by Mia Ford
The founding fathers didn’t include anything specifically barring the fucking of a suspect in the constitution.
Was this a great country or what?
Sean
My cock plumped in my pants as I watched Claire Goodman saunter her cute ass out of my office. I licked my lips like a hungry wolf watching a lamb grazing casually in a beautiful meadow, imagining the taste of her on my lips and tongue when I went in for the kill.
Everything about her turned me on.
Her eyes, her lips, her tits, her ass, the way she carried herself, the way she spoke, the way her eyes lingered on mine, and how she squeezed my fingers when we shook hands. I picked up her resume and brought it to my nose. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could smell faint traces of her perfume on the paper.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I opened my eyes to see my old man standing in front of my desk with his hands on his hips and his tongue sticking through the gap in his teeth. He rubbed a knuckle under his nose and grinned. “You want me to leave the room so you can rub one out?”
I set the resume on the desk and rolled my eyes. “Did you see her?”
“Oh, I saw her,” he said. “I assume she got the job?”
“You assume correctly,” I said. “You can rest easy now, pops. Your new secretary starts on Monday.”
* * *
I glanced at my watch. It was almost eight o’clock. My pulse quickened knowing that Claire Goodman would be arriving soon.
I checked my reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the back wall of my bedroom walk-in closet. I had on a dark navy blue Armani suit and white shirt with gold cufflinks, a gold Rolex on my left wrist and my Harvard class ring on my right hand. I smoothed back my hair and checked my teeth.
Not bad, I thought.
Not bad at all.
I made sure the housekeeper left the bedroom neat and tidy (women hate a slob), then walked into the kitchen where Jean Paul, the personal chef I’d hired to prepare dinner, was putting the finishing touches on the evening meal.
I had asked for filet mignon and whatever he could come up with to go with it. I’m no gourmet. I’d rather eat at Denney’s than Delmonico’s, but I wanted this dinner to be just right. He assured me that the dinner would be delicious and impressive. For five grand it damned well better be.
I poured myself a glass of wine and sipped it as I walked through the rest of the penthouse to make sure everything was set. Jean Paul’s assistant was setting the table. There was a bottle of champagne chilling on ice and little trays of hors d'oeuvres had been set out. I wasn’t much for fancy finger foods (give me pigs in a blanket any day), but whatever the black stuff on the little crackers was, it wasn’t bad. Beluga caviar, I think Jean Paul said. Fishy tasting, expensive as fuck, but not bad.
In the living room, I fiddled with the fancy stereo equipment for a moment, punching buttons and turning knobs. This fucking setup cost twenty grand and didn’t do anything my iPhone couldn’t do, other than pipe music into every room of the house.
I flipped switches and kept pushing buttons until I finally got the Michael Buble CD to work. I turned it up just loud enough to serve as background music. If there was dancing later, I’d turn up the music and the lights down then.
The doorbell rang precisely at eight. I glanced at myself in the hallway mirror on my way to the front door. Perfect. I put my hand on the knob, quietly cleared my throat, plastered on a smile, and opened the door.
There stood Claire Goodman, radiant in a little black dress that showed off her long legs and ample cleavage and would be easy to slip out of if the night ended as I hoped it would.
She was carrying a little clutch purse. She held it at her crotch, between her hands, like she was protecting her pussy. Smart girl, and nice try, but when I set my sights on a piece of pussy, I usually get my way. When our eyes met, she smiled.
“Hi, am I on time?” she asked.
“You are,” I said, stepping aside and holding out a hand to welcome her in. I inhaled her scent as she passed. It was intoxicating. My nose wanted to follow her like a bloodhound on the scent of something wonderful. “Please, go on into the living room.”
“Am I early?” she asked when she walked into the living room to find no one else there. She turned to give me a suspicious look.
“Well, little change of plans I’m afraid,” I said, working up a concerned look. “Boozie wasn’t feeling well, so we had to call the whole thing off at the last minute. She’s been undergoing chemo, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” she said, glancing around the room as if she thought other people might magically appear. “So, the party is off then?”
“The party is off, but dinner is on.”
She frowned as her eyes went around my face as if looking for any signs of an evil plot that was afoot. She clutched the little purse to her breasts as if she thought I might try to steal it.
She said, “I’m not sure I understand.”
“The chef had already prepared a lovely dinner,” I said, pouring a glass of champagne and holding it out to her. She didn’t take it at first. She looked at the glass, then looked at me.
I said, “I would hate to see so much expensive food go to waste, so I thought you and I could have dinner and get better acquainted. That way you can hit the ground running on Monday.”
She hesitated for a second more, then took the glass of champagne and slowly brought it to her mouth. She took a small sip and licked her lips.
Smiling at me with her eyes, she said, “How do I know this wasn’t just a ploy to get me alone in your apartment, Mr. O’Connor?”
“Please, call me Sean.”
“How do I know this wasn’t just a ploy to get me alone in your apartment, Sean?”
I thought about feigning innocence, but what the fuck. I didn’t give a shit about dinner. And fuck the pretense. What I wanted to sink my teeth into was not on Jean Paul’s menu. It was inside that little black dress. I brought the champagne glass to my lips and gave her a “busted” roll of my eyes.
“Would that have been so terrible?” I asked. “Wanting to have dinner with a beautiful woman?”
“It depends on where you expected things to go after dinner,” she said, giving me a stern look. “I’m no whore, Mr. O’Connor. You can hire me to work for you, but my pussy is not for sale.”
I nearly shot champagne through my nose. I snorted and coughed for a moment, then wiped my mouth on the back of my hand.
“I didn’t think you were a whore, Miss Goodman,” I said, giving her the smile that usually got the chicks in the clubs to go dreamy eyed. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on her. “And I certainly didn’t think your pussy was for sale. However, if it is as remarkable as the rest of you, I am sure it would be worth every cent, regardless of cost.”
She narrowed her beautiful eyes at me, then the hint of a smile curled at the corners of her luscious lips. She said, “You could have just asked me out you know.”
“Would you have said yes?”
She shrugged her bare shoulders and took another sip of champagne, then said, “I guess now we’ll never know.”
Claire
The food prepared by Sean’s private chef was nothing short of amazing. I’m usually not one for fancy food (I don’t eat what I can’t pronounce), but the filet mignon with whatever was under and on top of it was amazing. I wasn’t a shy eater. I cleaned my plate and had to resist swirling my finger around the plate and sticking it into my mouth, though Sean probably wouldn’t have minded.
I could feel his eyes on me all through dinner. He was good at flirting, dropping little innuendos and hints as we spent the hour chatting like strangers getting to know one another on a blind date.
I found him smart, charming, witty, and sexy as hell. I had to force myself to pay attention to the conversation because he was so distracting. My ears were trying to listen, but my mind kept wondering elsewhere. My mouth said the words, but m
y lips had other things in mind.
It’s incredibly hard to concentrate when you can feel hot juices pooling in the crotch of your black lace panties.
Yes, I was wearing black lace panties.
What?
They matched the dress.
His blue eyes sparkled when he looked across the table at me. His lips and teeth were perfect. His eyes narrowed and his nose wrinkled when he smiled.
The expensive suit was tailor-made to show off his round shoulders and thick arms. It was like having dinner with a model. I almost expected photographers to jump out and start snapping pictures. The sight of him was just icing on the cake of a wonderful meal.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he said as the dishes were cleared to make way for dessert.
“Well, what would you like to know?” I asked.
He put his elbows on the table and spread out his hands. “Oh, you know, the usual. Where were you born? Did you have a happy childhood? Did you come from a big family? Have you ever been married? Are you seeing anyone now?”
“That’s quite a list,” I said, dabbing a napkin to my lips. The trick to being an effective undercover cop was to use as much truth as possible without giving yourself away because the truth was easier to keep up with than lies. So, I told him my life story without mentioning that I was a cop.
I propped my elbows on the table and rested my chin on one hand. “Well, let’s see. I was born in Ohio. I had a very happy childhood. I come from a large family, three brothers, and three sisters. I was married once when I was young and stupid. Divorced after a couple of years.” I took a comical deep breath. “Anything else?”
He spread his hands again. “You forgot to answer the last question.”
“Which was?”
“Are you seeing anyone now?”
I slowly shook my head. “No. I’m not seeing anyone now.” I picked up my wine glass and leaned back to take a sip. “What about you? What’s your life story?”
Sean picked up his glass and leaned back, mirroring my posture. Our bodies seemed to have their own silent conversation going, apart from our brains. Sean took a long sip of wine and slowly licked his lips. My eyes focused on his tongue as it worked its way around.
“Well, let’s see. I grew up right here in the city, the only child of a close-knit Irish couple. My dad was an old school Irish businessman. We had money but didn’t show it off. Happy childhood, no therapy required. High school athlete, college at NYU, law degree from Harvard, and here we are.”
“Wow,” I said, leaning into the table again and sounding impressed. “You have a law degree from Harvard. Why aren’t you practicing at some big law firm rather than working at an import/export business?” I saw his face darken a little at the question. “I mean, I didn’t mean to be condescending, I was just…”
“It’s all right,” he said, patting the air with his palms. “I had planned to work at a big firm, but my dad needed help with the business. As I said, we’re a close-knit family. He needed my help and I could not turn him down.”
“That’s admirable,” I said, meaning it. “Putting your plans on hold to help your dad.”
“It’s what good Irish sons do,” he said, taking on a thick Irish brogue. He held up his wine glass. “Lest the good Irish guilt descend upon thee.”
I smiled and held up my glass. Taking a sip, I asked, “Do you ever regret your decision?”
He drained his glass and shrugged. “Regret is for people who had options.”
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, the server returned with dessert; a huge slice of cheesecake covered in fresh strawberries and drizzled with chocolate. I licked my lips and picked up my fork.
“I hope you like cheesecake,” Sean said.
“Yes, this looks wonderful.”
“Please, eat, enjoy,” Sean said. He glanced at the empty glass in his hand. “We need another bottle of wine.”
He got up to follow the server into the kitchen. A few minutes later I heard the front door open and close just as Sean was returning with a fresh bottle of wine.
“Did someone leave?” I asked.
“I told Jean Paul he could go,” he said, refilling my glass, then his. He set the wine bottle in the ice bucket on the side server and sat back down. He took a bite of his dessert and smiled at me as he licked his lips.
He said, “I told him I could take it from here.”
Claire
By the time dessert was gone, so was the second bottle of wine. I was a little drunk, but not as drunk as I pretended to be in front of Sean. I laughed a little louder and longer, spoke a little slower, tripped over a few words here and there, and gave him dreamy looks that were meant to be seductive. It had been so long since I had flirted with a man I wasn’t even sure that I was doing it right.
If Sean was tipsy, it didn’t show. He was smooth as silk, his speech clear and deliberate. His blue eyes were clear and bright. I loved the way he looked at me. I’d never felt more desirable.
After dinner, we took our wine glasses into the living room. Sean’s penthouse looked out over the city from the thirtieth floor. He had the balcony doors open. A gentle breeze rustled the sheer curtains at the sides of the doors.
As Sean fiddled with the stereo, I stepped out into the night air and leaned against the railing. I sipped the wine and looked out over the city. The street below was heavy with traffic that I could barely hear. The stars in the dark sky above looked closer than I’d ever seen them. It was as if we were on a cloud, floating high above the city.
So, this was how the other half lived. Proof of what I already knew: crime does pay. And when you’re Sean O’Connor it pays very well.
“Beautiful night,” Sean said, stepping out to stand next to me.
“Yes, it is,” I said, lifting my chin to breath in the cool night air. “Fall is in the air.”
“Are you chilly,” he asked, putting his hand on my arm.
“Just a little,” I said. “But I’m fine.”
“Here,” he said, peeling off his jacket and putting it around my shoulders. It was like a warm blanket going around me. I could smell his cologne on the jacket. I turned to face him as he tugged the jacket around me. His fingertips brushed against my neck. A little jolt of static electricity shot down my neck and arced its way across my nipples and down to my clit. My panties grew hot and moist between my legs. My knees felt weak. Maybe I was drunker than I thought. And much hornier.
“Thank you,” I said softly, glancing up into his eyes.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” I sighed as he slid his arms inside the jacket, going around my waist. “Much better.”
“Good.”
“Good,” I sighed.
Without another word, he pulled me close. My body melted into his. I could feel his cock growing as it pressed against my thigh.
I lifted my chin and opened my mouth a little.
He pressed his lips to mine.
His tongue slid into my mouth.
His hands moved to my ass.
He dug his fingers into my ass and ground my cunt into his cock.
I closed my eyes and sighed into his mouth.
Ed would have been furious if he had known that I was in Sean O’Connor’s arms.
Joanie would have called me an idiot and a slut.
Danzig would have been jealous.
Lou and Lester would have reminded Ed yet again that women had no place in undercover police work.
I’d say fuck them all.
I was just taking one for the team.
Claire
Suddenly, there was no one else in the world but me and Sean O’Connor. The street below and the stars above seemed to fade away in the darkness. All I could see was his face. All I could feel were his hands on my body. All I could taste what his tongue in my mouth.
My brain was screaming, commanding me to pull away and run.
The rest of my body, the fun parts, the parts
that didn’t get to come out and play very often, were telling my brain to fuck off.
I could satisfy my lust and still do my job.
I could sleep with Sean O’Connor and still be objective.
I was playing a role, I told myself.
This wasn’t real.
I was not Claire McAfee, undercover police detective.
I was Claire Goodman, horny secretary.
Even with the alcohol running through my veins I knew I was trying to rationalize the irrational, but I was too caught up in the moment to care.
Slowly, the internal argument going on inside me started to fade away, as if someone was turning the volume down while turning the heat up.
As Sean pressed his lips to mine and probed my mouth with his tongue, as his fingers worked the zipper on the back of my dress with surprising skill, I knew I had about three seconds to either push him away or just give in.
Three… two… one… shit…
The zipper slid slowly down my back. Sean pushed the little black dress down over my ass and let it slide down my legs, leaving me wearing the black lacy bra and panties with his jacket still over my shoulders.
“You’re beautiful, Claire,” he said, moving his lips to my ear, tracing little circles around the rim with his tongue. “And so, fucking sexy.”
His fingers quickly had the bra unhooked. It slid down my arms and he brought his hands to my tits, gently massaging the fleshy globes, rolling my thick nipples between his fingers. I gasped at the sweet pain.
My hands were on his waist, fingers digging into his sides as he kissed me again. I could feel his cock hard against my cunt, poking into me, demanding to be set free. I slid my palm over his cock beneath the fabric of his expensive pants and rubbed up and down. He moaned in my ear as his cock hardened beneath my hand.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slid them down my legs. He grabbed onto my hips and pulled me into his cock. I could feel the hot juices running down the insides of my thighs. I was probably staining his pants, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Let’s go inside,” he said, sliding his hands around my ass cheeks and lifting me up. “I want to taste your sweet pussy on my lips. I want to feel my cock inside you.”
