by Velvet Veers
The deep lines on his brow grew deeper, but he stood—and growled. He grabbed her elbow, practically dragging her down the steps.
I guess it's too much to expect him to be house-trained, she thought, much less to expect manners from the likes of an ice-fisherman.
She picked up her pace and followed him into the banquet room where people milled around, drinking and socializing. Claire grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray that the waiter held out, downing it like a Guinness. Looking up into the stormy blue eyes of her date, she lifted her eyebrows in an expression of innocence. “What?"
"I would prefer that you not drink,” Walleye said paternalistically.
A little heady from the bubbly stuff going straight to her head, she said, “You've got to be kidding."
"Do I look like I'm laughing?"
"Look, caveman, I can't possibly make it through one of these boring social events without getting plowed. My contract doesn't mention any rules about drink limitations and lady-like behavior. If you don't like it—tough.” She tipped the glass up and downed the rest of it.
Walleye Joe turned his back on her and proceeded to converse with two men about fishing.
Claire swaggered to the appetizer buffet, filling her plate with several items. Another waiter came by and she grabbed another full champagne glass but didn't drink it. She stood to the side and stared at her escort with disdain.
But she had to admit he wasn't bad looking. He had some of the broadest shoulders she had ever seen that narrowed down to a trim waist and powerful legs. She made a bet with herself that he had a fantastic butt, unfortunately hidden right now under his suit coat.
Yep, prime U.S. choice beef—straight from the heartland.
Claire licked her lips, imagining how delicious it could be to run her tongue over all that taut, muscular form of his. What she planned to do to him later would blow his mind if he knew. Like the old saying goes ... the best laid plans. But first she'd have to get to work on turning his opinion of her around—and fast.
* * * *
Walleye Joe could feel those blazing Irish-green eyes burning a hole through his back—as well as the sizzle where he least intended to be affected—right smack in the middle of his groin. Unfortunately, his long-latent desires, buried under the frozen ice in the long Minnesota winter, were coming to life-and making their demands heard—but hopefully not seen. He'd sprung a hard-on from the moment he'd laid eyes on the sexy siren. But he wasn't about to let her know.
He'd be damned if he would give her the satisfaction of turning around. For the life of him, he didn't know why he was being so hard on her. Maybe it was because he liked to see her temper flair. Those beautiful green eyes of hers shot sparks when he pissed her off—and he loved to watch the fireworks.
She was some feisty woman, no doubt about it. More woman than he'd come across in a long time. He had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that he felt fascinated by Ms. Claire O'Malley. In fact, nothing would give him more pleasure than getting to know her better-except maybe getting cozy with her between the sheets. Just the thought sent waves of heat coursing through him. Damn, he knew better than to let a woman get under his skin like this.
But, since Jessica, he'd sworn off women, and he wasn't about to break a promise to himself, or let his heart be broken again. But did that mean he had to give up the sexual side of life? Lord knew, ever since he laid eyes on Claire's lithe, creamy-skinned, succulent body and zeroed in on that beautiful face, he'd sported a constant erection. This was going to prove to be rapidly uncomfortable.
He felt Claire's nearness, smelled her essence before he could see her; he flinched when she placed her hand, ever so gently, on the crook of his arm. Little did she know she'd started a three-alarm fire that ignited nerve impulses generating right down to his crotch. Good thing his suit coat covered that section or everyone in the place would know where his focus was—and it certainly wasn't ice fishing in northern Minnesota.
He looked down at her. She returned his look with a brilliant smile. “Would you please introduce me to your friends, sweetheart?"
His eyebrows went up in surprise. What game is she playing now? Walleye Joe cleared his throat and said, “Sure. This is Hank Hadler and Buck Norman. This is my date Claire ... aaa."
"Claire O'Malley. Walleye gets a little flustered on introductions. Too much time in the woods perhaps. I'm pleased to meet you both. Joe, darling, I think it's time for us to mosey into the banquet room."
Walleye Joe stared at Claire. What in the hell happened to the queen bitch that inhabited her body a few moments ago? Had an alien taken her over? As they walked into the banquet room, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Are you drunk?"
Batting her eyes demurely, she looked at his arctic blue ones and laughed. “No, sweetie. Just doin’ my job."
Joe pulled a chair out for her. Claire looked up at him and said, “You do have manners after all!"
Walleye knew he was in big trouble. It was a lot easier to control himself with the stubborn, pig-headed Claire than the sweet submissive one. His penis twitched in confirmation and he shifted in his seat to get comfortable.
The fishing aficionados at the table kept up a steady flow of conversation about the area fishing. From the dialogue, it seemed their biggest interest in life was what bait worked the best this time of year, what material makes for the best fishing rod, and the size of the biggest fish caught this year so far.
As much as Walleye loved the sport, he was having a difficult time focusing on fishing. Suddenly, it seemed a rather banal preoccupation in contrast to the catch sitting next to him. He'd much rather tangle with her in the sack than untangle a fishing line or listen to another fishing story. Damn, he wanted to devour her and he wanted to do it now.
Claire sat demurely at his side like the perfect date, eating tiny bites of food quietly. He became more aware of her with each passing moment. She had this thing with food that really turned him on. For instance, firmly placing her lips on the fork and slowly withdrawing it, then sneaking sidelong glances at him, obviously to see if he was watching. Now she tortured him with a piece of fruit, letting a little juice drip down the side of her mouth, then that pink tongue of hers chased it, licking it away. Driving him mad.
Mesmerized, he couldn't take his eyes off that tongue sliding around her lips, wetting them. He envisioned those same lips and tongue around his cock, sucking him artfully; giving him the pleasure he'd so long denied himself. His fantasy almost became his undoing. He thought he'd explode right there at the table.
So caught up was he in his sexual fantasy that he didn't even hear the announcer call his name as the special guest speaker. Someone punched him from the side and whispered, “You're up."
Throughout his speech, he kept looking back over at her, drawn to her with inexplicable magnetism. In the middle of a sentence, he looked over at Claire and she parted her legs slightly, as if an invitation.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Though walleye are extremely bare in this part of the country...” He reddened when the audience laughed. “Excuse me, though walleye are extremely rare in this part of the country."
He glanced at Claire. She was barely containing her laughter. She knew exactly where his mind was.
He wanted her tonight—now. What in heaven's name was he thinking? She was a prostitute. He couldn't go to bed with one. After taking so many pains to avoid women, he couldn't hop in bed with a trollop. Or could I ?
* * * *
Claire knew the night was rapidly drawing to an end and he hadn't asked her to go to his room with him yet. No doubt about it, he was definitely interested. But at the same time, he seemed distant, wary of her.
"Let me walk you to the valet area?” Joe asked, gently placing his arm around her.
"Okay, thanks."
They stepped into the elevator and Claire punched the button for the first floor. She was positioned perfectly to push the stop button without Walleye Joe noticing it. The elevator jerked t
o a stop and an alarm bell began to ring.
Claire grabbed Walleye Joe, pretending to be afraid. She hugged him close, hoping the gesture would lead to something. She could sense his reluctance to put his arms around her. “Joe, I'm really scared of closed-in spaces. I've always feared being trapped in an elevator. Could you please just hold me until the elevator starts again?"
As if waiting for his cue, his massive arms engulfed her. Moving in closer, she molded her body into his form, feeling the musky heat emanate from him.
Suddenly, they went from comforting each other to hot and stimulated. She wanted him like she hadn't wanted anyone in a long time, maybe ever.
It didn't make sense. She hated his type and that beard was hideous, but here she was—rubbing all over him like a love-starved kitten and wanting more. She brought his head down to her level and planted a soft kiss on his lips. They opened to hers—warm, wet and inviting. He answered her invitation with a tongue that sought hers in a mating dance that set all the cells in her body on high alert.
Claire thrived on playing the aggressor in this primitive animal dance, running one of her hands through his thick head of black hair, entwining a handful in one fist, pulling slightly, while running the other down his chest, stomach, then finally to his crotch—his extremely swollen crotch. She stroked him through the material of his pants, enjoying the long, hard feel of his penis. Her breathing heavy, Claire moved her lower body away from him enough to unbuckle and unzip his pants. She wanted him in her mouth. Never could she remember wanting something so badly.
She reached in his pants and stroked his shaft with her hand. He groaned and grabbed the wall of the elevator. Slowly she lowered herself to her knees and removed his organ from cover so she could caress it freely.
Hard, long, and thick as an Iowan corncob. Man, they grow ‘em big in the Midwest, she thought.
The perfect male penis stood fully erect before her and she lowered her head over it to take him into her mouth. The world ceased around her with only the two of them remaining. She circled around the tip with her tongue, licking her way to the very base, then moved her tongue back up to the head.
Through the buzzed haze of her mind, she heard Joe groan and felt his hands cradling her head. She didn't miss a stroke, continuing to savor the hard satin feel of the skin of his penis. Claire breathed deeply to smell the manly scent belonging to him. He began to push into her mouth faster. She knew it wouldn't be long before he came. Wanting, needing, she moved her hand to play with his testicles, and with a roar, he came.
Sucking on him until the pulsing ebbed, she kissed back up his stomach and enjoyed the feel of his chest under her hands. Unable to meet his eyes and embarrassed at her sexual abandonment, she turned to start the elevator again, but he grasped her wrist, stopping her.
Placing her wrist above her head, Walleye Joe turned her around and slid his hand down her arm to her other wrist. He joined that one with the other and used his free hand to explore.
"Is that all you wanted from me?” he asked.
Claire moaned at the sensation he created in her body, already a tinderbox ready to go up in flames any moment. He moved into her body, allowing her arms to fall to his shoulders, while he grabbed both cheeks of her ass, placed his penis directly on her vagina and rubbed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and moved with the exotic feel of him. He kissed her hard, plunging his tongue in her mouth with each thrust of his hips. She moaned louder, unable to stop herself. She was so close to orgasm she could feel the building extravaganza inside of her.
"Hey in the elevator. Is there anyone in the elevator? This is the fire department.” A deep, loud voice yelled from somewhere outside the elevator.
Claire jumped and Joe groaned, laying his head on her shoulder. She pushed him away while she yelled, “Yeah, there're two of us in here."
Joe leaned over and pushed the button to start the elevator back up. He looked her right in the eye and said, “I'm not finished with you yet.” By the time they reached the bottom floor, they both had his clothes righted.
They walked silently out the doors of the hotel and Claire handed the valet her ticket. She stood awkwardly, unable to know what to do or say. Finally Walleye Joe broke the silence. Almost shyly, he asked, “There's another banquet tomorrow night. I'd like you to be my escort. Is that possible?"
CHAPTER 4
By the time Claire reached her apartment, she'd thought of at least ten reasons not to go on another assignment with Walleye Joe, and only one reason why she should. Sex, sex, sex.
Tossing and turning all night, sleep eluded her, so wired was her body from the erotic tryst in the elevator. She had to do something; her body was on fire. Claire trailed her hand down her torso, pretending it was Walleye Joe's hand. She recalled the way his warm, soft skin had felt beneath her fingers. In her mind, it was his hand that moved between her legs to rub her sensitive nub. Her other hand moved to her breast to lightly twirl her nipples between her fingers. She imagined him placing his tongue on her nipple, lightly pulling it into his mouth, and then tugging it harder with his teeth.
She gently rocked her finger on her engorged flesh. A warm glow flowed through her, and she moaned with delight, imagining Joe pressed against her, moving inside her at the tempo her fingers thrummed against her clit. As her arousal grew and her nub swelled, her body stiffened, and the sweet ecstasy of release filtered through her.
Now I can get some sleep. Tonight anyway.
She snuggled down into the covers and sighed with contentment. Tomorrow she had a date with her Walleye Joe and she'd have the real thing or die trying.
I wonder if he'd consider changing his name? she thought as she drifted into a deep, fantasy-filled sleep.
* * * *
"Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Joe said aloud, chastising himself. “How could a grown, intelligent man be such an idiot?"
Wasn't it enough that he allowed Claire to give him a blowjob in an elevator? What was he thinking? He wasn't ... not with the head on his shoulders anyway. Then if the elevator scene wasn't bad enough, he'd asked her out on another date. And to really top it off, he couldn't stop thinking about her no matter how hard he tried. He'd stayed away from women for a year because they were nothing but trouble.
Frowning, he filled his glass from the bottle of Jack Daniels he'd ordered earlier and sat it back down on the hotel room table. Maybe he should call someone to cancel this date. The hell of it was he didn't want to cancel. Claire was the only woman in a very long time he wanted to be with. His dick got hard just thinking about her.
Shit! Maybe that was the answer ... maybe all he needed was a good lay. It had been a long time and maybe his body was just trying to tell him it needed an all night love session. One could only repress the animal instincts for so long, then they came bursting out on their own accord.
Once sated, he'd be fine, and ready to retreat back to his cabin in Minnesota, alone with Sheba.
He smiled and lifted his glass in the air, speaking out loud to the imaginary image of Claire in his mind. “To you, Claire O'Malley, and one night of sexual pleasure for us both—the kind you've only dreamed about."
* * * *
Claire arrived at the office early, ready to hunt down the owner of Frey Hatchery and pay him a visit. She did a search on the Internet and learned the name of the president and CEO was Rodney Ballinger. Jotting down the address and phone number, Claire grabbed her purse.
The hour-long drive to the hatchery gave her time to think about her approach. Maybe it would be best to make him think she was going to buy a large shipment of fish. That way he wouldn't be suspicious of her motives.
Claire walked into the office, purposely exuding professional confidence. “I'm Claire O'Malley, here to speak to Mr. Ballinger, please."
The receptionist smiled and picked up the intercom phone. “Mr. Ballinger, a Claire O'Malley is here to see you ... Okay, I'll send her in. Follow me, Ms. O'Malley."
The receptionist opened the
door to a plush office. The phone rang as she entered and the man behind the desk motioned Claire to be seated.
Claire scanned the leather and brocade furnishings, accumulating information and impressions. She admired the splendid, ornately carved cherry wood desk in the corner. Expensive, very expensive. Fish stocking was apparently a lucrative business.
Claire continued her perusal of the decor while he conducted his phone conversation. Italian oils in muted earth tones graced the walls, and a wet bar covered the length of one wall. She waited patiently while he finished his phone conversation. Once he hung up the phone, he stood and came around the desk with his hand extended toward her. “Hello, Ms. O'Malley, I'm Rodney Ballinger."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Ballinger."
He took a seat on top of the desk. “How might I help you, Ms. O'Malley?"
"I have a few questions I'd like to ask you concerning your business."
"Certainly. Can I get you a drink?"
"No, thanks.” Claire watched him walk over to the bar and pour himself a scotch and water.
Moving back to the desk and propping his hip on one edge, he looked down on her. “Fire away."
"Well, I'm here on behalf of the Dallas Press and I have a resource who informed me some shipments of fry were never delivered to the lake. As a taxpayer, I'd like a reason why."
Mr. Ballinger's face turned from a smile to indignation in a blink of Claire's eyes. Oh, yeah, I hit a nerve, she thought.
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"What was it? Some type of payoff between you and the fishing commissioner?"
"I want you out of my office right now.” He pushed a button on his desk. “Get me security."
Claire stood up to leave, enjoying his ruffled feathers immensely. “That's not necessary. I can show myself out. But I promise this will not be the last you see of me."
As soon as she was out of the sight of the office she ran her hand down her pants in attempt to wipe off the offending feel of being in the same room with such a slime-ball.
She had just enough time left to rush home and change for the banquet with Walleye Joe tonight. No matter how she tried, she couldn't come up with a good plan to get him in the sack, for real this time.
