Naughty and Nice

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “I’m still hungry,” I said, and I kissed her deeply. She rolled onto her back, awake now, and I climbed on top of her. She spread her legs immediately and I plunged myself between them, both of us turned on and ready for action. She wrapped her legs around me and drew me to her; I felt her flexing her vaginal walls against my cock as I thrust into her, and I groaned. “You’re so good,” I said, and I came, spilling into her. It took only a few moments, not nearly long enough by most women’s standards, but I wasn’t worried about that. Cassie and I had developed a pattern much like eating; sometimes we liked a long, luxurious meal, and sometimes we liked a quick snack. I rolled off of her and she smiled, her eyes open and bright.

  “Better than a bagel with cream cheese,” she said, grinning.

  “I should say,” I said, getting out of bed.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, putting a slight pout into her voice.

  “Work,” I said. “Don’t forget about the dinner party tonight. You could wear you-know-what again.” We weren’t going to see anyone we’d seen last night, and that dress was a complete knockout.

  “Well, it would save me the trouble of figuring out what to wear. Hey, have you seen my passport?”

  I thought for a moment. “Nope,” I said. “Is it missing?”

  She rolled onto her stomach and looked at me, the sheet pulled down to her hips, treating my eyes to a feast of soft skin, her shoulders and back bare.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I think so. It’s not a big deal. Just keep an eye out, yeah?”

  “It’s not a big deal until you try to leave London,” I said, tying my shoes.

  “Well, then, maybe I just shouldn’t leave London.” She tossed something at me; it hit my chest and fell to the floor. I looked down; it was her other stocking.

  “I’m keeping this,” I said, picking it up and stuffing it into the inside pocket of my jacket. She grinned.

  “See you tonight,” she said, then she rolled toward the wall.

  I grabbed my briefcase and wallet, tucked my phone into my pocket, and headed downstairs to the Legacy Suites main office. The second I closed the suite door behind me, the smile disappeared from my face. I needed to deal with a new shipment that was scheduled to come into London later this week. I frowned as I rode the elevator down, checking my text messages. I had nine from an unknown number, all of them with single words that seemed to make no sense. I deleted them, then focused on the messages from my London business partner, Simon.

  Rather than respond to his texts, I called him.

  “We have an issue with the shipment location,” he said immediately. I sighed. I’d already had my share of difficulties with the recent Belize shipment; I really wasn’t in the mood for another. The issues in bigger cities were never related to the storage facilities, though; they were related to making the shipment as invisible as possible. We needed to make it hide in plain sight.

  “What’s the issue?” I asked impatiently. “And why hasn’t it been taken care of?”

  “Dion is dead,” Simon said, and I couldn’t hide the gasp that came out of my mouth.

  “When?” I asked.

  “This morning. Early. I got the call around four.”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “Right,” I said. “Okay, where is the shipment at? Has it reached London?”

  “It’s scheduled to arrive tonight, a little after midnight. I suggest we meet during the dinner tonight. I can take care of things during the day today; I just wanted you to be aware of the situation.”

  “I’ll handle it,” I said quickly. Anytime there was a situation involving a shipment, I wanted to deal with it personally. As long as Manuel Brown was running things, and, I reminded myself firmly, he did run things, as long as he had Antoine, I had to make sure that I handled everything. Even my closest, most trusted associates couldn’t be trusted with my life’s blood. I closed my eyes, thinking of Lorinda, of her scream cutting off suddenly, the silence that followed. Even I couldn’t be trusted sometimes.

  “What?” Simon said. I paused. Had I said something out loud?

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just that I’ll handle everything. I’ll be in contact this afternoon, and we can connect tonight at the dinner.”

  I clicked off my phone and rubbed my forehead with my hand. Just once, I wanted something to go according to plan.

  Cassie

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, shaking Simon’s hand. Brad had just introduced me to his business partner, a tall, attractive man who wore a suit almost as well as Brad. It was easy to see that the two got along well. “How long have you and Brad been in business together?” I was curious enough, but I also thought again of the secret I was sure Brad was hiding. Perhaps researching Simon would reveal some new information. I committed his name to memory and vowed to look him up as soon as I got to my computer.

  “Long enough that he knows all my deep, dark secrets,” Brad said, winking at me and grinning.

  I smiled back, but I felt that same spike of tension push through my stomach.

  “Funny,” I said, letting him know that I knew he was referring to our earlier conversation. He was trying to cover it up with a joke now, but it wasn’t going to work; I knew something was up.

  “This guy is a damn comedian,” Simon said, clapping Brad on the shoulder. “Let’s go get a drink and catch up on business? Cassie, do you mind if I steal him away for a few minutes?”

  “Not at all,” I said. I turned to Brad. “I’m going to call the Embassy about my passport.” I’d searched my room and Brad’s from top to bottom, gone back to the boutique where I’d bought the dress, and left word with the hotel’s front desk that my passport was missing, and it still hadn’t turned up. I was scheduled to fly back to the States in just a few days, and I needed my passport.

  Brad nodded. “We’ll only be a few minutes,” he said. “When you’re done with your phone call, just head back here to the bar. I’ll come find you.”

  I watched Brad and Simon walk away, admiring the view, and then I stepped out into the cool night to call the Embassy. After a frustrating few minutes trying to work my way through the maze of “press six for more options,” I hung up, exasperated. I could go to the Embassy itself, but not until tomorrow. And, I didn’t even know if they would be able to help me. It looked as though I’d be in London longer than I thought… which required a call to Emma, who was apartment sitting for me, and to my editor, who was expecting me back to meet a deadline.

  I walked back in and sat at the bar, sipping a glass of red wine and people watching while I waited for Brad and Simon to return. The dinner party was a fundraising event for an organization in charge of finding missing and exploited children. Brad was one of the founding members, and he had, according to the speaker, given hundreds of thousands of dollars to help the organization since its beginning. I looked around, my journalist senses engaged completely, watching for anything out of the ordinary. The dining area was full of couples and small groups, everyone dressed in tuxedos and cocktail dresses. I didn’t see anyone I recognized from the hotel, and no one stood out as seeming out of place. I realized I had nothing but a vague suspicion based on how Brad had reacted, and I had no solid evidence that he was hiding anything. Perhaps, I thought, I should stop looking for something to be wrong and just enjoy the fact that I’m dating a hot billionaire.

  “Can I get you another drink, Miss?” the bartender asked. I jumped at the sound of his voice, then smiled as I saw Brad walking back into the room. He walked toward me with purpose, and I recognized the look on his face.

  “No thank you,” I said. “I believe my date and I are leaving.” I slipped off the bar stool and walked toward Brad. He slipped his arm around me and leaned in.

  “I want to see what’s under that dress,” he murmured into my ear.

  “I think that can be arranged,” I said, smiling back. He said his goodbyes quickly and he walked me to th
e car. We got back to the hotel in record time, and we went straight to the room. I was surprised Brad didn’t even stop to say hello to the desk staff, but I didn’t complain.

  When he keyed into the suite, he immediately turned to me and pushed me up against the closed door, his lips on mine and his hands on me. I felt heat and arousal surge through me, my blood growing hotter. I reached my arms up, my hands on his shoulders, and he grabbed my wrists, roughly pushing them behind my back. I grinned, and I felt his mouth do the same as we kissed.

  “Like it rough?” he asked.

  “I like it when you handle me,” I said. I struggled against his grip, knowing that he would allow me to break free if I wasn’t enjoying it… and knowing that I loved every second of it.

  “I’m going to handle every bit of you tonight,” He said, keeping my hands bound behind me and picking me up, squeezing me against him. He released my hands and I put them around his shoulders as I wrapped my legs around his waist. My skirt slid up to my waist, and he tucked his hands under my ass, feeling the flesh of my rear between my g-string and my stockings. He lightly slapped my ass cheek and I felt a shock like electricity shoot straight to my clit. As he carried me, my clit rubbed against him, arousing me, starting my build to orgasm even before he had my clothes off. I rolled my eyes and groaned with pleasure.

  He dumped me on the bed and climbed between my legs, tugging my dress up higher. He pulled my g-string off quickly and spread my legs wider with his hand. His tongue plunged into me, and I moaned. He thrust his tongue in and out, lapping up my wetness and creating a flood between my legs. He kissed my thighs, teasing me, and I wiggled my hips, wanting him to move back inside me.

  “Want something?” he grinned, looking up at me.

  “You know what I want,” I gasped. I wanted his fingers, his tongue, his cock, I wanted all of him.

  He sat back for a moment, pulling off his shirt, unbuttoning it and tossing it onto the floor. He peeled off his white undershirt and treated me to a view of his perfect, chiseled chest, still tan from his time in Belize. He quickly dispensed with his pants, and I sat up, reaching behind my neck to begin to unzip my dress.

  “No,” he said, stopping me. “Leave the dress on. I want to fuck it.”

  I arched my eyebrows at him and leaned back, forgetting I was wearing anything at all as he returned to the space between my legs, radiating heat. He kissed my inner thighs and licked the outside of my pussy, then he slid two fingers into me and pressed his thumb to my engorged clit. I groaned, the sensations moving through me hard and fast, his touch exactly the right pressure in all the right places. My orgasm was rising steadily, and I pressed myself into his hand, reaching for him, bringing his mouth to my clit. He understood and moved his thumb, replacing it with his lips. He took my clit in his mouth and sucked while he finger fucked me, his rhythm forceful and consistent, until my climax rolled over me in an excited rush of adrenaline and sensation. I cried out and he kept going, staying with me through my entire orgasm, until my final shudder, until my legs collapsed into jelly and I let out one final groan of pleasure.

  He kissed me, my own salty taste on his lips, and laid on top of me. The pressure of his body on mine was arousing in itself, and I felt his hard, insistent cock twitching by my right thigh.

  “Someone is feeling neglected,” I smiled, reaching down to stroke his cock.

  “You better fix that,” he said. “I think you’re the only one who can take care of it.”

  “You may be right,” I said, and I rolled out from under him. He rolled over and I sat beside him, giving him a full view of the top of the dress as I leaned down to suck his cock.

  ***

  I ordered my coffee and sat down at an empty table by the window, waiting for my name to be called, considering my options. After a very frustrating trip to the Embassy, I was at a loss as to what to do about my passport.

  I texted Brad, letting him know I’d had no luck.

  Let me try, he’d responded. I have some connections there.

  Well, shit, why didn’t you just do that in the first place? I wondered, but I didn’t text him that. I knew I was just frustrated and in need of caffeine. I looked out the window and watched the city street. It was quiet, I thought, for a Saturday. A man stood at a newspaper stand, and he caught my attention. He was standing not like someone who was casually perusing the newspaper; he was standing like someone who wanted to look like he was casually perusing the newspaper. I narrowed my eyes; he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  The barista called my name and I went to fetch my coffee. When I sat back down and looked outside, the man was gone. I shrugged and took a deep breath. I wondered if my instincts were off; first, with Brad, and now with this strange man. I sipped the coffee, relishing the heat as it moved down my esophagus. Stop looking for things that aren’t there, I cautioned myself. It happens to journalists sometimes, and it’s the kiss of death. Get too busy looking for things that aren’t there and you’re likely to miss the real things right in front of you.

  Like strange men, who first appear at a fundraiser and then appear at a newspaper stand right in front of you. I remembered where I’d seen the man before… he’d been just a few seats down from me last night at the dinner. I stood up and walked out of the coffee shop, scanning the sidewalk and street up one side and down the other, looking for the man. The more I looked, the more certain I was. Not seeing him, I began to walk back to the hotel.

  As I walked, I continued to scan the street. I felt eyes on me as I walked, and my anxiety began to push its way into my mouth, making the coffee taste extra bitter. I slowed my pace and looked around. When I felt the presence of someone behind me, I stopped short and turned; the stranger stopped just shy of running into me.

  “Why are you following me?” I demanded. My hands curled around my cell phone in my pocket; whether I should use it to call the London equivalent of 911 or use it as a weapon I wasn’t sure… yet.

  “Cassandra Young?” the man asked. He was young, my age or maybe a little older, definitely not past thirty. He was handsome, his jaw well defined just above an overcoat that protected him from the wind. His hair was thick, and the wind had pulled across his forehead in a way that made him look more charming than tousled.

  “Who wants to know?” I asked. He wasn’t giving off a threatening vibe, plus I was standing on a public street in broad daylight. Still, I scanned possible ways for to escape quickly, which direction I could run and get away the fastest.

  To my surprise, he held out a badge. “Patrick Shim,” he said. “NCA. I need to speak to you.”

  “NCA?” I asked. “What’s that?”

  “National Crime Agency,” he said. “It’s England’s equivalent to the FBI. Can we go somewhere more private to chat?”

  “I think we’re fine right here,” I said. “The National Crime Agency sounds like a completely made up name. Can I look at that badge again?” It looked official enough. “I thought Scotland Yard was how you all rolled over here.”

  “Yeah, we get that a lot,” Patrick said dryly. “I assure you, it’s a legitimate agency. You’re in danger, Cassandra, and I need to get some information from you.”

  “In danger from what?” I asked.

  “Do you have your passport?” he asked in response.

  “No,” I said. “Is that what this is about? Did you find it?”

  “Your passport was taken,” Patrick said. “With the intention of keeping you in London.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “And why would someone want to do that?” I asked.

  Brad

  “And you don’t see any sort of a problem dating her?” Simon demanded. We were at lunch the day after the fundraiser, and Simon was giving me all manner of hell about Cassie.

  “Obviously not,” I said coldly, “or I wouldn’t be seeing her.”

  “And she does what for a living again?”

  “She writes for a magazine.” I stabbed a piece of steak with my fork and ch
ewed it, feeling tension in my jaw.

  “She’s a journalist,” Simon seethed. “A fucking reporter. You’re fucking a fucking reporter!”

  “Watch yourself, Simon,” I said, putting down my fork. We were in a busy restaurant at the busiest time of day and it was plenty loud, but there were certain words that carried, and the last thing I needed was more attention drawn to myself.

  “Do you not see how bad this could be for you?” His tone had softened.

  “Look, it’s not like she’s a bloodhound for the Times or something. She writes fluff pieces for some travel magazine. If you want to call that a reporter, that’s fine by me, but I’m not worried. Her only concern is informing the traveling community about how many pools are in each Legacy property.” I resumed eating, stabbing a bite of lettuce with my fork.

  “For now that’s her concern,” Simon said. “What if she stumbles upon something in her research? Or, God forbid, what if she literally stumbles onto something bigger, like, oh, I don’t know, a storage facility? What if she starts poking around and lands herself in a room with inventory?”

  I shook my head. “She doesn’t suspect anything,” I said. “This isn’t exactly my first time with this, you know. I know how to be careful. I haven’t left a single gun laying around the hotel.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Simon said. His jaw was clenched and I watched him gripping his knife so tightly his knuckles were white. I grew serious.

  “Don’t ever suggest that I think any of this situation is funny,” I snarled. “You know exactly how much I’ve lost already, and how much I have hanging in the balance. You’re a good friend and a trusted partner, Simon, but don’t think for a second that I won’t cut you loose if you start to disrespect me.”

  We looked at each other, and I watched Simon struggling with what to say next. Finally, he broke.

  “If you ever get the idea that she does think something is up, just let me know what I can do to help. I don’t want anything to happen to you, to her, or to the project.”

  I nodded. “Good answer. I’ve already introduced her to Antoine as a measure of protection.” Antoine wasn’t a masseuse at all, though that’s how Cassie knew him. I smiled just thinking about him. He was my mentor, a second father, and, though I would never say as much to Simon, he was my most trusted confidant. A family friend since the day I was born, Antoine had watched me grow up and had been there for me when my own parents had been working, traveling, or simply just absent. Lorinda agreeing to name our son after him had been one of the highest points of my life… and it would be second only to the day I got to introduce the two of them to one another.