Masked Innocence
Page 15

He groaned, continuing his fast, furious pace. “What you do to me, Julia, your f**king sassy mouth, your tight little body...I want to make you do such bad things.”
I moaned softly, my tits shaking from the pounding he was giving me. He took a hand off me and slapped my ass again, hard, the pain intensifying the pleasure that was growing in my pussy, expanding, taking over.
“Spank me again,” I said, breathing hard, needing the release I knew was coming.
He reached down and grabbed my neck, squeezing it. “Beg me,” he ordered.
“Please!” I cried, louder than I intended, and I dropped my voice. “Spank me! I need it! Now!”
He spanked me in rhythm with his f**king, and I arched my back, raised my head and dissolved in perfect ecstasy as I exploded around his cock. I screamed, the pleasure overtaking every sense in my head, and he immediately clasped his hand hard over my mouth, muting the sound. He f**ked me through the orgasm, until my legs could no longer stand it, my body weak from my release, and he laid us both down, him hovering over me, his body and face a dark silhouette against the light from my screen saver. I kicked off my shorts and wrapped my legs around him, and he moved inside me, long, deep, slow strokes. Leaning down, he kissed me, soft and sweetly, then stronger and more possessively. Our lips finally separated, our breaths ragged, and he rose, looking down at me, his strong face unreadable.
“What?” I whispered, my lips burning from his rough kisses, my body relaxed from the orgasm.
“You look beautiful.”
I smiled, meeting his dark eyes. “I thought you wanted to make me bad.”
“Oh, I will, Ms. Campbell. I will make you very, very bad,” he whispered, his hand gently tucking my hair behind my ear, his c**k still moving slowly, deliciously in me. His fingers rubbed my swollen mouth; his thumb caressed my lips, then dipped inside my mouth. I sucked on his thumb, enjoying the light in his eyes as I flicked my tongue over it. I propped myself up on an elbow and thrust my pelvis, squeezing with my legs and burying his c**k in me. Staring into his eyes, I spoke deliberately.
“Stop talking and f**k me.”
A grin broke out on his face and he growled, pressing down on my chest, flattening me to the floor. He leaned over me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head, then f**ked me, hard and fast, pounding me into the plush carpet, my legs popping loose and spreading, his muscular thighs trapping them into place. He was still fully clothed, his dress pants rough against my bare legs and his clothing caused wonderful friction against my clit. I tried to hold off my orgasm as long as I could, but came, my legs bouncing, my arms fighting against his iron grip on my wrists. I moaned, biting into his neck to stop my screams from erupting, the waves of pleasure shaking me from head to toe. He shoved, hard and deep, his strokes continuing. A minute later, he groaned into my neck, his thickness twitching inside me, and I felt his body stiffen as he came.
* * *
JULIA CAMPBELL’S REPEATED calls to Detective Parks were acknowledged, discussed and decided upon, her being one small pawn in a game with much bigger fish. She had become annoying, bothersome, a pesky itch in a hard-to-reach spot. And at 5:52 p.m. that Thursday, while mid-orgasm beneath Brad’s body, her fate was decided. She was as good as dead.
The man’s phone rang, the bright display illuminating on his dash, and he pulled over, answering the cell. “Yes.”
“I need you to take care of something. It’s regarding Broward.”
“I finished that job.”
“Yeah, there was an overlooked detail. It’s a girl, his intern. She’s been calling Parks. She knows we are involved and won’t drop it. She lives in some piece-of-shit house near the university and probably has roommates. I’ll send you the address. I’m sure the police will make the connection, but try and make it look like an accident.”
“Okay.”
“Also, find out if she talked to anyone.”
He was silent a moment, running his hand along the leather steering wheel. “You want me to make it look like an accident, but torture her in the process?”
“Be creative, Leo. Just get it f**king handled without anyone calling the cops. I don’t care if you burn the whole shithole down with the roommates inside.”
“Okay. Tomorrow night.”
* * *
HE STOOD OVER me, zipping up his pants, my monitor now a galaxy of stars. I lay, weak and spent, still on the floor, not wanting to get up, to have to move in any way.
“How much longer will you be working?” His dry voice held an edge of sarcasm, and I bristled, raising myself up on one elbow.
“Well, I would be done working, if it wasn’t for your interruption.”
“You can work tomorrow.” His tone had an order to it that I didn’t like.
“I want to finish up here.”
He sighed, frustrated. I reluctantly moved, rolling over and sitting up, and looked around for my shorts, finally seeing them in the corner of my office. I stood, pulled them on and yanked out my disaster of a ponytail, finger-combing my hair.
“You need to get out of here.” I spoke quietly, worried that we would be caught.
His mouth twitched, but he nodded. Collected, his hands in his pockets, he didn’t look as if he had spent the past half hour banging the intern. The thought struck me as funny, and I fought a giggle. He shook his head wryly at me, then turned and left the office.
I sank into my office chair, half giddy with pleasure, half furious at myself for yielding to his sexuality. Good God, I am in trouble.
I wrapped up the filing, shut down the computer and grabbed my cell and keys, locking my office door and moving quietly through the dark halls, down the back stairwell and into the parking garage. There was a note on the windshield of my Camry. “Call me.” Unsigned.
I started my car and headed for home, my stomach growling along the way. I dialed Brad’s number, and he answered on the second ring.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Do you have dinner plans?”
“No, but I think I’ll eat at home. I already got what I needed from you,” I teased, putting on my signal and changing lanes.
He laughed, and I heard road noise in the background. “Despite that, let me take you to dinner.”
I hesitated for a moment, my heart well aware of the nosedive it was taking into the pool of love. Love that, knowing Brad’s history, would never be returned to my satisfaction. I should refuse, fight to keep what distance I could until I figured out what the hell my long-term plan was. “Okay. But somewhere casual.”
“Pick you up in fifteen at your house?”
“See you then.” I grinned despite myself, hanging up the phone. Yep. Nose-diving straight into those dark depths. At least I saw my demise coming. For whatever that was worth.
Twenty-Eight
Brad was, as always, irritatingly punctual, and I slid into his white BMW in a pair of faded jeans, flip-flops and a scoop-neck white shirt. He gave my outfit an appraising glance before putting the car in reverse and backing out of my driveway.
“I’m sorry, is there a problem with my outfit?” I asked innocently.
“Only that I want to tear it off you,” he growled, leaning over and kissing me. I pulled away, playfully smacking him. “Watch the road!”
He laughed and leaned back in his seat, his face dark in the car, lit occasionally by oncoming traffic. I fastened my seat belt and watched him. He seemed distracted, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in tune to the radio. He glanced over, catching my eyes. “You shouldn’t have been in the wing alone. Not after what happened to Kent.”
I frowned. “I’ve been in the office countless times that late.”
“I know, but normally there is other staff around. Just, given the circumstances, you should have told security.”
“If I had told security, they probably wouldn’t have let me up there.”
He laughed. “Good point. So what, pray tell, was so important?”
I leaned back into the seat. “I don’t know. I was just sick of being at home. I needed a distraction.”
“Which you got.”
I turned to him, grinning. “Yes. Thank you, oh great one, for my distraction.”
He squeezed my hand, then released it, putting both hands on the wheel, his face distracted.
“Thinking about Broward?” I asked.
He stopped drumming and looked over at me, his expression serious. “Yeah.”
“You don’t seem very upset.”
“I’ve had two days to absorb it, Julia. But you already knew that Kent and I weren’t close.”
I closed my eyes briefly, sitting back on the plush leather seat. Yes, I knew he and Broward didn’t get along. We had had that discussion early on, when Broward told me that Brad had f**ked his wife, Claire, six years ago on a corporate retreat. The information had caused me to step away, and almost meant the end of our budding relationship.
“I know. Still. You were so...mad when you found out, and were so quiet yesterday. It’s just been an odd course of reactions.”
He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Julia, I have my own way of dealing with things. I don’t want to ruin any more time I have with you.”
I ran my fingers lightly over our clasped hands, loving how small and delicate my hand looked in his.
We pulled up to a strip mall that had one end occupied by a restaurant. Navigating the crowded parking lot, he pulled up to the front, lit by a neon light, to let me out. I opened the door and stepped out, moving through waiting patrons as he pulled away to park. I was smiling in anticipation as I pulled open the door and walked into pure, crowded deliciousness.
Despite my Scottish surname, I’ve always secretly wanted to be Italian. Though no Italian blood runs in my veins, I have gone ahead and adopted their food, lovemaking and overall passion for life. The cheap, strip mall door opened to a wave of noise and smells of Parmesan cheese and marinara. I could barely squeeze in the door, a small crowd filling the small lobby. I took a half step in and waited, trying to see through the crowd for a hostess. I finally saw one, and caught her eye.
“Two. De Luca,” I said, and she scribbled it down on a pad.
“You guys sitting in, or out?”
I didn’t see any outdoor seating, but the night was unseasonably cool, so I let that be the determinant.
“Out.”
“Your car?”
My face must have shown my confusion because she smiled and elaborated. “What kind of car do you have?”
“Oh. White 7-Series.” She wrote something else down, and moved to the next person in line. I squeezed my way back through the entrance and into the night air. I saw Brad walking up from a side lot obscured by trees, and met him halfway.
“The place is packed. I said we’d sit outside, but I don’t know how long the wait is.”
He nodded, flashing a quick grin at me. “Good. If we are sitting outside, then there isn’t a wait, they’ll serve us out on the car.” He gave my waist a quick squeeze and nodded to the parking lot. “Why don’t you sit on the hood and I’ll grab us drinks? What do you want?”
“White wine—something fruity. Riesling, if they have it.”
He nodded and headed in. I wandered to the parking lot. It was a makeshift lot—with cars parked in all sorts of directions, but most facing the overlook. I saw Brad’s, the “B D Best” vanity tag clearly identifying it. It was parked close to the edge, and I climbed on top of the hood, which was still warm from the drive. The view from the hood was cut from every sappy movie I’d ever seen—a rainbow of city lights at night—and sitting on the hood I felt like a nervous teenager about to make out. It was almost pitch-black out here, half of the neighboring cars silent and empty, half with couples perched on the hood, or tucked inside their expensive frames. I yawned and lay back, the hood uncomfortably hard but the night sky clear and beautiful. Crickets chirped, and I waited expectantly for the first mosquito to find my juicy self.
Brad appeared from the left side, a red Solo cup in his hand. I sat up, my abs protesting, and grabbed the cup, peering inside. White wine. I looked at him quizzically.
“What—you only drink from fine glassware?” The darkness hid his face, but I heard his smile.
I took a sip. It was chilled, fruity and sweet. Perfect. “No. Just not typical De Luca.”
He clinked his bottled beer to my plastic cup and sat on the hood next to me, the car noticeably sagging. We sat in comfortable silence for a minute, looking out on the view.
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Lisa Strong emailed everyone, telling us not to come in today, but to be there tomorrow.”
“Lisa is Clarke’s secretary?”
“Yes.” I took a sip of my wine, smiling. “I can’t believe you don’t know that.”
He smirked. “I barely keep my own staff straight.” He sobered, thinking of something, then turned to me.
“I met with Clarke today.”
I stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.
“We were never interested in a fourth partner. We always wanted to keep it to three. With Broward...gone...we needed to figure out what was next. If we would stay just the two of us or not. I—”
“Broward’s not even in the ground yet!” My voice came out louder and harder than I intended, and he closed his eyes and sighed.
“Julia, I—” He stopped, interrupted again, this time by a thin redheaded waitress in a white button-up, black tie and black pants.
“Excuse me. I am Amber, your waitress. I have your drink orders from the bar. Is there anything else you’d like to drink?” She set a citronella candle on the hood and lit it, depositing two cloth rolls of silverware next to it.