The One Above All
Jewels And Panties Series
Book Sixteen
Brooke Kinsley
© 2018 All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses per law
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
"Erotica is literature designed to be read with one hand...”-Brooke Kinsley
Description
Berger now knows who the man in his bed is.
A famous crook.A legend. A villain everyone has been searching for.
As the two men grow closer, they fall headlong into an abyss of self-destructive pleasure.
Yet Berger has his regrets. He knows his future can’t be with the old man with the head full of dreams of a perfect toyboy.
But then he finds out there’s money. Boxes of it buried in the desert.
Meanwhile, Lincoln is trying to live with his new apprentice.
Old Cynthia with her obsession with the doctor is driving him crazy but she’s intent on cleaning up his lifestyle.
Eager to get away from her, he makes a quick escape into the town of San Lucrezia. The one place he never wanted to be again.
Here, beneath the heat haze, he meets a mysterious figure. One who’s dressed in black and dripping with gold. He talks in riddles and speaks of death. He has eyes like vortexes and the aura of a demon. He makes a promise, a deadly one that will see Lincoln descend into the depth of hell to bring back his one true love.
The doctor, long life sceptic, finds himself believing in another world. A place where you can make your dreams come true. As long as you’re prepared to make a sacrifice.
Chapter One
Berger
I wasn't sure what I found more stupid. The fact that he'd told me his name was D.B. Cooper the first moment I met him or the fact that was the name he used when he boarded a Boeing 747 and took it hostage in order to steal two hundred thousand dollars before parachuting out the plane somewhere near Oregon. For a few minutes, I just read the article over and over and over again and shook my head wishing I was just dreaming it.
"Stupid son of a bitch."
I shook my head some more. The bird was long gone out the window but I still cursed it for waking me up and bringing me up here to find this box of memories. Neatly folding the paper, making sure not to cause any creases down the front of the headline, I slipped it into my hand and pushed the box back into the shadows. There were other things to discover in it, but not today.
The ladder creaked as I descended it but still, the old bastard didn't wake up. Creeping back into the bedroom, I saw he was now lying on his back with his legs splayed and his ribs catching the light as he breathed in the heat. His mouth was wide open, his jaw speckled with gray hair that was whiter than the hair on his chest. Last night I'd wound my fingers in that chest hair and pulled at it. Now, covered in sweat, it didn't quite seem so appealing. But I sat beside him anyway and rested a hand on his skinny stomach.
He was old alright and the skin on his body was beginning to sag but he was still fit, still built like a man who worked the land like a carthorse. There was something attractive about how strong he was, about lonely he was. He didn't need me. He didn't need anybody but he was letting me into his life and I was grateful, if not confused.
The paper in my hand was beginning to become soaked through with sweat. I opened it up and raised it to the sunlight one last time to make sure I wasn't imagining things. But no, there was his face, plain as day. It was him. D.B. fucking Cooper. I compared the photofit to his face, holding the paper beside him as he slept. There were a few differences. The drawing showed a man with thicker brows and a softer jaw. The space between the lips and the nose was too large too but the eyes were unmistakable. They were deep, intense, totally dark and filled with secrets.
"What the fuck?" I whispered softly to myself.
The old man stirred and rolled over as though he was presenting me his naked buttocks. His nose whistled as he breathed and he murmured something before pulling the pillow closer to his face. I couldn't help but smile. He was such a kook but I liked him. Laying a hand on his ass, I felt how bony and muscular it was. This was not the body of someone who ever sat down and relaxed. I had the strongest urge to give it a big slap but refrained myself, only because I was likely to break my hand on the brittle, protruding bones of his buttocks.
I don't know how long I sat there watching him but it was long enough for the sun to change direction across the room so now it was shining on my face. Laying down beside him, I wondered if he would ever wake up. I even wondered if I'd exhausted him so much the night before that he may never wake up.
His cock was poking out from between his legs, flaccid but still large. Resting my hand on it, I felt it swell slightly and grow a little hotter. It felt nice. His skin was silken but he was growing hard, beginning to throb. Looking up at his face, I saw his eyes were still closed and his breathing still deep. I rubbed him slightly, hoping the pleasure would send a little shockwave to his brain so that finally, he would open his goddamn eyes. But he was still dead to the world, still completely oblivious.
Pumping my hand up and down, I jerked him off roughly. He grew harder but still slept. I decided I was going to have my own fun with him. Taking his hand, I placed it on my own cock and thrust myself up between his dry fingers. What am I doing? I thought. But at the same time I didn't care what I was doing because it felt so good and it was like I'd never been touched before. It was like all that happened the night before was so far in the past.
"Hey," I whispered, still thrusting, still pumping his dick. "Wake the fuck up you old fart."
He snored in response but at this point I was too far gone to stop and so thrust a little harder until a drop of precum made my tip slick and his fingers a little less dry. His penis was purple now with red hot blood. I could feel myself begin to cum, could feel that tight sensation in my stomach when everything clenched up in preparation for me to squirt my load.
"Motherfucker," I breathed. "Look what you're doing to me."
It was coming. The orgasm was beginning to rip through me. I was struggling to breathe, to think, to see. I was getting ready to see heaven. Then, just when I felt myself tip over the edge, he yanked his hand away, sat up and burst out laughing.
"You fucker!"
He continued to laugh.
"Were you awake the whole time?"
He went silent and nodded with a boyish grin.
"You've got a real freaky side to you, haven't you?" he smiled as he eyed up my swollen cock.
I would have been ashamed if I wasn't so fucking horny.
“I like that," he said.
It was more of a predatory snarl, a grunt of arousal as he came for me. Before I could stop him, he pinned my arms to the bed and lowered himself down onto his stomach. His breath was searing hot on my balls and his tongue like sandpaper as he licked them. My cock twitched with the promise of coming.
"Give me that," he said, taking it in his hand. "You're so close."
My heart beat so fast it hurt. The breath was gone from my lungs. All my inhibitions dissolved in the heat. I spr
ead my legs as he took me in his mouth and felt his fingers reach up way inside of me. He sucked hard, too hard, until I was trembling and hearing the sweet noise of his saliva in my ears.
Leaning back against the wall, I surrendered my body to him as he owned me from the waist down. His fingers hurt me but I liked it. His mouth swallowed me up but I needed more. I fucked his face until he pulled away coughing, then grabbed his head and lowered his face to me again.
"Put your fucking mouth on it," I ordered.
He was grinning, his cheeks all rosy and his eyes sparkling.
"As you wish," he struggled to say as he gagged on my length.
"Faster."
He gagged some more. I latched onto his ears and steered my dick way down into his throat. He could really take it all and he did it with pride, groaning as his thick saliva cascaded down his chin.
"Motherfucker, you suck it harder."
My wish was his command. He sucked until his cheeks were hollow and he was coughing up even more spit and gunk from the back of his throat. My balls ached as I came, my anus pulling itself tight around his fingers. I yelled as I ejaculated, screaming and throwing my head back until I was hitting my skull of the concrete wall and then I was crying out, my legs spasming as though I was having a seizure.
The bed shook beneath me, struggling to remain standing. The brash sunlight was burning my eyes, my skin, illuminating the white haired old man so it looked as though he was wearing a halo. An angel with a mouthful of cum. He came up for air, spluttering and laughing and looking for more.
"I'm not finished," he said.
"I am."
"Aw."
He pouted like a schoolgirl.
"I could go on for hours."
Still blinded, I lay floppy and exhausted not able to so much as lift a finger.
"Hours..." I whispered.
The thought made me weak.
"What a way to wake up," breathed Coop as he lay his head on my stomach. "Let me lick the cum off you."
He cleaned my dick and my stomach, eating it all up like it was giving him life. As he sat up, I could see he was harder than ever.
"Your turn," he said.
His voice gave no indication I had a choice. Straddling my chest, he pressed his thumb to my lower lip and opened up my mouth. Inserting the head between my teeth, my jaw ached as I struggled to accommodate him.
"Don't be shy. You weren't last night."
He pushed himself in a little further until I could feel his girth press up against my tonsils.
"There you go. Be a good boy."
I couldn't explain it. But something about being told I was a good boy made my cock hard again. Maybe it was because for once I wasn't in control. For once I had someone dominate me and take control of my body, of my life. It sure felt good to just let go and have him own me.
My eyes watered slightly with the pressure against the back of my throat. He wiped his salty fingers over my eyes to dry them.
"There, good boy," he repeated. "Don't you like it?"
I let out a groan as a reply.
"Uhuh.uhuh..." I managed to grunt.
"Yeah... Oh, fuck."
He clasped his strong fingers around my jaw and thrust a little harder. Then even harder.
"Give me those hands," he said as he took them and placed them on his ass. "Don't let those hands go to waste."
He bounced as he thrust, moaning unspeakable, barely audible filth beneath his breath like he was summoning a spirit from the deep darkness of my throat. I wanted to give him more. Wanted to make him cry out like he'd done with me. Without warning, I pushed two fingers into him and he yelled but didn't complain. Instead, he pulled himself free from my mouth's grip and lowered himself down to ride my hand.
"You know just how to make me cum," he said.
I could feel his prostate swell, could see his eyes roll back in his head. He licked his lips as I pushed in another finger but it still wasn't enough. He jerked himself in my face so I could smell my own spit mixed with his cum.
"I'm gonna...I'm gonna..."
He couldn't finish his sentence before he ejaculated a full load across my eyes. It stung like shit but I laughed anyway before wiping it from my face and tasting it on my fingers. At last, I freed my fingers from his ass and he fell back onto the bed with stars in his eyes. It looked like he was seeing Jesus on the ceiling.
"Sweet... fucking hell," he said.
We both lay there, stunned but satisfied. The sun shone on the bed, casting the silhouettes of our bodies on the floor so we looked like mountains painted on the chipped floorboards. I closed my eyes for what I thought was a second but must have been longer. When I opened them, Coop was fully dressed and he was standing over me with a piece of paper in his hand.
"Where did you find this?" he asked, his hands trembling. "I said where did you fucking find this!"
Chapter Two
Lincoln
We both stared into the metal chamber through the tiny porthole window. Cynthia had to reach up on tip toes to see in and only then did her nose graze the first inch of the glass. I felt like lifting her up like a kid but changed my mind. I didn't want to touch her.
"That's where she'll be made? In there?"
"That's correct. Well, that's where her tissue samples are cultivated."
"It looks so...."
"Amazing?"
"Clinical," she replied. "It's not beautiful enough for her and why keep her in that ice all the time? If you just need the tissue samples?"
It was a good question, one that was going to come sooner or later. The truth was that I just couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye to the real Etta. Not just yet. I just couldn't. What came out of my mouth was something far different.
"I'll of course need further samples at various points in the cloning process. It's not like putting a ready meal in the microwave," I explained, banging the side of the chamber. "It's more delicate than that and measurements of the samples need to be precise down to the nth degree. I'll need her in perfect condition until the very end of the process. Only when I know it has worked for certain."
Cynthia was in awe and simply looked up at me, her mouth a little slack as she took it all in.
"You're a god," she said. "Creating life from death. You're actually cloning a person. And you're doing it for love. For love!" she declared and raised her hands to the ceiling.
If the stars were aligned, there should have been a bolt of lightning hitting the ceiling to emphasize the grandeur of her statement. But there was no rogue weather or indeed anything at all. There was just silence. Just a pure, exhausted, hot and heavy kinda silence.
"Ice tea?" asked Cynthia. "I'm parched."
At last, she lowered her hands and put on her motherly face, the one that made her look like an old matron from a retro British drama. I was half-expecting her to call me guv'nor.
"Ice tea would be wonderful. Make it a Long Island if you want."
She paused and her face dropped.
"About that, Linx, sweety. I've been wanting to talk to you about something."
"Can we do it over ice tea?"
She smiled and simpered.
"Of course."
Five minutes later we were sat out by the pool sucking on pink straws. Cynthia didn't do things by half so tiny paper parasols floated along the tops of our drinks along the heart shaped ice cubes.
"Is there something bothering you?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, smoothing down her skirt and licking the tea from her lips. "But I don't want to be rude and intrude on your life but it's just that-"
I burst out laughing.
"I'm sorry, did you just say you didn't want to intrude on my life? Do you not remember how we met? How you knew me? How you came to work for me?"
She got the point and her cheeks reddened.
"Okay, what I mean is, I don't want to force my opinion on you but I really think you should...."
She hesitated in fear for a second than spat
the rest of the sentence out in one long word.
"Reallyquitdrinkingbecauseit'smakingyoualittlenuts."
Then she took in a breath and leaned back in her lounger, relieved to have finally said what she wanted.
"Excuse me?" I said. "You want me to stop drinking?"
She nodded.
"You're a wreck, Linx. A fucking wreck of a human and you need to nourish your body. How are you supposed to work when your body is falling apart? That great mind of yours shouldn't have to reside in a derelict house. It should live in a palace and pampered."
She had a point. She really did. I'd let myself fall to piece recently and I didn't care at all. Mainly because I just didn't care about myself in the sligthest but... what if I made some kinda mistake because my brain was simply not working at its full potential. Here I was, supposed to be some genius, one of the best medical doctors in the country and I'd neglected myself. What would I say to a patient if he behaved like me? Chances are I would tell him to seek counselling, get eight hours of sleep a night, cut down on his drinking, stop smoking, put on some weight. All those things were the right thing to do and deep down I really knew it but at the same time, it felt like an impossibly gargantuan task. At this point in time I was merely existing minute to minute, surviving on whatever Cynthia put in front of me. Could I really start looking after myself?
"You deserve it," said Cynthia.
It surprised me. Why the hell would she say something like that?But as though she was reading my mind, she gave me a wry sideways glance and held my hand.
"I know that look in your eyes," she said. "You're thinking good health comes to other people, that you're a screw up, someone who's alone in the world and has no reason to be healthy. You think you don't deserve to look after yourself because you failed Etta."
"That's not true," I spat.
Although it was so accurate it actually hurt. It was like I'd been kicked in the chest.
Jewels and Panties (Book, Sixteen): The One Above All Page 1
