Chapter 5

Why I thought things would be the same on the job, I’ll never know. Of course, it didn’t hit me, well, not really hard, until the second day in sunny Saint-Tropez. To be specific, I was enjoying the good life in a luxury cabana.

As I slid my hands over, hmm, let’s call her Beatrice. Always eager-to-please, she was a nimble, long-legged redhead married to a brilliant tech prodigy. Unlike me, he wasn’t very attentive to her needs. To make up for that deficit, she paid well for my attention. Not that he’d ever be able to do to her what I did.

Anyway, as the Mediterranean surged along pristine white sands, my palms were skimming the slick pale skin of her upturned behind. All the earlier frenetic energy drained, she could only puff bubbles of shiny drool across a wooden lounger. With my still-hard cock buried to the hilt in her spasming tightness, it was paradise, right?

Except, even as sweet Beatrice’s luxurious slippery walls clenched me tight, begging for me to hammer her again, my mind whirled. One after another, memories arrived.

Such a profound deep chocolate brown, Laura’s smiling eyes. The way they’d twinkled up at me from the couch after we’d fucked.

No, that was wrong. After she’d obeyed and the sexy little slut had fucked me.

Afterwards, not a single word had escaped her when I’d slipped two fingers into that sloppy pussy and turned the TV back on. Instead, she’d clamped and teased at her nipples as my digits played within her. Nothing fast, nor rough. With ever faster breaths and the occasional low moan erupting from her, I’d watched the last of the Steelers game. As she’d ridden my hand, the sleek leg behind my neck and the one in my lap quivered.

It had been beyond sensual.

Only after easing my dripping fingers from her and sliding them into my mouth did I see her eyelashes flutter closed. While she slept, I sat in silence, watching her hands twitch over those jiggling, firm tits each time an aftershock rippled through her. The shimmer of her hair at every rapid shake. The tensing of her flat stomach as the softest whimpers escaped her quivering full lips.

Even as Beatrice moaned while gnawing at the lounge chair, more visions arrived of my lingering inspection.

Lean, Laura’s frame was stunning. Tanned but for two tiny, sharp-edged paler triangles surrounding wide areolas and a third barely covering her twinkling slit. The thought of her gleaming beneath the sun in such a tiny bikini had me shivering.

And God, what a beautiful pussy, even reddened and still-squelching closed. Shiny petals, still swollen. Above a still-angry clit was a well-trimmed auburn stripe of fine glossy hair. Curtains matched the drapes, sorta. Yeah, I was well and truly smitten.

Sometime later, darkness had also taken me.

“Deke?” Laura’s quiet voice had broken through the dream I’d been having about us. In a quaint cottage lined by a white picket fence by the sea’s roaring surf. And, yeah, we were fucking. Because, duh, it was that stage of our relationship.

“Yes, uh, sweetie.”

At her soft gasp, I let a grin slide onto my face as I rolled my head to look at her. Yeah, Mrs., or I guess Miss High and Mighty Congresswoman, was now sweetie. Fuck, trap or not, I was hooked. The flickering in those stunning eyes? Yeah, psycho or not, she’d fallen hard as well.

“Oh, I, uh, like that.” The cutest giggle escaped her. “What, um ... I mean are we—”

“—goin’ steady?” I laughed while scanning her splayed-out frame in nothing but the pink crop top crumpled beneath her chin. That time while she watched. As soon as I met her shimmering brown pools, the laughter died. Because my heartbeat was battering my ribs. “We’re whatever you want us to be, Laura. You know I fuck for money.” I gulped, then kept silent for a while before clearing my throat. “But I’d like to come home to you.”

“I’d, um, like that, too, Deke.” She swallowed, then ran a shaky hand along my arm. “It’s been...”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time for me as well.”

So, yep, we were official. A couple. A strange pairing, and perhaps far swifter than our younger selves would’ve thought appropriate, but there we were.

And the next day, I’d been in a departure lounge at Reagan International awaiting my flight. A news bulletin had appeared on one of the overhead monitors. Behind a podium before the national press corps, Congresswoman Bendix had been dodging questions about the reflection in that photograph. But, wow, the smile she wore. Plus, tight to her neck was a thin golden chain. Its filigreed gold cross winked in the flashes. She’d worn the slender choker just for me.

How could I be sure? Her text. The one she’d sent right before the appearance. It said what she wasn’t wearing for me. Beneath that sleek navy- blue conservative dress, she had no panties.

I feel so slutty, Deke. Every little breeze makes me wetter. Miss you.

And that’s the sexy image I’d caressed in my mind while staggering aboard the jet heading to France. Oh, I’d been torn. To stay an extra day with her to weather the shitstorm or earn a bit more by arriving early. She’d made the decision. Well, her party boss had. Late night meeting. Budget fight or some such crap had been his excuse. But we both knew it was all about damage-control.

At the languid liquid slurp as my shrunken cock slipped free of Beatrice’s drooling cleft, I snapped back to the white sands and humid heat of southern France. Even as a quiet gasp left her, I trembled. In all our times together, I’d never ... Not without shooting. As I inspected my dangling rod, glistening with her foamy syrup, the deep aching in my balls matched the sudden pain in my chest. To her credit, Beatrice said nothing while gathering her scattered bikini. But the clouded, and concerned, expression she wore spoke volumes.

“I’ll, uh, take a shower, Deke.” After a worried sideways grin, she didn’t bother waiting for my reply and slipped into the bathroom.

Later that evening, as we sat on a veranda under a swaying lamp, listening to soft jazz and the rhythmic rumble of the starlit surf, Beatrice sighed. With her head on my shoulder, she snuggled tight to me at the white cloth-covered table. Beside two full wine glasses and an empty bottle lay the remnants of our half-eaten meal. Overpriced though it was, the resort’s restaurant was magical. As was she, slender curves wrapped in the tiniest black dress.

“You, um, seem a little distracted,” she said, while sliding a dainty hand over mine on her leg.

When I gave her inner thigh a gentle squeeze, a quiet moan sent a puff of warm air across my neck. At the poke of that velvety, and very talented, tongue, I exhaled.

“Uh, sorry, honey,” I muttered.

“Hmm, honey? Something’s up.” Again, her tongue probed my earlobe. “What’s her name, Deke? We’ve known each other far too long.”

“Laura.”

When I fell silent after uttering the single word, she pulled away to gaze at me. Above those brilliant blue pools, her sculpted brows tightened. Although her lips parted, on the verge of asking more, she let them close with a sigh. But her fingers intertwined with mine to move me to the scratchy, warm lace of her panties.