With the show just a few feet away, Joey’s wet, firm lips sliding hard and riding that rail of Mike’s manhood, plus the luscious contortions over Mike’s face as beads of perspiration stood out on his upper lip and his brow, I really needed something firm between my legs.
My ass rubbed against the upholstery and I dragged my puss over the ridges in the seat back, but it only made it worse. The groans and wet breaths and the sounds of strain and tension from those two hot men going at it just a few feet away was more than I could bear.
My hips bucked and twitched. I tried to wrap my legs around Joey, around any part of him, but I couldn’t do it. Mike looked over and he told Joey, “Our perp is ready for processing, Joey.”
Joey still had Mike’s cock in his hand as he looked up, staring right between my wide-open legs and into my wet puss. Mike said, “Give her a full and probing interrogation.” Oh, my god, when he said that, I couldn’t stand it.
Mike told him, “Get a full confession.”
Joey said to me, “Mrs. Harper, are you ready to confess?”
“I am, Joey. I confess that I want you to fuck me.” I saw his cock twitch.
But Mike said, “A full confession, Joey, make her tell you everything.”
Joey’s eyebrow lifted and his brown eyes gleamed. “Well, Mrs. Harper, spill. You know I’m going to get it from you, one way or another.”
“It’s true, Joey, it’s all true. I want your cock inside me, I need you to fuck me as long and as hard as you can.” My voice rasped as I told him, “I want your cock and I want your spunk. Is that enough for you?”
Joey turned and came toward me. Mike said, “Get her to really open up.” I gasped as Joey hauled my leg over his shoulder, spreading me so wide. Then I let out a long, deep sigh as his fat cock popped into my wet pussy. I groaned at the force as he hefted it inside me.
For a rookie, for such a nervous boy, Joey was a man at the charge, he was a bull in the pen. He rammed and reamed my poor, sore, wet cunt and he shoved me over a higher ledge that I had experienced in a long, long time.
Mike said, “I’m coming in for backup.”
As Joey drove into me, Mike was baring Joey’s smooth, round ass and massaging between his cheeks, preparing the scene for his arrival and entry. Joey’s face showed the evidence of Mike’s investigations, as his fingers massaged the point of entry. Joey shuddered as Mike applied cold gel to the key location and pressed in along the trail of evidence.
Then Mike used his ram to force an entry, and Joey stiffened inside me and all over. Feeling Joey’s cock plunging into me while Mike’s manhood was plugging Joey put me over the edge. I quivered and shook, I shouted and shuddered. My juices sprang like a fountain and every part of me tensed and exploded in spiraling waves of gushing torrent.
Mike leaned over Joey’s back and salty beads of sweat arced from his brow. He gripped the rookie’s shoulder hard and impaled him with the full force of the law. Joey’s face twisted and his cock pulsed as he slammed it into me, Mike’s pelvis slapping loud against his tight buttocks.
Joey grabbed my breasts and shouted as he cannoned hot, sticky gushes into me. Mike yelled, “Here, you tight little rookie.” and he slammed Joey’s ass again and again as he came.
I was still cuffed to the door as we all drowsily nuzzled, exhausted in the sweaty heat of the back of the patrol car. All the windows were fogged and dripping.
I said, “Officers?”
From behind Joey’s sprawled body he said, “Yes ma’am?”
“I have some other misdemeanors you ought to know about.”
Chapter 10
HEN I FINALLY FOUND MY way home, parked askew in the drive, and stumbled through the door, I felt like a wreck.
Who could help me now, who could I turn to? I’d adapted so well to the ’zipless fuck’ that my life had kind of curled itself around the idea of it. Looking out for opportunities, then anticipating. Then, as often as not, regret.
Regret, not for the adventures, they were as thrilling as ever, but for the fact that they never led me anywhere, except sometimes into the path of the next one.
I hadn’t any normal connections anymore. There was nobody I really knew, nobody I connected with for anything but sex. It felt as though I’d started a forest fire with myself in the middle of the forest. I didn’t see how anyone could reach me now.
I didn’t even know how to express the way that I felt. There was no way I knew how to say what was wrong, or even that anything was wrong. All I knew was that I started out trying to cover the huge hole that opened inside me. All this time that I thought I was getting away from it, now it felt as though it had just grown bigger. Wider and deeper.
There were no words, no ways that could I explain it to anyone. ’I think I’m running out of road and I’ve forgotten how to steer. I’m a rudderless boat on a cruel sea.’ Whoever I talked to, if I talked like that, they would think that I was mad. They might even be right.
After I called Marston Quinn to finalize the new scholarships, I would have to think hard about who there was left that I could really talk to. Perhaps it was time to book a shrink. Damnit.
I would have a drink and call Marston. Then call a shrink.
Maybe I would have a drink, go to a bar. Have another drink. I poured a comforting measure of bourbon. That made me feel a whole lot better, so I had another. Then, somehow, I wound up talking to Marston.
“Stay right where you are.” His voice was commanding. “If you need food, get a delivery.”
“Okay, alright, Marston.”
“And send the delivery boy home safe and sound.” his dark, honeyed chuckle made me tingle all the way down. “I’m coming right away. It’ll take me until the morning so don’t go anywhere until I come, alright?”
hat he said reassured me. I felt like there was finally somebody who cared about what was going to happen to me. In that wild and hazy instant, I realized what I had been missing through all of those wild moments, and in all of my frenzied and reckless adventures.
All of those months, all the times where I had chased excitement and connection, I had missed something vital. Or maybe I had dodged it on purpose. In each encounter I deliberately avoided any risk of a more lasting connection, but that was what I needed.
I wanted love in the physical senses, and I had discovered the way that my body needed it. And that was wonderful and I didn’t think I would ever go back to how I had been before.
The things I learned and discovered about myself were things that others would find hard to accept. Impossible, maybe. But it was who I was and I wasn’t going to be ashamed of finding pleasure where I could.
But the need that I had for some more lasting connection, for someone who would be there for me, or someone to care what happened to me. Someone to care for me, I had pushed that aside. Maybe because my husband had taken that away when he left, perhaps deep down I had decided I could do without it.
Now, waiting for a tall, elegant man with dark, steady eyes to fly halfway across the world to put me to bed and tuck me in, I couldn’t pretend to myself any more. I needed that, too. I needed someone to be my protector when I needed one. I had taught myself to be independent, self reliant and to make myself safe and secure. I had shown myself that I could do it for myself.
I could do it, but now I saw that what I needed, almost more than anything else, was for someone else to want to take care of me. I needed to matter to someone.
Thinking of it, the revelation made me sob. I didn’t think I was ever going to cry again. Now, for the first time ever, I cried with sadness, with loss and with joy, all at the same time. For a moment I felt empty, that there was no-one there to put an arm around me. But then I thought of Marston, a man I hardly knew, but one who cared enough to drop everything and get on a plane, just to see that I was okay. And I didn’t feel empty anymore.
And at last, at long last, I began to feel whole. I was able to accept who I was and to value myself. I had found strength, courage,
and I had discovered that my lust, my hunger for adventure was a way of healing, of coming to accept myself.
Pleasant thoughts and recollections of Marston Quinn stirred and I wondered at the kindness of the man, that he would take such trouble over me. I was sure it wasn’t because of our business. If his concern was that, he would surely have called to have somebody local sent out.
This was a personal effort he was making, and it could only be personal reasons that drove him. Still, we really hardly knew each other. thinking of him I was reminded of the young man with the elegant manners whose smile had been so electrifying and who had been so tender in his attention to Marston.
And I wondered, had Marston realized what it meant, the way that the boy looked at him? Had he really understood those parts of himself? Maybe there was something that I could do for him. Something that I could give him, or perhaps help him to find, a way that I could give him something in return.
The thought made me urn over some ideas about possible closer connections with Mr. Marston Quinn. But he was coming. And for no, that was enough.
As I waited, I took a long glass of cold juice outside to watch the sun rise over the Californian hills.
In the calm, awakening light, I felt as if the world belonged to me.
arston, there are things you don’t know about me.” He drew a breath to speak but I lifted my hand to stop him. I had to hurry. If I didn’t speak right away, the moment would pass and I would miss my chance.
Marston and I could be something. We really could become something together. Tonight. But if it was based on a lie, then that’s all it would ever be. I realized then, what was most important to me. I wanted him. I wanted there to be an us. But if we started without him knowing who I really was, then he might hate me.
I wanted to have him, but I knew that, come what may, I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I had to have him and then lose him. Better to come clean here and now. I was sure that it would be the end of any chances that we ever had, but now, more than anything, I had to be truthful with him.
I wanted him, I wanted to be with him, I wanted to have him. But, even more, I needed him, this man more than any other, to see me. To see me for who I was. I desperately wanted him to accept me, but I knew that was hopeless. So what was I going to achieve? Telling the truth?
I hadn’t been lying. I hadn’t misled anybody in all of this time. But I had allowed people to think something. Let them see me in a way, and to imagine that I was someone that I wasn’t. That was the untruth.
What I did, how I spent my time, I hadn’t lied about any of it, I had only omitted some details. How I felt was what I let people be misled about. And how I had acted behind closed doors. The proper, well-behaved Mrs Harper was the woman that most of the world saw, the conventional, respectable divorcée. The me that was my public face. That was the lie.
Even though I knew that when Marston saw me, when he knew who his client really was, who he had invited to dine with him, then the look on his face would chill and darken. Then his eyes alone would dash me like a surf breaking on cold, jagged rocks.
Rejection. I knew then that rejection was what I had been fleeing, hiding from. Dancing and fucking to drown out the dull, ugly echo. And now I was determined to invite it.
I was going to drive him away. To make him reject me, to tell him all there was to tell and in the most exposing and humiliating way possible. The one man who had come to mean so very much, to mean more than anything to me. And I had started. So now I had to finish.
“Marston, there are things you don’t know about me,” he reached across the table and his strong hand rested on the back of mine. I weakened. Turned my hand over. Felt the gentle, tender strength in his grip. Lightning bolted through me as his fingers caressed my palm and the inside of my wrist.
His eyes held me and I almost drowned in them. The sensation almost overcame me. Shaking my head, I tightened my lips. “Marston, I have to tell you,” My eyes moistened and my lips fell open as I pleaded with him. He shook his head.
But I had to. I couldn’t let him think I was who I wasn’t It would kill me if, in this wonderful, golden moment, he believed I was that respectable someone, that make-believe person. That mask.
“Please,” I said and tried again to speak. His hand felt so caring. So capable and understanding. I was melting.
His voice shook me from my seat. My stomach plunged. He leaned towards me. “I know.” I couldn’t understand. “More than you think. It’s one of the most fascinating things about you.”
What he said didn’t make sense. I couldn’t believe him. Couldn’t believe what it made me think. “Marston…”
“I know.”
His voice stirred me and lifted me. But I shook my head. “You don’t. You can’t”
Then he took my hand. “I can.” And I could have died. His hand, holding mine, was the most powerful, intimate, tender thrill I had ever felt. And he said, “I know far more than you think. And there’s something you don’t know about me.” He looked in my eyes. “I know you,” he said, “Really. I do.”
And so, with my heart banging in my chest left my hand in his while I told him. All of it. Everything.
And he smiled.
y days on the submarines of the Royal Navy steered me into the path of more than enough excitement. Along with the law, which Father insisted that I study, I had also learned accountancy. That profession seemed like a quiet enough environment to hide myself away for a few years. The family law firm had really never appealed to me.
Still, before I was able to take up the position I was offered by a solid firm of accountants and actuaries, Father became ill and my uncle Royston prevailed upon me. So it was chancery and chambers for me and the family firm after all, with a room at Lincoln’s Inn.
Of course, times changed. As it turned out, I had a narrow escape. In the turmoil of the banking crisis, the firm of accountants that I had been ready to join found that they were in line for much more than their fair share of excitement. In fact they became highly valued, for who I did a considerable amount of representation work.
Then, the high-strung clients of Harbinger, Quinn, Quinn and the cut and thrust of litigation came to seem much more like the quiet, cozy backwater that I had been craving. A place out of the spotlight, away from public attention. There was scandal and drama, certainly, daily and in large measures, but all of it was played out in managed settings. When things got lively in our firm’s cloistered chambers or on the floor of the Law Courts, at least it was like controlled explosions.
So I became comfortable and, to a degree at least, contented in my quiet life. Disturbing and troubled thoughts and feelings from my younger days faded harmlessly into the hazy, distant horizons of the past.
Until Mrs Harper came along.
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Alice was born to tell stories and lives to share her tales.
Living in the hills with her fabulous and faithful golden Labrador, her life is illuminated and regularly ignited by the hugest, hunkiest, gorgeousest ex-Marine.
Trust Page 17
