I'm not kidding. Seriously, if you are under age or easily offended, then leave!!!!
Some people may consider the material below sexually explicit, equivalent to an R rating.
Still here? Then you take full responsibility for what you are about to read.
Mar Dunbaughro’s stomach did a neat little roller-coaster loop de loop,
a bungee-cord zing, then a naked-in-school-dream clinch. What fun!
“This is not a mistake,” she
told herself as she stood in front of Zack Pennimon's door. “I know what I’m doing.”
The tapestry satchel containing her bottle of doctored wine, her CD, and her PI's license banged against her leg. She ignored
it as she raised her hand to knock. A nervous thrill made her a little shaky. One deep breath and she got over it.
See? Easy as sky diving.
Did it really matter that Mr. Pennimon had defeated
her every attempt to get into the apartment and verify the presence of her client’s statuette? Yes, because the client was ready
to walk, and without her, Mar would have no income at all.
Besides, there was
something fishy about the statuette. Mar longed to get her hands on it to see if she could figure out why Jessica wanted it
so badly.
So get over the jitters already, she told herself. Mar raised
her hand again, but before she could knock, the door opened, revealing her quarry in sweat pants and a T-shirt, the same as the last
time she had seen him.
He was tall and rangy, and handsome; his hard
body was tight as a Marine under the sloppy clothes. How did he keep in shape when he never went to a gym? One curl of
coffee colored hair dropped onto his forehead above crisp blue eyes.
She was
dying to know what went on behind those eyes.
For a moment she stood with her
hand stupidly suspended in the air, ready to knock on a door that was no longer there. How embarrassing. She quickly let
it drop.
“Yes?” he said, waiting for her to explain herself. His voice
sounded rough, as though he hadn’t used it in a long time.
As always, her heart
sped up and sweat broke out on the palms of her hands. The man gave her the same wonderful feeling as driving way over the speed
limit. Or riding a rampaging elephant.
Swallowing hard, she collected
herself. Now came the hard part, getting past him.
He hovered in the doorway,
showing no inclination to invite her in. His eyes went over her from head to foot in a slow perusal. Mar shifted her weight
uncomfortably. She was dressed in little more than a trench coat. Her hair was teased and sprayed to within an inch of
its life, her cheeks were coated in Plumb Loco blush and lips slicked with Primal Scream lipstick. It seemed like a good disguise
when she got ready, but the way he looked at her now made her feel like a cross between a whore and a flasher.
She cleared her throat, put on a smile, and said, “Charlie sent me.”
“Charlie?”
He sounded perplexed.
For a moment Mar thought she’d gotten the names mixed
up. Her target was Zack Pennimon, right? He was the one who broke his engagement to Jessica, then rubbed salt in the wound
by refusing to return her belongings. Charlie was his best friend.
A frown flickered across his face, followed by a piercing stare that looked frighteningly close to recognition. Then the corner
of his mouth kicked up into a ghost of a smile and he stepped back to let her pass. “Come in.”
Yes!
Everything was going to work as planned. What a relief after
all other attempts had failed. The man never left his apartment, so waiting for a chance to sneak in did no good. He had
turned her away when she simply asked to see the statuette, and again when she posed as an electrician. He didn’t even bother
to open the door for the neighbors, and his friends never came to visit. It was now or never.
Nothing like a little pressure to spice things up.
To the right of the
front door a small collection of bar stools sat in front of a breakfast bar. The breakfast bar, little more than an extension
of the kitchen counter separated kitchen from living room. Mar tried not to gawk, but she’d been wondering what his apartment
was like since the first time he had turned her away.
Mr. Pennimon passed her,
moving to the left. Mar trailed along in his wake. He walked across a wide expanse of Berber carpet where a dinette set
should have been to a cushy, slate-blue sectional.
Mar noticed the indentations
in the carpet from where furniture had been. She wondered what could have happened to it. Then she realized Mr. Pennimon
had stopped next to the sectional and was watching her with a knowing expression, as if waiting for her to comment.
Would a stripper comment? Mar didn’t think so. She hurriedly joined him.
The sectional had been split between a love seat section and a lounger section to leave access to the seating, make room for an onyx
coffee table, and bracket an impressive entertainment system. At least the entertainment system matched Jessica’s description. Nothing else did.
Mr. Pennimon gestured toward a seat near the entertainment
center.
“What does Charlie want now?” A knowing half-smile hovered around
his lips.
“He sent me as a peace offering.” Mar managed to get the lie
out without giving herself away, she hoped. Jessica insisted the line would help, though she wasn’t so clear as to why. She had been right about the outfit getting Mar in the door, and would probably be right about the doctored wine. Little as
she liked it, Mar had to put her faith in her client.
She set the satchel down
on the coffee table and began removing items. First the wine, then two stem-ware glasses, then a CD. She brushed past
him to put the CD in his sound system. “Just give me a minute here.” Expectantly, she turned up the volume on Ravel’s
Bolero.
And nothing happened. Mr. Pennimon moved toward her, brow furled
in consternation. To keep him from telling her to leave, she put a finger across his lips. They were soft, and warm, and
made her think this next part might be fun.
“Listen,” she said, glancing to
the stereo.
A faint hiss turned into a hint of an oboe. One of his eyebrows
rose in mild surprise. He probably assumed it would be typical stripper music. Instead, it was the song she had heard
through his door on several occasions.
His raised eyebrow was replaced by a
kind of anticipatory gleam and a quirking at the corners of his mouth. Not quite the wolfish grin she’d hoped for, but
enough to work with. This was going to be great. She had always wanted get naked and gyrate around to Bolero.
She did a quick shimmy, but it didn’t feel right because her trench coat flapped awkwardly. She was getting ahead of herself.
The wine. She’d almost forgotten all about the doctored wine. Grabbing the bottle, she ripped of the plastic seal while
pivoting toward him so he wouldn’t see the little hole where the hypodermic needle had gone through the cork. When she dropped
it into his hands, she put a bemused expression on his face.
Bemused was good. Mar was used to bemusing people.
“Well? Open it.” She nodded at the bottle
as she threw the trench coat open and pushed her shoulders back so it would slide down her arms to pool on the floor.
OK, so the outfit under wasn’t really that daring. Just a white gauze blouse tucked into a pin-striped mini skirt. The
fact the blouse was so thin you could see not only the black lace bra underneath but the shadow of her nipples made her nervous. As to the micro-mini, it was supposed to be tight. The outfit, so unlike her jeans and t-shirts, made her feel more exposed
than if she were naked.
Jessica had said Zack was in finance; a broker or something. Mar thought this ensemble would interest him. It did indeed. His eyes went straight to her chest and stayed there. She resisted the urge to cover herself.
Then his eyes traveled down. She
quickly sucked in her gut, though she’d been told often enough she didn’t have one. His eyes hovered at the hem of her skirt
where a slice of bare skin tended to show before the hose started. The garter straps were black to match the bra, as well as
the thong panties he wouldn’t be seeing just yet. At least, she hoped he couldn’t see them. The stupid skirt had inched
up again.
Mar tried a shimmy, pushing her skirt back into place at the same
time, then waited nervously for his reaction. Would he believe she knew what she was doing? If not, he’d shove her out
the door so fast her bills would be wafting in the air behind her.
“Well?” She snatched a glass from the table waggled it at him.
He glanced at the label,
then stopped to read it. One corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful smile. According to Jessica, this was his favorite wine
right down to the year. He began expertly opening the bottle, exactly what Mar wanted.
In a few minutes he would be putty in her hands. She hoped.
She let him
fill her glass, then his. They clinked glasses together. She put hers to her lips, and gave him a sultry look over the
rim, but carefully didn’t swallow any.
He was raising his to his lips when his
brows drew together in an odd, puzzled expression. He put the glass down on the coffee table with a now-see-here expression. “I realize you take your work seriously, but….”
“But nothing.” Mar set
her glass next to his on the built-in side table. “You just relax and let me do my thing. It won’t take very long and
you might like it.” She shoved him into the plush seating, forcing him to sit.
Leaving her hand on his chest to pin him down, she said, “I have a few rules. I’m a dancer only. We aren’t going to really
do anything. Got that?”
“Mmm hmmm.” He didn’t sound convinced, but
Mar was on a roll.
“That means I do all the touching. You keep your hands
off. I’ve already been paid.” She wished! “So you don’t need to be sticking any bills anywhere. And once this
is done, it’s over. If for some bizarre reason we should bump into each other at the supermarket, I don’t know you.”
She was quite pleased with her little speech. It had come off exactly the way she’d rehearsed it.
His eyes were sparkling again, and the corners of his mouth threatened to lift. “Why don’t we just talk?”
Talk? She’d already tried talking. It hadn’t gotten her any closer to the statuette. “You’d rather talk than be
entertained?”
“I…. no.” He drew the word out thoughtfully, his eyes cut
to the side. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Then let me do my thing.” Before
she lost her nerve.
“All right,” he said. “Go ahead.” He leaned
back in his seat, arms crossed and head tilted at a challenging angle as if he didn’t think she could do it.
Well, she’d show him.
Actually, she was about to show him a lot more than she’d
shown anyone outside of a darkened bedroom. Thinking about it gave her a nervous thrill.
Her hand went to the top button of her blouse, slipping it loose with cool efficiency. The sense of suppressed amusement she
got from him deepened. He was almost smiling full on now.
That wouldn’t
do. Try something else.
She slowed way down, trailing her hand down to
the next button, and then the next, until all of the buttons had been eased out of their holes. That took the smug expression
off his face.
Instead of taking the blouse off, she turned around. She
spread her legs as wide as the tight little skirt would allow, and looked over her shoulder to see if that move had the right effect.
He looked interested, but not ready to fall all over himself.
Slowly, agonizingly
slowly, she slid the zipper in back down.
By now the music had begun to catch
her in its sensuous rhythms. She shifted her weight back and forth. Leaving the zipper open, she ran her hands up and
down the sides of the skirt. She let it snag and pull with each stroke until it was good and loose around her hips and she knew
more than leg must be showing. Then she put her legs together and waited for the little bit of business attire to slide to the
floor.
It didn’t. The dumb thing was too tight, and simply stayed where
it was – caught on her hips. Oh no. Eyes wide, Mar stared straight ahead. She felt like such an idiot. Better
do something. Quick.
She yanked it down over one hip, then the other,
wriggling like a cartoon fat lady in a girdle. Dread of seeing an amused expression on his face made her move very slowly as
she looked over her shoulder. She needn’t have worried.
He wasn’t looking
smug now. His eyes were very bright, and he shifted his legs uncomfortably. There was a slight bulge in the front of his
sweats.
Whew. Good. She was on the right track.
Sort of. She hadn’t gotten him to drink any of the wine yet. But if she lunged for the glass now, it would be a dead give
away.
She spread her legs again, feeling the thong cut up the back, and gyrated
her hips around. She wasn’t looking so she wasn’t sure it was having the desired effect on him, but it was fun for her. She pushed the gauze blouse off her shoulders so it hung down, exposing most of her shoulder blades in back and all of her bra in
front. Not that he could see the front just yet.
A man’s warm hand grazed
up her thigh. Mar flinched, then dodged, whipping around to face him. She almost lashed into him before remembering her
role.
“Ah, ah, ah,” She said with a forced smile as she pulled the gauze shirt
around her. “Remember my rules.”
He was leaning forward, his rear on the
very edge of the sectional. He looked guilty enough to mollify her as his eyes rolled up to meet her gaze.
“You don’t have to do this.”
Was he on to her? Mar held her breath. No. If he was on to her, he would be escorting her out the door now. She needed to be out of reach, but in the apartment. She took a step backward, then another. The side of her leg bumped the coffee table, making his wine glass chatter. Mr.
Pennimon surged to his feet.
“I think you’d better go.” He moved sideways,
away from the entertainment center and toward the door.