tagNovels and NovellasPalmer Ch. 02

Palmer Ch. 02

byhal_tee©

Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 2: Surveillance

The five star Howard Swissôtel, set in a quiet oasis on the border of the city of Westminster and the city of London, was only a short walk from Dominic DeVere's penthouse. The underground car park, rented exclusively by the entrepreneur, made it an ideal location for their meeting

Looking out of the window of his silver-grey Bentley, parked facing the exit ramp, DeVere watched George Blair guide his Mercedes CLS 320 CDI down the ramp and park in the adjacent bay.

"You have to smoke that?" Blair asked with a grin, nodding at the Havana cigar smouldering in DeVere's fist as he climbed in the rear door of the Bentley.

The crew-cut man smiled in return. "One of life's remaining pleasures," he grinned, pressing a button in the door to raise the window and give them privacy. Another flick switched on the exhaust fan, giving the smoke an escape route. "How are you, George?"

"Feeling like I'm in the Secret Service," Blair replied, warmly shaking his hand. "Do we really need all this cloak and dagger stuff?"

"I'm afraid so. It's important for me to retain my privacy. What happened with Dennis Price?"

Blair smiled. "An excellent meeting. He's in."

DeVere nodded. "Good, good! Splendid news. It's always good to have Quasimodo on your side."

"You bet," Blair enthused, ignoring the slur. "I was impressed. If he does what he says, he'll put Donaldson in his place and have Shirley Rider kissing my ass."

DeVere pulled a face as he listened to Blair's venom spill out. That was the trouble with his friend. He could be overly emotional at times. "Easy, George. One step at a time. Once you're in Number Ten, we can consider our next moves. The focus now is on getting you there."

"I know, I know," Blair enthused, still on a high. "But Price is fully committed, he's grasped the situation and he's a brilliant tactician. I'm on my way, Dominic, I can feel it in my bones."

"And congratulations on last night's interview. You made mincemeat of Paxman."

"Yes, well, he may have a reputation as a hard nut. But he's a pussycat."

DeVere laughed. "You're a one off, George. A winner. That's what attracted me to you in the first place. You have a big appetite, and a ruthless streak. That's why you'll win. Price will help of course, but he wouldn't have joined the team if he hadn't seen the same qualities."

Blair stared at the man beside him, suddenly wary. It was the first time he'd ever spoken to him in such a way. Eventually, he muttered, "Then we seem to have the same qualities, Dominic."

DeVere nodded. "Could be. We both go for the jugular when it's called for. That's why we're so successful, George. The difference between us is that you are selective when you choose your victims. With me, I'll devour anything that gets in my way."

Blair frowned. "I feel there's a hidden message there."

The crew-cut man shook his head, his grey eyes staring at the Prime Minister elect. "Nothing hidden, George. I just want you to know that my appetite is as big as yours."

It took a few seconds for Blair to respond. After thinking over the comment, he gave a soft laugh. "I understand, Dominic."

DeVere puffed on his cigar as he joined in the laughter. "Okay, George. What stands in our way apart from Donaldson?"

"Longer term?" Blair immediately responded. "Money."

"Naturally. How much?"

"Could be up to five million," Blair responded, looking DeVere hard in the eyes. This wasn't a time for ambiguity.

The crew-cut man remained silent as his mind chewed on the figure. Puffing hard, he savoured the taste of the smoke on his tongue before allowing it to ease from his lips. "A lot of money," he eventually said.

"Indeed," Blair admitted. "Right now, it's too close to call and we're going to have to spend to get that edge. The tighter disclosure rules are making it more difficult to obtain donations from..."

DeVere's upraised hand stopped him. "You don't need to explain, George," he smiled. "I understand. You've relied on my financial help for some time now. You think I'm going to shy away now that we're so close to our objective?"

Blair nodded. "Thank you, Dominic."

"You're welcome," the crew-cut man replied. "Which leaves one other discussion point!"

"I know, I know," Blair responded. "We can discuss that after next month's vote."

"No we can't. We must resolve it now."

Blair's eyes hardened. "Dominic. I said it could wait."

DeVere's face remained impassive. "And I said no."

Blair ran his fingers through his slicked back brown hair and shook his head. "You're getting personal," Blair snapped, a hard, flat tone to his voice. The muscles in the corners of his mouth quivered as he spoke.

Still calm, DeVere asked, "You want five million of my money and you say I'm getting personal? It is personal, George." The Prime Minister elect's name lingered like the echo of a lion's growl.

Blair blinked, as though DeVere had slapped him. He sat forward and asked in a carefully measured tone, "You're blackmailing me?"

DeVere smiled softly. It was another example of Blair's emotional fragility. Yet he understood this conflict. "You know that is an offensive accusation..."

For a second, Blair held the crew-cut man's gaze. His cool blue eyes continued to blaze with anger. Then he sat back, exhaling silently through his mouth. "I'm sorry, Dominic. That's not what I meant. But... you know... this is my personal life..."

"You don't have a personal life, George," DeVere responded quietly. "Not as Prime Minister."

Blair took a deep breath. DeVere held his groan in check, but this exchange was beginning to press on his nerves. Blair wasn't giving up on this, apparently Roxanne meant too much to him. The silence between the two men lasted on half a second longer. "Half the fucking politicians in the country have mistresses," he suddenly blurted.

"An exaggeration, but I get your point," DeVere smoothly responded, opening the window and flicking his cigar onto the hard tarmac with a flourish. He waited until the window slid back into place before continuing. "However... they're not running for the Premiership, are they?"

"Look—"

DeVere's upraised hand stopped him again. "George, we've been friends for a long time. And it was me who introduced you to the woman. I understood your need and I serviced it."

"Yes, I know, Dominic," the slim, muscular man admitted.

"And what I'm suggesting now is that you stay away from her until after next month's vote."

"Suggesting?"

"George," DeVere sighed. "If the two of you are seen together, it's the end of everything."

Blair scowled. "Don't push me, Dominic. Don't... push... me!"

DeVere nearly lost it, his face turning red. Blair could be such a fool, and yet Roxanne had the ability to do that to a man. Now was not the time for confrontation. He tried a different tack.

"George, I speak as your friend. The media will be all over you right now. Think what it would mean if they found out. What it would do to your wife, Cheryl. To your career."

While the need to patronise Blair annoyed him, it was his best weapon at the moment. He'd invested a great deal of time and money to bring this sometimes-idiot-of-a-man to this position. Once Blair became Prime Minister, DeVere would become even richer through his business deals, and the establishment of contacts in governments around the world.

He wasn't about to lose all of that.

"All I'm asking," he continued, keeping his voice under control, "Is that you think about it. Advice from one friend to another. Keep away from her until after next month's vote?"

Blair was cornered. He knew DeVere was talking sense. But Roxanne was a special woman. It wasn't just her curvy body, or the way she used it. It was the way she made him feel special, gave herself so willingly, so freely, whenever he needed her.

She'd given him a new vitality he thought he'd lost. That energy had helped him drive things forward, put him where he was today. How could he give that up?

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I'll think about it. I'd better get back, Dominic. Someone will be looking for me. I can't even take a shit these days without someone peeking over my shoulder."

DeVere smiled. "That's my point exactly, George."

***

Despite their intense night of lovemaking, Kelli still wanted more.

"No, honey," her husband moaned. "I've got to get to work. I'm gonna be flat out on this case for a few days."

"Is that right, Jack Palmer?" she purred, her hand encircling his cock. "So you don't want to celebrate my new job?"

"From what I remember," he grinned, enjoying the sensation of coming alive in her hand, "we've been celebrating your new career as a potential supermodel all night long."

Kelli laughed, but then her smile disappeared and her face became a little more serious. "Well, I know this is only the beginning and I've done nothing yet. But it's a great opportunity, Jack."

Palmer nodded, his soft eyes conveying his encouragement. "I know that, honey. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity. And I know you'll take advantage of it." She stroked him, her eyes lost in thought. "So what exactly did you have to do at your audition yesterday?"

For a second or two, her caressing fingers stopped moving. She was suddenly shy. She'd stripped for Erin DeVere. Would her husband think less of her for exposing herself for a job?

Not to mention that other thing. The thing she'd been dancing around even in her own mind. Had she actually wanted the older woman to touch her? Give her relief from the increasing arousal the whole process had produced in her?

At one point, the older woman had eased herself up from the couch and Kelli thought she was going to make a move. Her heart had skipped a beat as Erin DeVere had brushed against her. Then the moment had passed. The American woman walked right by and produced a contract from the drawer of her desk.

Of course, it meant nothing. A silly thought. And it really didn't matter. Now she was one of Erin's Models, with the guarantee of a two-day photo shoot within the next week. It was unbelievable.

"That's not important," she muttered, tightening her grip on his cock as she began to stroke faster. Time to change direction. "The thing is Jack, if I was able to make a success of it, make it big, we'd earn enough for you to look for a change..."

He pulled a face. How many times had they discussed this? Okay, he didn't enjoy the late nights either, but he was a cop and that went with the territory.

"Honey," he softly replied. "I know you don't like my job but—"

Kelli's eyes flashed. "Jack, you know it's not that I don't like your job. It's that I never see you. Your work is affecting our marriage. And now you've got another case that's going to keep you away from me."

Here we go again. Same old story. Palmer pulled himself away from his wife's stroking hand. "I don't want this conversation again," he snapped. "We have it every other day. Look, I'd better get going. Webster will have my ass if I don't turn up on time this morning."

Kelli held her anger in check. There'd be time to fight later. Right now, she needed to be fucked before he went to work. Who the hell knew when she'd see him again?

"Hey," she muttered, pulling him back on the bed. "It's not everyday you have a supermodel for a wife..."

Jack hesitated. Kelli took advantage of the pause, dipping her head into his lap. Her mouth was as wet and inviting as ever. She'd always been skilled when it came to working his veiny flesh. It took no time to get him hard and ready.

When he was fully erect, she straddled him, sinking his cock into her even softer sex. She loved the control being on top brought. She threw her long, blonde hair back as she thrust her breasts outward.

"Like what you see?" she teased, running her fingers into her wavy locks. She loved posing for him.

She truly had a model's body. Her full breasts hung firmly, high on her long, slender torso that matched her long, slender legs. He ran the palms across those legs, marvelling at the softness of her bare skin. He always marvelled.

Her hips responded to his touch. Beneath her diamond belly piercing, beneath the barely there landing strip, her full pussy lips stretched obscenely around his girth. His jerking cock drew a moan from his wife. She dropped a hand to his chest, grinding franticly down onto his glistening cock.

They found a rhythm, as hot and heavy as anything they'd done the night before. They were animals, rutting away in long, powerful strokes.

Jack grunted as he thrust up into her, meeting each powerful downward undulation. Their eyes talked. Fuck me! Fuck me harder! Only their grunts and their slapping flesh filled the room.

"God, that feels good, Jack," she moaned, leaning forward to allow him to cup her bouncing tits.

He knew how much she enjoyed having her breasts caressed whilst fucking. He kneaded both, gently at first, then harder, just the way she liked it. When he began flicking his thumb across her nipples, her body shuddered and she cried out.

"Jack," she gasped, pausing in her movements as the tide swept through her. "Jack..."

He plowed into her and continued his onslaught against her little, brown nipples. She went off. Her head fell forward, her long hair covering his face. Palmer held her whilst her body trembled and jerked, covering her panting face with kisses. She continued to roll her hips along his length, even as her breathing began to return to normal.

"My turn now," he whispered into her ear, nipping on her lobe. He flipped them, pulling her under his body. Somehow, his cock somehow remained firmly embedded as they switched positions.

"Thought you had work to go to?" she teased, her breath catching each time his erection shifted inside her.

He didn't answer, his clouded eyes telling her he needed his own relief. She loved it when he took her like this. He eased his cock out until only the tip was buried in her wetness, and then lunged forward, stroking back into her.

"Mmmm? What about work?" she teasingly repeated, her fingers digging into his ass. "You want to fuck your wife instead?"

Her words drove him to fuck harder. Pump harder. His pelvis clashed with hers. She wrapped her long legs around his back, pulling him closer with each thrust.

"Fuck me, Jack," she encouraged, her tongue licking around his ear and neck as she groaned out the words.

He did, pounding harder as they both moved closer. She tossed her head left and right. Her blonde hair fanned out across the pillow like the pin-up model she intended to be. A supermodel. That could be her. Millions would recognize her face. Her tits. Her body. She clutched his ass harder. She dug her heels into his lower back until it hurt.

"Come on baby. Cum for Kelli."

Jack raised up on his elbows, steadying himself. "Yessss!" he groaned, his hard cock exploding inside her.

His seed filled her like liquid fire, igniting her nerves. Igniting her own orgasm. Things went red and hot. Kelli dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades and her heels into his back, lifting her toned frame from the sheets. He pumped in and out one final time and she was there, too, gripping him tightly as they bucked and jerked against one another.

Neither spoke for some time. Their breathing mingled, heavy. Loud. Satisfied. At last, Kelli asked in a whisper, "So what was it like to fuck a supermodel?"

***

"Nice of you to join us, Palmer," Donny Webster sarcastically told him, calling him and Wilson into his office as soon as he arrived. "Hope you read through everything last night."

Palmer was about to respond but the look in Sandra Wilson's eyes warned him against it. She knew Webster only too well.

"What we've got here," the Vice boss told him, "is information from a series of phone taps, taken over the last month."

He picked up the different files scattered across his desk and precariously piled them on top of one another. Somehow, they stayed in place. Thrusting the half eaten sandwich into his mouth, he attempted to take a drink from his plastic cup at the same time.

Palmer and Wilson exchanged glances when the coffee ran down the front of his T-shirt.

"Is this all..." Palmer began to ask.

"Yes," Webster interrupted. "We're all legal and above board." He looked at Palmer and grinned, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Judge Wilkinson is a friend of mind. Got him out of a jam once."

He threw the empty cup into his dirty waste bin. The remains of his sandwich followed.

"I want you to listen to this one," he snorted. "Taken last night. The subject is Savannah. A cute, sassy redhead. Got some photos somewhere. We got her apartment wired. The guy is Gerald Packman."

Palmer whistled. "The Gerald Packman?"

Webster nodded. "The one and only. He interviewed George Blair live on BBC last night. This is what he does to get himself in the mood."

He nodded over at Sandra Wilson, but then held his hand up when she reached over to switch on the recording.

"I'll play you a snippet. You need to get an idea of what the operation's all about. All the recordings are tagged, so you can listen to them all at your leisure." He grinned, displaying his off-colour teeth. "Just don't get too excited..."

***

Harry Bannerman looked down at the young girl as she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. With her dirty blonde hair held back with a pale pink headband and a smooth, unblemished face, she was barely eighteen. So young. He'd found her in the park, still wearing her school uniform and smoking a cigarette. Waiting for someone. For him?

"Mind if I join you?" he'd asked, taking a seat before she answered his question. The blonde had glanced over at him, her pretty face clearly annoyed at the middle-aged, slightly balding fat man.

"Go right ahead," she said sarcastically, putting out the cigarette on the park bench. She'd rolled her plaid skirt up, as was the fashion with kids these days, and Bannerman could see that her legs were lean and slender. Perhaps she played field hockey, or football?

"Listen, I was wondering..." He grinned at her, ignoring the haughty way she returned his smile. Girls like this were his favourite. So full of teenage bravado. She probably dated a high school jock. Or maybe, she'd just broken up with him as she was university-bound. "I'm going to need to see some ID." He glanced at her cigarette. "There are laws."

The girl's bright blue eyes had widened at that! He loved that moment, when things started to get all imbalanced. With a shaking hand, the girl produced a wallet from her trendy handbag. Bannerman hadn't even looked at her name. He could care less about that shit. Just the birthday. Yes, she was eighteen. Just so. That was important.

"Happy birthday," he'd said with a smile, handing it back to her. She took it, this time not quite as confidently.

"Th—thanks," she'd replied, removing another Lucky Strike. Bannerman helped her light it. She wore knee socks. God, to be young again, he thought. Then again, college didn't exactly hold the most cheerful memories for him.

"Listen, doll, I have a proposition for you. Something that profits the both of us..."

The girls never said yes immediately. They always pretended to be more wholesome than they really were. But Bannerman knew how to pick them. He knew what to look for. And they changed their mind when he told them how much he'd pay. And just for a blowjob. That always got their interest. He didn't even want to fuck them, just feel their lips working on his manhood. And their tits.

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