Chapter 6: Thursday

Walk called me at the office, “What time will you be home?”

“Need a BJ, do you?”

“Winter.”

“Oh, probably around 6 or 6:30. Before 7 in any case.”

“See you then.”

Hmm, that was odd. Perhaps he was fixing something special for dinner. Or, more likely, he just wanted a blowjob. Which, blowjobs, reminded me of a compliment I had thought up for Walk. One that would please him, no doubt about that.

Around 6 there was a knock at the outer door that led to the 4th-floor hallway. Odd — I didn’t have any appointments scheduled; and I rarely had a walk-in client. Almost all of my referrals were word-of-mouth.

A litany of clichés tumbled through my mind. ‘Better safe than ... An ounce of prevention ... Measure twice... ‘

I vividly remembered working late one night when a sociopath named Dixie Wexler jumped me from a newly-rented office across the hall. He intended to video a torture session before killing me.

I opened my right-hand drawer and pulled out my new Sig Sauer P320. It was a handy-sized for me — a range-tested, reliable 9mm.

Carrying it by my side, I unlocked the inner door which led to a secretary’s cubicle — a room I’d never needed to fill. I’d had an intercom installed next to the steel-reinforced outer door and put it to work.

Walk answered, “Singing telegram.”

I had to laugh — neither of us can begin to carry a note. Although, come to think of it, he would make a good bachelorette-party stripper.

“Man, you must really need to cum. Well, step right on in. Winter Blowjob Enterprises is open for business.”

“Sex. Is that all you can think about?”

“Oh, pardonnez-moi — I forgot you had taken those vows of chastity.”

He was carrying my new blazer — pink and double-breasted — on a hanger. A pair of white fuck-me heels, four-inch heels.

We bantered back and forth as Walk unbuttoned my blouse, undid my bra, unzipped my skirt, slid my panties down. When he had me as nature intended, he nodded at my wall-mounted Mossberg Shockwave.

“A little blatant, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not for self-defense because I have this guy for that.” I nodded at my handgun.

“Then why is it so ... so there?”

I was proud of my shotgun-display idea. “Actually, it’s like a show-and-tell for new clients. It’s a reminder — yeah, I’m a girl. Yeah, it can be a tough business, but I can be a tough broad.”

Walker nodded thoughtfully, no longer joshing around. He remembered Wexler, how close it had been. How Vanessa and Cathal Conway had busted in to rescue me. But not before that sicko had begun his torture routine.

Plus, I’d taken Walker, along with Pilar, to the police range in the old National Guard Armory. To make sure they knew how to Mossberg the second shotgun I kept at home.

Well, enough Gunsmoke. “Why are you here, and why did you undress me without permission?”

He pointed to my blazer, “Golden Ox.” He pointed to my little private bathroom, “Shower.”

Then he began to undress. I held up my palm, traffic cop, “Whoa there, Mister. Aren’t you being a tad presumptuous?”

He ignored me. When he pulled down his undies, a terrific boner popped up. Quivering and pointing up toward the ceiling. I whistled, “Holy Hannah, it’s a medical emergency.”

He lifted me up — smoothly and effortlessly — and headed toward my ablution station. “Walk.”

“Winter.”

“It’s a teeny-tiny shower. Room for one. If she holds her breath.”

“Right.”

Inside, water-temperature adjusted, he hefted me up so my thighs were spread around his waist. I had no choice but to lean back against the shower wall. Which meant my legs were pointing up. Which meant both his hands were free. Which meant he’d thought this little scenario through.

I was amused. Pleased. Flattered.

His soapy fingers went directly to my pussy. Gentle, but knowing fingers. I closed my eyes, whispered, “Oh.”

He got me off almost as quickly as Vanessa would have. My whisper turned huskier, “Don’t stop.”

The water was cascading down. He stopped the finger action, “What do you say?”

He had turned me on so quickly. Had made me needy so easily. “Please.”

He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just stood there propping me up against the shower wall. I opened my eyes to look into his. He wasn’t gloating, wasn’t even curious. He just gazed down at me with fondness, with love.

I spoke openly, honestly, no longer whispering, “Please get me off again, baby. I need to cum. You got me right on the brink.”

For an answer, he kissed me — deeply, passionately. He knew how much I loved that — how it made me even hotter. Then he startled me. He placed both hands under my butt and lifted me higher. I could feel my pussy sliding up along the back of his erection.

Higher — slowly but surely — higher. My legs were pointing up and spread, my calves were riding on his shoulders — I was wide open. Vulnerable and — oh my God! — available. So fucking available to him.

He was rubbing the tip of his cock along my pussy lips. I was squirming in heat, in nervousness, in anticipation. I heard myself whimpering.

I didn’t want it to be like this. Not our first time. I had imagined it — fantasized it — in his bed.

But I wanted it right that instant. Needed it. Needed it so badly. Didn’t want it, not like this. I felt the force of his will colliding with my own helplessness. I felt something give inside me. Relax. Unclench. There was nothing I was capable of doing, saying, pleading, that would influence him.

Walker Jennings had me. I closed my eyes, let my hands fall down my sides. I was back to whispering, “Whatever you want, darling, whatever you want.”

There, that must have been what he wanted to hear. He eased me down, turned off the shower, and carried me, dripping wet, back to my desk chair. He knelt between my legs, and it was like I was on automatic pilot. My thighs seemed to levitate over his shoulders, and he pushed his hungry mouth against me.

Another quick rinse-off shower. Then Walker helped me into the 4-inch heels he’d brought from home. As he looked me up and down, his eyes shone with admiration. Good — he wasn’t taking me for granted.

“Winter, you are so sexy.”

He was so solemn. Sincere.

“I know.” I did a slow pirouette — not to tease, but just to reinforce ... what? The fact that he could have everything he was looking at? Maybe. But more probably because I just loved the adoration on his face — the little-boy look that he was starting to grow out of.

He helped me into my new blazer, did the inside button, then the two outside ones. Maybe because I was now street-legal — covered — he couldn’t resist reaching under my jacket and running a finger up and down my pussy.

“It’s still there, perv.”

And my motor was still purring. He smiled to himself as he touched me, as he slid his middle finger in.