Appleby Blush Ch. 05

Facing the mirror again, she dragged the straps of her black bra down her shoulders, toying with them as she threatened to rip the bra from her breasts. Twisting one way and then the other, she tested one pose after the other before reaching behind her for the clasp and tossing the lacy black material to the side. For a few seconds, she stood with her hands on her hips, posing sexily as she admired her pale, lightly freckled body.

How many other women of her age still had a body like this?

Goodwin had once told her she was built like a tigress and she liked the description. Her small, firm breasts were capped with round little nipples and right now they were sticking out like eraser tips. She cupped them in her palms, planting her feet apart as— with only the black thong protecting her modesty—she sent a teasing smile into the mirror.

Eat your heart out, Tony Daly!

Think sex, the photographer had told her, and now she couldn't think of anything else. This was wicked, incredibly wicked, but her need was such that she couldn't stop herself. Digging a thumb into each side of her skimpy thong, she sexily pulled it down her legs and kicked it away. The dark hair between her thighs was trimmed into a wedge of curls.

Even if she said so herself, her naked body looked hot. As hot as she felt.

Her hands crept along her flat stomach, down the sides of her legs and then back along her inner thighs. All she could think of was getting off...

Her swollen clit had already emerged from her hooded sex and she gasped as her thumb flicked across it. No one would know, she told herself. Her gleaming eyes stared at her sexy image reflected back from the mirror as her fingers began to play along her moist folds.

***

Kirsten took another sip from the large glass of wine. She seemed to have a constant thirst since her afternoon session with Tony Daly. Maybe that was why she'd almost polished off the entire bottle.

Thoughts of what she'd done overwhelmed her again. They brought a blush to her face and a burning to her body. Had she really been that insatiable? Had they actually fucked for hours—and in all those different positions? Even the most extreme moments of her Wesley Snipes induced masturbatory fantasies couldn't approach the wildness of the real thing.

Plonking her glass down on the side of the tub, she gathered her hair in her hands and submerged her head beneath the bath water. It made no difference. When she emerged, coughing and spluttering, it still felt like the whole world was closing in and she had no idea how to cope.

It wasn't so much that she'd cheated on Matt. That relationship was so close to the end it wasn't worth even worrying about. Okay, he wasn't aware of that yet and she'd need to have that conversation sooner rather than later.

No, what worried her was the fact she'd compromised herself as a cop. And that opened her up to all sorts of dangers...

She'd fucked a suspect during an undercover mission. Yes, you could argue the matter in different ways. Daly wasn't technically a suspect. Her private life was her private life. What had happened was between her and the photographer. But when it came right down to it, if either the Met or Sandra Wilson found out, her career would swiftly come to a premature end.

Then there was the agency itself. Was it all it seemed to be? Were they into the sorts of things that Sandra Wilson suspected? Was it corrupt? If not, then any possible damage would be limited, not that it theoretically made any difference. She'd still fucked a potential suspect while on duty.

But if they were into shady dealings, she was treading a fine line. If they ever discovered she was a cop, they wouldn't hesitate to use what had happened against her. Maybe even blackmail her. That wouldn't work, of course. She'd immediately confess everything to Sandra Wilson and face the consequences.

But the end result would be the same. Drummed out of the force in disgrace...

Yet even that wasn't the worst of it. Her marathon session with Tony Daly had lit a fire inside her that wouldn't go out.

Resting her wet head back against the curved head of the round bathtub, she closed her bloodshot eyes. Luxuriating in the bath was still one of her intimate pleasures but rather than the relaxing bubbles soothing her troubled mind, all they were doing was fuelling the internal flames.

Swinging around and reaching for her glass again, she gulped down another mouthful. How many orgasms had Daly given her? And she'd made the black stud cum three times, too. It hadn't taken him long each time to get back on the job again and like a wanton whore on heat, she'd kept asking for more.

Begging for it...

Reaching over the side of the tub, she picked up the dildo she'd taken into the bathroom with her. It wasn't as large as Tony Daly and nor was it black. She'd rectify that situation at the shops tomorrow...

Lying back in the bath, she lifted one slender leg and allowed it to curl over the side of the tub. Fitting her other foot on the opposite rim beside the wall, she traced the dildo across her breasts, down her stomach and then along her inner thigh. She had a lot of thinking to do, but right now she needed to satisfy that burning feeling inside her.

***

Sandra Wilson gazed forlornly out of her car window, trying to rationalise what was happening to her. Not only had she masturbated before the shoot, but she'd practically flaunted herself infront of Daly. Within ten minutes of leaving the agency she'd found a nearby pub with one thing in mind. Thank heavens her courage had failed her.

How could she strike up a conversation with a stranger and then take him somewhere quiet? She could see the headlines now. The Head of the London Met Vice Squad arrested for soliciting. Her reputation in ruins, her career destroyed...

Was that why she was here, staring at the Empire Square Apartments beside London Bridge? Looking for Alex Goodwin's flat. The barrel chested cop had held a candle for her ever since she'd finished their relationship and however much she knew it was a mistake, she needed sex and he was her best option.

Her mind continued to dwell on what had happened. Had it really been necessary to pose for Daly? What had she been trying to achieve? Her intention had been to grill him about the business and yet he'd suddenly taken the initiative away from her.

She'd been away from field work for too long.

Yet, even now, she couldn't deny how exciting it had been. The thrill of posing semi naked for the black photographer was still running through her body. Neither of the bikinis had left much to the imagination and she'd chosen the aqua one because it offered just a little more protection. He hadn't said anything about swimwear when he'd talked about test shots, but it made sense. Who had a portfolio of themselves dressed in their work clothes?

Even so, if those photos ever found their way back to the Met... well...

Thank God Daly had no idea of her identity!

Her thoughts returned to Alex Goodwin as she slipped out of the car with all the stealth of a cat burglar. Locking the door behind her, she furtively glanced around as she hurried across to the apartment entrance. The pause before she entered lasted only a few seconds. Alex might be a safer option than any casual acquaintance, but the ramifications of having sex with him again made her shiver. But the way she felt right now, those consequences could wait until tomorrow... and that seemed a lifetime away...

Alex was on the third floor and as the lift commenced its upwards journey, it occurred to her that he might not be at home. Worse, he might be entertaining someone. Another woman? After all, she had no idea what he got up to in his private life anymore. Reaching his door, she decided that she didn't care.

He answered her sharp knock within a few seconds.

"Something's wrong," he said, staring at the urgency in her expression.

But then his eyes briefly shifted from her face to her hair, and down to her body. Her jacket was open and the outline of her hard nipples was clearly on display. The way his eyes lingered on them shot another bolt of excitement through her.

"Come in," he said, standing to one side.

What was it that made her hesitate? Despite everything she'd just gone over in her mind, the look in those hopeful grey eyes of his confirmed he'd expect so much more if this happened. Did she really want that? Then there was the fact he moved here when he'd married Sally. Did she really want him to fuck her in what had been their marital bed?

Suddenly confused, she turned on her heels and forced herself away from him despite the burning arousal inside her. She'd have to masturbate again instead...

She was halfway along the corridor by the time he started to follow her. As soon as the lift arrived she stepped inside, but then he was there, too.

"Stop, Sandra," he rasped, his hand stopping hers as she reached for the ground floor button.

She tried to shake it off but he powerfully gripped her wrist.

"Sandra, what the fuck's going on—"

They were the only words he was able to get out. She'd tried to resist it but he wouldn't let her. Well, he'd have to suffer the consequences too.

She reached for his shirt and pulled him inside the lift with her. Her hand pressed the first button she could find and the doors clattered closed behind them. In an instant, she had him pinned against the cold metal of the back wall. One arm around his neck, her lips jammed against his as her free hand frantically worked on his trousers.

Unzipped, her frenzied hands dragged his hardening cock out into the open before he could react. He grabbed her wrist but her clutching fingers were already stroking him and he was rising to the occasion.

When his grip tightened, she removed any doubt in his mind by sinking to her knees and jamming her eager mouth over his hardening flesh. She loved the feeling as he instantly grew between her lips with each soft suck. Her dark eyes stared upwards into his, her lewd movements now in slow motion.

She was defying him to resist and when his hand left her wrist to curl in her black hair, they both knew it was impossible. The lift door momentarily stopped them, clattering open to reveal an empty corridor. Wilson's heart missed a beat.

Fuck—that was close.

"Hit the button," she snapped, slurping off his cock long enough to get the words out before taking his thick girth back into her throat again. Even had someone been there, she wasn't sure she could have stopped herself.

But Goodwin was spooked. His hands gripped her dark locks and he dragged her head away. "Sandra—" he began.

She responded by scraping her body along his as she dragged herself upwards. Her hand cupped his testicles as she kissed him before breathing into his mouth. "Fuck me, Alex."

He shook his head, as if he was trying to think straight again. Even after eighteen months, she could still read his mind. He wanted to, but he didn't understand what was happening. Besides, the next time the door opened someone could be there. Everyone in the complex knew who he was. What he was. A cop...

Ignoring his hesitation, Wilson swung around and dragged the back of her skirt up to her waist. If the sight of her naked ass didn't do it for him, nothing would. She'd discarded her panties before entering the building.

Reaching underneath and behind her, she took hold his cock and fed him against her wet opening. Neither spoke as she felt him push inside, only soft gasps of pleasure at the exquisiteness of the moment.

When his hands found her hips, she knew all resistance was gone.

Her backward thrusts were frantic as she attempted to find a rhythm. His movements were different—more considered, gentler. She didn't want gentle.

"C'mon," she spat, saliva flying from her mouth. Her cheek pressed flat against the cold metal wall. "C'mon, Alex. Fuck me. Harder..."

Suddenly he wasn't hesitant any longer. Like a drug, her enthusiasm transferred from her body to his. They were back in the old days. His hand slid under her white top and dragged her bra upwards. His fingers squeezed her nipple.

"Fuck, yes," she gasped. It was about time he got involved...

Eighteen months of pent up sexual frustration flowed through her body. That feeling of his thickness inside her reminded her how much she'd missed this. The friction made her groan and she placed both palms against the wall as she pushed back so that she could gain more purchase.

"Come on, Alex," she rasped, twisting her head around to look at him. "You hear me? Come on... fuck me..."

Lifting up onto the balls of her feet, she pushed her buttocks even higher. His balls slapped against her as she forced a change of angle. Twisting slightly, the feel of the underside of his cock feathering across her clit sent her first climax shuddering through her. She tossed her black hair from side to side as it ravished her and then tilted her head forward against the cold metal wall again.

Recovering, she glanced over her shoulder again, making sure he could see the frenzied heat of her orgasm in her eyes. He grunted at the sight and began to thrust inside her again—faster this time. His breathing was heavy and ponderous and she was damn sure he wasn't going to last much longer either.

He tried to slow his pace but she wouldn't let him, rotating herself in circles on his cock. "Don't hold out on me, Alex," she shouted, her voice reverberating around the metal interior. "Fuck me. Come on. Harder..."

She pumped back, encouraging him with her body. The tightening of his face said he was finding it impossible to stave off the inevitable and she'd seen that expression a hundred times when he was close.

She tightened her muscles around him—just like she used to do. Her need for his creamy tribute was overwhelming. "Cum for me, Alex. Come on, baby..."

His eyes closed as he drove forward one final time. Then he was there, coating her insides. The sensation set Wilson off again and another orgasm ripped through her. As his head burrowed into her shoulder and his cock jerked inside her, she rotated her hips to ensure she milked every single drop from him.

Eventually, satisfied, she pulled away. She adjusted herself before hitting the door button. It was unreasonable, she knew, but the last thing she needed right now was to hear any guilt trip, protestations of love, or to have to explain her actions.

"Tomorrow, Alex..." she told him, rising up on her tiptoes to softly kiss his parched lips. "We'll talk tomorrow..."