NaturesBounty

by J. Rose Allister

  A group of beachgoers walked past, and a giggling blonde thumped his balloons on the way. “Happy birthday, whoever,” she said merrily.

  He was two buildings down from the Seashell Apartments now. He stopped and verified the address plastered on the side. “Focus,” he muttered to himself while he reset his gears and stared at the pink building. “Rule One.” It was game time.

  Lydia was allegedly staying in unit 314, and he ran through the same quick mental check he always performed before approaching the suspected location of a skip. This time, however, the checkmarks lined up in a different set of columns.

  Gun, no. Handcuffs, check. Backup, no. Badge and authorization papers, check. Balloons and thong underwear, check, and annoying as hell to boot. Not to mention the latter was completely unnecessary, but since the rest of his alleged “costume” wasn’t very stripper-like, he figured the requisite cock pouch with dental floss up his crack would make it more legit. After all, what if she wanted to check before letting him in?

  Okay, so it had been a stupid impulse, but Nate was nothing if not a master of details when it came to his disguises. He might have stopped short at a full-body shave, but he didn’t know of many bond agents who would walk along Venice Beach with a suit, a satin thong and a handful of pink balloons. That was dedication.

  He ducked inside the building where he was greeted by a strong whiff of damp, musty carpet while he checked out the surroundings. No doubt the humidity made it tough to keep things smelling dry and fresh at the beachfront. The bottom floor of the Seashell Apartments consisted of a row of mailboxes, a fire exit staircase, a back door leading out to the boardwalk and beach beyond, and a small elevator. The walls were pink, though more muted than the coral shade on the exterior.

  Before heading upstairs, he wandered out the back door and glanced up the side of the building.

  “Fire escapes,” he said, ticking it off on his mental checklist of potential exit points if the perp decided to run. He’d just have to make sure she didn’t get the chance.

  After his architectural curiosity was satisfied, he went back inside and punched the elevator button. He waited an eternity for a loudly whirring piece of ancient history to reach the ground floor. The dingy elevator car creaked when he got in, and it was barely large enough for Nate and his balloons. He actually hesitated before getting in. No telling how many more trips the relic had left in it.

  “Oh well, who wants to live forever?” he muttered as he got in and pressed the third-floor button.

  The car groaned upward as if in physical pain, but he somehow made it upstairs in one piece. The third floor smelled better than the lobby, and it was strangely quieter up above the noise out on the boardwalk. The source of the tribal music was closer here, but it was muffled by the walls of the apartments on either side of him. Apartment 314 was on the right, meaning his jumper had the benefit of an ocean view. Benny hadn’t been far off about Lydia sitting on a beach sipping mai tais.

  Thin, but serviceable gray carpet muffled his steps while he slipped over to the stairwell. While yanking thong floss out of his ass, he stuck his head through the doorway. The stairs were concrete and descended out of view of the floor above. Bullets whizzing up or down in a firefight would have a harder time finding their targets. Not that he was planning on getting in a shootout, especially since he was unarmed. But it was an automatic observation that had become a bleak reality in his line of work.

  A window in the stairwell showed night was approaching. Nate typically preferred to collar skips late, in the middle of the night. Fugitive brains were fuzzy with sleep and reaction times were slower then, except for tweakers who considered three a.m. their personal noontime. Occasionally, daytime retrievals were best, however, and a stripper service sure as hell wouldn’t be delivering balloons and ball sacs in the wee hours. Valerie’s requested delivery time had been eight o’clock, and Nate stepped out of the elevator at six-thirty to make sure he would avoid bumping into the real deal. If everything went to plan, Lydia would be on her way back to Colorado by the time her real birthday present showed up.

  He closed the stairwell door and stopped in front of the door marked 314. As always, he paused and listened for a moment, trying to get a feel for the place and what he might find inside. He heard nothing, not even the dull drone of a television. Hopefully, Lydia hadn’t taken off, but it was possible. Maybe she didn’t want to spend her birthday hiding out alone. If Valerie hadn’t called her to make sure she would be around for her “special gift”, Lydia wouldn’t have any reason to stick around besides the sheer common sense of being a fugitive. Well, he’d find out soon enough whether the balloons and thong had been for nothing.

  He rehearsed his mental script one final time before he knocked on the door. The sharp rap sounded a little more like his typical I’ve-come-to-collar-you knock than he would have liked, and he winced at the sound. Normally he’d be shouting her name through the door. Instead, he stayed quiet and obeyed the instinctive urge to step aside from the door for a moment in case a bullet whizzed through in reply. When nothing splintered the wood, he moved back in place. No doubt stripper services didn’t lurk out of peephole range like creepy stalkers.

  The silence after his knock lasted almost long enough for him to think she had either gone out or decided not to answer. He was pondering the next move when he heard a woman’s voice from close behind the door.

  “Yes?” she asked cautiously.

  Big mistake, lady, he thought to himself. In another incarnation, that would have been enough to put his foot through the door.

  “Lydia Franklin?” he called in what he hoped was a friendly, nonthreatening tone.

  Another pause.

  “Who are you and what do you want?”

  Maybe he was kidding himself, thinking he could play himself off as an innocent stripper boy. But then, any bail skip with half an ounce of brains would act paranoid at an unexpected visitor, no matter who was doing the knocking.

  “I’m Antoine from Hot and Ready Exotic. Valerie sent me to deliver a very special birthday present to Lydia.”

  Nate had no idea how a real stripper would handle a nervous Nellie at the door, and the long delay made him wonder if he’d blown it. There was a quick—very quick—shadow across the peephole, and he pasted on his best I’m-a-hot-guy-you-want-to-let-in smile.

  In his head, old tapes played that featured him training a gun at the doorway while it was kicked or battered in. Shouts and commands and chaos would all feed the adrenaline surge that would accompany his forcible entry. The adrenaline surge was definitely on board, but the rest faded into memory while he waited, silent and smiling while she gave him the once-over through the peephole.

  “Wait,” she commanded sternly, and he heard her move away.

  It had to be her. He knew it. Patience began to waver with his target acquired, but he stood by and waited. He heard her talking soon after, quietly at first. He stiffened, wondering who else was in the apartment. Then came a cry of surprise that startled him into even higher alert, followed by an easy laugh. Suddenly, he heard her flipping door locks, and the door yanked open. It was Lydia all right, all five-foot-seven-inches of sexy blonde. She had a cell phone pressed to her ear and a seductive, welcoming grin on her face that was the exact opposite of the expression bond jumpers normally wore upon seeing him.

  Mother of God, but the mug shot he’d thought was fairly decent hadn’t done the woman a single bit of justice. The California Beach Girl version of Lydia Franklin took every male chromosome in his body to DEFCON 1. Her feathery blonde hair fell in careless layers to spill over her shoulders, and the silken strands were the only thing obscuring the view of a baby-blue bikini and long-legged, pinup-worthy body that a Sports Illustrated model would have envied. Round, high tits strained against the shimmery fabric, and his cock promptly began twitching most inconveniently in its stripper pouch. To make matters worse, her aquamarine eyes were studying him every bit as greedily as he was eyeing her.
In any other place—any other place—he would have been on her in a hot minute. That included the post office, the supermarket or a coat closet during Sunday School.

  “Well, hello there,” she said, licking her lips to punctuate the seductive greeting. A particularly dirty thought cropped up while he watched her tongue moisten those plump lips.

  He just stood there, holding his bag and balloons.

  “Oh my, Val,” she said into the phone, “you have no idea how completely and utterly you have outdone yourself.”

  Her eyes did things to him he could barely describe while they slid over every inch. His spine tingled under that gaze, and damn if her nipples didn’t stand up and salute after her visual tour. Something lower on his body began saluting as well.

  She laughed at whatever response she got on the other end. “Have I told you that you are my absolute best friend in the whole world?”

  There was no mistaking the sloppy rush to the words, a slur that told him she had started celebrating her birthday quite some time before he had arrived. That could either make his job easier or more complicated, depending on a number of factors. Drunks were unreliable at best, and quite often, they kept on going even after they got knocked down.

  His quarry clicked off the call after kisses and thanks, and she opened the door wider. “So, do you have more for my birthday than just a ripe, round bunch of balloons?”

  If she only knew what all he had. Starting with a ridiculously ill-timed boner and ending with the handcuffs in his pocket. Two things which, at the moment, didn’t necessarily strike him as mutually exclusive. This was bad. All kinds of bad.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, going for a fuck-me tone while he met her gaze straight on, although the stab of heat in his stomach made him wish he hadn’t. “There’s a whole lot more to this gift than meets the eye.”

  A delicate eyebrow lifted. “Good, because I definitely approve of what’s meeting my eye.”

  She reached out and ran her hands over his chest, and he stiffened without thinking. That probably wasn’t what strippers did when handled by a hot female customer. Fortunately, Lydia didn’t seem to care about that, but when she gave his shirt an aggressive tug and nothing happened, she pulled back with a frown.

  “What’s this?” she asked. “You’re not wearing standard-issue stripper wear. Where’s the Velcro, stud?”

  He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I believe in offering authenticity with my costumes.”

  “And I believe in easy-on, easy-off.” She winked. “But I appreciate the dedication to my entertainment.” However, she glanced suspiciously at his duffel. “What’s in the bag?”

  And what was with the twenty questions? Why wouldn’t she let him inside? Maybe she wasn’t totally buying his act, despite calling her friend to confirm that she had, in fact, hired a stripper.

  Then again, he didn’t have to keep the game going. She’d opened the door, and that was good enough. He could just drop the charade right now and force his way in, but something told him to play this one cool. Win the fly over with honey rather than vinegar.

  He offered a slow grin while he unzipped the bag and held it open. “A change of clothes and a portable stereo. You know, for the music I need to do my routine.”

  With a smile, she reached over and took the balloon strands from him. “Here. Why don’t you let me pull your strings?”

  She turned her back on him then, and his heart lurched as she sauntered away carrying her pretty pink balloons like a naughty girl. Below a slender back and perfectly curved waist lay the hottest, roundest bare ass he had ever beheld, courtesy of the surprise thong on her bikini bottom. He wasn’t the only one flossing his crack, and what it did for her sent a throb of need through his already pulsing dick. Fuck yes, she was a very naughty girl. One in desperate need of a spanking.

  He followed her inside, taking a quick inventory of the place before shutting the door. The digs were small and cozy, furnished in wild colors and professional decorator touches, although everything seemed almost as dated as the building itself. Considering the ocean-front location, the place probably cost a small fortune. Her bank account had been frozen, so he idly wondered how she was funding this little vacation. But then, his interest in checking out the place wasn’t to assess decor and property values. He was scanning carefully for signs that she wasn’t alone.

  The front door opened right into a small dining area. He stood beside a simple wooden table and glimpsed the cracker-box-sized kitchen to the right. No one was there or in the living room just ahead. A bottle of expensive-looking booze sat on a dark, kidney-shaped coffee table, and only one glass sat beside it. That was an encouraging sign, but he would ask anyway.

  She wandered toward the living room, stopping to tie her balloons to the back of a dining room chair. He barely managed to take his gaze off her ass long enough to notice the fantastic view out the living room window. Bright-purple drapes had been thrown wide to showcase the ocean, which spread out before them like a massive ink blot. At this hour, it looked like a dark and fathomless stain against the azure-blue sky of deepening twilight. It was majestic, eternal and unspeakably beautiful. But he couldn’t give half a shit about it. He was busy scoping out the fire escape window, which was conveniently open.

  He tensed, poised for action when she started moving in the direction of the fire escape. A dark-green couch sat in front of the coffee table, and she stopped there with her back still to him while she picked up the glass on the table.

  Nate cleared his throat and glanced toward the single hallway. “The request was made for a private show,” he finally managed while his eyes snapped right back to the hot ass he was thinking more and more about bending over his knee. “Is there anyone else here that will be joining the party?”

  “You are the party,” she said over her shoulder, tossing back the last bit of booze in her glass. “That’s about as private as it gets, don’t you think? Just you and me.”

  Do it now. Identify yourself and grab the cuffs. Better yet, get out the cuffs while her back is turned and then identify yourself.

  He reached quietly for his pocket.

  “Tell me something, Antoine,” she said, setting the empty glass down and fiddling with the narrow strings at the back of her swimsuit. “Do any of your clients ever strip for you? Outside the bedroom, of course.” The drunken slur made the last part sound like, “Aside the bear rum, uh cores.”

  His hand was halfway in his pocket when she yanked the strings on her top and whirled on him suddenly. Nate froze while she held the bikini top out in front of her like a prize before tossing it to the floor.

  The way his eyes were bugging out must have looked comical, but how the fuck could he help it? Oh glory, but were her tits magnificent, even rounder and fuller now that they were no longer constrained by scraps of fabric. Her nipples were pink and firm, pointing slightly upward as if urging his mouth down to taste them. His erection stiffened rapidly, thick and long enough to feel the tip shove rudely through the edge of his G-string.

  Lydia sidled up to him while glancing at the hand still stuffed in the duffel bag. “I’m sure Valerie paid you well for a hot, sexy routine, and you had to drag that radio up here and all. But since it’s been one hell of a lousy birthday and a crappy dating year in general, why don’t we skip the opening ceremonies and go straight for the gold?”

  She took the bag from him and dropped it carefully to the neutral-toned carpet. Nate’s hand jerked out of his pocket, and he caught the metallic clink of the cuffs. Lydia seemed too intent on him to notice.

  As she closed the distance between them, his stare redirected from her breasts to her heavy-lidded bedroom eyes. He fell right into their smoldering depths. Without breaking eye contact, she went straight for the kill and grabbed him through his slacks. Her touch was firm and demanding as she groped him, and she let out an appreciative-sounding moan.

  “Feels like this party has already started,” she said thickly, and he felt her fumbling clumsil
y with his fly.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead as Nate felt reason slipping away. Stop her, you idiot! Push her away and identify yourself. Identify yourself now.

  That’s when he heard his zipper open, and her hand snaked right inside his G-string. Her gasp wasn’t the only one in response to her warm fingers curling around his throbbing dick.

  “God,” she said, “please tell me this is part of the special birthday package.”

  She sank to her knees in front of him while he tried to cling to what little flotsam of morals he had left. Jesus, he wasn’t more than ten steps in the door and the sexiest woman alive was seducing him. If he let her, she’d probably fuck him where he stood. He could bend her right over the table beside them and ram his cock inside her, thong and all.

  Or, he could stop thinking with his tool and do what he’d come there for. He should bend her over the table while he cuffed her hands behind her back, not so he could give his dick what it so desperately wanted.

  She yanked the pouch aside, and the second his cock sprang free, wet, hot lips closed over the swollen head. The moan he let out was equal parts lust and anger at himself, and while his hands automatically grabbed for her head to pull her off, her skilled mouth and wicked tongue drove him to do something quite different. His fingers threaded into her hair while he thrust deeper in her mouth, cursing under his breath with each press of his hips. This was wrong, so very, incredibly wrong. But it had been so very, incredibly long since he’d felt anything this good.

  His slacks were still on while she mouth-fucked him, but her hands kept tugging on his belt until the buckle came free. His pants slid down around his knees, and he shook his head in a futile attempt to deny what was happening. He couldn’t do this, no matter how bad she obviously wanted it. No matter that she was apparently in the same boat as he was romance-wise. And that this was probably the last sex she’d get outside prison dykes and the occasional twisted guard.