Appleby Blush Ch. 07

"Please what?" the deep voice asked.

My nipples. Please. Suck on them...

Daly's hands cupped both her swells, pushing them together. His mouth alternated between her breasts—licking, lapping, flicking and biting. Taking her nipple between his lips, he sucked it into his warm mouth.

Kirsten's moan came from the back of her throat. Arching her back, she fed more of her breasts to his lips. The way his swirling tongue suckled, licked and taunted each nipple sent pin pricks of heat across her body. Before she knew it, her fingers tightened in his hair while her free hand was snaking downwards, searching out her wetness.

When his hand found hers and pulled it away, she groaned. "What—"

"Wait," the voice persuasively murmured.

It took a few excruciating seconds to realise what it meant. Daly was moving, his hands still reaching up to cup her breasts, but his mouth sliding down her body. Yes, yes, yes...

His tongue teased across the soft skin of her thighs, his faint stubble following behind. When his strong hands pushed her legs even wider apart, Kirsten bent her knees and planted the soles of her feet on the very edge of the table. She lifted her hips and ass from the table, offering her sweet, smooth pussy to him.

"Beautiful," she heard the voice.

That was good, it was still watching. She raised her hips even higher so that the voice had a better view, so it could see her in all her splendour. Look, she told it. Look...

Hot breath immediately covered her skin and a soft tongue flicked across her clit. She wailed and the sound circled the room. Pushing upwards, she thrust her wet sex into his mouth. When Daly's tongue slid the full length of her wet opening, she could hear his lapping sound as he devoured her juices. Fuck, he was even better than in the studio.

She fell back, flat on the table, unable to support herself any longer. Her hands replaced his on her breasts, cupping them and twisting her nipples. When his lips closed on her clitoris, sucking it inside and chewing on it, her body jerked. His hands were never still—under her buttocks now, supporting her as she grinded her pussy upwards against his face.

Yes. Oh fuck, yes......

His mouth had worked up to a steady rhythm, his lips burrowing into her labia. The way his tongue drove deeper and deeper took her to the edge. She bit her lip, he bit her clit. Her hips bucked higher, his tongue thrust further. She moaned, he grunted.

The tide was sweeping over her.

She thrust upwards, trying to impale her smooth pussy on his tongue. Her breath came in great, laboured gasps. Her hips were pumping upwards like a machine. Her hands had left her breasts and were pulling on his thin, greying, curly hair. She was close... very close...

When his fingers joined his mouth, two of them curling inside her, It became too much. She threw her head back and came, screaming out her orgasm. Behind her closed eyes, in the darkness, fireworks exploded inside her buzzing body.

***

Alice Goodwin aggressively grabbed her father's hand and began to pull him across the floor. "Come with me," she told him in that no nonsense way she'd always had when—even as a little girl—she was curious and needed answers.

"No," he grunted, jerking them to a halt when he saw they were heading back to Sandra Wilson's office. The last thing he was going to do was involve his daughter in his and Wilson's situation.

"She's not there, silly," she snapped back at him over her shoulder, those sparkling sea-blue eyes flashing at him. "Turner called her up to see him."

He hesitated again as she pulled him the rest of the way and closed the door behind them. For a few seconds, his thoughts dwelled on what he'd said, as if it was a Eureka moment. It was a factor he hadn't really considered, but maybe her behaviour with him was simply down to the stress factor? Turner was putting her under a lot of pressure. Was her moment of weakness simply a way of letting off some steam?

After all, she hadn't had sex for eighteen months. He'd thought about that—it was when they'd split up. She'd really gone that long without sex? The knowledge that he was the one she'd sought out when she'd needed to fuck again made him feel good about himself.

"What's going on?"

His blank, thoughtful eyes switched on again. Alive was staring at him, hands on her hips. She'd always looked cute when she was angry and he was a sucker for those dimpled cheeks.

"In what way—"

"Oh, fuck, dad!" That was unusual. She rarely cursed and never when he was around. "Something's going on, and I have a pretty good idea what it is."

Goodwin felt a thud in his chest. Alice knew nothing of his previous relationship with their boss and it wasn't something he wanted out in the open. "You do?"

"I'm not stupid," she snapped. "It was quite clear that you were both expecting me to find out something from Marcia, something that would help the case. That's it, isn't it? You and Sandra have had an argument, about me."

A hearty chuckle came out before he could stop it. It was sheer relief. That was another one of his daughter's traits. Everything was about her—it always had been.

"Dad!" she shouted, hands on hips again as she stamped one foot on the floor like a petulant child. At times like this, she so reminded him of her mother.

"No," he softly said, covering the distance between them and pulling her into a bear hug. He kissed the top of her long blonde hair. "No, Alice, for once it's nothing to do with you."

She wrapped both hands around his waist and looked up at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "You've done a great job so far, honey. I'm proud of you."

Her large eyes stared up at him. This time her tone was softer." Then what is it?"

He shrugged his large shoulders and pulled her tighter into his barrel chest. "I'm really not sure, Alice. Truthfully, I'm trying to work it out, too. I think she saw the Appleby case as a way of breaking through all the crap she has to cope with. Turner's putting her under far too much pressure and she's worried about keeping her job—"

She pulled away, as if he'd smacked her across her face. "Her job!?"

Damn, he shouldn't have said that. Wilson had confided that in him and the information wasn't for public consumption, even to his daughter. "Keep it to yourself, honey," he softly told her. "Right now, Sandra Wilson needs all the support we can give her."

It was true. Why hadn't he seen that more clearly before?

So what if she had fucked him? And what if she was struggling to explain why? She would eventually, when she was able to. He knew her far too well to think anything else. Causing that scene in her office had been stupid of him. And he'd actually told her to fuck off!

He could be unbelievably stupid at times.

***

Kirsten's eyes slowly fluttered open. It took a few moments before she could orientate herself. The brightness in the room surprised her and she blinked her brown eyes a few times to confirm she was returning to normal. The voice was no longer talking to her. Was that why she could see again? Had Laroche brought her out of her meditative state?

She didn't want that—her body was still pounding with need...

She pushed up on her elbows into a half-sitting position and twisted her head to look for Daly. They had unfinished business. He wasn't there, but Laroche was. Her heart pumped in her chest as she stared blankly at him. He was naked, and his black chest was covered with the same sheen of perspiration that stood out on his forehead. The realisation of what had happened hit her and she shook her head, once, twice, as if in denial.

"No," she grumbled, her voice croaky and hoarse. "We... couldn't... you couldn't..."

"Don't you remember how we started," he asked. His tone was so soft it was as if he was explaining something that should have been self explanatory. "We agreed that a pornographic actress indulges her body and a fashion model indulges her mind... and that both were essential in order to produce the highest quality of photographs. Yes?"

She blinked twice as she stared into his calm eyes. That was what they'd said...

"I asked you to indulge your mind and think of yourself as a pornographic actress. I said your ability to demonstrate that would determine the outcome of the assessment. I'd say you did that rather well, wouldn't you?"

She closed her eyes as if to check she wasn't still dreaming. This couldn't have happened, could it? He was playing with words... confusing her. "You tricked me..."

"No I didn't, Kirsten."His persuasive tone continued. "You know that, don't you? We agreed that a successful model needed to find the right mood for a shoot. I simply helped you find that mood. Sex is good, Kirsten. It stimulates the body as well as the mind. You did well, Kirsten. You've shown you have what it takes to become a successful model."

"But—" she mumbled. Laroche was running his hands along her long legs as he talked to her. His words made sense, but it was difficult to focus on them when his touch was heading straight to her needy sex.

"But nothing, Kirsten," he continued, trailing the back of his fingertips back and forth along her inner thigh. "You successfully completed your assessment and you proved yourself capable of thinking like a successful model. You should be proud of yourself."

She slowly nodded. The soft touches along her skin had already found their way to her overheated sex. His nakedness should have horrified her, but his ebony skin against her white flesh was overwhelmingly sexy. Like a drug...

"And believe me, that uninhibited passion you have for sex is healthy. It's what makes the fashion industry go round, Kirsten. You mustn't deny that..."

She opened her legs wider to accommodate the twirling fingers. Was it because he was black? His hand was inches from her throbbing sex. Why didn't he touch her there?

"I told you I'd guide you," he continued, taking a step closer. She felt faint as his erection brushed along her thighs. "You did the rest. Your body yearns for sex, Kirsten, but you're no longer in a meditative state. You have the freedom to do whatever you wish."

Her eyes glazed as she stared downwards. Cock in hand, Laroche was running the thick head of his crown along her wetness as he spoke. She groaned—a deep throaty noise from the back of her throat—and raised her buttocks to gain more friction.

"Tell me what you want," he went on, teasing her wetness with his cock, threatening to enter and yet holding back. "What do you need?"

"I want..." she gasped, unable to say the words. This was torture.

"You want me to fuck you."

Laroche finished the sentence for her as he gripped her hips and pushed the head of his cock inside her. Kirsten gasped aloud as she curled her feet behind his back. They stared at one another, the erotic silence crackling between them like electricity. Kirsten's were wide and alive with need. Neither moved other than her heels gently applying more pressure.

"Yes," she rasped, spitting out the word as her heels pulled him forward. Inch by inch, his thickness began to slide inside her. When Laroche pulled one of her legs up and over his shoulder, she wrapped her hands around his thighs and dug them into his flesh. Her aroused, breathy pants confirmed her need. There was no going back.

"Fuck me," she told him through gritted teeth. "Fuck ME...!"

Laroche's tongue licked along her ankle as her breasts rose and fell in anticipation. Nodding in satisfaction at the concealed camera over her shoulder, he slowly pulled her right leg over his other shoulder, settling it there while he bent forward to find a nipple with his teeth. She was gagging for it now, just as Carmella had told him she would.

"FUCK ME," she shouted again, this time without any prompting. The line had been crossed and all that mattered now was abandoning herself to that black cock...

Settling back on the table, her eyes slid down the contours of her body and found what she wanted. The way he slid in and out of her stimulated her need further.

"Fuck, yes," she grunted, beginning to thrust back. He wasn't as big as Daly, but he felt every bit as good. With each withdrawal, his manhood was glistening with her juices. She could feel every inch of his length as it filled her and she fucked him faster, harder—her urgency fuelling his. The table began to bounce.

Kirsten tightened her vaginal muscles around him, wanting to keep the warm, pulsating, veiny intruder right there, deep inside her.

"Fuck me," she croaked. The words were little more than a gurgle. "Fuck me," she grunted again. "C'mon, fuck me..."

Laroche's eyes narrowed as he withdrew his hips and then slammed forward again. He repeated the action, bottoming out with each forward thrust. His balls slapped against her buttocks and yet it still wasn't enough.

"Harder," she grunted, locking her ankles around his neck so that she could power her ass off the table with each upward pump of her hips. "Harder."

Her full tits bounced on her body with each hard thrust. Laroche leaned forward to clutch them, squeezing them gently at first, and then harder. She stretched her slender body backwards, running her fingers through her luxurious hair as she humped back.

Words left her and instead it was her wild eyes that spoke to him. Yes, like that...

Laroche grunted. The King of Porn was pleasuring his live audience as well as himself but he needed to pace himself to protect his reputation. The sexy bitch was coming back at him so hard he could only manage short bursts before catching his breath again. His large hands shifted from her tits to her hips, steadying her body against his machine like thrusts.

"Oh shit. Oh shit... oh shit..." God, she was going to cum. Her curvaceous body bounced on the slim table and she just couldn't take it. She wanted him to stop, just to retain her focus. But she needed him to continue too. Her building orgasm wouldn't wait.

Her eyes found their reflection in the ceiling mirror. She'd forgotten it was there. Oh fuck! The sight made her wail and gasp. Her hands covered his on her hips. Her feet tightened behind his neck and she watched herself pump upwards like the wanton bitch she was.

The orgasm exploded rather than simply broke. Her juices drenched his hard cock and the table. Her breath caught in her throat and it felt like her heart had stopped. Waves of rippling pleasure radiated form his sweating body into hers. Darkness descended, but she just held it off. She could feel, she could hear, but she could hardly breathe.

Laroche didn't let up. If anything, his paced quickened. For a few seconds he sent his trademark smile at the hidden camera. The meaning was well known amongst his regular followers. This time she was no longer a participant. She was his to be used...

His balls thumped against her buttocks like the loud beating of a clock. He knelt forward over her, their lips clashing for the first time in a hard passionate kiss. His face stayed inches away, his hot breath panting into her face as his hip thrusts continued in a lightning blur.

Kirsten felt a second orgasm rolled through her body but it made no difference to the man above her. She could hear his animalistic grunts and wrapped her ankles around the nape of his neck, desperately trying to breathe. She was out of control. Her wails and grunts grew louder. Her eyes blinked and she saw Tony Daly's face. Then Wesley Snipes. Then she was back to reality, staring into the elderly man's eyes again.

She'd never been fucked as hard or as rough as this. The third orgasm saw her howl like an animal...

Her eyes opened when she heard a familiar throaty growl. It was the sound of a male who could last no longer. His face was contorted into a black mask. His lips were biting on one another. She felt his cock balls tighten and his cock begin to vibrate. At the moment of truth, his head bent upwards to the ceiling as he roared, a beast in the wild discharging its hot seed onto the maiden he'd stolen, conquered and fucked.

***

Sandra Wilson headed straight for the Slug and Lettuce pub after her meeting with Turner. He'd laid it on the line for her. If she didn't have that report with the budget cuts on his desk next Tuesday, he'd have no option other than to replace her.

Thank goodness she'd managed to restrain herself and maintain her dignity. The urge to tell him where to stick his job had been overwhelming.

Her first gin and tonic hadn't lasted long and this glass wasn't going to, either. Then she'd have a third. She hadn't even gone back to her desk after the meeting with Turner—walking out of his office, through the secretaries and along the narrow corridor to the lift. Thirty seconds later, she'd been heading out of the building, replying politely to the 'good nights' she heard in her ear but without any recollection of who had said them.

She'd meet up with Jack Palmer on his return to England and seriously talk about life as a private investigator. Or maybe he'd have other thoughts on what she could do? She'd always valued his opinion. Until then—unless Kirsten discovered anything from her time with Carmella Santiago—she'd close the investigation.

They'd spent enough fruitless time on it, and by a quirk of fate she could use the Gala ball at Appleby's as a sign off to her life in the Met. She pulled the invitation out of her handbag and studied at it again. It was a work of art. If that was an indication of the type of evening that was in store, Alice was right about it being the social event of the year.

Her thoughts turned to Alex Goodwin and she cursed herself. She should have been able to have had a more productive discussion with him than that. What was wrong with her?

She laughed to herself. What was wrong apart from being desperately tired, getting nowhere with any of her cases, working all the hours that God sent, and having that shit Turner all but confirm he was firing her?

Her fingers wrapped tightly around her glass as she downed the rest of her drink and waved at the bartender. Oh yeah, and if that lot wasn't enough, she was now in a permanent state of arousal. A bitch in heat! She'd stopped wondering why she was so permanently excited and instead focused on what she could do about it. Masturbating was no longer enough.

She thought of Alex Goodwin again...

"Can I buy you a drink?" The voice came from the side of her just about to order a refill.

Her surprise increased as she turned towards him. The blonde haired kid couldn't have been much more than eighteen. Still, that cocky expression of youth on his face was cute.

"Why?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

There was that cocky smile again. "I've been watching you for the last half an hour."

Her immediate reaction was one of amusement, but there was no doubt that a flicker of heat ran through her. "You have? Shouldn't you be in school?"

The blush that ran across his face made her smile. As her response temporarily knocked him off guard, she had the opportunity to run her eyes across his body. A single glance took it all in. Apart from his unkempt, greasy hair, he fit her image of a clean cut kid. His red tee shirt under the thin leather jacket was thin enough to demonstrate a good physique and the reasonable sized bulge in his jeans left her wondering.

The trouble was—despite the needs of her body—she was old enough to be his mother.

"You can afford to buy me one of these?" she teased, holding up her empty glass.

Instead of answering, he turned to the waiting bartender. "Same again for the lady. And another Bud."

Tilting his head, he switched his gaze back to Wilson. The way he carried himself and the way he smiled confirmed he was cocky, no doubt about that.

"So," she said again. "School's out?"