Like a Fox on the Run, стр. 112
Gideon’s eyes lightened up immediately, as if someone had just turned the flame up on an oil lantern. “Go on.”
“An outfit out of Georgia. Called the Frost Agency. That’s who they’ll be sending the bill to. It’s an asset retrieval agency.”
“Bounty hunters. Making more sense by the minute.”
“The owner is one Forrest L. Frost. She couldn’t find much on him, ‘cept for a billing code, so I called a couple of our friends over in Atlanta. They were able to get me this.” He held up his PDC, which now displayed a photo of Frost’s face, taken several years back.
As Gideon took it, studying it, letting the image of the man who had disfigured him and neutered his son burn into his brain, Junior continued with his narrative, “They say he’s one evil motherfucker. They say you don’t want him on your trail. Mostly does high-dollar corporate contracts. More than not, he’s the one that shot you and Rayford.”
“You did good, boy!” The old man didn’t look up, his eyes still locked onto Frost’s photograph. Finally, he had something to project the hatred and anger on. Finally, his enemy had a face. “I gotta hand it to ya!”
“All hell, Paw!” Junior scoffed. “I’m just taking the cake outta the oven. You ain’t heard the best part yet.”
He now had Gideon’s full attention. “Whaddaya mean, boy?”
“Cousin Betty told me something else. This here’s the icin’ on the cake. I saved the best for last.” He stuck out his chest and smiled a big, country smile.
Paw, you’re gonna love this!”
***
Matt loved the way Stella’s red hair fell across one eye in the heat of passion. He loved how she turned to watch him while he took her from behind. Not that she could see too much, what with one eye covered in that silky hair, her ass high in the air, and her wrists handcuffed to the rails of her wrought-iron headboard, severely hampering her movement. But damn, she sure looked sexy trying!
“Please! I’ve been a bad girl!” she moaned.
“Have you now?” he asked, a wicked tone in his voice. He knew he was a lucky man. He knew he was the only one who ever saw the fiercely proud and independent Officer Stella Jones in such a compromising situation. In fact, she gave off such a feminist vibe that most on the force would never even broach the subject of fraternization. More than a few, women as well as men, had simply assumed she was gay. Most down at the precinct considered her too ambitious and driven. Unlike the well-liked Matt, many in the troop viewed his career-obsessed executive officer with a healthy dose of wariness and suspicion.
He knew all this. He knew she wanted to go places within the Patrol, and he knew she looked at Matt as her best chance of doing it. Yet, in spite of inner departmental jealousy and resentment, she was a good cop. She was efficient and thorough. She wasn’t just expecting a free ride. She carried her own weight. They might say a lot of things about her, but they couldn’t say that.
Besides, who were they to judge? He knew her better than any of the others. He saw the truth. He saw this. She pushed herself hard as a cop, probably as hard as any beat officer. But when her tour was over, and the gun belt came off, she knew how to unwind. The woman had an unfettered libido and a voracious appetite for the pleasures of the flesh that never seemed to be satisfied. He never took it for granted, and he certainly never tired of trying to quench it. He enjoyed every lusty, sizzling minute of it.
“Yes! Oh, God yes! I need it so bad!” she begged.
“And what is it you need?” He fought the overwhelming urge to speed up the rhythm. His fingers tightened their grip on her waist. His thrust went deep, harder, like a bronc-buster spurring a wild filly on. Still, he would have to be careful. One wrong move and he would be a goner.
“You know what I need! Please!” she whined. Of course, he knew exactly what she needed. What she wanted. Making her beg just always made it hotter … for both. “Please, Special Inspector Burlington! Punish me … please!”
“You can do better than that!” he snarled, driving home and holding himself there for a count, before pulling almost all the way out and driving back in with force. She wiggled her ass wantonly with desire. “Beg! Beg like you really want it!”
“Please, sir! I’m begging!”
“More!”
“Please! Use me, baby! Make me suffer! I’m so bad!” She dropped her head and upper body to the mattress, pushing her hips higher to him, an act of eager submission. “Punish me! I’ll do anything!”
“Indeed, you shall!” His hand came up and then down like a bolt of lightning, his open palm coming down hard across the bare flesh of her right buttock. It hit with such force that the sound of impact sounded like the crack of a bullwhip. She screamed in a mix of pain and pleasure. He raised his hand again to repeat the openhanded slap, leaving the angry red imprint of his fingers on her gorgeous ass.
“Oh God, baby! That hurts!” She winced visibly from the pain. But that was all part of the turn-on. “More! Hurt me more, baby! Hurt me!” she cried as he slapped her again, twice, before switching to the other cheek. The metal of the cuffs clattered against the headboard with each strike of his hand, her body instinctively reacting to the assault. He felt her respond to the pain, becoming wetter, as he himself