light penetrating the spaces in the blinds fall across you. I can see the set of your jaw, the intensity in your eyes. The tension in the muscles of your arms and torso.
You stop in front of me, your gun leveled at my head, and I smile. "Hello, John," I say.
"Who are you?" you ask, even though I suspect you know the answer.
"It's me, John. I'm here, just like I promised."
Your eyes give you away, your surprise that I'm really there in the flesh, your suspicion that I'm not who you think, but someone who is playing with you, and your excitement that maybe this is indeed real.
Your eyes rake over me, from the top of my black ski-masked head, down the lines of my black lycra-encased body, to my black shoes. One quick pass before your eyes return to lock with mine.
"Are you going to shoot me, John?" I ask and step closer, into the fall of light so that my eyes are revealed to you.
You step back from me, demonstrating your mistrust and wariness and for a few long moments, we simply stare at one another. "How do I know it's you?" you ask in a harsh whisper.
"You know, John," I reply. "Who else would…drop in on you this way? Who else has occupied your mind and interrupted your sleep for the all these past months? What would you have me do to prove myself to you? Shall I remind you of my first little caper? Would you like to meet Buffy? Shall I reveal myself to you at last, John?"
"Yes," you say in a voice that is tight with tension and mounting excitement.
"Have a seat," I suggest. "And turn on a light, John."
You back over to the couch and take a seat then fumble for the light on the end table. Dim light brightens the room.
I move my arms from their widespread position to reach up and pull the ski mask from my head. My hair spills free. Your eyes widen in surprise. I'm not what you expected, not what any of them suspected. But it's evident that you like what you see so I smile and drop the mask.
Your eyes follow the movement of my hands as I slowly unzip the tight bodysuit from neck to groin. With slow seductive movements, I wiggle the top half from my body. My nipples pucker at the cool air from the overhead ceiling fan.
I turn so that my back is to you and work the tight material down over my hips.
John's erection jumped to life as he read her words, and his balls ached. The woman was determined to kill him. With a curse, he stripped off his pants and started to stroke himself as he read. The scene took shape in his mind, and the visual played itself in his mind's eye.
You watch me turn around and work the tight material down over my firm hips and full rounded ass. I bend forward to peel the suit down my legs, affording you a view of my tight rear and shaved sex.
When free of the suit, I cast a look back at you. "Is this what you want to see, baby?" My hands moved between her legs.
Your breath comes faster, your pulse accelerated, and your penis throbs in anticipation. I smile, straighten to turn and face you. My breasts are lush and full with slightly dusky nipples.
I saunter slowly to the couch, stopping in front of you, letting you rake your eyes over me and smile at the sight of your erection. I lean forward, placing one hand on either side of your head on the sofa. My breasts sway enticingly in front of your face.
"Am I a disappointment to you, John?"
You shake your head, not trusting your voice. I am a fucking witch. From my luxurious mane of hair and bewitching eyes to my sexy voice and wet-dream body. I have you in a spell you had no desire to be released from. Everything else be damned. All you wanted is me.
"Do you want me, John?" I lean forward a bit more, tempting you with those tantalizing nipples.
"Yes," you manage to speak without groaning. "God, yes."
"Then take me, baby. All you want, however you want."
John's eyes clamped shut as a climax claimed him, making a mess of the sofa, and the plastic-encased pages.
"Christ!" he groaned, riding the climax until it left him spent and sweaty. He was right, the woman was a bonafide fucking witch. Tormenting him with the escapades in her journal was not enough. Now she was turning up the heat with this damn letter.
With a curse, he got up and headed for the bathroom to clean up. As soon as he'd washed up, he went into the bedroom and fell across on the bed. With sexual release came a measure of relaxation. He drifted off to sleep with thoughts of his mystery woman filling his mind.
Perched with her eye glued to the eyepiece of the telescope, her fingers stroked between her legs. When John threw back his head, closed his eyes and orgasmed, her own climax exploded, making her quake, and then quiver with the receding waves that followed the initial eruption. The brocade cover of the chair on which she sat grew damp, but she ignored it. Her focus was on John. When he rose and disappeared from view, she leaned back, blew out her breath, and grabbed the glass of ice water at her feet.
So far, so good she told herself. The letter had taken things to a new level. Now it was definitely personal. The question was, how strong was his desire? Now that he'd had his jollies would he be able to do what the job required and turn the letter over to the Bureau? Or would he not be satisfied until he'd sampled the genuine article?
*****
John woke to the feel of a sharp sting on the side of his neck and reached up to swat at the spot, thinking that a spider or some insect had gotten into his bed. Less than a minute later, he was out cold.
When he woke, his first thought was that he had gone blind. He couldn't see. Groggy to an unnatural degree, he tried to sit. It was then he realized that he
couldn't move. His arms were stretched over his head and fastened in place with something tied around them. His legs were slightly spread and likewise secured by something tied around each ankle. The blindness was due to a blindfold over his eyes.
Fear sprang instant and bitter to the forefront, driving away the fog that clouded his mind, and he started to struggle against his restraints.
"Don't be afraid, John," a soft feminine whisper sounded close to his right ear. "I promise I won't hurt you…unless you want me to, that is."
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Do you realize the penalty for assault on a federal agent? Untie me this instant."
A soft laugh preceded movement on the side of the bed. John felt a featherlight touch on his chest as fingers stroked him gently. "Not just yet, John. We haven't even had time to play."
"Play? What the hell do you mean? Untie me!"
"Now, John," she said as her fingers traced over his skin, down to his abdomen. "You're not being a very good sport. And after the good time I showed you with my letter."
"Robin Hood?" His voice shrank to a mere whisper, and his erection surged to life.
"Now there's my boy," she crooned as she took him in her warm hand. "I guess you do want to play after all."
"Untie me, and I'll show you how much," he said with a tug on the restraints.
"Ummmm, no. I don't think so." Her voice never rose above a sexy whisper, and her hand was stroking him with just the right amount of pressure to make his hips arch up involuntarily. "I think I like it like this. I do like to control the shots, you know."
"At least take off the blindfold so I can see you."
"Well, that would spoil it too, don't you think? This way all your senses are attuned to what you feel, not adulterated by sight."
"Easy for you to say."
She giggled slightly and released his erection. "Well, if you're a very good boy maybe next time I'll let you bind me."
"Who says there's going to be a next time?"
Laughter accompanied a shift of weight on the bed. "Trust me, after tonight all you'll be able to think of is the next time."
