“Exactly,” he said, giving me a long look. I ignored the flush rising in my cheeks as he pulled his hand away and picked up his fork, stabbing it into his eggs.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where is it?” he asked.
I looked around and pointed to the back of the restaurant near the kitchen. “It looks like that’s the way,” I said.
“I’ll be watching,” he said. “And if you’re not out in five minutes, I’m coming in to get you.”
“Ohh, what a turn on,” I joked, in spite of him needing to continually remind me of how un-funny this situation was.
“Don’t test me on it,” he warned.
“Okay, okay!” I said. “Chill out. I’ll be back in four minutes and fifty-nine seconds.”
I grabbed my purse and walked toward the bathroom, feeling Patrick’s eyes on my back the entire way.
The bathroom was a single toilet and sink in a space the size of a small closet. I sighed, thinking that I would never get used to non-American bathrooms, and I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t need to actually go to the bathroom; I had needed to get away from that table, away from Patrick, away from his looks and his hands and his protection. I took some deep breaths and splashed some water on my face.
I was about to open the door when there was a sharp, loud knock.
“I’m coming, chill, Patrick!” I said as I opened the door. My mouth dropped open to gasp, or maybe scream, but I got neither out. It wasn’t Patrick at the door; it was a man whose face I couldn’t see. He had a black hoodie on, and the hood was pulled over his face. What I could see was a gun in his hand, pointing directly at me. It didn’t look like any gun I’d ever seen, not that I’d seen that many in my life, but I still recognized it for what it was… and I knew I was in trouble.
“Come with me, or I’ll shoot you right here.”
Cassie
I woke up and stretched, then got out of Brad’s bed and walked into his kitchen to make some coffee. It was undeniable that staying at his condo was better than the hotel. Even though the hotel had endless amenities, Brad’s condo was completely decked out in everything I could have ever asked for, including a housekeeper whose job it was to make me breakfast, though I’d told her several times already that it wasn’t necessary. And, it just felt like being home, far more than sleeping at the hotel.
I was surprised when I walked into the dining room and saw his laptop sitting, open, on the table. When Brad hadn’t been in bed that morning, I assumed he’d already gone to work. I held my coffee still in my hands and I looked around, listening for any sounds.
“Brad?” I called out.
Mrs. Wheeler, the housekeeper, poked her head out of Brad’s study. “He had to run some errands, Ma’am; he said to tell you that he’ll be back later. Did you want me to make you some breakfast this morning, Ma’am?” The look on her face was so hopeful I had to smile.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Wheeler. I’m just going to have my coffee for now. Did Brad say when he’ll be back?”
“No, Ma’am,” Mrs. Wheeler shook her head. “Mr. White just said to tell you he wouldn’t be gone all day.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” Mrs. Wheeler disappeared back into the study, and I returned my gaze to the computer. I walked over to it, all the while glancing around the room looking for cameras, microphones, some sort of equipment that would rat out to Brad that I was even thinking about sniffing around on his computer. It wasn’t as though I wanted to snoop. More and more, I wanted to find evidence to disprove the things Patrick had said about Brad. Things that implied I needed protection from him, that suggested he had stolen my passport. If I looked at it that way, looking on the computer was for Brad’s benefit and for my own.
I put my hand on it and lifted the lid, sure it would be under password protection, and, of course, it was. I wouldn’t have the first clue as to what Brad’s password would be, but, of course, I tried the obvious ones. All the basic passwords like 123456, BradWhite, and, of course, Legacy. Nothing worked. I sighed and closed the lid. Without the password, his laptop was nothing more than a paperweight, and a temptation.
I took my coffee to the sun room, a corner room of the condo that had been designed to be an outdoor oasis on the 30th floor of his building. Brad’s condo was the corner unit, and the sun room had two windows encased floor to ceiling in glass, and the ceiling itself was fully glass, giving a view of the sky. It was an incredible room; I’d never seen anything like it before outside of magazines.
I called my editor, wincing as I imagined how annoyed she’d be that I was still in London. I had been emailing regular articles to her, but, still.
“I have someone here who’s helping me with my passport,” I assured her. “I’m sure it’s not going to take much longer. I’ll be home before you know it.”
“Who’s helping you?” she asked.
I hesitated. “Um… Brad White.”
“Bradley White?” she exclaimed. “Of Legacy? That Bradley White? Billionaire Bradley White?”
“That’s the one,” I sighed.
“Why is he helping you?”
I rolled my eyes. “We have… sort of a… thing going, I guess.” I rushed through the end of the sentence. It was the first time I’d acknowledged that Brad and I were dating to anyone.
“Can you get an exclusive?” my editor asked, ever the businesswoman.
“I can try,” I said. And I was immediately ashamed of myself. I hadn’t thought about approaching Brad as a journalist beyond that first interview in Belize. I wondered what would happen if I wore my journalist hat around him now… what would happen if I asked him some pointed questions about his past, about his money, about whether or not he had any secrets.
“Do what you need to do,” my editor said. “And, when you’ve done it, get the fuck back here already; the place is basically falling apart without you.”
I assured her that I would be back as soon as my passport was straightened out, and we hung up. I stood in the living room and thought about Patrick saying that Brad had stolen my passport. He seemed so sure… but, then, Brad had given me the number of his friend at the embassy. I hadn’t managed to get ahold of him yet, but that didn’t matter.
As if he had a direct link to my brain, my phone pinged. I looked down at it; it was Patrick.
Wondering if you had the chance to give our conversation some thought.
I sighed, my stomach doing the same flip-flops it did when we were at breakfast. I shook my head to try to get the thought of him out of my head. The fact was that he was incredibly good looking. Far beyond what I was willing to admit to anyone except my deepest self. I didn’t know what to do about it aside from just acknowledging it. Yes, he was hot. So what? I was dating Brad, and Patrick was looking to put him in prison for God knew what. Talk about sleeping with the enemy. I had to figure out a way to cut all ties with Patrick, that was the plain truth of it all. If Brad found out I was talking with someone from the NCA, well, I could only imagine how angry he’d be.
I deleted Patrick’s message and went back to the bedroom. I spent some of the morning doing some writing, and then I went for a walk. I couldn’t get over the air in London; it was thick and wet, not like New York air at all, though a person could use the same adjectives. It had a smell and a quality all its own, and I found myself getting sleepy as I walked through the grey early afternoon. When I got back to the condo, I laid down on the bed and took a nap.
I was with Patrick, walking in a field. I had the distinct impression that we had teamed up, journalist and NCA agent, looking for something important. Crop circles, drug activity, terrorism, something. Except we were holding hands. Every once in a while, our shoulders brushed together; it took me a few times before I realized he was doing it intentionally. I looked up at him when he did it again; he grinned down at me with his dimples. Then, he leaned in and kissed me. It was far more sensual than I could have imagined
, and I gave myself over to him. I wrapped my arms around him and he drew me close to him, his hands around my waist. He lowered me gently to the ground, the grass of the field soft beneath us, and he kissed me passionately as he laid on top of me. I could feel his hardness pressing against my hip, and he began to move up and down, grinding against my body.
“Ohhh,” I groaned.
“Hey, baby,” a voice said. Confused, I looked at Patrick as he faded away. I slowly awoke and opened my eyes. Brad lay on the bed next to me, his face hovering over my own. “Must have been a nice dream.”
I smiled. “The best,” I said, and I snuggled in close to him. I was wet, aroused, and I knew that, while I may dream about Patrick, my real interest was with the flesh and blood man that was here, ready for me. At least, I thought so.
I leaned over and met Brad’s lips with mine. I was still a little groggy from my nap, but my mouth knew exactly what to do. I felt his tongue exploring mine, pressing against it, circling it with the tip. Each breath brought more excitement, more energy, into my body. I rolled on top of him and sat, straddling his hips. I smiled down at him; his eyes were kind, and I knew that he wasn’t dating anyone else. That part I didn’t have to worry about one bit; he was all mine. And I was all his. I pulled my shirt off over my head and pressed my biceps against my breasts, pushing them together to create more cleavage than I had naturally. He reached his hand to my hips and lifted me, quickly shimmying out of his jeans. I smiled at his penis, hard as ever, standing out at a ninety degree angle from the rest of his body. His boxers were tented like crazy, and I pulled them down past his knees and over his ankles to release his cock. Rather than let him enter me immediately, I slid my body up his, pressing his cock between my breasts.
He groaned and looked down at me. I pressed my breasts together, creating an enclosed space for his cock, and I began to move up and down, pulling and stretching his cock as I titty-fucked him. Every few moments, I broke away from him and took his cock into my mouth, wetting it with my saliva and tasting his pre-cum.
“Fucking Christ, Cassie,” he groaned. “It’s the middle of the fucking afternoon!”
“And?” I said, pausing to look up at him. “Your point?”
“I barely know my own name,” he moaned, “never mind a point to anything. Oh! My god…” He closed his eyes as I gripped his shaft with my hand and began to suck the head of his cock hard, creating a vacuum with my tongue and lips. I could feel that he was close, and I knew I could finish him off there, but I wanted him inside me. I wanted to feel him there.
Keeping my hand on his shaft, I slowly shifted upward and positioned his cock just beneath the entrance to my pussy, which was dripping wet. As I slowly lowered down on top of him, replacing my hand with my vagina, he groaned softly. His hips began to buck involuntarily, and I settled my weight on him. I put my hands on his chest and I started to move, rocking back and forth, up and down. I moved faster and faster, thrusting against him, feeling energy building in my clit as I pulsed my hips into his.
“Oh fuck, Cassie, I’m gonna…” and he exploded in me. I felt the surge of hot cum move into me, and the heat pushed me over the edge into my own orgasm. I cried out as the sensations poured over me, my muscles contracting and twitching.
I sat on top of him until we had finished, not moving, just absorbing his fluids and his energy. I opened my eyes and looked down at him; he was looking up at me.
“Afternoon delight,” he said. “Plain and simple.”
Brad
I still had my afternoon delight sex session with Cassie on my mind as she ran some errands; she wanted to cook dinner for me, something I had protested and she had insisted upon, and she said she needed a few things from the store.
I sat at the dining room table, my laptop open, and a picture of Antoine in front of me. I thought about the moment Manuel Brown had handed it to me. How he had held it up next to his own face, and, for a moment, I saw an image of Manuel and Antoine together, Antoine his prisoner. He said it was a reward, for all of my work with the London warehouse. It was supposed to be a positive gesture… but it just rang of superiority. The picture Manuel had given me was not the school picture it should have been; it was a polaroid, snapped at a moment where Antoine had clearly not expected to be photographed. He was looking up at the camera, but his face wore an expression of surprise. The picture both calmed me and infuriated me. Antoine was still alive; the photograph was time stamped. But, he was thin, and dark circles clouded the space under his eyes. He was not smiling. His eyes… I couldn’t bear to look into them for long. Not only because they were the eyes of my son, but because they were also the eyes of his mother.
I sighed and set the photograph aside. I sorted through the emails I’d gotten that day. All of the emails I received in regards to anything with Manuel Brown were encrypted, except for the ones that went to an anonymous email address. Those messages came primarily from Simon. Simon and I had set up a separate email system for just the two of us. I clicked on a message that, by my watch, had arrived sometime between when my cock was being engulfed by Cassie’s incredible tits and when she shifted it and took it into her wet, gorgeous pussy. I shifted in my chair; I was getting hard again just thinking about her. I took a breath and shifted my thoughts.
The email from Simon was an important one; I had just started to read it when I heard the door open and Cassie call out. She needed help with the groceries she’d purchased. I quickly pulled the email to the desktop so I could look at it later, and I went to help Cassie.
All through dinner, I watched Cassie, trying to figure out the best way to ask her to help me without arousing her suspicions. Without arousing the suspicions of Manuel Brown or his heavies. I wondered if my thought to involve Cassie was too dangerous, too stupid. I’d already lost one woman to Manuel Brown’s clutches; I couldn’t bear to have it happen again. Plus, if Manuel found out that I had talked to someone about the inventory, about the warehouses, he would likely kill Antoine. I knew this with a certainty I wasn’t even willing to admit to myself.
Cassie looked at me and chewed her potato thoughtfully.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m thinking that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever sat across at the dinner table,” I said sincerely.
She blushed and laughed. “Stop it, I’m serious.”
“So am I!” I said. “You truly are. I wish you didn’t have to leave to go back to the states.”
She laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, right now it kind of looks like I might never go back. Hope you like me as a roommate.”
“I like you just fine as a roommate,” I said. “But what makes you say that?”
“My passport isn’t moving forward, and I still haven’t found my original. You know what the worst part about it is? I don’t know what else was with my passport. What if I lost money? Or something important?”
“Well,” I said, sipping the red wine Cassie had picked out at the corner market on her way home, “are you missing anything else?”
“Not that I know of,” she said. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I could be.”
“That’s true,” I admitted. Then, a lie: “Did you talk to my friend at the Embassy?”
She shook her head. “I can’t seem to get ahold of him.”
I put on my best confused face. “Oh yeah? That’s really weird. He must be on vacation or something. Do you want me to call for you?”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said, hesitating. Her voice was filled with doubt; Cassie wasn’t used to relying on other people to get results for her.
“It’s no bother, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said.
“It’s not that, it’s just…” Her expression darkened for a moment, then she seemed to shoo a thought away. She smiled. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll stay until it gets worked out. I talked to my editor today, and everything is fine.” She held up her glass and we toasted. “Cheers!”
“Cheers
,” I said, smiling at her and squeezing her knee under the table. “Thank you for making dinner.”
“I think I pissed off Mrs. Wheeler,” she admitted.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said, smiling. “She can consider it something of a paid vacation while you’re here doing all the cooking. Besides,” I lowered my voice. “You’re actually a better cook.”
We finished dinner, and, though Cassie was talking about interesting things, I couldn’t keep focused on what she was saying. No matter what angle I thought about taking, there was no way I could think of to enlist Cassie’s help without filling her in on everything, which would likely get her killed. Anxiety built in my stomach and twisted my food and the wine all up in knots.
“Let’s go out tonight,” I said suddenly. I had no idea where I wanted to take her, but I felt the walls of my condo closing in on me and I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I need to get out of here.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, her instincts dead on, as always.
“Nothing,” I assured her. “I just want to take you out on the town. We can go out for cocktails and dessert. Nothing fancy, you don’t even need to change.”
“You’re so weird,” she said with mock suspicion. “But, I guess you can take me out for dessert if you’re going to twist my arm. Kidnap me. Hold me for ransom.” Each phrase, though unintentional on her part, pushed deeper at the truth.
“Okay, okay!” I said nervously, interrupting her. “I get it, I’m totally taking you against your will. Now, let’s go.”
We left the condo in the nick of time. As we rode down in the elevator, my phone pinged with a message from Simon.
Are you available?
No, I texted back.
I need to speak with you asap.
Tomorrow, I responded.
No, he texted. Now.
Tomorrow. I’m turning off my phone.
Brad!
I didn’t respond and did, in fact, turn my phone off. I looked over at Cassie; she was frowning at me.
Naughty and Nice Page 70
