Palmer Ch. 09

***

"Alex?" Sandra Wilson asked in surprise when she opened her front door and found Goodwin standing in her doorway. He'd been calling her mobile all afternoon and she'd been ignoring it. Guess he decided enough was enough.

"Webster told me what's happened," he told her as he arrived. He embraced her in a bear hug. "Incredible."

"Certainly is," she mumbled into his barrel chest, wondering if he was going to ask her why she was still avoiding him. Truth was, she didn't have an answer herself. Roxanne was alive, that guilt for her death was gone, but she still couldn't think of her lover the same way.

You fucked Palmer,her conscience reminded.

"So does this mean we can get it on again?" Goodwin asked, running his hands across her athletic rear as he leaned into her.

Sandra let herself be kissed. Even kissed back. His tongue jammed into her mouth even as his hand slipped up to cup her right breast.

"Where's the woman?" he gasped, breaking their kiss.

"Asleep," she told him. "Don't know for how long... " she offered as he led her by the hand into the living room. A tiny voice hoped that the danger would give pause to the white-haired cop, but she knew better. When the man got horny, there was almost nothing stopping him.

"So we'd better get moving," he replied, flopping down onto the couch and taking her with him.

As she fell, her hand brushed along the seat of his blue jeans, feeling his erection waiting there. Again, she thought of Palmer. Thought of the way they'd fucked. Wild and abandoned. She grew hot with guilt and... arousal?

Goodwin pulled her head against his, kissing her deeply. When he was confident she wasn't going anywhere, he focused his hands on her black denims, opening them and pushing them down her long legs. He was so horny, he was going tomakeher remember why they'd first started hooking up.

The brunette felt her body react to his brutish will. She always liked the way he used her – the way they used each other – and couldn't help the excitement as he ripped her thong down her legs. When he began to work his own jeans, she decided that this would be penance for what she'd done with Palmer. They may not work out, but she owed him at least one last, hard fuck.

Pushing his hands away, she yanked his jeans to his knees and dragged his hard cock through the flap in his Calvin Klein's.

She straddled his lap and sank him inside her with an outrageous groan. She was so wet she had him completely embedded in two passes.

At first she didn't move. Her eyes closed, savouring the feeling of fullness. Her body trembled above his, overflowing with nervous energy as she worked her internal muscles on his hardness.

"My God..." she began. He yanked her down to him, his mouth cutting her off. He sucked on her tongue as his cock twitched inside of her.

"Ready, baby?" he asked, gripping her slender hips and easing her ass fractionally upwards. She nodded, sweat already forming on her brow. He let her fall, jamming back down. Two more thrusts and she pumped down with him. "Gonna fuck me?" he asked.

He groaned with each word, with each downward thrust.

Sandra Wilson began to whimper as she bounced on his lap, her flowing juices already covering his cock, boxers, and the cushion below them. He felt good, she wouldn't deny that. He felt really fucking good.

Goodwin reached for the hem of her tank top and dragged it up above her breasts. Gripping the back of her bra, he yanked it free, allowing the sensitive globes to bounce along with her undulations. His fingers went straight for her nipples, tweaking and squeezing them they way he knew she liked.

"Oh, yessss, Alex—" She paused in her movement to enjoy the sensations running through her tits.

It gave him time to slip one of his hands downwards, grasping at her emerging clit.

"Oh, yessss, baby—" She began to move again, this time in small circular twists, accommodating his questing fingers.

"Take control, honey," she gasped, giving herself to him.

He grunted in response, lurching forward, his mouth locked on her left tit. He noisily sucked in the hard nipple while his fingers caressed her slippery bud. Her whimpers told him where she was heading.

When her eyes began to flutter, jolts of energy radiating through her, he lifted her body and jammed it back down onto his cock. It took only seconds for her to cum, another surge of love juices flooding over the cushions.

"God, Alex—" she groaned, biting down on his shoulder as her body shuddered and trembled like a vibrating machine.

"Time to get fucked," he told her, belying his age by lifting them both from the cushions. Twisting Wilson around, he pushed her over the arm of the couch and lined himself up.

"Yes, baby," she gasped, planting her feet on the floor to provide some traction. Legs wide, ass thrust as high as she could, she craned her neck to look back at him. "Fuck me... Fuck me, Alex!"

Goodwin obliged. He leaned forward to get maximum penetration, his hands gripping her tits. Pulling his hips back, he paused for an agonising second before ramming himself back into her.

"Ngh..."

With each wail, he fucked her harder. With each grunt of exertion, she wailed louder. Even in her submissive position, her inner muscles clutched and gripped him. With every squeeze on his cock, he moaned and increased the tempo. Loudly, they drove each other on.

Goodwin felt the sweat dripping down his face. His animal like grunts synchronized with Wilson's higher pitched whines. Both knew they were making too much noise. The girl was only just down the hall.

It was so good, neither could stop.

Roxanne wasn't down the hall. She watched them from her position at the end of the corridor. Their groans had woken her and she instantly knew what was going on. She just didn't know who it was that was fucking. For a few seconds, she wondered if the snow-haired man had forced himself on the cop. Wilson's encouraging moans soon dispelled that notion, although there was definitely something more going on. Something slightly unbalanced.

Still, watching the female cop play the submissive began to arouse the redhead. So did the uninhibited way the older cop was fucking her. Her hand ran down between her legs, under her pleated, short skirt.

The guy – 'Alex,' Sandra Wilson called him – was getting close now. Roxanne pushed her fingers inside of her thong as she watched, finding her clit swollen. She wanted to swap places with Wilson. She needed to be fucked, too. But that would come later. With Palmer.

When Goodwin finally hit the point of no return, his hips turned from a steady rhythm to an erratic tempo. For a few seconds he paused, held himself there. Then both barrels emptied in a single shot.

Roxanne growled. The thumb pleasuring her clit had her own orgasm just seconds away.

Goodwin's bursts of hot liquid were soon intermingled with a rushing wave of Wilson's climax. When her body convulsed, the sight and accompanying scream was too much for Roxanne.

Her hand became doused in her own syrup as she exploded with the mismatched lovers. Her body violently shuddered, biting down on her lip to keep from screaming.

Now would be a good time to leave, but something inside of Roxanne told her to wait. The fuckbuddies began to recover. The white haired man pushed off the younger cop and looked around lazily for his jeans. Now that the heat of the moment was gone, Roxanne felt it again. Something was strained between these two.

Even Goodwin could feel it, the awkwardness pushing through his thick skull at last. Sandra wouldn't meet his eyes as she gathered her things. The girl was alive, but was their illicit relationship dead?

He left without saying more than a few words. Not even an, 'I'll call you.' What was the point? She wouldn't pick up anyway.

When he was gone, Sandra leaned against the door and started crying. She'd managed to put on her thong and tank top, but didn't have the strength for more.

Hearing movement across the room, she was startled to find the redheaded model standing there, although she no longer had the strength to do more than gasp. "How long have you..."

"Long enough," Roxanne whispered, gliding across the room to the brunette. There was something intoxicating about the girl. Sexual, definitely, although Wilson wasn't into women. Pure, maybe. Intimate. "Sometimes, men are slower to catch on."

"What's that?" Sandra asked at the cryptic statement. Even fresh from a nap, the girl looked good: red hair in a ponytail, pleated skirt and tight polo shirt.

"When things are over," she whispered, coming to step in front of the female cop, just inside of her comfort zone.

"How did you know?" Sandra asked in wonder. The girl had just watched them fuck like animals; how could she know that there was anything but pure lust between her and Goodwin.

Roxanne shrugged. "I just know. Want to talk about it?"

All at once, Wilson realized that she did. She didn't have any other female friends, all of her acquaintances being in Vice or the force. She couldn't talk to Palmer, of course, and no one else knew about her and Goodwin. Maybe talk was exactly what she needed.

She nodded, feeling warmth flood her. Already, she felt the weight of her stress come off her shoulders.

Roxanne leaned in, taking the brunette's head in her hands and pressed their soft lips together. It was more than a friendly kiss, and yet Sandra didn't get the feeling that the redhead was necessarily coming onto her.

"Why did you do that?" Wilson asked, coming out of the kiss. She had to admit that she liked it, and she felt much better because of it.

"You looked like you needed it," Roxanne laughed, stepping away and wandering into the kitchen. "Come on, let me make some coffee and we can talk."

Sandra found herself looking at the model in a new light. Definitely a sexual one. So maybe she did have some curiosities, she admitted, but now just wasn't the time. Now, she just needed a friend.

***

Palmer's promise to collect some additional clothes for Roxanne saw him reach the apartment block half an hour ahead of his planned meeting with Burley.

"Morning Ted," he smiled at the elderly security guard. "How's the invalid?"

"He's doing fine, Mr. Palmer. At least, he's good enough to be back on duty soon." He leant forward confidentially. "The relief night guard is hopeless. Doesn't know anybody. No initiative."

Palmer grinned. "Can't get the staff, Ted. Can't get the staff..."

Once inside Roxanne's apartment, he headed for the bedroom. It was underwear she wanted. The woman who'd gotten inside his head had asked him to pick a few items out for her. Somethingheliked, she'd said. You choose.

Looking in a couple of drawers, he realised he liked everything.

His focus on her lingerie left him flat-footed. He heard the noise behind him, the creak of the hardwood floor. The slight scrape of boots. But he was too slow. He didn't even have time to start reaching for his gun.

The pain from the object hitting the back of his neck stunned him. He had no chance to steady himself, the impetus sending him reeling against the wall.

He twisted as he fell forward, swinging one leg in a wide arch behind him. His foot connected, glancing against human flesh. Swinging around, he balled his fist and drove it low between the two legs, punching into a crotch. His assailant let out a cry of pain and as he sunk to his knees, Palmer hit him again, this time between the eyes.

His momentary satisfaction was disturbed by the toe that kicked into the middle of his back, burying itself just over his kidney.

He screamed with pain and rage. Twisting in the opposite direction, he blindly swung his fist at the second assailant. When he missed, he reached for his Kel-Tec .380. A foot kicked into his wrist, knocking it from his hand.

A second foot slammed into his stomach even as his weapon clattered against the wall. It sent him to his knees. The assailant took full advantage. The fist that smashed down onto the back of his head sent him into a sea of nausea.

He tried to fight it, but he couldn't ignore the pain of the second blow that slammed into his neck. His tired body gave way. His hands went numb. His knees collapsed. The sounds around him receded as the darkness took over.

***

Kelli stared at the long lines of people stretching around the exhibition complex. Even at this early hour, she could actually feel the emotion and anticipation hanging in the air around the Fiera Milano City.

"Rehearsal's haven't even started," she said, her wide eyes taking everything in. "Is this normal?"

"Oh, yes, it's normal," Erin smiled. "Get used to it, darling. This is your future."

The blonde felt her pulse race. She may have been calm before. Now the enormity of the show was making her feel like a kid walking into the wrong classroom on the first day of school. "I'm not sure it's something you can get used to," she replied, following her mentor into the complex. Erin navigated through the crowd, knowing exactly where to go.

"The very best models don't justgetused to it, darling," the Agency Head explained as she linked her and led her through the reception area. "Theyusethe buzz, use the adrenalin."

"Use it?"

"That's right, darling. Feed off it. Believe in yourself. Use the atmosphere to be the very best you can be. Come on, let's show you around. There are a few people you need to meet."

***

Toby Parkinson was laughing. Turning to his brother, he shook his head at the reaction on the other end of the phone.

"I don't know what you're worried about, Harry," he said with another cackle. "The guard was stupid enough to get in our way when we were taking Palmer from the apartments."

"Don't know why I'm worried?" blurted the voice at the other end of the phone. "I'll tell you why." Harry Bannerman's voice rose heatedly with each word. "I'm paying you a lot of money. Your instructions were to take out Palmer. Use the shotgun. Blow his face away. I didn't say anything about killing a FUCKING seventy year old security guard."

The smile left Parkinson's face. Nobody spoke to him like that, but the small-time hood knew that Bannerman had connections. As much as his instinct was to tell the guy to go fuck himself, he had to reign in his reaction. Besides, there was a hundred grand each for him and his brother riding on this.

He tried reason. As much reason as Toby Parkinson was capable of.

"Listen, Harry, calm down. Number one, we blew the old bastard's face off. So the cops will think it was this killer of yours that did it. Number two, we've got Palmer here. As soon as he tells us where the woman is, we'll blow his face away, too. Then we'll take out the girl, just as you asked. So there's no reason for you to get excited. Okay?"

He heard Bannerman's exasperated hiss. "I hear you. But understand this, Toby. I CAN'T afford any fuck up here with so much at stake."

So much at stake? Perhaps he and his brother should have asked for more money?

"I understand, Harry," the pitbull of a man softly said. That was better. Humour him. Keep him sweet. Then he could get on with the job in hand. "Just leave it all to Toby Parkinson. By this evening, you'll have your two dead bodies, just the way you want."

Bannerman's voice sounded calmer. "No slip-ups, Toby. I'm already lining up Giovanni. I'll give you details when you've dealt with today's problems."

"This Giovanni won't be a problem either, Harry."

"Don't be FUCKING stupid." Bannerman's voice rose again. "He's a fucking expert. Don't underestimate him, Toby. I'll set him up. You and your brother take him out. Then you get your money."

Parkinson snorted as he hung up. Giovanni would be no match for the Parkinson twins.

***

Erin swept her through the Fiera Milano City, introducing her to one famous personality after another. Every time, she introduced Kelli as her newest star. "Watch for this one, darlings, in a few months, you'll see her face everywhere."

Not only was it flattering, but it gave Kelli an enormous boost to her confidence. When a supermodel like Heidi Klum agreed that she was stunning, how could she not feel that extra spring in her step?

"Well don't you two make a pretty pair," a deep, confident voice said behind them. Kelli heard the hint of Russian in his mostly American accent. She shivered. She knew that voice from television.

Turning, she watched as Erin smiled at the devastatingly gorgeous man who was smiling at them. "Alexander. Nice to see you again, after so long."

"Erin... DeVere, is it now? You look as lovely as ever. Love the new hairstyle... but then anything suits an older woman."

Erin smiled at the barb, ignoring it. "Alexander, I'd like you to meet Kelli Palmer. Kelli, this is the most pompous man you'll ever meet, Alexander Mishin."

Kelli shivered as she watched his eyes roam her body. She wore a miniscule, knit dress that stretched snugly over her tall body. While she'd begun to think that the turtle neck was a mistake in the warmth of the convention centre, at least it was sleeveless.

Plus, it really added emphasis on her full breasts that were perfectly proportioned to her slim body. Breasts that Alexander Mishin took his time admiring.

"Very nice to make your acquaintance, Kelli," Mishin smiled when his gaze finally returned to her soft browns. His blue eyes were positively hypnotic.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Mishin," she said shyly. God, he was a pretty man. The touch of grey in his unshaven face made him look distinguished, and his frosted blonde hair – done up in his characteristic faux-hawk – was right off the pages of GQ.

"Please, my dear, call me Alex." She nearly melted on the spot. "Let's catch up later. I'm scheduled for an interview..." he glanced at his watch. "...five minutes ago, looks like." To Erin, he nodded. "Nice seeing you, Mrs.DeVere." He winked and was gone.

Erin rolled her eyes, but both women watched his slender frame until he'd blended into the crowd. "I think I hate him as much as I love him," the American woman said, more to herself than to Kelli.

"He launched the careers of Gabrielle Dubois and Alicia Stiles. What's there not to love?" Kelli said, drawing an immediately fiery look from the Agency Head.

"Don't get any ideas, darling. Stick with me and you'll surpass them both."

They mingled for another half hour before Erin left her alone. She had some people to meet, but gave her a bit of advice before sauntering off: "You need to stand on your own two feet, darling. Watch and inhale everything that happens. But don't be overawed. You're the best. Show it. And stay close to Brooke when she gets here. She'll show you the ropes."

Kelli nodded, but couldn't help feeling a bit lost at first. Her wide eyes took in everything. So many personalities. Some she recognized, but only from the magazines. Models, movie stars. She spotted Max, flirting with a few attractive reporters from the E! Channel. When he saw her looking and turned his bright, white-teethed smile on her, she felt a familiar twinge between her legs.

Brooke arrived within half an hour, although it had felt like an eternity. "Don't leave my side!" Kelli whispered, clutching the curvy brunette. She didn't. The young model was been a star, continually whispering little things to her throughout the afternoon.

"The women around so-and-so will be picked up by such-and-such within a month, watch for it," or "Looks like such-and-such has decided to win the contract with a few personal favours." She'd been a real treasure, keeping the blonde on the straight and narrow. She'd also opened her eyes to the pretty seedy underworld of modelling Somehow, she found herself growing even more excited.

The first two rehearsals went perfectly. Kelli had delighted herself with her approach to the catwalk. Her feeling of belonging had surprised her and impressed everyone else. She found herself quickly 'owning' the stage.