Eighteen
Kent Broward’s body was found in his office Wednesday morning at six-fifteen by Sue Mendoza. Mrs. Mendoza had cleaned the fourth floor for the last three years. It was the first dead body she had ever seen.
His body was facedown on the plush cream carpet, a pool of blood surrounding his head and torso. He had been shot twice, twin holes of death marring an otherwise average body.
When Sue Mendoza discovered the scene, she promptly fled the room, locked herself in the nearest office and called her priest. Three minutes later, she dialed 911.
6:30 a.m., Wednesday
“Y
OU
HAVING
PANCAKES
ALSO
?” The rude voice of Martha interrupted the conversation I was having with Brad. I looked into her wide eyes and pursed lips and shook my head. Pancakes sounded good, but it was obvious from her stance and tone that she did
not
want me to have pancakes.
“I’m fine with just eggs and grits, thank you.”
“Good. Brad, I fixed three. That should be more than enough for you.” She unceremoniously dumped three delicious-looking flapjacks on a plate and slid it across the island to Brad, who was sitting one bar stool over from me. Brad winked at me, grabbed the maple syrup and poured a generous amount over the top of the pancakes. Martha fixed my plate, giving me a scant helping of eggs, grits and bacon. I hopped off the stool and went to the fridge, grabbing orange juice and two glasses from the cabinet.
“There. You two should be taken care of. Brad, you know what to do with your dishes.” The round woman glanced at me, wrinkled her nose slightly, then pulled off her apron and hung it by the door. Without a parting word, she swung open the back door and stomped through, letting it slam shut behind her. I let out a breath of air and poured the juice.
“I know she can cook, but doesn’t her grouchiness get a little old?” I called over my shoulder as I put the lid back on the juice.
His hands grabbed my waist, startling me, and I jumped a little. He stood behind me, nuzzling my neck with his soft lips and scratchy stubble. I giggled a bit, set the juice on the counter and pressed back, feeling my ass fit perfectly against his hard body.
“Easy,” he growled, running his hands up and down the sides of my body, then cupping a breast in each hand and squeezing gently. My nipples instantly hardened against my bra, and I pushed harder against him. He spun me around and used his hands to grip my ass, pulling me tight against him. I grinned, looking into his face.
“What?” he asked, smiling down at me.
“You know Martha’s going to inspect our plates as soon as you leave for work. Are we eating, or are we...” I reached down and grabbed his crotch, rubbing it suggestively, feeling his flesh grow under my hand, the outline now visible in his pants.
“You really have to ask that question?” he said, inhaling when my hand gripped him firmly. He suddenly released me, and I wobbled, caught off balance. His eyes were dark, aroused, and he took a few steps back, unzipping his dress pants.
“The sink. Bend over it.” His voice was authoritative, deep, though I could hear a slight hoarseness to it, verifying his need.
I wore a black pantsuit, and removed my jacket, shivering slightly in the cold house. I met his gaze, seeing pure authority there. I took two steps to the left and turned, facing the sink and looking out the window that hung above it. Darkness still blanketed the street, and the kitchen light no doubt illuminated the room to anyone on the two-lane road. “Brad, the light—”
“Unzip your pants and drop them around your ankles.” His order came from behind me and I heard his footsteps sound on the stone floor. I hesitated, but felt the need twitch inside me, the twinge when my cunt squeezed tight and begged for stimulation. As I heard the familiar rip of foil, I unzipped my pants and pulled both them and my already wet panties down around my ankles. I bent over the sink, resting my elbows on the edge of the counter, and arched my back, offering myself to him.
I felt his rough hands, sliding down the curve of my skin, traveling closer, closer to my apex, and my eyes closed when he reached the wet area between my legs. “God, you are already wet,” he breathed, tracing my opening with a finger. I flinched at his touch, tightening my inner walls. He ran his finger over my taint and the place where it met my wetness, playing with that skin, and I gasped, gripping hard granite with my hands. I pushed back against his fingers, wanting something, anything inside me.
Brad pressed against me, putting a hand up my dress shirt. He bit my neck gently, then sucked at the skin, and I tilted my head back, opening my throat to him. “Put your fingers in me,” I whispered.
He sucked on the soft lobe of my ear, then whispered into it, the tickle of his stubble driving me crazy. “We don’t have much time. I’m gonna have to make this quick.”
Before I could formulate a response, his fingers were gone and he shoved himself inside my wet, tight core. I called out in surprise, a twinge of pain hitting me. Recovering, I fucked him back, pushing on the sink with my hands, welcoming the fullness inside me, moaning from the feel of it.
I grounded out a moan, flipping my hair over my shoulder and looking behind me, into his eyes, steel traps of passion. My juices, flowing out around his stiffness, lubricated our movement, and I gritted my teeth and bounced off his hard thighs, pulling my body on and off his cock. He took over, moving both hands under my bra till they cupped my bare tits and squeezed, pinching my nipples in a way that was half pleasure, half pain. I gasped, my head tilted back, and he rammed me over and over in quick succession. I could see our reflection in the window before me, our two faces, his fierce and masculine, mine breathless and on the verge of ecstasy. Knowing that anyone on his quiet street was seeing us lit a fire in my body, and a surge of arousal shot through me. I let go of the sink and ripped open my shirt, grasped the front clasp of my bra and undid it, exposing my pale breasts, the curve of my chest, twin blurs of pink. I saw Brad’s hands, clear in the reflection, pinching my nipples, and the image made my legs weak.
He moved in and out of me, long, measured strokes, my body aching with every outward pull. Then he slowed, burying his hardness inside so deep, so strong, and I clenched my eyes tight with the pain of his depth. Then he slowly withdrew, my muscles tensing, squeezing him tightly, feeling his girth as it traveled out and then I was empty, needing, gasping from the vacancy. I pushed back, wanting him again, desperate for the heat and sensation of his cock. But his hands held me, and he bumped me gently, teasing me with the tip. “Do you like me fucking you?” Brad’s voice, deep and dark in my ear, his breath hot. I met his gaze in the reflection, his face strong and in control, mine desperate and unrestrained.
“Yes,” I gasped. “I need it, dammit.”
“Louder.”
“Yes!”
I screamed, the effort giving me a burst of adrenaline, and I shoved harder, searching for more of him, needing all of it, instantly, like an animal in heat.
He rammed, my tight wetness welcoming the invasion, squeezing the length of him as he filled every pore of me. I whimpered from the release, the feeling of his skin inside me almost painful in its perfection. He moved a hand, letting go of a nipple and wrapping his hand around my neck instead. He squeezed and my eyes widened, asking his reflection a silent question. He released my neck and instead grabbed my hair, wrapping my ponytail around his hand and pulled, hard and firm, on it.
I could feel my orgasm coming, my walls clenching around his thickness. “I’m close,” I gasped, and he grabbed my hips, fucking me without restraint, his balls slapping my clit with a furious rhythm. The orgasm came and took with it every ounce of my self-control. I lost it, crying out and bucking, my legs shaking and hands slipping, my reflection making a ridiculous face before my eyes clenched shut and pleasure racked my senses.
He fucked me through the orgasm, pounding over and over until I could feel his cock twitching, him close to his own explosion. He smacked my ass hard, and I cried out, my spent muscles liking the stimulation. He spanked me again, and then yanked out, jacking his cock fast and hard.
“On your knees,” he gritted out, and I turned quickly, trying to navigate with my pants still bundled around my ankles. I knelt in front of him and grabbed his cock, peeling off the condom, taking over the motion, and looked up into his gorgeous, intense face.
His mouth opened and he groaned softly, looking into my eyes and my upturned face, then focused on my lips, his eyes intent.
“Open your mouth.”
I did and turned my eyes to his swollen head, bobbing in and out of my clenched hand. I added my second hand, wrapping both of them around him, and jacked him and his orgasm into my open and waiting mouth.
The first spurt came—hot and white and on my tongue. Tasting it, I dove onto his cock, sucking it hard and taking it as deep as I could. I continued jacking, sucking his come and gagging on the hardness filling my throat. Brad moaned and clenched his legs, grabbing the back of my head and pulling it to him. I continued sucking, sliding my mouth up and down. After a few seconds, his hand loosened, and he stepped back, resting against the island and sliding his cock from my wet mouth. He leaned forward, grabbing me under the arms and picking me up. Spinning, me lifted, he set me on the island, sliding dishes and food out of the way and laying me down. I relaxed on the granite, a smile overtaking my face, and he leaned over, spreading open my shirt and laying soft kisses on each of my breasts and then down my stomach, ending at the top of my legs. He breathed in my scent, then placed his mouth softly on me and I moaned, pushing him off with one foot. “Enough,” I breathed.
He laughed and traveled back up my body, kissing me and smoothing my hair back.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Back at ya,” I said, grinning at him, delirious with contentment. I closed my eyes, a smile stretching across my face, totally exposed to him, feeling his eyes on me as his fingers trailed off my skin.
“What do you have today?” Brad’s voice was muffled as he rounded the island, his voice changing in location.
I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Another twelve-hour day of secretarial duties.”
Brad tugged at my arms, pulling me to a seated position, my limbs lazy and unresponsive. I smiled at him while he buttoned my shirt, looking up into my face as he spoke. “My offer still stands. You could start next week in my wing. You can come to
court
...watch me work.”
I made my eyes as huge as possible. “Wow, really? You are so big and important, Mr. De Luca.”
He stole a kiss on my neck, nipping the skin gently with his teeth. “If you won’t let me steal you permanently, let me borrow you for a day. Let me speak to him. I’ll tell him I’m swamped on a case and need more help.”
I laughed, taking over my buttons. “Like
that
would fly. He’d accuse you of wanting another sex toy and would keep me under even
more
of a lock and key.”
He frowned, grabbing my waist and sliding me off the counter. “You’ve got to get over your hang-up on Broward. If you expect our relationship to have any type of a future, eventually he’s going to find out about us.”
“Regardless of whether we have a future, I need you to keep us secret for now.” I grinned at him, hoping my thoughts didn’t convey through my often-traitorous eyes. Did I expect us to have a real future? It was certainly something I wanted, but Brad was a wild card. He had professed his intentions, vowed that he could remain faithful as long as I participated in his lifestyle. But I wasn’t putting too much faith in him until I saw actions to back up his words. I leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the lips before pulling away, his frown deepening, and he grabbed my head, taking me back to his mouth, his tongue taking mine until he’d had his fill. With a confident smile he released me, crouching down and grabbing my pants, sliding them up my legs, his fingers teasing me the entire way up.
Somewhere in the background, a phone rang.
Nineteen
The call was from Hugo Clarke. Brad took the call from his partner in the living room, and I ate my cold breakfast while trying to redress. I glanced at my watch. Five till seven
.
I was good on time, assuming that I left in the next twenty minutes.
Brad appeared in the doorway, and I looked up with a smile. My face froze when I saw the somber fix of his features. “What’s wrong?”
“You should sit down.”
I paused, setting down my fork, my mind trying to figure out what Clarke could possibly have said that would have this effect on Brad. “I’m fine standing. What is it?”
“It’s Broward. He was found in the office this morning, dead.”
It took a moment to register his words, and I ran the phrase through my head a few times, the unfamiliar concept fading in and out of reality until my vision began to spot in front of me.
Maybe I should sit down
. I gripped the counter, reaching blindly out for a stool. Brad was suddenly there, his hand gripping mine, and he led me to a chair, my legs giving out the moment my ass hit wood. “Bullshit,” I finally whispered, a part of me hoping, wishing, that this was his sick version of a joke.
“No.” The tightness of his face made the situation real, and I physically swooned for a moment, fainting now a real possibility. He sat down across from me and held my face, forcing me to look into his eyes, to focus on him.
“Suicide?” I whispered, Broward’s strained face, his obvious stress, all of the signs,
signs I should have seen
, flooding my mind. Guilt settled on my shoulders, heavy and judgmental.
“No.” He leaned briefly away from me and rubbed his temples. “Murdered. Shot in his office.”
The guilt, for a brief moment, took a hiatus. It might have skipped Julia-town and landed in Brad-ville; he certainly looked as sick as I felt. His face pale, he stared forward, his body tense. Wherever he was, it was miles from here, miles from me. I reached out, touching his shoulder, and he turned to me, our eyes meeting, a sudden connection forming. I fought to stay still, to not react, but the look in his eyes when they met mine—it scared me. His face was dark and brooding, but his eyes? They were intense, fiery. They screamed pure fury, sparks flying from them, his temple jumping, and I realized, my eyes traveling over his body, that he was a tight coil of barely restrained rage.
Rage? Not the reaction I would expect when someone finds out his business partner is dead.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly.
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and looked at me. And just like that, it was gone. The madness dissipated and he was calm and in control. The transformation scared me more than the fury had. He reached out, grabbing my hand reassuringly. “I’m fine. Just trying to understand it.” He stood, moving away from me, and yanked open a drawer by the door, grabbing his wallet and keys, his back to me.
My thoughts returned to Broward and the unexplainable situation.
Murdered. In his office.
My mind grasped at straws, trying desperately to convince itself that this was a random act of violence. “Was it a robbery?”
“They don’t know. I have to get to the office. The police want to talk to me.”
“To you? Why?” I stood up and walked over to my shoes, grabbing them and pulling them on.
Brad ignored my question and came up behind me, his strong arms wrapping around me tightly. “Are you okay?”
I turned to him and sank into his chest, gripping his shirt with my hands. “I don’t know. Yeah. No. I’m just trying to understand it.” I looked up into his worried face, searching it, the lines, his mouth, his eyes. They stared back at me, concern and compassion filling them, no hint of the fury that had monopolized them just moments earlier. I didn’t know what I hated more, when his eyes were unreadable or when I didn’t like what I read in them. I wiped away tears that were swelling and stood on my tiptoes, kissing him gently on the lips. “Let’s go.”
Brad turned to follow, his hand finding the small of my back, the slight support appreciated. He grabbed the door, pulling it closed behind us and locking it. “The police will probably want to talk to you, too.”
“Me?” I stepped off the porch, going carefully down the back steps.
Why would they want to talk to me?
“Yeah. If he was shot last night, you may have been the last person to see him alive.” He paused. “Other than, of course, the killer.”