“I needed to stand up.” I hum in rhythm with the sway of my hips. I moved the straps of my bra down one-by-one.
Dylan unbuckled his pants, his eyes riveted on me.
“Now you can sit down right here.” he rumbled.
When I pulled my bra loose, Dylan stood and reached for me.
I did a quick two step to out maneuver my man.
“I can’t sit if you’re standing.” I teased.
I laughed. He didn’t.
Dylan grumbled and stalked to his office door.
When he locked it, I knew for sure, my dance was done.
There was no question that he was ready. I had been successful. The case, for the moment, was forgotten.
Dylan deftly pulled me back against him with his forearm. My legs weakened at the feel of his hardness surging behind my butt cheeks. His hold was confirmation of his claim on me.
His rapid breaths, warm against my neck, stoked my desire even further.
“Dylan.” I moaned and allowed my head fall into that perfect space where his neck and chest connect.
He moved a hand behind the lace of the panties covering my core and cupped my throbbing pussy.
“Is this for me?” he demanded in a deep grumble.
He moved a finger between my folds setting off a time bomb of tickling sensations.
I didn’t answer, instead basking in the feeling of his finger slipping in circles around my clit. His methodical movements were hypnotizing. He repeatedly circled my clit and then slipped a finger in my slit. In response my pussy leaked for him.
He repeated his question along with the pattern. Asking slower, he punctuated his words with his mind numbing touches.
“Is—” He circled my clit. “This—” He slipped his finger into my wetness. “For me?”
I moaned out a yes, with the overwhelming need to feel him.
I tightened the muscles of my center capturing his finger there.
“Does my pussy like that?” Dylan asked breathily.
He rocked his dick against my ass and I moved against his caught finger.
“Yes.” I whined, needing him more than I ever thought I would.
I tried to turn to face Dylan, but he kept me tucked behind his arm and pressed against him.
“You wanted my attention?” his deep voice rolled. “You have it.”
“I want my dick.” I call out, still riding against his finger and palm.
Before I could blink, Dylan had twisted me around and laid me against the table.
I forced my underwear down, as Dylan released himself.
I froze.
He was so hard for me. That sexy, successful man wanted me so much that it pained him.
The engorged state of him made my mouth water.
I moved to his cock and wrapped my lips around it.
The tangy taste of his pre-cum excited me.
My tongue lapped over him repeatedly enjoying the sounds of pleasure that my mouth evoked.
“I need to be inside you.” Dylan commanded as he pulled me up.
Balancing me against the table, Dylan lifted my leg to rest on his hip. He entered with an undulating swell into me.
My breath hitched in my throat. The sensations were too much to take in all at once. His pulsing cock jetting in and out, pumping me into submission, clouded my brain and caused me to close my eyes.
He growled in pleasure.
“Thank you.” I whispered and meant it. I was thankful for the experience of him, for the pleasure that he thrust into me, for the feeling of desire he inspired, and for the satisfaction that his need for me provided.
“Thank you. Thank you.” I whimpered repeatedly as he heaved against me. My emotions were on a climb to ecstasy.
Dylan lurched forward with one last thrust shattering me into an orgasm.
He gripped my body tighter, pulling me closer against him before he cried out.
“Yvette. Damn.” he choked out and collapsed on top of me.
Chapter 18
Dylan
If I could say nothing else about the beautiful woman sitting next to me, re-sifting through information for an already lost case, I would say that she knew how to please a man. For every thought that I had about the case, something about Yvette would force its way in. The time stamp on the nurse’s log for the medicine Brandon Hunter had received and the security camera didn’t match.
The butterfly tattoo on Yvette’s lower back, often called a tramp stamp, flew into my mind. There was no record of Hunter’s medical PIC line being changed for three days. The way Yvette touched me, her small soft hands stroking against my flesh, hardened me. The swell of her breasts that peaked through the half-moon cut top of her dress, overtook the pensive medical words on the page. Yvette was a part of me, a part of my everything.
She looked over at me, her eyes aglow with desire.
She smirked, like she was challenging me. As though the climax I had given her less than five minutes ago was just a prelude and she was waiting for the real song.
I wanted to reach across the table and lick that look right off of her face.
“Come here.” I grunted as though we really needed words. Yvette and I had begun to understand each other without verbal communication.
Yvette placed her file folder to the side, rose up from the chair, and walked toward me.
Before she could take her place on my lap, there was a hard knock at the door.
I kissed her roughly across the seam of her mouth before mating my tongue with hers.
The knock sounded again.
“To be continued.” I rumbled releasing her.
“You know it.” she teased, sliding a hand across the piece of me that I wanted to insert inside of her.
Over the next few days, I went to re-meet with witnesses and follow up with those that I hadn’t known about until the trial. It pissed me off to no end that Judge CRAB let Stroh send a parade of undocumented witnesses through his courtroom like a fashion show. I was also able to get some of the witness interviews that had mysteriously been misplaced until after the trial. The hospital had held a postmortem discussion concerning Brandon Hunter and they had interviewed several of the witnesses that testified in the case. I compared the hospital witness list and the defense witness list. The only one missing from the court witness list that appeared in the hospital interviews was a janitor that went into the room right after the death occurred to clean.
If Stroh could have used him against us in the case, he definitely would have. There had to have been a reason that he was missing in action during the trial. When I made the phone call to him at his home and explained my reason for the contact, he was reluctant to speak at first, but when I offered to meet him and look into providing his college enrolled daughter a scholarship, his attitude changed completely.
I rushed through the office after the interview, ready to tell my father what I had learned from Jimmy the Janitor. He didn’t testify because he had felt that it was wrong to lie. He knew the truth. There wasn’t much that got past him. He knew everyone and everything in that wing of the hospital. He was the break that I needed, the tipping point to finally provide justice.
I needed to let my father know that all was not lost, that our company was not walking off of the plank and falling into an abyss. I could reverse the damage.
The door to my father’s office was no obstacle for my excitement. I had reverted back to that kid who couldn’t wait to show off my stellar report card or first win in the court room. I was going to be able to pull out another victory for the company, for the legacy of Hanson and Associates. Somehow with Yvette joining my life, the thought of my legacy had become more important. It now mattered more what I would be able to provide and what I would leave behind.
Sparkly red bottomed hills of breasts danced through the air to the tempo of a woman’s high pitched, cackled laugh. My father’s face was buried in a pair of pert and paid for volleyball sized breasts.
“These are
the best tits ever.” My father exclaimed before shaking his face rapidly between the two award winning mounds.
“Sorry to interrupt, but …” I began but stopped mid-sentence when the pair froze in place with their eyes locked on me.
Recognition swung around my eyes and banged me in the head.
“What the hell?” I protested.
“Dylan.” My father rose up from his naughty expedition while the woman’s legs fell down from the air in one swoop.
“Save it Pete.” I wanted to hurl. The sight of the two together was unnerving.
Sophia quickly stood, pushing down her dress with both hands. Her head fell up and down with the direction of her hands as though she were composing her mind and method of delivery along with the material.
“I didn’t want you to see us—” Sophia began as she walked toward me.
“Us?” I questioned before inhaling a sarcastic snort. “You and my Dad are an ‘us’? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
Sophia reached out, her pointy nails atop of long fingers attempted to brush against me.
I stepped out of her grasp.
“No. This is every kind of wrong.” I told the two, making sure that my eyes connected with the pair.
The softness that Sofia had held, the small amount of remorse that had glinted in her eyes, was scorched away by the tempest of anger that flared.
“What’s wrong, is you trotting that horse assed witch of a woman around like she’s better than me.” Sophia belted in a brash voice moving closer to me.
I ignored her and stepped toward my father, a boiling need to confront him rising.
“So if I fucked a rabbit would you stick your dick in that too?” The words rushed out in snarl.
My father grimaced.
“Careful.” my father responded coldly. “You may need a step stool to slide off of that high horse that you propped yourself up on.”
The laugh was unexpected for us both. I couldn’t help it. There was nothing about my father that frightened me any longer. Nothing at all. It was sardonically sad that he was trying so hard to be young again, to be me, to beat me.
“Every woman that I drop myself into, you seem to pick up. Why is that? Not confident enough to find a woman your own age, a woman wise enough to call you on your shit.”
“You think I chase after these skanks.” he said expressively with knitted eyebrows. “They come to me. They seek out the original. You’re just a raggedy reprint, not worth a shit sandwich in the sun.”
“I’m nothing like you.” I snarled.
He could fuck Sophia. He could screw any woman from my past up the wall and down his desk if he wanted, but the thought that I was in any way the predator that my father had become spiked my anger more than anything. As much as he had tried, I was not him.
“Don’t put your persistent perverted actions on me. You’ve been playing women since I was still playing in your balls, but this new competition craziness is bullshit. I quit. Be the best lawyer. Be the best lover. I don’t care. You win.”
I turned to exit. Somewhere during the intense conversation with my father, Sophia had left.
I had been ready to make myself scarce as well, when my father said the words that made my fist clench and my knuckles itch to connect with his face.
“Even Yvette.” I heard the evil grin spread across his face before I could see it. “Do I win Yvette too?”
“Touch her and you fucking die.” I didn’t yell the words or bark them either. They crashed out of my throat with fierce protectiveness. “Yvette is mine, and you had better stay the hell away from her.”
“So you aren’t that sure of yourself.” he laughed. “Is there a chink in that armor, Lancelot?”
“Not at all.” I told him coolly. “I take care of my valuables. I’ll leave the trash for you to pick up.”
“Get out.” he bellowed. “Right now. Get out.”
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” I countered. “Seems like everything you have or want really belongs to me.”
I left his office with sure straight steps but with a wavering mind.
Sophia getting it on with my father was wrong. I wasn’t sure if she needed the money like the other whores that my father scooped up from the gutter and collected or if it was about who my father was. If Sophia had needed status, my “bull put out to pasture” of a father would do nothing for her social standing. It didn’t make sense for her to be in that situation.
Chapter 19
Yvette
The transcript of the postmortem discussion for Brandon Hunter that the hospital provided was extensively full of expanded words and intricate jargon. Rainbow colored highlighters and small neon sticky notes became my saving grace during the reading process.
Had it not been for the lovely, colorful utensils my eyelids would have folded in on top of themselves before falling off of my face. The amount of paperwork that was finally available for examination could have covered me three times over. I highlighted every name in pink for fun and cross-referenced it against the patient profile and treatment records.
I looked between the information from the postmortem discussion report and Brandon Hunter’s patient profile information. The information in the profile listed all of the names, addresses, and phone numbers provided to the hospital for Brandon Hunter during every one of his visits. A name listed as an emergency contact during his first visit caught my eye. Salveriacia.
It is not a common name. I had only seen it in one other place, next to Sophia’s name. Sophia Salveriacia. Before she was Sherry Hunter, wife of Byron Hunter, she was Sherry Salveriacia, girlfriend. Two women in the same general age range, in the same city, with same uncommon name had to have some commonality. There had to be some connection to Sophia.
It was finally a possible break in the case. It was finally a reason to get up from the table, stretch my legs, and really use my brain. I hoped with everything in me that the dots would finally connect. With all of the hope that I had inside of me I wanted the picture to be complete so that the case could finally be laid to rest with the victims. Dylan needed that, and because of him, so did I.
My guy had been in a rush when he returned from his conversation with Jimmy the Janitor. I had wanted to speak with Dylan and catch him up on my progress, but he zoomed through the hall with no regard for anyone else.
James was my top pick for discussion after Dylan. I had considered speaking with Pete for less than a millisecond. Everything about him set my nerve endings alight. His toxic looks made me feel grimy, as though only a shower with medical grade anti-bacterial soap could decontaminate me. Being in the same room with the great Pete Hanson made me want lock myself in a dark closet and say prayers. After actually getting to Dylan, I wasn’t sure how he was able to accomplish the task of being a decent person after having been reared in the image of Pete.
I rapped lightly on the door to James’ office.
His gracious smile greeted me.
“Hey stranger.” James teased. “Hanson finally let you out to play?”
It amazed me when I considered the journey that James and my relationship had taken. He had been such an apathetic asshole in the beginning. A robotic unsympathetic jerk. By the time we had started working on the case together, I’d considered him a friend.
“I found some news.” I rushed, moving directly in front of him to plop down my new discovery.
“Straight to business.” he mused, picking up the information.
His smirk faded and his eyes darted to mine with haste.
“You’ve got to be making this up.” he nearly whispered with disbelief.
“Sherry Salaveriacia is Sherry Hunter.”
James typed rapidly on his computer. His fingers tapping the keys like a hammer to nails. Then he stopped.
“Oh my word.” he said, his hand moving to cover his mouth.
“What?” I was anxious to know.
He pivoted his monitor for me to see what he’d found in the backgrou
nd check.
“Sophia and Sherry are sisters?” I almost had to question.
“Based on this information, Sophia and Sherry are half-sisters. The same father.”
“What the hell?”
I stormed out of the office with haste and bumped right into the woman that had made my blood boil.
Our shoulders crashed before I pointed a finger into her shoulder.
“You.” I poked. “You did this.”
“Back off, troll.” she replied haughtily.
Sophia attempted to walk away, but I stepped in front of her.
“No. You don’t get the privilege of being that goddamned evil to Sherry Salaveriacia and walking away without a blemish or scratch.” I told her sternly.
Sophia turned swiftly and nearly galloped to the bank of elevators.
I was hot on her trail. After all of the hours of work I had poured into this crazy case, there was no way that I was just going to let her slip away without some explanation, without some semblance of the truth.
She moved to the stairwell entrance, once she could see the uselessness of mashing every elevator button.
I followed her through the door into the massive concrete area and cornered her before she could hit the steps.
“Why did you frame Sherry Salaveriacia?” I questioned with force. I needed to know. We had spent so long looking at all of the facts, and the entire time the woman with the entire story was right under our noses, right within our grasp.
Sophia stood still. Her widened eyes let me know that she knew that I knew.
“How do you know that name?” Sophia’s gaze was stern behind narrowed eyes.
“You wanted Sherry to go down for this. You wanted her to be considered a murderer.” I accuse, bypassing Sophia’s question all together.
Sophia’s nose flared. She didn’t have to say a word and I knew that I was on the right track. So I continued.
“You bribed those bitter, tired nurses to lie.” I surmised. “You went through hell and high water to frame your own sister.”
Lethal Seduction: A CIA Romantic Suspense (CIA Agents Book 1) Page 22
