Appleby Blush Ch. 02

"Yeah, I agreed to meet with Goodwin every day and share information. I might need something to give him, Mr. Appleby, just to maintain my cover. I said I knew someone on the inside."

The businessman nodded thoughtfully and flicked the cigar from his fingers. They both watched as it curled in the air and then somersaulted over the top of the railings and down into the murky waters below. "Even better. That way we can keep them moving in the wrong direction. I'm impressed, Brendan."

"Thank you, Mr. Appleby," Kaminski said smugly. Giving Appleby something useful would ensure that his retainer would continue for a long time yet.

"That's a cool wind, Brendan," the business magnate murmured as he began to fasten his coat. It was clear the meeting was over. "I need to think this through and will get back to you. But Brendan..."

"Yes, Mr. Appleby?"

"You've done a good job so far. Keep that up and there'll be a bonus in this for you..."

***

Sandra Wilson's phone call arrived as soon as Kirsten was seated in the taxi and on her way home. Her body was still tingling from the audition and the interaction with Tony Daly. Had she really flaunted herself like that? Had she really so uninhibitedly shown him her tits? Was that the way all models felt infront of the camera? Did they have an overwhelming urge to fuck their photographer the way she did?

The Wesley Snipes fantasy she'd always had played a part, of course. There was no doubt that Daly was just as well built as the movie star and would fit into any of the masturbatory fantasies she had of being with a black man. Maybe that was why the modelling test had quickly changed in her psyche to an opportunity to show off her body to him?

God, what was wrong with her? She'd never flirted like that since the days she was single, and even then she hadn't so blatantly displayed that wanton side that she kept hidden. Her only excuse was that she needed to do it for the mission, to convince Daly she was worth bringing back for the next stage. It had worked. He'd immediately told her she'd successfully passed the audition and arranged for her to return in a couple of days.

But it was more than that. A part of her had let go in there. And Daly had reacted, too. She could see it in his eyes and in the ever present bulge in his trousers. God, if she had been single she would have... never mind, she wasn't...

"Hi Sandra," she said, sliding closed the glass window that separated her from the taxi driver and settling back in her seat. She lowered her voice to ensure she couldn't be overheard. "Good timing."

"How did it go?"

"Very well," Kirsten responded, running her hand down her shin and brushing away some imaginary piece of fluff.

She heard Wilson's voice brighten instantly. "That's great. Don't keep me waiting..."

"It's not going to be easy to pick anything up from just the audition," she explained, pushing her body back into the seat again. "There's a receptionist who might be worth another chat to. I tried to get some background from her before I left but she was preoccupied with something Daly needed. Maybe Alice might have more luck."

"Who else did you see?"

Kirsten felt her heart quicken. How silly was that? "Someone called Tony Daly. He's their photographer and the guy who called both Alice and I to set up the audition."

"What did you get?"

"Not much but..." Kirsten felt her voice rise a little. She was proud of making it through to the next stage and why not? Amateur models with far more experience than her wouldn't have made it that far. "But I was successful, Sandra. He wants me back there in a couple of days."

"Good girl, now that is impressive!"

Kirsten grinned to herself as she heard Wilson's chuckle. The warmth in her boss's voice made her feel good. Heck, it was an achievement to be invited back...

"That will give you a chance to dig deeper."

Kirsten paused—damn, for a moment she'd lost sight of the main prize. This wasn't to do with her making a success of a modelling audition or flaunting her married body at a muscular black man. It was all about the case and finding as much information as they could on whether there was anything shady about Donald Appleby's business operations. The arousal running through her body was making her lose sight of that.

And Matt was away overnight, which meant she wouldn't be able to satisfy herself in his arms. God, she felt like she could fuck all night—her vibe was in for a busy time. If she could rid herself of some of this sexual energy, maybe she'd feel calmer at tomorrow's shoot. She wondered what that would look like. Daly still hadn't explained...

"Exactly," she replied, staring blankly out of the window as she collected her thoughts. "If I get the chance to meet a few people there, maybe a couple of other models, I'll be able to get a feel for the place and what goes on."

"Good progress, Kirsten," Wilson told her. It made the brunette smile—any praise from Sandra Wilson made her smile. Her boss was fair but didn't hand out compliments easily.

The most obvious thing of all hit her. How could she have forgotten that? "Oh yes, there's one other thing."

"Yes?"

"Carmella Santiago runs the agency."

"Carmella Santiago? The Carmella S—"

"The very same," Kirsten laughed and ran a hand through her dark, wavy hair, fluffing it up. "Though I can't imagine her being mixed up in anything untoward..."

She heard Wilson's sigh even as the words left her mouth. "How long have you been a cop?"

Damn, that was a stupid thing to say. The headiness of the last couple of hours seemed to be colouring her judgement. Too long, might have been a good answer, though not a smart one. Sandra Wilson already knew she was becoming disillusioned with the Met, even though they rarely talked about it.

"Well, the good news," she began, trying to cover her discomfort, "Is that if I get through tomorrow's stage I get a chance to meet her. That should make it easier to suss out what's going on."

"Good. I've been called to see Turner tomorrow, so our eight o'clock update won't last long. I take it you'll be able to make tomorrow's

"Yes, no problem. I'm not due at the Agency 'til ten." She hesitated. "By the way Sandra..."

"Yes?"

"I thought it made sense to get a taxi to the studio and back. But the fare is more than I anticipated. I was wondering—"

"Just this once," Wilson cut in, a hint of amusement in her voice. "That's because you got another crack at the place. But next time, drive there. Okay?"

***

Carmella Santiago looked up into Donald Appleby's eyes as he thrust down into her sinewy body. "Oh yes, Donald, I so missed this while I was away."

"Me too," he grunted as her heels forced him deeper.

"Really?" she murmured. "How's Angela?"

He smiled down at her. They both knew he fucked who he liked and when he liked, but his dalliance with his secretary was becoming a running joke between them. "Not in the same league as you, darling," he answered, his eyes sparkling into hers.

"Good answer."

"Though she is a sexy little bitch..."

She let out a squeal of mock annoyance and playfully pulled his pony tail. "Does she do this?"

He grunted as she clenched her vaginal muscles around him. If she kept that up he wasn't going to last much longer.

"I thought not," she murmured, her ocean blue eyes fixed on his. "Tell me more about Joseph Nmobu. You have a meeting set up?"

"With him and his brother," he gasped, painfully dragging his ear away from her teeth. She really was a wild, sexy bitch when she was in this mood. For a moment his pace slowed while he thought about the negotiations. The discussions with the African were crucial to both of their futures. After a series of delicate discussions, the Prime Minister had offered to mass produce quantities of Appleby Blush in his country. The cheap labour, facilities and the wherewithal to keep the production completely secret were all essential ingredients.

"He doesn't know what Blush does?"

"He has no idea," Appleby answered, easing up onto his knees. The new position allowed him a breather while still sliding softly into her velvety softness. "Though he's trying very hard to find out," he panted. "But as long as I can come up with the right price, I'm sure he'll go for it."

"The right price?" she responded, stroking her fingernails down his spine.

"Oh fuck, that's good," he whimpered as the nails dug in. "He wants a million a year for him and his brother."

Carmella broke out into laughter and reached up to grip his hard butt. Even at fifty her lover was in great physical shape. "Is that all? Donald, you are a genius as well as such a good fuck."

"A good fuck?"

"Oh, very," the Columbian beauty smiled at him, squeezing his manhood with her vaginal muscles again.

"You too, my dear..." he grunted, feeling his cock react. He began to pant a little harder. "But let's not count our chickens quite yet," he murmured. "Then we have this temporary problem to take care of."

"Yes," she murmured, pulling his head down to meet hers again. The kiss was longer, harder, telling him she was almost ready to continue their sexual journey. A few beads of sweat formed on his brow and he burrowed his face against her shoulder, wiping them on her skin. When he raised his head again, she lightly blew across his perspiring forehead. "I already have some thoughts on that."

"You have?"

"Mmm," she softly murmured, deciding on a whim to change positions. Twisting from underneath him, she pushed back the loose strand of blonde-brown-copper hair from across her left eye. "Here, let me on top, darling. You need to rest..."

He grunted at the joke but allowed Carmella to slither across his body and easily mount him. The dangling, diamond stars from her belly piercing caught the light as she settled over him and as she sank down and sheathed him, she sexily raised both hands above her head. He gasped out loud.

"Good..." she said, though it was unclear if it was a question or a statement. She undulated slowly, eliciting an upward whimper as she slowly gyrated on him. He groaned again, reaching up to fondle her swaying breasts. Their delicious fullness always excited him.

"You're thoughts on the cops?" he reminded her.

"Well, I'd say this Wilson woman requires a more imaginative solution, whereas the two undercover cops need more immediate attention. Want to hear more?"

"Yes..." he grunted, but her increase in pace stopped him. Leaning backwards, arms resting on his shins, she did an impression of a jackhammer. Her grunts with each short, fast down thrust mingled with his. He reached for her hips in an attempt to steady her movements otherwise he was going to blow...

"I'll tell you later," she whispered, slowing down briefly and allowing the air to return to her lungs. "Right now we need to finish what we're doing."

Leaning forward this time, her warm breasts pressed into his sweaty chest as she jerked her hips down hard. Once, twice, three times. Appleby tried to speak, but when she repeated her jackhammer impression he succumbed to the inevitable.