Palmer Ch. 07



Webster wasn't happy. He preferred to be the one in control.

Despite putting the squeeze on several of his own contacts, he'd drawn a blank. It was close to midnight and he didn't have a single thing to report. When he met with his team in the morning, he'd be the odd one out. He hated that.

His back ached, his head throbbed and his eyes burned. Time to leave the office. Maybe all of this wasn't such a good idea after all? All it took was for Homicide to get a sniff of what they were up to and he'd have World War III on his hands.

Scratching his permanent five o'clock shadow, he wondered whether it was just the long day? He wasn't getting to old for this, was he? That made him grin. He'd never be too old for this.

Maybe he should wander across to Homicide on his way out? See if Tom Burley was still there? He'd said he'd call Webster before he left and he'd yet to hear a thing.

Stopping only to drop two headache tablets into a plastic cup half filled with water, he made his way along the depressingly narrow, faceless corridors and into the lab.

"Hey," the dark haired Geordie greeted him. "Didn't expect me to still be here, eh?"

Webster couldn't help but smile. Burley's effervescence always made him smile. "It's a bit late for a lad from Newcastle to be up, isn't it?"

"Aye, late – but productive." The smile on the forensics man's young face told him there was good news.

"Tell me," the Vice boss simply said.

"I've checked into everything we've found..."


"One thing that's really interesting," Burley grinned, holding up a folder. "Here's a report on that fingerprint."

Webster took it from him and sat on the edge of Burley's wooden desk. As he flicked it with his thumb, he accidentally sent the half full cup of cold coffee spiralling to the ground. He ignored the spillage. "I'll read it later. What's it say?"

The Geordie stared at the growing stain on the carpet, then blinked twice as he looked up at the Vice boss. "Aa'l have to clean that up, ya knaa..."

Webster stared through him. "What's it say?" he repeated.

"We have a positive ID," Burley said.

Webster jumped up. "Already? Who else knows?"

Burley's face expressed his disappointment. "Howway, man. Aa did aal of this on my own. Top secret. Remember?"

"Impressive, Tom. Very impressive."

"Aye. Aa pulled a few strings. And Willie Dixon's been snooping around. But aa'm pretty sure aa've kept this one under wraps."

"What've you found?"

"Aa've got his name. Marco Giovanni, a fifty-five year-old Italian hit man."

For a second, Webster's face lit up. The Geordie's upraised hand stopped him mid smile. "Only one problem, boss."

The Vice boss's face changed in a moment. "I don't like problems."

"Aa knaa. You won't like this one either. According to our records, Marco Giovanni was incinerated in a car accident in Italy two weeks ago."


George Blair sat in front of the open fire, a glass of early morning brandy in his hands. Even at two o'clock, he felt bright, alert. He always did when he had a lot on his mind.

He loved the Lygon Arms. Not just for the hotel's sumptuous elegance, but also for its anonymity. All he had to do was to slip unnoticed into the appropriate courtyard suite.

He needed the brandy to counter the feeling of melancholy. It was overwhelming him. Ending his relationship with Roxanne had been difficult, but he knew DeVere had been right. He usually was. She represented a constant danger to his destiny. As grateful as he was for the new vitality she'd infused him with, losing her was just one of a number of sacrifices he'd need to make going forward.

Soon, he'd be the new Prime Minister. Time to move on!

As for his political ambitions, his team was in place. Dominic DeVere was a powerful force. One to be watched, yes, but an influential ally nonetheless. Sir John Cobalt was someone he'd trust with his life. Dennis Price would add the missing dimension, a shrewd and powerful strategist who was already proving invaluable.

Oiling their individual egos and keeping the machine running would be difficult, but if he succeeded, he'd have a team to ensure his election and give him another four years. After that, the ultimate. His own knighthood!,

The door opening from the suite bedroom diverted his thoughts back to the present.

"Lost in thought?" the redhead asked. Her soft green eyes gleamed at him as she floated across the room.

Even without makeup she looked magical. The fluffy, white, hotel robe couldn't hide her curves. God, she really was something. Going forward, he'd miss the company of this beautiful woman. Fortunately, the Premiership would provide adequate compensation.

If only his wife had the same voracious sexual appetite as he had; he wouldn't need the company of others. Well, now and again, perhaps. As it was now, she didn't, and so he had to satisfy it on his own. How the hell was he going to cope after tonight?

The redhead walked around him, stopping to dig her hands into his tense shoulders. "Knots," she said with a soft sigh. "You have knots. That means anxiety. You think too much, George."

He smiled, taking a deep drink from his glass. Yes, he thought too much. No more. Tonight, he'd enjoy the last hours with his Roxanne.

"Try thinking of this," she continued, driving her fingertips a little deeper as if digging into putty. "You're going to make a wonderful Prime Minister. People will love you."

He groaned at the delicious pain. "Really?" His voice was a tight gasp as she dug deeper. "And why's that?"

She left his hurting shoulders and flopped down beside him. Her plush robe split around her long, shapely legs as she crossed them before her. It had only been an hour since they'd last made love, but he was ready again.

"Because you have charisma, George. The public loves charisma. Tony Blair had it. Gordon Brown didn't."

"Perhaps," he answered, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her eyes.

"And integrity," she added. "You tell things straight."

His cool, blue eyes held hers. "Do I?"

"Of course," she laughed, snuggling into his chest. Her hand sneaked through the gap in his matching robe and gently caressed his nipple. "And of course, you're as sexy as hell. All the women in the country are going to love you."

His eyes smiled at her. "All the women?"

She gave him that delicious grin and snaked her hand around his neck, pulling him to her for a soft kiss. "Oh yes..." she murmured against his mouth. "Especially this one."


Where was his wife? It was after midnight and Kelli still wasn't home. There was no message. Nor had she answered any of his calls. He'd give her until the morning and maybe call her mother. None of her clothes were missing and the suitcase she'd taken to Edinburgh was neatly stacked away. Yes, her mother's was the best bet.

Cartwright's call interrupted his thoughts. "Palmer?"


"It's Ben Cartwright."

Palmer sighed impatiently. "I know that, Ben. I have your number showing on my cell phone. What've you got for me?"

The DJ's voice was high, excited. "I got lucky. There's a pusher named Bones. Does some heavy duty trade in London."

"He trades red pills?"

"Not normally. But he had a special request. Just dumped fifty on some dude." The pitch in Cartwright's voice rose higher. "He's your man."

"Where'll I find him, Ben?"

"Difficult. Sometimes he doesn't show for days. Try the All Star Lanes bowling alley in Bayswater. He was there earlier. If you're lucky, he could be there now."

Now? So much for waiting for Kelli. He began to slip on his jacket as he spoke. "What's he look like?"

Cartwright laughed. "You can't miss him. He's Elvis."


Cartwright's laugh got louder. "Dresses as the King, Palmer. Does a good impression too, as far as I remember."


"Good enough for you, Palmer. We're even now?"

"That depends, Ben," Palmer smirked. "When I get there, Elvis had better not have left the building."


For an older man, Roxanne was impressed with the way Blair had kept his body in shape. Tonight, she was particularly delighted by the way his cock was always ready for action. But then, Viagra always helped when you had a full night's fucking planned. She knew as well as he did that this had to be it.

They'd even joked about it being 'break up' sex. She wondered what Dominic would do when he found out about their final meeting. He'd probably want to kill her, she thought with a laugh.

Time to move on. Maybe focus on Jack Palmer? A normal relationship could be what she needed for a while. That man had somehow struck a chord with her.

Her flashing eyes returned to George Blair. Sitting back against the four-poster's pillows, she eased her legs apart. Her green eyes smiled hypnotically at him. There was no need for words.

His lust filled gaze held hers as he trailed the tips of his fingers along her thighs. She moaned softly at his feather light touch. He slowly lowered his head to her breasts.

"Yes, George," she hissed, her hands entwining tightly in his ruffled brown hair as he sucked her high, chocolate brown nipple into his mouth. His fingers kneaded the other breast as he teased her, swirling and sucking just like she'd taught him nearly two years ago. His mouth and hands alternated, left, right, and then back again.

She rested her fingers lightly on the top of his head, guiding each movement. She'd pull him close if she wanted him to suck harder; push him away a little when she wanted less. And when she wanted him to move on, she gently pushed him downwards. "Lick me, baby."

Slithering to his knees, his tongue slithered across her dewy sex. Her legs widened. "You do that so good, George. Slowly, baby..."

He knew what the redhead wanted. A slow journey towards orgasm.

He worked along the soft petals of her labia first, caressing it with the flat of his tongue. She shivered above him, purring like his sexy, little kitten. His forefingers and thumbs reached up to gently tweak her nipples as his teeth grazed across her swollen clit. She jerked harder. Too fast.

He bypassed the sensitive pearl, nibbling up the clean-shaven rise of her mound with his lips and tongue. She jerked her hips up, trying to reintroduce her clit to his mouth. He'd have none of it, distracting her by stabbing two fingers deep into her wetness. He fingered her slowly, in time with the lazy strokes of his tongue.

His mouth softly sucked in her juices. Each slow pass of his tongue elicited another long moan, encouraging him. He gradually upped the tempo, his swirling tongue circling her clit like water emptying from a tub.

She raised her legs, draping them over his shoulders as her hips undulated against his face. At last, he found her clit, sucking the soft flesh hard between his lips. Her back bowed as she hit her high, cresting in a shriek of pure ecstasy.

Things got sensitive for Roxanne. Too much! Too fucking much! She pushed his head away, even as his fingers plundered her depths. Luckily, she had the perfect way to take his mind off her pussy.

Twisting across his lap, her eager mouth wrapped itself around his hardness. His gasp of surprise was stilled as her fingers cupped his testicles. Her lips licked around his bulbous crown.

"Good, baby?" she asked, dripping some spittle onto his shaft and rubbing it in. It was a superfluous question.

Her hand squeezed his balls as she went back to work with her tongue, swishing it back and forth against the underside of his shaft. He moaned at the friction, throwing his body backwards on the bed. Easing upwards onto her knees, she sucked up his precum. His panting matched hers.

She smiled to herself, her eyes wild. No experience in her young life could quite match the rush she felt, blowing the soon-to-be prime minister. No drugs that she'd ever taken, no runway shows or fashion shoots. Nothing. If this was the last time, it was going to be extra special.

One hand circled the root of his cock and slowly jerked him. Her mouth played with his crown. When his balls began to tighten and he reached for her hair, she pulled away.

Her body flopped down on the cream sheets beside him. Her hands pulled at his shoulder, turning him round. One leg entwined with his, helping pull him over her. Her need was clear.

The muscular man responded, taking her chocolate nipple into his mouth as he adjusted his position between her spread legs.

The redhead moaned. Her back arched to push more of her tit into his sucking mouth. She felt him there, his saliva-bathed cock head hovering at the entrance of her slippery opening. She wrapped her long legs around the top of his ass. An upward thrust took him halfway inside.

A second undulation completed the entry. She could feel every delicious inch. "Yesss, George!"

Her heels dug into his ass, lifting her hard body from the bed. The redhead was fucking him, not the other way around. Her eagerness brought him to life, his elbows settling either side of her bucking body to allow him the leverage to respond to her thrusts.

His mouth found her breasts again. He wasn't the first man unable to get enough of them. She responded by digging her fingers into his scalp, pulling his head up to stare into her sparkling, green eyes.

Her body spoke to him, slowing her movements to pace him down from their frantic fucking. Her hands shoved against his hard chest, pushing him up so they could both look down to see his cock sliding inside her.

"Good, baby?" she asked, adding to the eroticism by squeezing her internal muscles with each teasingly slow union.

The sight of his cock being consumed by her oily smooth channel, the feeling created as he bottomed out, and the aroused look of control in her eyes, all combined to take him towards the edge.

She knew it, too. With a tantalizing laugh, she slipped out from beneath him, leaving the bemused Prime Minister elect with the look of a child whose sweets had just been stolen.

Swinging around on the bed, she wriggled her perfect, peach-like ass. Sinking down onto her elbows, her buttocks raised provocatively. The eyebrow she cocked as she glanced back over her shoulder spoke volumes. Get to work.

With a loud snort of arousal, he twisted around behind her. His sweaty hands grabbed her hips, dragging her back towards his steel-stiff manhood. He was in control now.

She knew how much that turned him on. He loved her subservience.

Her provocative pushes against him brought a loud groan. Cock in hand, he rubbed his hardness along her heated furrow. They'd enjoyed this foreplay before. He made no attempt to enter her, both bodies moving slowly at first, enjoying the moment.

Their breaths grew ragged as they savoured the play of soft skin on even softer skin.

When she looked back at him over her shoulder again, it was as if her narrowing eyes were giving him permission.

Blair gripped her hips more tightly. The redhead's right hand snaked down between them. Her sex was so wet he entered immediately. Their simultaneous groans at the union spilt the air. His hand found her neck and pushed her head into the sheets. Her ass rose higher.

Neither spoke, the air filled only with their heavy pants and soft grunts.

Eventually, they began to fuck. There was no build up. They went from nought to sixty in a second. He was a primate. A gorilla fucking his mate. The redhead's backward thrusts and his forward momentum began to build.

She contracted and expanded her pussy muscles around him, creating that ripple effect of hers that shot all the way down his cock and into his balls. Blair could never resist that. The delicious friction became too much.

He cried out seconds before he released the floodgates. One burst followed another. He jerked continuously. His manjuice coated her clutching walls. Relentless and unending. She thrust back with each jerk of his body, determined to milk every last drop. His hands gripped her full breasts, squeezing until he'd given everything he could.

Only then did the redhead let herself go, a series of short, fast backward thrusts being all that it took to release her, too. Her head buried in the pillow to muffle her cries as her climax overpowered her.

Somehow, her jerking body teased a final bust of creamy Prime Minesterial cum from the heavily sweating man.

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