She paused outside the Poplar Trees, trying not to be impressed by its welcoming exterior. She was familiar enough with the area. The office complex was a recent addition to the city’s outskirts, playing host to a wide variety of professional services. A handful of Jo’s clients used the solicitors who worked from the building and she had recently dealt with a software company at this address. They each seemed like respectable businesses with high-profile, go-getting images.
Jo had despised both of them for their pretensions.
Flanked by a handful of high-reaching poplars, the building was designed to look simultaneously modern and old-fashioned. Bathed in glorious morning sunlight, against a cloudless blue sky, Poplar Trees could not have looked more inviting. It had a heavily stated air of ‘olde worlde’ charm that Jo always found irritating. She quashed the feeling, determined to direct her anger at Sam. She had never been very good at placing architectural styles and could not say what era it was meant to imitate. The building was an amalgamation of yellow Yorkshire stone and gold-tinted glass, with ornate Roman pillars guarding the entrance. Admittedly, it was a little more prestigious than the battered doorway of her previous premises, and Jo had to concede that the address was slightly more respectable than ‘above the off licence, opposite the 24-hours garage.’ But she wilfully ignored its affectation of respectability.
She was surprised to see that there was a freshly painted parking spot on the forecourt. Her surname was emblazoned on the black tarmac in bright-yellow letters. It was a pleasant touch and it would have mellowed her mood if she had not seen Sam’s convertible parked in the spot next to it.
The sight of the blazing-red Lotus rekindled her anger. In the shadow of Sam’s brilliantly polished sportscar, her own rust-eaten Ford Fiesta looked poxier than ever. As Jo parked her car, she contemplated scratching her own vehicle against the side of Sam’s. The only thing that stopped her was the fear of losing the Fiesta’s precarious front wing. She consoled herself with the thought that she could do just as much damage to Sam’s paintwork with the edge of her double-headed sovereign. Murderous thoughts still filled her mind and they continued to rage within her as she stormed into the building’s reception area.
‘Can I help you?’
Jo glanced at the pretty, blonde receptionist, trying to take in the sumptuous surroundings of the building at the same time. A gold name badge with BECKY printed on it hovered over the swell of her right breast.
‘I’m here to murder Samantha Flowers,’ Jo said calmly. ‘Can you tell me where her office is?’
‘Excuse me?’ Becky started hesitantly.
‘Ignore my grumpy friend,’ Sam said, appearing on Jo’s left. As always, she looked radiant. Long red hair flowed over the shoulders of her bottle-green jacket, framing her pretty, bespectacled face and accentuating the modest swell of her pert breasts. The short skirt she wore revealed long, coltish legs and Jo glanced at them with reluctant admiration. Sam was not wearing stockings this morning and Jo found her gaze drawn to the smooth cream-coloured flesh of her partner’s legs.
Sam grinned easily at Jo, then turned her attention to Becky. ‘This is my partner, Jo Valentine,’ she explained. ‘And I suppose it would be best if you got to know her, so she can get into her new office.’
Jo glared at Sam and then flashed Becky a tight smile. ‘It would be nice to stop and chat for a moment,’ she said with forced sweetness. ‘But Samantha here has a problem with her breathing and I’m about to sort that out.’
Becky frowned and struggled to find something appropriate to say. Before she could manage it, Jo had grabbed Sam’s arm and dragged her out of the reception area.
Sam walked quickly alongside Jo, seemingly untroubled by the arm-lock she was being held in. They marched through the long, richly carpeted corridors, Sam occasionally tugging at Jo so they got to the right destination.
The corridors were lined with the occasional mirror and Jo caught sight of her own reflection as they walked. She was surprised by the way she seemed to fit into the smart decor of the building around her. Her anger was still smouldering and she had expected to see a wild-eyed lunatic staring back at her. Instead, she saw that her tailored suit was looking as good as ever, drawing attention to the inviting rise of her ample breasts. The navy trousers concealed her long, muscular legs, but, with the jacket open, the high waist accentuated her slenderness. She appraised the reflection with a flash of her dark eyes, noting that her long, brown hair had retained the loose, flamboyant style she had opted for that morning. It was almost disappointing that she did not look like a potential murderess. That was the image she had wanted to project.
‘How’s your morning been, darling?’ Sam asked pleasantly.
Jo was trying to ignore the rising excitement that always affected her when she held Sam close. She felt perfectly entitled to harbour a degree of animosity after the annoyance of the morning, but it was difficult to hold on to the feeling. The gentle pressure of Sam’s breast against her arm was an intoxicating aphrodisiac and her intimate use of the word ‘darling’ did not help.
‘My morning has been shit,’ Jo growled.
Sam gave her a sympathetic frown. ‘Do I take it you’re not overly pleased with my little surprise?’ she asked carefully.
Jo stopped and glared at Sam. ‘Do you mean this place?’
‘It’s the most prestigious address I could find.’ Sam grinned cheerfully. ‘And don’t you think it’s the prettiest building imaginable?’
‘I think it looks a stylised latrine. We’ll discuss it more when we reach our office.’ She glanced around the corridor they were in and tried to decide which way she should be heading. ‘This is like a rat’s maze. Do I get a piece of cheese when I find the right door?’
‘This way,’ Sam said, pulling them forward. ‘What did Doctor McMahon have to say to you?’
Jo took a deep breath, trying to keep her thoughts focused on her anger. She suddenly wished she had told Sam just how furious she was at the unannounced change of address. Having to talk about her trip to the doctor’s that morning was bound to disperse some of her exasperation.
‘Doctor McMahon is a third-rate quack,’ Jo snapped. ‘And I’m not sure that her qualification is legitimate.’
‘Did she say that you were working too hard?’
Jo stopped and studied Sam’s face. The dark-green eyes behind her spectacles were difficult to read but she could sense that her partner was trying to conceal something. ‘You’ve talked to the bitch,’ she gasped, shocked by the realisation. ‘Hasn’t that woman heard of patient confidentiality?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Perhaps they don’t teach that to third-rate quacks. A fortnight’s R and R is what she told me. She also said that a detoxification clinic might not be a bad idea.’
‘I can’t do detoxification.’ Jo hated the defensive position she was being forced to adopt. ‘I have difficulty saying the fucking word for a start. Besides, the only thing that keeps my body going is the steady diet of impurities.’
‘You need a break and you need to get into better physical shape,’ Sam said calmly. ‘I can always sort something out for you. All you have to say is –’
Speaking over Sam’s offer, Jo said firmly, ‘I have no intention of taking a break. And unless you want to discuss it some more with your friend Doctor McMahon, the topic is well and truly closed.’
Sam shook her head and leant forward. Her lips met Jo’s and suddenly the pair of them were kissing. Jo could feel her irritation being swept away as Sam’s hands caressed her body. Their tongues explored one another and she could feel the rise of her passion increase as her anger waned.
‘In here,’ Sam said, heated urgency apparent in her voice. She pulled Jo through a doorway, kissing her again as they went into the office. Jo had a moment to read the words on the door, then it was pushed closed. They were still kissing when the words she had read finally hit home.
‘Flowers and Valentine.’ She broke out of Sam’s embrace and op
ened the door to read the name again. ‘You put your name first,’ she screeched incredulously. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done that. I told you that it sounds like a bloody florist or a card shop.’
Sam shrugged. ‘You told me we could do it that way last night.’
Jo rolled her eyes. ‘I was drunk last night,’ she said petulantly. She used the excuse as though it qualified her position.
Sam shrugged again and said, ‘You’re drunk most nights.’ Her tone of voice was infuriatingly neutral and free from accusation. ‘Perhaps Doctor McMahon’s advice isn’t as poorly diagnosed as you thought.’
Jo glared sullenly at Sam, chewing her lip with rising annoyance. ‘I want my name to go first,’ she said flatly.
‘And Valentine and Flowers won’t sound like a card shop?’ Sam commented with quiet irony.
Jo continued to glare at her.
‘It’s a bit late now, anyway,’ Sam said, sounding as though she was dismissing the topic. ‘The business cards are being printed and the stationery will be delivered this afternoon.’ She took a step towards Jo and reached for the buttons on the front of her blouse. ‘Are you wearing that lingerie I bought for you yesterday?’
Jo considered slapping the hands away, her anger with Sam still rankling. If it had not been for the excitement inspired by the redhead’s touch, she felt sure she would have done it. ‘I’m wearing them,’ Jo said, her tone indicating that her mood was still volatile.
She watched Sam’s fingers move down her blouse and tease the buttons from their holes. The sight of her own cleavage, and Sam’s finger’s brushing against the warm flesh, was more exciting than she wanted to contemplate. The spreading heat of her arousal was already beginning to spark fires deep inside. Jo could feel all attempts at resistance failing.
Inwardly, she cursed. The partnership had been in operation for a fortnight and already it was beginning to work to a pattern that she was not happy with. Sam would do something to annoy her and Jo would become angry. Then Sam would become all pliant and remorseful and Jo would allow her to do whatever she had been doing in the first place. If it had not been for the pliant and remorseful stage, Jo would have stopped the partnership. As it was, the pliant and remorseful stage was invariably sexual, torrid and extremely gratifying.
Still unfastening the buttons, Sam stepped closer and kissed Jo. The intrusion of her tongue was welcome and Jo felt the last of her anger disappear.
‘I’m sorry about the company name,’ Sam whispered. ‘If you want me to change it to Valentine and Flowers, then I shall.’
Jo shrugged, wishing Sam would do more kissing and less talking. ‘Whatever,’ she conceded. ‘I guess we’ll be doing the same work regardless of the company name.’ She gave a tight grin and tried to ignore the triumphant smile that illuminated Sam’s eyes.
‘That looks gorgeous on you,’ Sam said, pulling Jo’s blouse open.
Jo glanced down at the balconette bra she was wearing and found herself agreeing with Sam’s verdict. The semicircles of her areolae were clearly visible above the midnight-blue satin. As she watched Sam’s fingers brushing against the dusky-pink flesh, she felt her arousal increase.
‘It’s not too tight here, is it?’ Sam asked. She eased the tip of her index finger inside the bra and nonchalantly stroked Jo’s breast to indicate where she meant. There was a knowing glint to her smile and Jo felt sure Sam was aware of the arousal she inspired.
‘It’s getting tighter,’ Jo said, excitement darkening the words. She could feel the thrust of her stiffening nipples against the satin. The subtle tickle of pleasure deepened her breathing.
‘Do you want to see how mine looks?’ Sam asked, reaching for the buttons of her jacket. ‘I’m wearing the same style as you.’
Jo glanced nervously around. Even though the office had her name on the door, she still felt like an intruder in the place. She took in the pastel-pink walls and the modern, stylish furniture at a glance, then turned her attention back to Sam. She had removed her jacket, revealing that all she wore beneath it was a balconette bra identical to Jo’s.
‘I’m still pissed at you,’ Jo whispered.
‘You have every right to be, I guess. I should have consulted you before I moved us from Old Kent Road to Mayfair, but I wanted it to be a surprise.’
Jo frowned, unhappy with the way that Sam had shifted the focus of her anger. ‘It’s not just the change of address,’ she said firmly.
Sam nodded as though she understood. ‘I know. And it was wrong of me to be interested in your physical health and wellbeing. I apologise for that too.’
Jo opened her mouth, about to say something else, then decided not to bother. There was no arguing with Sam, she realised. Whatever she had to say, Jo knew she would be wrong. The simplest solution was to apologise first and ask questions later. It would be easier to go with the flow and let Sam lead.
Grinning, as though she had read Jo’s thoughts, Sam began to slide out of her skirt. ‘Our first client of the morning is scheduled at eleven.’ She pushed the bottle-green skirt over her narrow hips as she glanced at her wristwatch. ‘So that gives me a little time to try and make up for upsetting you.’
Jo was about to raise a word of protest, then caught sight of Sam’s French knickers. The midnight-blue fabric was not the most suitable colour for her skin tone, but Jo did not think that spoilt the image too greatly. Sam stood with her hands on her hips, legs apart, treating Jo to a smile that was eager and alluring in the same moment. Circling her right leg was the black garter that Jo had bought for her exactly two weeks earlier. Even when she was not wearing stockings, Sam continued to wear the garter, as though it was an engagement ring.
‘They look good on you,’ Jo whispered, trying to look at the underwear and not Sam’s body.
Sam took a step towards her. The difference in their heights put her face close to the exposed cleavage between Jo’s breasts. As she exhaled, her breath warmed the orbs, forcing the nipples to stand harder.
‘You’re getting excited,’ Sam observed. She unfastened the button on Jo’s trousers and allowed them to fall to the floor. Smiling, Jo stepped away from the clothes with elegant grace.
‘You really do have a very strong hold over me, don’t you?’ Hesitantly, she reached out and cupped one of Sam’s small, pert breasts. The satin fabric was tight but she could feel the ardent thrust of her nipple through the material. Her fingertips pressed firmly against the yielding bud and the two women both drew excited sighs.
Sam placed her hand on Jo’s hip, tracing her fingers against the flimsy fabric of her French knickers. ‘These feel so luxuriant,’ she whispered. ‘I just had to get you a set as soon as I’d tried them.’
Jo made a noncommittal sound, stroking the bare flesh of Sam’s waist and enjoying the way she trembled beneath her touch.
Sam’s carefully caressing fingers had moved from her hip and were now stroking her buttocks through the silky fabric. With slow deliberation, she eased her fingers under the leg of the pants and began to stroke the intimate flesh beneath.
Jo drew a shuddering breath and tried to take a step away.
Sam followed, her cool, exploring fingers remaining where they were.
‘Are we safe to do this sort of thing in here?’ Jo asked suddenly.
Sam laughed, gesturing to the two adjoining doors with her free hand. ‘These are our offices and we can do whatever the hell we please.’ As she spoke, she moved her hand back to the heated cleft between Jo’s legs. Exploring the moist line of flesh, she raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘But I think that I’d better act quickly,’ she said, teasing the tip of her finger against Jo’s pussy lips. ‘You feel so hot down here you could set off the fire alarm.’
Jo smiled, gasping as Sam pushed a finger inside the warm depths of her sex. The slippery wetness of her arousal allowed Sam to penetrate her in one fluid motion. ‘How are you going to cool me down?’ she asked, still stroking Sam’s breasts through the satin.
‘
Like this,’ Sam replied, wriggling out of Jo’s reach. She lowered herself to a kneeling position, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of Jo’s knickers as she moved down. With a gliding motion, she pulled the French knickers from Jo’s waist, over her knees, and down to her ankles. Her face was on the same level as the thick swatch of Jo’s pubic bush and she nuzzled the curls lovingly.
Jo felt a shiver course through her. She reached one hand down to Sam’s head and grabbed a fistful of the Titian tresses. With the other hand, she raked her fingers into the wiry dark hair above her own sex. Her fingers teased deliberately through the thatch, making for the hood of her clitoris.
‘Oh no you don’t Sam said firmly, guiding Jo’s fingers away. ‘If you want to play with a cunny, you can play with mine in a moment. This one is for me.’ Placing a hand on each thigh, she moved her face close to the warmth of Jo’s arousal. Her tongue darted and she flicked the tip against the ambrosial wetness.
Jo groaned and pressed herself back against the wall. Her fingers gripped tightly in Sam’s hair and she tugged the woman closer. Holding her head in such a fashion allowed Jo to press the woman’s mouth firmly against her pussy. Sam was able to force the tip of her tongue into the most sensitive recess of Jo’s wetness. The intimacy provoked an electric prickle of pleasure that snatched her breath away.
Spreading her legs, Jo allowed Sam to lick deep inside her, enjoying the delightful tremors that went spiralling through her body. She wanted to taste the woman’s juices and revel in the heady sensation of licking at Sam’s crotch, but she resisted the temptation, for the moment. Once again, Sam had overstepped her duties as the junior partner and, this time, Jo was determined to make her pay for it.
She gripped tighter on to the waves of red hair, extracting a small groan from the woman between her legs.
‘Ouch!’ Sam complained. She continued to lap at the inner folds of Jo’s labia as she spoke. The words were muffled but clear enough. ‘Be careful. That hurts.’
The Black Widow Page 3
