Appleby Blush Ch. 02

God, what was wrong with her?

Turning back to the rack, she picked up both of the bikinis in turn. God—neither left much to the imagination.

"Okay, Wesley," she muttered, slipping into the one that seemed to offer most protection. Even so, the tiny aqua bottoms covered virtually nothing and had she not been clean shaven it would have presented a problem. When her full cleavage thrust over the flimsy top, she giggled. If Daly wasn't impressed, he wouldn't be human.

The door to the left took her out into the studio and she was caught by surprise as she found him waiting for her, camera in hand, was as if he'd known she was about to leave the dressing rooms. Her nipples hardened even further than they already were...

"Flaunt it," he instantly barked, clicking off shots from the moment she entered. "Walk across the room. Then back. Look sexy. Think sexy."

Kirsten already was. The heat inside her body helped her give everything she had, supported by mental images of that scene in the movie where Wesley Snipes takes his wife doggie style. It had been some time since Matt had fucked her that way—maybe it really was time to move on, after all. They'd have been together six months next week. Much longer and it would be a new relationship record.

"More," Daly shouted at her as she walked. He followed her, crouching at different angles, never more than a few feet away. "Sexier..."

She put her heart into it, no longer a cop on an undercover mission but instead a supermodel wannabee who needed to impress her photographer. After three circles of the room, she obeyed his final instruction and stopped in front of him, one leg in front of the other and hand on her hip. The way his eyes devoured her breasts sent huge surges of arousal through her body. Did he look at every model that way?

She shook her dark wavy hair, knowing that the full breasts that spilled out of the skimpy aqua top in every direction would bounce and sway. Another puddle of desire formed between her thighs. God, she'd have to give these bottoms back...

"Impressive, Kirsten," Daly said as he dropped the camera to his waist. "Now go try on the other bikini. And put the heels on, too."

She beamed at him as she nodded, wondering if she had time to masturbate again before she returned to the studio again. Knowing his eyes would be on her ass, she put an extra sway in her hips as she walked, heading back towards the door that led to dressing room.

His deep voice made her glance back. "And walk out with a little more attitude when you return. I need the sexiest you've got...."

***

"Hey, Alex," Kaminski said. "What's up?"

The Homicide cop grinned to himself as Goodwin nearly jumped out of his seat. He'd been so engrossed in something on his computer that he hadn't seen Brendan approach. Despite the barrel chested man's clumsy effort to close down the screen as soon as he heard the voice, Kaminski had seen all that he needed to know.

Donald Appleby's name.

How big a coincidence was that? All Brendan Kaminski had wanted was to check if Goodwin was attending a late night party for Smithy's sixtieth. Living so close to one another, he could save some cash by sharing a taxi or even taking Goodwin's car. Instead, he might have stumbled across something that Mr. Appleby would pay good money for. If Vice were looking at something to do with Appleby, he needed to know.

"Fuck, Brendan, don't do that."

"Don't do that? Don't do what?" Kaminski joked, casually perching on the edge of the desk.

"Scare the shit out of me," Goodwin grunted, reaching for the white paper cup and pulling a face when he realised the coffee was lukewarm. "Creeping up on me like that."

"I didn't creep up," Kaminski said, shooting Alex that shifty smile of his. He adjusted his position on the desk slightly. "You know what—it's because you're guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Sure. Whatever you're up to," he said, tapping the top of the computer monitor, "is unofficial. I can tell. Hell, Alex, you even have your monitor turned towards the wall. How much of a giveaway is that?"

Goodwin swallowed the last of the tasteless coffee, giving himself time to think. He'd known Kaminski for a while but the swarthy cop was known as a bit of a loner. What the fuck was he doing over this part of the building?

"Come on," Brendan said, leaning forward conspiratorially as he watched the grey haired cop try and think of an excuse. "Own up..."

"Own up? To what?"

"You tell me," he said, fishing for information. "You'd better be careful, though—Sandra Wilson will have your guts for garters if she finds out you're moonlighting."

"Don't be stupid," Goodwin snapped, stabbing a button and watching the monitor fade into darkness. "I'm not moonlighting. This is for Wilson..." He trailed off, as if he realised he'd said too much.

Kaminski nodded and stretched. Don't look too eager, he told himself. "God, I'm stiff Alex. Met a little Mexican gal at a club last night—man, she was hot..."

Goodwin smiled wryly and shook his head as if he was thinking about what he'd give to be Kaminski's age again.

"So," the swarthy cop laughed. "It's a secret mission for the boss, eh?" He thought quickly—this was a situation he could take advantage of if he played his cards right. That was definitely Appleby's details he'd seen onscreen. "That's okay, Alex, I don't mean to pry. But look, I have a case I'm working on. That's why I came over to see you. It's pretty much hush-hush but I know I can rely on you to keep things under your hat."

Goodwin nodded. The surprised look in his eyes told Kaminski that the barrel chested cop was taken aback that he was prepared to confide in him.

"There'll be hell to pay if anyone finds out that I've spoken to you or anyone else," he continued. "But I know I can trust you, Alex—you've always seemed to be a straight guy to me." He theatrically glanced around, and then leaned further across Goodwin's desk. "The name of the guy I'm investigating will shock you. Donald Appleby."

The look on Goodwin's face was a picture. Schmuck, Kaminski thought.

"Donald Appleby?"

"Yup," the Homicide cop murmured, hopping down from the desk and sidling around to Goodwin's side. It gave him time to think of a believable proposition. Planting his palms on the desktop, he leant forward. "We don't have anything on him, Alex. But his name's cropped up a couple of times..."

The sudden look in Goodwin's eyes told Kaminski that he'd stumbled on the answer. Vice had nothing on Appleby, only suspicions. But they were looking into him. Why?

"I know cross divisional cooperation is a thing of the past at our level," he went on, pressing home the point before Goodwin had time to think. The barrel chested cop was reliable enough but he'd never been the sharpest tool in the box. "But that's crap. I know I can trust you, Alex. What I was wondering was whether Vice had anything concrete on the guy?"

He carefully watched the expression on Goodwin's face. He was definitely interested but seemed reluctant to respond. Under orders to keep it quiet, no doubt. Still, Donald Appleby would still pay Kaminski for letting him know of Vice's interest and in the meantime he could continue to work on this schmuck.

"I mean, he's too big a name for me to fuck up," he continued, trying a different tack just in case. "I'm going to have quiet word with Narcotics next, Alex. I'm desperate to find someone with a similar interest in Appleby, someone I can work with. You know, pooling information for the greater good. If my boss finds out I'm dead, but you know what, Alex? If we can't trust one another, what's the point?"

Goodwin paused, his brow furrowing as he stared back at Kaminski. The swarthy cop could only guess at the thoughts going on in the big man's head but was astute enough to know he couldn't push things further. Not unless he threw in something else...

"I'm getting some inside information, Alex," he lied, his narrow eyes focused on every reaction from the Vice cop. "Can't say anymore, but if you are investigating, I can help you as much as you can help me. We can help one another."

Bingo. Goodwin's expression changed instantly. Was that a look of relief that passed over his craggy face?

"You've got someone on the side?"

Kaminski nodded. He could bluff that through easily enough. Besides, Appleby would give him misinformation to feed back. That was for sure.

"I'm worried about Alice," Goodwin grunted, glancing around the room to check that their conversation wasn't drawing attention. He thought for a few moments, his eyes darting nervously between Kaminski and Sandra Wilson's office across in the far corner. "Someone on the inside would be a big advantage."

"Alice?" Kaminski's face creased in puzzlement. He crossed his arms and pushed up on the side of the desk again. Sitting there with his slicked back hair and beaming smile, he made sure he fired out a sympathetic look. "What about Alice? She's involved?"

The look on Goodwin's face confirmed the answer. Kaminski nodded slowly. If he had this sort of luck when backing horses, he wouldn't still be in the force.

"Looks like I can help you, Alex," he said, dropping a hand onto Goodwin's arm. "Where your daughter's concerned, you can't be to careful. Tell you what, I've got half an hour. Why don't I get two fresh coffees and we'll bring each other up-to-date? That's as long as we keep this between the two of us. Not even Wilson can know we're helping each other and my boss will string me up if there's even a whisper..."

***

Tony Daly smiled to himself as he watched the image on his computer.

Standing in just the Brazilian-cut red thong, Kirsten had wet two of her fingers in her mouth and was running them around her dark nipples, teasing them to an even harder state of erectness. When she slipped those majestic breasts into the skimpy red top, the two enticing buds poked through the flimsy material like two organ stops.

He clicked the screen into darkness when she gave a final look at herself in the dressing room mirror and turned towards the door. She'd been hot enough the first time but his request for a little more attitude always made the model give that little bit more.

"I need the sexiest you've got...." was a line he always used at that stage. He liked to push their boundaries, see how far they would go in their desperation to get through to the next stage. Not that it was simply desperation—the Blush he fed them during their pre-audition discussion always ensured they were willing to give their all.

Occasionally he had to back off from fucking them there and then, so eager were some of the little hotties he discovered—but that would never do. That would happen at the next stage, when the cameras were running and they'd pre-advertised the session over the net. Over the years, Carmella had taught him the best way to maximise revenue...

Picking up from where he'd left off, he began to photograph her as soon as she entered the studio. This time she wasn't taken by surprise, in fact she acted as if he wasn't there. Sashaying past him with one hand on her hip, those hard asscheeks swung from side to side as her fabulous tits threatened to explode from their flimsy covering.

Fuck, this one was even hotter than he'd thought...

He watched her tits bounce as she paraded around the room, snapping off photographs from all angles, attempting to capture the moment. Maybe he'd even get some good shots he could keep? If she kept this up for another ten minutes, those losers watching on pay-per-view would be queuing up to pay to watch him fuck her tomorrow.

"More attitude," he encouraged as his cock hardened at the thought.

Without pausing, she swung around and crossed the room diagonally, one foot in front of the other as both adrenalin and confidence surged through her. Daly grinned. There was nothing sexier than a woman who knew she was hot, especially when she lost her inhibitions. Appleby Blush made his life so much more interesting.

Her glossy dark locks danced loosely around her tanned shoulders as she walked. The skimpy bikini top that only just covered her full breasts allowed them to sway seductively with each step. Hands on her hips, she stopped to provocatively stare at the camera, her her perfect nipples proudly pointing at him through the flimsy red material.

Daly's huge cock lengthened further and it was all he could do not to stroke himself as she began to walk towards him with that sexy sway of her hips. Her sparkling brown eyes were focused on him rather than the camera.

"Take the top off," he grunted, dropping the camera to his waist as her hands went to the back of her top. Without even a second's hesitation, she pulled loose the tie and whipped off the flimsy garment, dropping it behind her.

Daly's eyes instantly covered her naked breasts. He'd seen similar images so many times before and normally he only thought of how much money he would earn at this stage. This time it was different. Her tits bounced erotically with each step, but it was the way she arched her back to thrust them proudly in his direction that made his mouth dry.

With the aphrodisiac inside her, he knew only too well what her reaction would be if he unzipped himself and offered his cock to her here and now. Fuck, he was tempted...

Nodding his head approvingly, he reluctantly contented himself with the certainty that such a pleasure awaited tomorrow. Business came first at all times and the live pay for view feed would significantly increase both ratings and revenue. Even so, it had been a long time since he'd anticipated the thrill of fucking a woman as much as he was with this one...

***

Brendan Kaminski watched the smoke float away on the breeze as he took another drag from his cigarette. The tobacco made him feel better. He didn't often meet with Donald Appleby but when he did, it always gave him goose bumps. The businessman wasn't a man to be trifled with.

Despite the rarity of their face-to-face meetings, Appleby always arranged a different venue. And he always had that bodyguard with him. Man, that driver of his resembled a grizzly bear. Today's meeting place was a quiet bank overlooking the Thames. He wasn't sure how the businessman knew such solitary places, but as ever there wasn't a soul around. That made him shiver, too.

He'd nearly finished the cigarette when the Silver-Grey Mercedes pulled up. He flicked the butt into the Thames below him as the man himself alighted from the back of the car. Hell, even the confident way Appleby walked across to the iron railings beside him was impressive—full of power.

"Brendan..."

"Mr. Appleby."

"And how are things in the Met?"

"It's the same as usual, Mr. Appleby, full of shit."

The businessman's glance told the Detective to watch his language.

"Sorry," Kaminski murmured, feeling like he'd just been banished him to the corner of an imaginary room. He slinked there like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"I trust my monthly retainer is coming in useful?" Appleby asked, pulling his stylish black coat more tightly around him as he cast his eyes out over the water. The couple of small ships were some distance away, but anyone onboard with binoculars would have the two men in full view. He turned away and rested his back against the iron railings.

"Very," the cop replied, with a hint of deference. This was Appleby's way of reminding him he was an employee.

"You know..." the impressive man began, pulling out a cigar and taking his time in lighting it. "You really shouldn't squander so much of it the way you do."

Squander? How the fuck did Appleby know about his gambling habits. "I—"

"Horses," the businessman continued. "And greyhounds. Such a waste..."

"Mr. Appleby—"

The pony tailed man held up a hand while he sent a plume of smoke curling into the gentle breeze. "If you want to invest in something on all fours, I know of a good little whorehouse in Soho, Brendan. But then, that's your choice..."

"I don't always lose," Kaminski defensively said, keeping his voice low so that Appleby didn't think he was arguing.

"Oh, yes you do," the smiling man retorted, turning sideways to flick some ash over the edge of the railings. "But that's one of the things that keeps you in my employ, Brendan, isn't it?"

Kaminski ground his teeth. If ever he won big, then...

"Your call said you have something for me?" Appleby murmured, staring at the front of his cigar. He blew on it until the orange embers glowed brightly. "That's good, because I pay you very well for the little I get back in return..."

Kaminski knew it was true. Things had been quiet lately. But this was payback time and Appleby would love him for this. "There's a woman in the Met, Sandra Wilson."

"Wilson? Sounds familiar. Should I know her?"

"She's runs the Vice division..."

"Ah yes," Appleby nodded as the recollection returned. "She got the job by default when Webster was forced out. Yes, that's right... just after poor Dominic's murder. You know, Brendan... you can't be too careful nowadays."

Kaminski shrugged. That was a long time ago now and things had moved on. "She's started to investigate you," he said, returning to the point. That's what would earn him money.

If Appleby was surprised he didn't show it, other than the pause while he allowed the news to sink in. He rolled the smouldering Havana between his fingers and then puffed hard, savouring the taste of the smoke on his tongue before allowing it to ease from his lips. "Investigate what exactly?"

"That's the thing, Mr. Appleby. She has no real idea. All she's done is see a pattern emerging with your business linked to various Vice cases. It's made her curious."

Appleby sucked his lips as he nodded. "And we all know that curiosity killed the cat. How many people are working on the investigation?"

Kaminski pulled a sly face. "Four of them, but it's completely unofficial, Mr. Appleby. There'll be hell to pay if her boss finds out. I suggest that you lean on someone and—"

"Leave the thinking to me, Brendan," the businessman dismissively murmured. "How do you know all this if it's unofficial?

"I caught a cop I know in Vice checking you out, Mr. Appleby—Alex Goodwin. It took me a while but I convinced him that Homicide had an interest, too and that we should work together." He curled his face into a disdainful grin. "The schmuck agreed to exchange information."

"Very perceptive of you, Brendan," Appleby dryly said, staring across the Thames. "What form is this so called investigation taking?"

"Two female cops have managed to get themselves an audition with your modelling company. They think they can get under your skin. Find things."

"An interesting approach," the businessman commented thoughtfully, turning to look directly at the Detective for the first time in their conversation. "Auditions..."

"One of those was today, Mr. Appleby," Kaminski gushed. "That's why I tried to get through to you earlier. She's called Kirsten Tobin though I think she's gone under the name of Watson for the audition. And get this—the other," he paused while he sniggered, "Is Alex Goodwin's daughter—a cute little blonde without any real experience. He's shitting himself that she might get in over her head."

"Then we'll have to make sure we look after her, won't we Brendan?" Appleby mused, rolling the cigar between his fingers. He glanced out over the Thames again. From the look of the heavy skies, a storm was brewing. "We'll have to make sure they're both looked after. Tell me, Brendan—is there any chance of getting to Goodwin?"

Kaminski snorted. "Nah, the guy can't be bought. He's—"

"In that case we'll have to think of something else," Appleby interrupted. "I take it you're staying close to this?"