“Not yet,” he said. “Come on, San baby, cum for me.”
“I’ll...try,” she said in a raw whisper.
She let her hips go then and rocked them up and down with the motion of what he was doing to her. Jaw muscles clenched, and she arched her back, barely able to breathe. And then she moaned, a soft rising wail that Mickey was sure Linus had never heard or thought about. Sandy clutched at the sheets with her hands as the orgasm built and then arched all the way up so that she was suspended on heels and shoulders with her backside a foot off the mattress. She bared her teeth, growling with effort as the spasm took her.
Mickey got an arm around her as she came and then rolled on top, pushing her flat onto the mattress again. She drew her legs back, still caught in the orgasmic spasm, and he thrust into her with one motion. She cried out, breaking through the natural reticence that usually kept her near silent during sex. Mickey hoped it hurt. And he fucked her like he had beaten Linus Davidson, letting all his rage flow through the weapon of choice.
He took her hands in his and pinned them to the pillow on either side of her head to hold her down. Sandy gasped and shook underneath him, not knowing how to react, and not able to make a choice about it. He fucked the living shit out of her, and she came again while he did it and then, miraculously, again as he spurted into her body. They had cum together exactly once before in their nearly seven years of marriage.
“Man, oh man,” she said afterwards, clearly impressed. “You sure don’t beat around the bush, if you’ll pardon the pun. I mean, wow. Did you feel that?”
“Maybe you’d better get used to it,” he said, liking how it sounded. He kissed the tip of her nose, and said, “Come on, let’s do it again.”
The second time took forty-five minutes. Mickey checked the clock to be sure. He was tired, and there was a muscle somewhere in the middle of his back on the right side that was sore from swinging the bat into Davidson’s ribs and knees, but he wouldn’t stop. He had one of those aching, rubbery hard-ons that never seem to end, and he kept after Sandy until she was panting from exhaustion and weeping a little from having him inside her. Served her right, Mickey thought, and kept at it.
He put her in every position he could think of and the only respite was when he pulled out to have her suck him while he took a break. She was getting a sort of haunted look before it was over, as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening, or who it was happening with. One thing for sure, though, she had never known him like that. Never even imagined him like that. He was forcing her in a way that she had never known, raping her in fact, only she didn’t know that and for the moment, didn’t seem to care.
Finally, when he came for the second time at last, Mickey had her lying face down with pillows stacked under her hips. He half knelt between her splayed thighs, held her wrists pinned together at the small of her back, and he knew beyond a doubt that he had never fucked anybody harder or wanted to cum more than at that very moment.
Sandy lay under him limp as a murder victim and he had absolute and utter control over her for the first time in his life. He came grunting like a rutting hog and thinking about another use for the bat he had used on Linus Davidson. He wondered, idly, how she would sleep with that shoved up her ass.
When she got up to go to the bathroom, Mickey went to check on their daughter again. Sandy came back to bed and was very quiet. For a minute there, Mickey thought she might suddenly have been a little afraid of him. He was very gentle with her after that, and she fell asleep in his arms.
Chapter Three
Sandy had on her old granny glasses the next morning, and looked at him like he’d grown horns or something. Mickey pretended not to notice and helped the baby with breakfast. Momma had to get stirring, tired as she was, and get to work. Mickey had gotten up with the alarm and made love to her for the third time while she was still half asleep. Three for him, four for Sandy, the bitch, and he wanted her just as much as he ever did. When she came out of the shower, he suggested that she wear stockings instead of panty hose.
“Stockings will print right through my uniform,” Sandy replied in the patient, talking to an idiot child voice. “Everybody on earth will know.” Her full time work was as a lab tech at an orthodontics office. All the girls in the office wore white dresses, or white pants and colorful smocks. Sandy usually wore dresses, because Mickey liked to see her legs.
“Wear a slip,” he said.
“I have a half slip for that white dressy dress, Mick, but not a...”
She’d argue about anything, trying to make you understand that if you’d just listen to reason for a minute, then you’d see she was right and stop making unreasonable requests. Mickey held up one hand as little Cindy toddled in. Sandy stopped talking because they never argued in front of their daughter, even when it wasn’t really an argument. Cindy went straight to the bed and reached for her mother’s leather g-string. Mickey reached over her head and snagged it first.
“Here, this will complete your ensemble,” he said to Sandy, and put it in her hand.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, with that mulish set to her face, like she was working herself up to lay down the law about something.
The little one was ready for her morning bicycle ride, and day care. Mickey sent her over to kiss mommy good-bye, and then left Sandy to do whatever the hell she was going to do. He had his bike rigged with a plastic child seat on the rear cargo rack, and he got Cindy strapped in and took off. It was what they did most mornings since he had joined the ranks of the unemployed.
They rode down the road and across the highway, turning the opposite way to Linus Davidson’s office. Cindy chattered about things like she did and Mickey talked to her about the birds she saw and why weeds grew taller than grass and whether they’d go to the beach on Saturday. He still had that little kink in his back from hitting Linus, but it didn’t bother him much.
The florist was open over by Cindy’s school and Mickey ordered a dozen roses and gave Sandy’s work address for delivery. The lady behind the counter said she could have them there by ten o’clock, so he wrote “Meatball subs at the beach, 12 noon,” on the card and paid in cash. The beach always meant the same place for them, the Bob Graham access that used to be a gay hangout back when that was a problem for the police, and a bigger problem for the gays. Sandy would know where to go.
It was clouding up to rain, but Mickey stuck to his routines. Drop Cindy off. Roses for Sandy to commemorate their spectacular night. Donuts and coffee and the newspaper at the Sugar Shack. Just like he always did. There was nothing in the paper about Linus. Mickey wasn’t surprised. It had all happened after the newspaper had been put to bed. Then the news came on the television behind the counter.
He only heard snatches of commentary, but there were pictures of Davidson’s place with three police cars in the lot around Linus’s red Caddy. Mickey tried to listen over the clatter of dishes and got bits and pieces from the talking head.
“Badly beaten in an apparent robbery...broken bones...ribs...knees...leg...possible concussion.” The police allowed as how they couldn’t talk about an ongoing investigation...blah-blah-blah...victim, a retired FBI agent whose name is being withheld pending family notification, was transported to the hospital with life threatening injuries...blah-blah-blah – they would appreciate any witnesses with information...blah-blah-blah.
One cop made a wry face and said that whatever else happened, somebody really went after the guy. He was laconic about it. Muggings were no more unusual in Riviera Beach than the tide. Fucking-A right they went after him, Mickey thought, and ate another donut.
He took the long way home, pedaling steadily but unhurriedly through the Port of Palm Beach lot and then out to Broadway. He cut across Linus Davidson’s lot on the way back to Avenue C where it ran to Bicentennial Park. The red Caddy was still parked where it had been the night before. There was police tape on the office door and a black spot on the weedy pavement beside the back steps where some
one had bled. And Mickey knew who that was. He saw it but just gave a cursory glance on the way through, wondering who would do Linus’s work now that he was going to be laid up.
He put the bicycle away and went to get Davidson’s stuff out from behind the water heater. The wallet had the regular sort of pocket plunder in it, a Florida driver’s license, two credit cards, an FBI retiree card, his concealed carry permit. There was three hundred dollars and a bit in there.
Mickey kept the money and ran everything else through the shredder, then made a pile of the pants and shirt from the night before and used the shredder crap as kindling to burn everything in the grill out back. Sandy’s glasses were still in the pocket of his blood spattered shirt. He got them out and put them in the back of a drawer in the tool box and went out back to burn everything else.
The gun was a worn Smith 642 loaded with +P hollow points. A serious little gun. Mickey hefted it thoughtfully and wondered if he could keep it. Of course not. It was probably worth five or six hundred bucks on the street, but he couldn’t sell it, either. And wouldn’t. He didn’t want some crackhead gang banger shooting some poor bastard with Davidson’s gun. And no way was he going to start a trail of evidence that might lead back to him.
Linus was an asshole, but he had spent his life investigating things, and Mickey had no intention of letting himself become a suspect. The gun would have to go. Shit. What a waste.
Mickey spent a little time stirring the ashes in the grill and squirted starter fluid over them to do the whole thing again just to be sure. While it burned, he went to get Sandy’s black bikini and rolled it up in a towel, in case she wanted to take a quick swim. Then he got the Harley out and took a ride into the country to bury Davidson’s pistol where it wasn’t ever going to be found.
Just after twelve o’clock, Sandy pulled into the Bob Graham beach parking lot and got out of the Volkswagen. Mickey had sandwiches and a bottle of water in the saddle bags and got them out as she locked the Beetle. She had on a white nylon uniform dress, and the cut of stocking tops around her thighs was visible through the fabric, even with the slip. Very pretty.
“I told you,” she said. “Nobody wears stockings, Mickey.”
“Don’t make such a big deal about it,” he said. “You look fine. Sexy, too.”
She gave him an uncertain little grin. “I got the flowers,” she said. “It was sweet of you, honey, but we can’t afford that kind of thing.”
He shrugged it off, and said, “I hope you liked them.”
“Of course, I did, Mickey, but...”
“Let it ride, Sandy.”
They went past the rest rooms and out onto the narrow board walk. Half a dozen people were on the beach, and Mickey went around to the tables and picked one with shade. It was the warm side of almost cool enough to get out of the weather, and the ocean smelled of rain and drying seaweed.
“How’s life in the big city?” He meant work.
Sandy shrugged, chewing a bite of sandwich and looking out at the glittering ocean. “I had to work up two castings this morning,” she said. “I don’t know what happened to Mr. Davidson, but he didn’t come.”
Mr. Davidson, my ass, Mickey thought. And yeah, Mr. Davidson did come this morning, or cum at least. But he wasn’t going to be doing it again anytime soon.
Linus Davidson’s part-time retirement work was making plaster casts of people’s teeth from the impressions Dr. Benson took. Their orthodontic appliances would be designed around the cast, and then put on the real teeth. They weren’t plaster anymore, but the idea was the same as it had always been. It was a job that Sandy had done for two years in the office before things got so busy the doctor decided on an outside vendor. She was better at it than Davidson.
“You ought to do those things for a living,” he said. “You’ve got a flair for it. Dr. Barker always said so.”
“Linus has the market pretty well sewn up,” she said.
“Raise your hemline. You’ll blow him out of the water.”
“Mini-skirts don’t cut much ice in the lab,” she said dryly. She glanced at him but looked away quickly. She said, “What’s up with you, Mickey?”
He took a drink from the water bottle and passed it over to her, watching the movement in her throat when she swallowed. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Last night. This morning. You’ve been acting...”
Mickey chuckled.
“You mean the sex?”
“And the, um...” She motioned to her lap, meaning the stockings. “Well, you know. It’s been a long time since you asked me to wear...”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem with us,” he said, like he’d just thought of it. “Is it a problem, me asking you to...?” He shrugged. “You know, asking you to do something new for a change?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Is it?”
“Are you wearing that g-string?”
“Yes,” she said, and blushed for some reason.
Mickey enjoyed looking at Sandy. She was tall, only two inches shorter than his six feet, and she had a sort of grace to her, an unconscious elegance. She moved well, and there was that leggy stride with the handsome roll of hips that drew the male eye like nothing else. Something about her that just shouted woman in all the right ways. Sandy didn’t see it, herself. She thought she was plain and maybe not too bad if she fixed up a bit. She was wrong. She was beautiful all the time, and just flat-out spectacular with make-up and her hair done.
“You don’t like it?” He meant the g-string.
“It’s not very comfortable for everyday wear,” she said.
He grinned. “Okay, take it off.”
“I don’t have anything else...” Her voice trailed off and she cut her eyes around toward him. “Oh, no. I’m not going without, Mickey.”
“Sure you are,” he said, wondering if she would.
“You are such a bastard,” she said. She’d said the same thing to Linus Davidson ten hours earlier.
“Most bastards don’t love you like I do,” Mickey said. “Be good you remembered that, Sandy, unless maybe you don’t care about it like you used to.”
She gave him a blank look. “What are you talking about, Mickey? Of course, I care about it. I’m your wife, remember?”
“And you love me, right?”
“Jeez,” she sighed.
“Right?”
“Yes, I love you, damn it. What do you think?”
“I think take the g-string off,” he said. “And I think I’d like to bend you over this table here and fuck your brains out.”
She laughed, startled, and said, “What would the neighbors think?” Meaning the six or eight people who could see them.
“In the bathroom, then,” he said, getting up. “Come on.”
“We can’t,” she said, giving him the desperate little no, no, no expression.
“Up, Sandy.”
Just as he held out his hand, a fat woman in a black bikini walked by and went into the ladies. She ignored them, but the lock clicked behind her. Mickey pulled Sandy to her feet and took her around the building to the men’s. It was empty.
“You’re crazy,” Sandy whispered.
“In here,” he said, and locked them into a stall and kissed her. He unzipped her dress in back and ran his hands over her skin, feeling the tautness of her bra across her back. She pressed herself against him, breathing hard through her nose. When the kiss broke she hugged him and giggled.
“Oh, my God. How nasty can you get, Mickey?”
“You have no idea,” he said, and tugged at her dress.
“No,” she whispered desperately. “No! Mickey, please.”
He ignored her shock at his behavior and worked the dress off her arms, and then reached back around her ribs and unhooked the bra so that her breasts slid out underneath bare and pale and beautiful. She had bruises on the left side that Mickey hadn’t put there. He cupped them in his hands, caressing her, and she groaned and when he kissed he
r again, her mouth was open and wet and wanting.
Mickey thought about taking the dress off her completely, but hiked the skirt up instead, and tugged the g-string down. Sandy hooked her thumbs in the elastic bands and wriggled her hips to get it over her thighs. He bent to pick it up and stuck it in his pocket, and while he was down there, kissed Sandy’s crotch, using his tongue to get her labia wet.
Instead of kissing her again when he stood up, he turned her in place and put his hands on her shoulders, bending her forward. She reached for the plumbing pipes to brace herself and made that warm, muffled little yelp of welcome and need that she made for Linus and then three times for Mickey and now again, all in one day. He pressed into her, not easing back and forth but just sliding into her the hard way. She squealed and covered her mouth with one hand to stop the noise. Mickey slapped her behind sharply and started to move his hips.
He loved the feel of the garter belt and the way it framed her soft ass and the pinkness from hitting her. Sandy had to brace her hands against the wall as he pummeled her and yipped when his hand came down not playfully, but hard. He knew how hard to spank her. He knew she liked it if he was playful and that she liked it a good bit harder as things went along. This time he didn’t bother. He started hard and went harder, and she was making a lot of noise before he finished.
Mickey loved that she came, and that made him do it, too, right afterwards. Sandy turned in place when he finished and sat on the toilet to clean herself up. Mickey looked down at her for a moment and pressed his hips forward.
“Clean me, too,” he said. She reached for more tissue but he gave her a look. “No,” he said. “Do it with your mouth.”
“You’re such a baby,” she said, not unkindly, and took his cock in her mouth and sucked him gently for a moment and then sat back. “There, all better?”
Redemption For Two Page 2
