Madison Avenue Ch. 02

"Mmm," she whimpered. "Well, sports and sex, then."

"Uh huh," I said, looking into her eyes as she tilted her head up toward me. "Wanna play some basketball?"

"Oh, I'd just slam dunk on you, and you'd get mad."

"You're not allowed to use a ladder, Katie."

"Fine," she said with a mock pout. "Sex it is, then."

I dragged my fingers down her hips, pressing against the outsides of her thighs as she ground against me.

"Maybe you'd rather call Agent Gutierrez back for that," she said, teasing me, her eyes twinkling.

"We could make it a group thing. McAllister sure noticed you."

"Eww," she said, wrinkling her nose, reaching up to brush her soft blonde hair out of her face, the natural blonde locks falling right back over her icy blue eyes as she looked into mine. "He's gross ..." she paused, rocking her hips back and forth, the warmth of her pussy passing through my thin boxers as she ground against my stiffening cock. "... And he definitely has a smaller gun."

"Yeah, but he's a redhead," I said with a laugh as I ran my hands back up her thighs, slipping them under the dress shirt and running them around to cup her ass in a firm grasp. I mentioned that she was petite, and she was, everywhere except her ass, that is. Small hips, slender stomach and legs, smallish breasts, thin arms and toned thighs — and an ass that didn't quit. She joked that all her pregnancy weight just went to her ass after she gave birth, but that firm, perfectly rounded bubble butt was one of the sexiest things I'd ever seen.

"That only counts as sexy with chicks, Christian," she said, leaning back and unbuttoning the dress shirt, just letting it hang lazily over her shoulders, covering her breasts while exposing her stomach all the way down to the neatly trimmed patch of soft, golden hair resting just above her pussy. "Guys with red hair are all named Angus and they wear kilts and drink Guinness."

"You like Guinness."

"I like fucking you more."

I smiled as she stepped back onto the floor and dropped to her knees in front of me, a wicked smile spread across her face as she ran her hands up and down my thighs, looking up at me and licking her lips.

"The FBI isn't watching us right now, right?"

"You never know." I shrugged playfully.

"Well, I hope they are, that way I can show Miss Hannah what you like," she giggled, reaching up for the waistband of my boxers and slowly sliding them down. "Aye, Papi! Tu es mucho grande! Me like."

"Is that even Spanish?" I asked, laughing as my boxers hit the floor, my cock stretching upward, freed from the confines of my boxers, standing up proudly in my lap as Katie kissed her way up my thigh, her hands resting a few inches from the base of my shaft.

"I don't know," she giggled. "I can't even order at Taco Bell without messing something up." She smiled again, pushing my legs open and leaning forward, nuzzling her cheek against my swollen cock. "I prefer Italian anyway."

"You've made that quite clear, sweetheart," I said, smiling as I ran the fingers of my right hand through her hair.

"I always love sucking your cock in the morning after we've fucked," she said, whispering. For someone who could be so prissy about things, so squeamish about my story of getting shot, she had a dirty mouth. It was hot. "I love knowing where it was, what that taste is, getting it nice and wet to go back inside of me."

With that, she wrapped her lips around the head, twirling her tongue in a long, slow circle, tasting the pre-cum leaking from the tip and moaning, sending vibrations down the shaft, causing me to groan and grip the arms of the chair. Katie may have been a hell of a hair stylist, but her best work came with a cock in her mouth. Her lips opened wide, and she lifted up, pointing my cock straight into her mouth and lowering herself, taking every inch effortlessly, swallowing my shaft straight down until her nose was pressed against me, burying me completely in her throat. I'd love to say I taught her that trick, but the truth is that she was the first to ever deep throat me, to even try. I'm above average, but not huge, and hell, most wouldn't even try.

Her eyes closed as she began to work her lips up and down my shaft, altering speeds, depth, always moaning, lips humming along my thick, swollen shaft, coating every inch with her saliva. Down her throat, back up to just having the tip between her soft lips, over and over, fingers pressing into my thighs. My hands came up off the chair, running through her hair down her back, slipping the dress shirt down off her back as she let it fall, never removing my cock completely from her mouth, tongue tracing the veins running along the underside of my shaft. She lifted up on her knees, her ass rising up behind her into my view. I tore my eyes away from watching her masterful work on my cock to watch her ass bubbling out from her slender hips and waist, slowly swaying back and forth. It was a mesmerizing sight and feeling, and Agent McAllister and his new partner were drained from my memory as I lost myself in the moment.

I felt her pull off of me with a soft, plopping sound and I brought my eyes back down to her face, watching as she licked and kissed the head of my cock, her eyes on me.

"Goddamn, I taste good the next morning," she whispered, smiling wide. "You taste alright, too."

"You taste good, huh?" I said, leaning forward, and cradling her face in my palms, kissing her hard and deep, our tongues dancing as I tasted myself on her kiss. "I'll be the judge of that."

I reached down with both hands, placing them on her shoulders and lifting her easily up to her feet as I slid off the couch, kneeling behind her.

"Oooh, Agent Gutierrez must've really worked you up, Christian," Katie said with a giggle as I put one hand on her lower back, bending her down as she caught herself with her hands on the couch, spreading her legs open. "Not that I'm complaining."

"You'd better not be," I said, running my hands up the backs of her thighs as I took a moment to appreciate just how incredible she looked like that, bent over at the waist, her ass propped up in the air, perfectly rounded and heart-shaped, an ass that could start or stop a war.

I leaned forward, kissing the back of her thigh as my hands held her hips. She cooed softly, wiggling her hips as I kissed higher, leaning forward more, down onto her elbows, and pressing her knees against the front of the chair, at once balancing herself and exposing the wet, swollen lips of her beautiful pussy to my eyes.

"Stop teasing and taste, you bastard," she said, giggling again, her voice impatient.

I laughed softly, kissing higher and higher, brushing my nose against the glistening wet folds of her pussy. She moaned at the touch, slight as it may have been. I tilted my face upward, the tip of my tongue just beyond my lips and tracing along the outside of her lips, front to back, back to front.

"So good," she whimpered, giggling again. "Your beard tickles, though — in a good way."

She was right; she did taste fantastic, slightly sweeter than any girl I'd been with, a perfect, barely-there aroma rising up from between her legs into my nose as I licked between the lips, lapping hungrily at the flowing juices. Her hips wiggled but I held her still in my hands, smiling at her moans, at her giggles from my tickling beard against her thighs.

"God, Christian," she said with a groan, reaching behind her and grabbing the back of my head with one hand. "Fuck my pussy with your tongue."

She ground back against me, holding my face against her as my tongue slipped inside of her, twirling slowly as she moved back and forth, helping herself. I pulled back slightly and dragged my tongue along the length of her slit, her moans getting higher in pitch, her falsetto escaping her lips as I licked higher, flicking the tip of my tongue against the puckered rosebud of her asshole. Her hand pulled suddenly away from my head and dove underneath her, between her legs, and she rubbed her clit in small, firm, slow circles as I traced my tongue counterclockwise around her asshole.

"Fuck!" she screamed out. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Her body tensed and she squeezed her thighs tight around her hand, her hips quivering in my hands as her whole body shook hard. I leaned back, my hands holding onto her hips as she crumpled weightlessly down onto the chair, her breathing hard and ragged. I ran my fingers up and down over the curve of her ass as she caught her breath.

"You're not very articulate when you cum, Katie," I said, smiling, leaning forward and kissing her back up to her neck.

"Fuck you," she whispered, giggling. "You don't say anything when you cum."

"Actions speak louder than words," I whispered back, running my hands up her thighs, my cock brushing against the cheek of her ass.

"Then speak now with some actions and put that big cock inside of me."

I grunted in response, pushing myself back and looking down at her. She flipped over onto her back in the oversized chair, licking her lips and running her hands over her stomach up to her small breasts. Not nearly a handful, they were still sexy as hell, perky and sensitive, with puffy, slightly upturned nipples. She had her legs closed as she looked up at me, moving back so that her butt was just on the edge of the chair, licking her lips as she played with her nipples. I watched, breathing in deep and reaching down to wrap one hand around the shaft of my cock, stroking it slowly, motioning with the other hand for her to open her legs.

"What's the magic word?" she asked, moaning softly with heavy-lidded eyes as she looked up at me.

"You said to speak with actions."

"What's the magic word?" she repeated, running one hand down over her stomach.

"There are no magic words," I said. "There's you and me, and both of us needing my cock inside of you. There's you opening your legs for me, anxious to be fucked as you requested. And there's my cock, throbbing in my hand when it should be doing that inside of your wonderfully tight pussy."

Her eyes widened at the mention of the word "needing," and a pensive look came across her face. Something changed in her expression, and for a moment, I thought I had said something wrong. But then she smiled wider, opening her legs, throwing one of them over the other arm of the chair.

"And you said there weren't any magic words," she said softly, running her hand down over her stomach, over the tuft of hair resting above her pussy and slipping two fingers down, spreading open the lips.

"I don't always mind being wrong," I said, moving forward on my knees, placing the head of my cock at her entrance. "In fact, there are times when I downright enjoy being wrong."

"Why don't you downright shut your mouth and downright enjoy fucking me?" she said in a whisper, though her voice sounded hungry and no longer playful. She leaned upward and pressed her lips to mine as her hand wrapped around my shaft, pulling me forward, pressing me into her.

Her hand pulled away from between us and wrapped around my neck, pulling my chest down as she rested back against the chair, our lips still connected. Katie moaned into the kiss as I pressed forward, my cock slipping inside of her tight, wet pussy in one long, smooth, steady push. Her hands came down off my neck and rested against my chest as her lips pulled away from mine. Her eyes were open wide, and her breathing seemed forced.

"Just ..." her voice trailed off as she breathed in deep, her body starting to relax beneath mine. Child or no, this petite woman was tight, and it was always an uneasy fit at first. "Okay," she said, hands sliding back up my chest to my neck, fingers locking around my neck.

My hands rested on the chair next to her shoulders as I slowly withdrew my hips, dragging my thick, throbbing cock inch by inch from within her. My eyes focused on her face, her teeth nibbling gently on her lower lip.

"Fuck me, Christian. ... McAllister, your dad, all of it. Fuck me with all of it."

My eyebrows tightened and my teeth clenched as I pushed back inside of her, more firmly this time, rolling my hips forward to punctuate the stroke. I withdrew again.

"Gutierrez and the mob and the guy who shot you and everything. Get it out." Her voice wavered, and her body shuddered. "Fuck me hard. Pound my tight fucking pussy with that big cock, Christian. Do it!"

I fucked her like I believed her, like it would help, like when we were done I'd forget it all and just go on with my life, as though fucking this pretty blonde would allow me to set down years of pain and baggage and walk away from it. I pumped my cock in and out of her, pushing the chair a few inches across the floor with the firmer, more solid strokes, keeping my eyes open and locked on hers, letting her moans and growls and groans and whimpers wash over me, urging me on more, harder, faster.

And when that wasn't enough, I wrapped my arms around her back and lifted her up off the chair, holding her up in the air, lifting and dropping her up and down the length of my cock, my hands locked firmly onto her delicious ass, her legs wrapped around my waist, her hands wrapped around my neck, her head thrown back, long, blonde hair bouncing as she screamed my name and urged me on ... faster, deeper, she wanted more, harder. I pinned her against a wall in the living room, fucking her vertically, pumping into her over and over.

"Fuck me!" she kept screaming, as though she had as much anger and aggression to get out as I did, and she gave it back as hard as she got it, digging her fingernails into my back, her teeth into my shoulder, and I didn't feel the pain, none of it, not the physical, not the emotional.

And for a half hour, she was right, she was perfect, what I needed. And I forgot it all. When it was finally too much — after we'd moved from the wall to the back of the couch, where I had her bent at the waist once again, one hand holding her hip, the other wrapped up in her hair, slamming my hips against her incredible ass each time I drove my cock inside of her as she screamed and moaned and I just grunted through clenched teeth — I exploded inside of her, an exorcism of an orgasm I half expected to kill me.

I pulled out, falling back against the wall behind the couch, my body covered in sweat, panting, unable to think, let alone speak. She stayed hunched over the couch, her body shivering, covered in sweat as well, my cum leaking out of her down her thigh. I stayed against the wall, hands behind my head, watching her for what seemed like an eternity. I can't believe she survived that. Hell, I couldn't even believe I survived that. Sure, we'd had sex plenty of times before that, and not all of them exactly qualified as "making love." But it'd never been like that. Katie might've been petite, but I'd never confuse her for fragile ever again. That was a tough young woman.

She stood slowly and turned, ignoring the cum leaking from within her and walked toward me slowly. Her eyes never blinked, and there was a serene look on her face. She stood up on her toes and softly ran her fingers over my cheek, scratching lovingly at my beard and pressing her lips to mine. It wasn't a deep, passionate kiss, and our lips never parted, but it was one of the most memorable kisses of my life.

"Thank you," she whispered into my ear, tracing both hands up and down my arms. "And you're welcome." She kissed me again, softly brushing her lips and then pulling away, walking to the bathroom and getting in the shower.

I collapsed down onto the floor and stayed there, my mind blank, my body exhausted. It was the last time we'd be together like that. I'd offer up some analysis of the situation, but I got a C in Psychology when I was a freshman in college. Draw your own conclusions.

Four hours later — after I'd spent 45 minutes in the shower, washing away the blood and sweat of whatever had just taken place between Katie and I — I was in the back seat of Damien's SUV, listening to him and Paul talk and laugh as we took the trip up to Cleveland. I didn't participate much in the banter, and they both knew better than to push me, though both probably assumed that I was still stewing over my encounter with Madison the previous night. I didn't mention McAllister or Katie. I knew talking about the former would only piss Paul off, and I wanted him to enjoy the night. And they both knew about the latter, but how do you explain something you haven't wrapped your own head around?

Then again, they would be at least a little bit right if they thought my mind was occupied with Madison; it wasn't the previous night's run-in that I was mulling over, though. Seeing McAllister, having him bring up Madison, well, all I could think about was the first time he came into my life — and hers, some part of me likes to hope.

*********

-August 13, 2000-

Country line dancing. Me. If you asked me for a list of activities I'd likely to be found participating in, I'm pretty sure I'd get to about 14,305 or so before I got to country line dancing. But there I was — completely decked out in a flannel shirt, an obnoxiously big Stetson and the biggest pair of cowboy boots I ever saw in my life — and there she was. Madison. Take away the rhinestones on her top, and she looked sexy as hell, a pair of jeans that were so tight they nearly caused a riot on our way into the bar and her golden brown hair sneaking out from underneath a cowboy hat that tried — and failed miserably — to hide the excitement in her eyes.

"The hell are we doing this for?" I had asked as we pulled into the gravel parking lot at the Rusty Railroad Junction a few miles outside of town. "You don't even like country music."

"No, I don't," she said, smiling at me, the dimple on her right cheek out in full force that night. "But I think Tim McGraw is sexy."

"Well, good," I said, laughing, throwing my car into park. "Then let's leave, we'll go find him and we'll trade. You get him, and Faith and I can share some quality time together."

"You don't like blondes," she said with a giggle, practically bouncing out of the car in her giddiness.

"A man can make an exception from time to time," I said, stepping out of the car.

I took a deep breath and watched as tens of wannabe cowboys and cowgirls walked into the door, the sound of some awful steel guitar making its way out of the saloon-style swinging front door.

"C'mon, Chris. It's my birthday. I only turn 19 once." She wasn't pouting or begging. She moved around the car to slip one arm into mine, looking up at me. "We went to an Indians game for your birthday last month. Besides, do you think there's any way this won't be fun?"

"I can think of a few ways in which it'll be the opposite of fun."

"Even with me here? Besides, cowpoke, there's a pretty good shot of you getting a goodnight rodeo for coming here with me."

"Sold."

"We do the same things all the time, hang out at the same places, listen to the same music and surround ourselves with the same people," she said as we started walking toward the door. "School starts in like two weeks. I just want to have one night where I don't have to be reminded that Mr. Moretti's son is my date."

"You say Mr. Moretti like it's a bad thing." I bristled at the comment.

"Okay, we'll make a deal," she said as we stopped just in front of the door, a door I was going to have to duck under to fit through. "If you're not having fun in the first 15 minutes, we'll leave, and we'll go listen to Sinatra and drink red wine."

"I know that wasn't a dig at Frank."

"Chris."

"Fine, deal. You get 15 minutes to convince me to stay," I said, knowing that I'd stay anyway. Fun or not, I was there with her, the only place I needed to be.

We were there for three hours.

And, as she was known to be, she was right. We had a blast. We learned — sort of — to do all kinds of dances with names I can't remember and steps I'm pretty sure I was doing wrong the whole time. I may have been agile for a big young man, but me in cowboy boots — or any kind of shoes, for that matter — trying to dance? Well, let's just say I considered it a success that the night didn't end in a trip to the hospital.