Passions of Crime

"No," she says stubbornly, but she doesn't pull away from your hand.

You put your other hand around her waist and pull her close to you. "Is feeling my hands on you again?"

"No..." she says again, but with far less conviction this time.

You lean even closer to her. "I think it is."

You can hear her breathing heavily in anticipation as her eyes close. "Oh, James..." she whispers. Just as your lips brush against hers, she jerks back as if from an electric shock. "Oh my God, stop!" she hisses in a low voice. "We can't kiss in front of a... a dead guy!" She points to the John Doe.

You laugh out loud. "I don't think he's going to complain, Camille."

"Hey!" she says, her attention drawn to the dead man for the first time. "I know him!" She walks over to the table.

"Really? You know a lot of dead guys. Should I be worried?"

"Ha ha. He's one of my husband's friends, Dean Jarvits. I met him a few times at parties." Camille examines the bullet wounds in Dean's head with a slightly nauseated look.

"A friend from work?"

"Kind of. He used to work at Literbach, then he got a job at a different insurance company. Marcus still kept in touch with him, though."

You ponder this new information, trying to fit it into your mental picture of the case. Either of them could have gotten in over their head and asked an old friend for help. Shaking your head, you give up and turn your attention back to the shoe. You put your hand inside and feel along the insole. Up by the toe is a strange lump.

Camille walks back over to you. "What are you looking for, anyway?" You yank the insole out of the shoe and a small silver key falls out into your hand.

"Whatever this unlocks."

**********

You ride up in the rattling elevator to your apartment in silence. The tension between you is palpable, but if Camille is still feeling agitated, she is hiding it well.

You wish you could have checked Marcus's shoes as well, but his evidence is still in the forensics lab, and the lab guys always work late. As you are no longer on the case, you hadn't wanted to arouse suspicion by asking to see it. You suppose you'll just have to check tomorrow.

As you approach the door, some sixth sense warns you something isn't right. You test the knob, and find it unlocked. You pull out your gun and slowly push the door open. "Stay back," you say to Camille.

You move cautiously through the living room and kitchen. The place has been trashed as if hastily burgled. But despite all the mess, it doesn't look like anything has actually been taken.

As you cross through the doorway to the bedroom, a dark figure leaps from behind the door, blood still encrusted on his broken nose. You feel a searing sharp pain as he sinks a switchblade into your upper arm. You howl and drop your gun. "James!" Camille shouts from behind you.

The man batters the side of your head with his fist, knocking you into the side of the oak dresser in the corner. You fall to your knees, your head spinning. Instantly he is on top of you, his arm around your neck. You gasp for air, but your vision is already getting blurry. You try to shout for Camille to run, but the words are choked off in your throat.

An almighty clang rings in your ears, and the man collapses on top of you. After struggling for a moment, you manage to push him off. You cough violently as the air rushes back into your lungs.

You look up to see Camille standing over you with a cast iron skillet grasped firmly in both hands. She looks utterly stunned. "Thanks," you manage to say, your voice raspy.

"Oh my God." She drops the skillet with another loud clang. "I... I can't believe I..."

"Saved me?" you ask, with as much of a grin as you can muster.

"I killed him!" she cries, looking more shocked than ever.

"Don't worry, he's not dead," you reassure her. You struggle to your feet and sit on the bed with a groan. "Although he probably won't be feeling too great when he wakes up." You examine the knife still stuck in your arm.

Camille sees the knife and gasps. "Oh, James, your arm!"

"Yep, that's where the knife is," you confirm. "Don't worry, I'll be alright. It didn't hit the artery. Be a dear and grab a shirt from the closet, would you?" She hurries across the room.

"Why didn't he just shoot you?" Camille asks as she brings the shirt over.

"Probably worried my neighbors would hear." You tear a wide strip from the bottom of the shirt, and hand the remainder to her. "I'm going to need you to apply pressure to this for a minute, okay?" She nods, concern evident in her wide eyes. You grasp the handle of the knife and take a few deep breaths. Camille grimaces and turns away. You yank the knife out and a new wave of white hot pain shoots up your arm. You grit your teeth, groaning loudly.

Camille immediately stems the flow of blood with the wadded up shirt, pressing it tightly to your arm. You hiss loudly, but the pain is already lessening. "Sorry!" she says with a look of dismay.

"I'm fine." You raise your hand to her cheek and caress it softly. "Really." She sighs and closes her eyes, leaning into your touch. Her face visibly relaxes. "Camille?" She opens her eyes again. "Thank you. You were amazing." You lean in and kiss her.

She eagerly kisses you back, your lips and tongues tingling as they wrestle playfully, her excitement plain as little sighs and gasps escape her. Suddenly you feel tears streaming down her face. You pull away. "What's wrong?"

"James, you almost died! If I'd never come to you, none of this would have happened!" She starts to sob. "Now you've been st.. st.. stabbed," she says, the word catching in her throat. "And all I can think about is carrying on like a c... c... common hussy! I'm a terrible person!" she wails, burying her head in your shoulder.

You run your hand through her hair. "You're not," you say firmly. "You're a wonderful person in a tough situation. And you're certainly no common hussy." Camille raises her head. Her eyes are still beautiful, even swimming with tears. You look at her for a long moment. "You're an exceptional hussy." She bursts out into a long fit of giggles, her head falling back on your shoulder.

"Oh, James," she says sadly, when her laughter finally subsides. "This is all my fault."

"Yes it is, and you should be very ashamed," you tease. She giggles again, but more subdued this time. You gently stroke her hair until all that remains of her breakdown is an occasional sniffle.

"That's probably long enough," you say. "Help me get this off." She removes her gloves, then carefully pulls your jacket off one arm at a time. You look at the bloody hole in the sleeve with annoyance. "I really liked this jacket."

Camille smiles. "I'll buy you another one," she promises, as she helps you unbutton your shirt. "It's the least I can do." Now naked from the waist up, you can't help but smile at her tenderness as she ties the strip of fabric around your arm. Though she tries to hide it, her eyes glance over your chest more than once with a definite look of desire.

"Thank you," you say with a kind smile, brushing the hair out of Camille's eyes. She smiles back.

Suddenly, her eyes flick to something behind your shoulder, and widen in shock. "James!" she screams. You whip around.

Incredibly, your attacker has risen unsteadily to his feet, and is slow raising his gun. The pain in your arm forgotten in an instant, you instinctively grab the switchblade from the bed and lunge at the man. He tries to dodge away, but his reaction is sluggish. The knife slices deeply into his neck. Camille gasps and covers her mouth in horror. The man stumbles headfirst into the window, which shatters with a loud crash. He slumps to his knees, then flops backward on the floor with a thud.

You both stare in disbelief as his blood drains onto the floor in an ever-widening puddle. After a long minute, you finally turn back to Camille. "Okay, now I think he might be dead."

She takes her hand away from her mouth, but she doesn't laugh. "James..." she says. "That was... I don't..." Her breathing is suddenly labored, and she stares at you with a confused look. She frowns and closes her eyes tightly. She looks like she is trying to suppress a powerful emotion.

"Camille? Are you... alright?" you ask nervously.

"What the hell is wrong with me?!" she shouts, startling you. She tackles you out of nowhere, knocking you onto the bed. She begins kissing you ferociously and running her hands across your chest.

You are at a loss for words. "Camille, what..." you sputter as she begins to kiss your neck.

"I don't care!" she cries, frantic. "Maybe I'm crazy, but I can't fight this anymore! We could die at any second! Please just make love to me, James! I need you! I feel like I'll lose my mind if I can't have you right now!"

Your mind's reeling, unable to believe what you're hearing. She sits up, straddling you, and unties her belt. "But... the neighbors might have heard that window break," you say feebly. Camille stares at you for a moment, incredulous you're arguing.

"You better hurry up then." With mild alarm you note her voice is suddenly quite husky, and her tone has changed from frantic to insistent. She pulls off her coat, revealing a sheer undershirt clinging to her fabulous figure.

"Um..." Your mouth goes dry as your eyes roam Camille's amazing body. "I thought we weren't allowed to kiss in front of dead guys." She gives you a wicked grin.

"Oh, we're way past that," she laughs. Licking her lips, she keeps her eyes locked on yours as she sensually pulls her shirt up over her head. "Besides, I have it on good authority he won't complain."

"I've been stabbed, you know!" you protest, desperate for a moment to think about this logically. Camille makes this impossible by unhooking her bra and releasing her breasts, pink nipples standing at attention. Your eyes are locked on them, your brain frozen. You want nothing more than to grab her, run your hands all over her body, ravish her.

"Don't worry, my darling," she purrs. "I'll be very gentle." Camille seems to know she has you completely helpless. She slowly runs her hands up her sides and fondles her perfect tits, throwing her head back with a moan. Then she looks back down at you, biting her lip hard. "What do you say, Detective? Out of excuses?" Her sultry voice is coy, but also full of naked hunger.

You sit up quickly and grab one of her breasts in each hand, sucking a hard nipple into your mouth. "Oh God James, yes!" she cries out, delighted. You squeeze her firm tits, kissing them all over, loving her body for all you're worth. She writhes in your arms, moaning with pleasure.

You kiss Camille's sweet lips again, and she kisses you back with wild abandon. You lower her down to the bed, kissing along her jawline while she coos beneath you. You are in awe as she responds to your lightest touch. Never before have you had a woman so willing and excited in your arms.

You sit up and pull off her shoes, and fumble to remove her garter belt. You roll up her stockings, following each one with a series of small kisses, and you can feel her legs quivering. Camille pulls down your zipper and fishes out your hard cock, watching your reaction with a smile.

With a delighted gasp, she starts stroking you gently, while her other hand plunges into her panties. You close your eyes, and enjoy the sensation of her soft hand and her breathy yelps as she fingers herself.

She pulls her hand back out and starts massaging your cock with both hands, making it even harder. "James, please," she pleads, her voice surprisingly calm. "I can't wait any longer. Take me. Make me yours." Her eyes, her face, her body, every part of her is beautiful and begging you to fuck her.

You struggle out of your shoes, socks and pants, then pull her panties up her long legs. Naked at last, legs splayed out in the air, breasts heaving, she is the most gorgeous invitation you have ever seen.

You bend down and kiss her, positioning yourself at her soaking wet entrance, and she squirms desperately as the tip of your dick slides between her soft lips. You pause as your brain unexpectedly makes a last-ditch effort at rational thought. "This is so wrong. You're a murder witness," you whisper.

Her legs wrap around you, trying to pull you into her. "A murder you're not allowed to investigate," she whispers back. With a flash of anger, you realize she's absolutely right. Besides, you think with a smirk, you're about as far as you can get past the point of no return.

"Fuck O'Brien," you say, for the second time that night.

Camille caresses your face and smiles. "No, James. Fuck me."

With a single thrust, you fill her tight pussy with every inch of your cock.

Camille lets out the longest, loudest moan you've ever heard. Her whole body tenses and she wraps her arms around you. You hold still a moment, as if trying to memorize every detail of her rippling walls as they grip your rock-hard rod.

Camille, however, is having none of it. She grinds her hips, demanding more friction. Her slippery pussy wiggles up and down over your cock in small waves. "Fuck, James!" she cries. "I've never felt this way. My whole body is on fire! I didn't know it could be like this! More, please!" You oblige, thrusting your hips to meet hers, sliding in and out of her smooth tunnel.

You lower your head to her sweet globes, licking her nipples as you continue pumping your cock deep inside her. Camille wails each time you hit bottom, and she rubs her clit in time to your pounding rhythm.

As your strokes lengthen, you watch her through the haze of your own pleasure, mesmerized by her reactions. Her forehead is scrunched up, her eyes tightly shut, and she seems barely able to breathe. Although this is undoubtedly the best sex of your life, it is nothing compared to the transformative experience Camille is apparently undergoing.

As she eagerly matches your quickening pace, her tight snatch massages your dick mercilessly, and you know your time is short. "Camille..." you gasp, "I... I can't..."

Her eyes fly open. "Oh yes James!" She redoubles her efforts on her clit. "Fill me up!" she begs. A few more strokes and you groan as your cock pumps your seed deep inside her. Watching your climax pushes Camille over the edge. She clasps her legs around you and her hips buck wildly. "James!" she screams, as her pussy convulses around your dick, squeezing out the last of your cum.

You collapse on top of her, and she holds your head to her soft, heaving breasts. Her breath comes in shuddering gasps. After a long while, you lift your head. Camille's face is a picture of satisfaction. "Alright," you say in a relenting tone. "Now you can call me Jimmy."

She bursts out laughing, her body quaking with mirth beneath you. "Oh, I don't think so," she says, shaking her head. She lays a hand on your cheek and gazes at you adoringly. "James is the name I screamed out in ecstasy, so James you shall remain."

"Talk like that deserves a kiss." You give Camille a long, deep kiss, and she sighs contentedly. "Well, I'll tell you one thing. You sure went above and beyond just buying me a new jacket."

Camille giggles happily. "You're so stupid." She kisses you again.

"So, I'm not complaining or anything, but do you want to... talk? About what just happened?" She sighs, and a small frown furrows her brow, although it doesn't do much to mar the peaceful look still on her face.

"Can you get my handbag? I dropped it in the hall." You push yourself off her and stand up. You step around the dead hit man, wondering exactly how you're going to deal with that mess, both literally and figuratively, and retrieve the handbag. "Thanks," says Camille, sitting up. She reaches in and pulls out a cigarette and a book of matches. "Would you like one?"

You shake your head. "Not a smoker," you say, sitting down next to her. "But you go ahead."

She shrugs and lights the cigarette. "I can honestly say this is the strangest I've ever felt," she says after a puff. "On the one hand, I can scarcely describe what you just did to me." You put your hand in hers and give it a gentle squeeze. She turns to look at you. "Is it always like that for you, James? Is sex like that for other women and somehow I just never knew?" Her frown deepens. "Was it just my worthless husband? Not that we did, very much."

"I'd like to think the dames who have shared my company enjoyed themselves. But you, Camille." You lift her hand and kiss it. "I've never seen anything like that. I barely had to touch you at all." She blushes slightly, obviously thinking back on it.

"On the other hand," she continues after a pause, "I can't ignore that I was so hot for you because of a... murder." She whispers the last word.

"Hey, self-defense," you interject.

"Of course," she says, waving her cigarette, "but honestly." She turns her head to look at the dead man for the first time. "What kind of sicko gets their jollies from seeing a man killed?" She turns back to you, her eyes full of tears. "James, what kind of person am I?" Although the question sounds rhetorical, it's clear she's desperate for an answer.

"You didn't get hot from a murder. You got hot from fear, from excitement. I see it all the time. People act all kinds of weird ways in dangerous situations. Maybe I'm a little biased now, but I think you're a fantastic person."

Camille smiles gratefully, but still looks worried. "But what if being in dangerous situations is the only way I can... you know."

"I don't know. But hey, if it helps, I definitely volunteer to hump your brains out in the very next non-dangerous situation we come across." She laughs.

"I'd be lying if I said that offer wasn't very appealing, sir." She gives your hand a kiss.

You both sit silently for a minute. "Let me know if this question is too rude," you say cautiously, "but why did you decide to marry for money?"

"Jeez, way to ruin the mood, Jimmy," Camille says, half-joking.

"Sorry. It's just... You started to say something earlier, at the bar. Something that made it sound like you regretted it."

She is quiet for a long time before answering. "As you can imagine, I didn't talk with Marcus about his day very often. I knew he liked that bench because that's where we met. He wasn't eating or reading, just sitting. I thought that was unusual, so I started talking to him. He said he liked that bench because the view was perfect. We talked for hours. He said he never talked to anyone like that."

Camille pauses with a sad smile. "After we got married, that was certainly true," she says, with a hint of bitterness. "I didn't love him, but I knew he was a decent man, and I knew he was well off. I thought that's all I wanted. Money. A comfortable life."

"That's hard to believe. From what I just saw, you've got more passion than most men could handle."

"Most men, huh?" she asks, smirking. "But not you, right James?"

"I'll do my very best," you promise with a smile. Although said in jest, it's a promise you sincerely intend to keep.

"Well, maybe we just have this little guy to thank for awakening my passion," she says, running one finger up the length of your soft cock, sending a tingling rush through you.

"Hey, a bit less of the 'little,' if you please." Camille giggles. "Now, what exactly should we do with our friend here?" You indicate the dead man. "Besides thank him for getting you in bed with me."

"Shut up!" Camille swats your arm in mock annoyance.

"Obviously we can't stay here. And I don't trust O'Brien to do what's best for your safety. We need a break in this case, and fast, or we're both going to end up on the run, from the killers and the law. For now, we'll have to cover our tracks." You turn to Camille. "And I'm going to need your help."

**********

Dressed in a new shirt and jacket, you drive slowly along the shoreline, passing the bright lights of the docks. Even at this time of night, you can hear the shouts of busy dockworkers.